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It has been said that every boy's hidden desire is to run away from home and join the circus. My wish didn't go that far. I just wanted to see what it was like to work for it.
To my immense satisfaction, that wish was granted, even if it was only for a day. For this 15-year-old boy it was an adventure to be treasured forever.
The circus was a big event in the 1930s, when l was a boy. It was a time of economic depression and money was scarce. Entertainment was limited to an occasional movie and what your imagination could provide. So, when a circus or a carnival came to town, it was an exciting event.
The first harbinger of a circus were posters in store windows and colorful paper ads in eye-popping red, yellow, blue, black and white colors of snarling, lions, menacing tigers, leopards and black panthers pasted on the sides of barns and buildings.
Most circuses traveled by special train in those days. The circus grounds, usually a large vacant field on the edge of town. During setup time, the area looked like something conjured up by the Sorcerer's Apprentice.
The clang of sledge hammers driving metal tent pins into the dry soil, the squeal of worn pulleys resisting the rough hemp ropes drawn through them as huge big top tents were raised, the sound and smell of the elephants all contributed to a symphony of sound and life.
All that excitement was a magnet attracting every boy who could run, walk or crawl to the circus grounds. The circus would put boys to work in return for a free ticket to the afternoon show.
I asked, but mom considered the whole thing far too dangerous for her son. I implemented a campaign that, from the hindsight of 60-odd years, was a masterpiece of simplicity. I let it be known that working at the circus was something I had to do.
Then I began chipping away at mom's opposition. I needed an advocate in the parental court and that meant dad. Finally, with much motherly concern, she said yes and I rushed to become a circus hand.
I don't remember most of the details of that day's work, but I do remember that I was assigned to a work crew of teenaged boys under the direction of a congenial, easy-paced individual, who worked with a steady gait.
By the time we got going, the main tent was being pulled to the top of its big center poles by tractors. The walls of the tent had to be anchored to tent pins with ropes, just like its embryonic offspring, the pup tent.
Some of the steel pins were driven into the hard ground by special equipment. Others were set the old-fashioned way, with sledge hammers and brawn. Our job was to string anchor ropes from the tent and tie them to the pins. We'd line up on a rope like old-time sailors raising sails. After two or three heaves, the rope would be tight as a banjo string.
All the manual tasks that employed the boys were finished. The circus was up and ready for business. We were paid with tickets to the performance and sent home.
Things being as they are today, I suppose the circus practice of hiring kids has been banned. If so, our world is poorer for it.
It was a chance to taste the excitement of adventure, which every child needs. Not once, either then or ever after, did I feel exploited. I would have worked for nothing; just for the thrill of being part of that day would have been reward enough.
I went to the circus show that afternoon and watched the performances with a rather proprietary feeling, but somehow, the show was anti-climactic after the morning's events and the satisfaction I felt.
Ronald K. Culbertson is the retired CEO of Umpqua Bank. He shares his reminiscences with readers of The Senior Times.
To my immense satisfaction, that wish was granted, even if it was only for a day. For this 15-year-old boy it was an adventure to be treasured forever.
The circus was a big event in the 1930s, when l was a boy. It was a time of economic depression and money was scarce. Entertainment was limited to an occasional movie and what your imagination could provide. So, when a circus or a carnival came to town, it was an exciting event.
The first harbinger of a circus were posters in store windows and colorful paper ads in eye-popping red, yellow, blue, black and white colors of snarling, lions, menacing tigers, leopards and black panthers pasted on the sides of barns and buildings.
Most circuses traveled by special train in those days. The circus grounds, usually a large vacant field on the edge of town. During setup time, the area looked like something conjured up by the Sorcerer's Apprentice.
The clang of sledge hammers driving metal tent pins into the dry soil, the squeal of worn pulleys resisting the rough hemp ropes drawn through them as huge big top tents were raised, the sound and smell of the elephants all contributed to a symphony of sound and life.
All that excitement was a magnet attracting every boy who could run, walk or crawl to the circus grounds. The circus would put boys to work in return for a free ticket to the afternoon show.
I asked, but mom considered the whole thing far too dangerous for her son. I implemented a campaign that, from the hindsight of 60-odd years, was a masterpiece of simplicity. I let it be known that working at the circus was something I had to do.
Then I began chipping away at mom's opposition. I needed an advocate in the parental court and that meant dad. Finally, with much motherly concern, she said yes and I rushed to become a circus hand.
I don't remember most of the details of that day's work, but I do remember that I was assigned to a work crew of teenaged boys under the direction of a congenial, easy-paced individual, who worked with a steady gait.
By the time we got going, the main tent was being pulled to the top of its big center poles by tractors. The walls of the tent had to be anchored to tent pins with ropes, just like its embryonic offspring, the pup tent.
Some of the steel pins were driven into the hard ground by special equipment. Others were set the old-fashioned way, with sledge hammers and brawn. Our job was to string anchor ropes from the tent and tie them to the pins. We'd line up on a rope like old-time sailors raising sails. After two or three heaves, the rope would be tight as a banjo string.
All the manual tasks that employed the boys were finished. The circus was up and ready for business. We were paid with tickets to the performance and sent home.
Things being as they are today, I suppose the circus practice of hiring kids has been banned. If so, our world is poorer for it.
It was a chance to taste the excitement of adventure, which every child needs. Not once, either then or ever after, did I feel exploited. I would have worked for nothing; just for the thrill of being part of that day would have been reward enough.
I went to the circus show that afternoon and watched the performances with a rather proprietary feeling, but somehow, the show was anti-climactic after the morning's events and the satisfaction I felt.
Ronald K. Culbertson is the retired CEO of Umpqua Bank. He shares his reminiscences with readers of The Senior Times.
