I suppose that, given that Halloween is only a couple of weeks away, we should not be surprised by reports that more and more clown sightings worldwide have caused people to become nervous. Where are they coming from? What are they up to?
Concerns about clowns have been part of my life for the past thirty-five years or so, as I reported not long ago . . .
Isnโt it rich? Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air. Send in the clowns.
I get most of my news piecemeal from NPR while riding in the car. Since Jeanne has the car most of the time, this is not a daily event. Even when I am โlisteningโ to โMorning Edition,โ I generally am only paying slight attention. It takes a lot for me to listen carefully. Civil war in Syria? Whatever. The Ukraine is falling apart? Yawn. Ted Nugent calls President Obama a bad name? What else is new? But when Renee Montagne reported this oneย morning, I was all ears.
Circus folk fear a national clown shortage is on the horizon. Membership at the countryโs largest trade organizations for the jokesters has plunged over the past decade as declining interest, old age and higher standards among employers align against Krusty, Bozo and their crimson-nosed colleagues.
A clown shortage?? Really?? Apparently Renee wasnโt privy to the email exchanges flying around campus during the most recent controversy and brouhaha last week. Who knew there were so many clowns with PhDs?ย I dismissed the clown report as the sort of filler that even NPR has to come up with on occasion. But then the music for a South Korean skaterโs short program the next evening was โSend in the Clowns,โ and last Saturday the panelists on โWait! Wait! Donโt Tell Me,โ my favorite radio program, started the show with a couple of minutes of hilarity concerning the impending clown drought. The panel suggested, for instance, that the art history majors dissed by President Obama the other day might want to look into enrolling in clown school as a backup plan for their current careers as Starbucks baristas. Clowns are in the air.
Isnโt it bliss?
Donโt you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who canโt move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
This is very strange. There seemed to be plenty of clowns around in my childhood, from Howdy Doodyโs Clarabell to Bozo, with whom I spent many afternoons after school. I actually thought the Bozo part of the
โBozo the Clown Showโ was insufferably stupid and boring, but was willing to put up with it for the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. The next generation has its own clowns, most memorably Krusty from โThe Simpsons.โ There are a number of possible explanations for the looming clown shortage:
- Young people who in the past were interested in clownhood are now going into politics.
- The procreation rate of clowns is very low. The oversized baggy clothing makes clown sex very challenging.
- Clown traffic mortality rates are extraordinarily high. Clowns are poor drivers to begin with, and piling twenty-five to thirty clowns into every clown-driven vehicle drives the death rate up exponentially when accidents occur.
Just when Iโd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.ย
I know one person who will be very happy to hear about the clown shortage. My son Caleb has suffered from a close-to-terminal case of coulrophobia (fear of clowns) since birth. A little over 30 years ago, five years after my BA, I found myself living in a tiny town in an isolated western Wyoming valley, working in a grocery store, with four- and one-and-a-half year old sons in a marriage that was sure would not survive. Donโt ask.
We had almost no money, but that was okay since in Star Valley virtually nothing worth spending money on ever happened. So when a pitying friend gave me two tickets to the upcoming county fair, I was pleased to have something to do with my older son other than read Dr. Seuss books or watch television. I knew that Caleb was not amused by clowns, but this was a county fair, not a circus. Horses, pigs, cows, a petting zooโwhat could go wrong? As we got out of the car and started crossing the parking lot to the entrance gate, I noticed that the ticket taker was . . . a clown. A stereotypical clown with a bald white pate, a bright orange fringe of hair, checked shirt, polka-dotted pants, oversized grin, exaggerated ย eyebrows, size forty-two shoes. Maybe Caleb wouldnโt notice. But he did. As we approached the entrance, Caleb protested repeatedly in an increasingly loud and panicked voice โDONโT LIKE IT! DONโT LIKE IT!! THEREโS PLOWNS!!!โ In order to short-circuit the dragging-a-screaming-kid-with-his-heels-dug-in scenario that is the bane of all parentsโ existence, I sighed, we turned around, got back in the car, and drove away.
A few weeks ago I told this thirty-year-old story to Calebโs younger brother. After several moments of uproarious and uncontrolled laughter, Justin realized that he just been given the greatest gift a younger brother can receiveโa completely and devastatingly embarrassing story about his older brother. The next time the three of us were together, Justin sprang into action. โCaleb, are you still afraid of clowns?โ Justin asked, mimicking in a high voice Calebโs plaintive โDonโt like it! Thereโs plowns!โ To Justinโs surprise, Caleb not only did not consider this story to be a threat to his carefully protected manhood, but instead doubled down on his lifelong judgment concerning clowns. โClowns are evil. I hate clowns. Clowns are fucked up.โ
Donโt you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that youโd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Donโt bother, theyโre here.
What will a clown-less world be like? Probably the same as the one weโve gotโI have to admit that other than the above-mentioned adventure with my son, clowns have not been on my radar screen very often. But generations yet unborn will eventually wonder what the hell Judy Collins is singing about.
Isnโt it rich?
Isnโt it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.