THE SIDE-SHOW
Order has come out of the confusion at the lot when the parade returns.
All is in readiness for the performances, seats and stands and rings
and trapezes in place, and every man at his post. The cages are dragged
from the parade to the menagerie tent, the horses led to their canvas
stables, and elephants push the red and gilt vehicles into place. Down
drops the sidewall, ropes are set, and the preparation is complete.
Stolid yokels fill the enclosure in front. Two men are proclaiming with
fluency and skill and oratorical effect the wonders of the side-show,
and a row of huge banners adds weight to their discourse. Pictured
by word and brush are the wild man, the midget, the Egyptian giant,
the woman ventriloquist, the knife throwers, the fortune tellers, the
electric lady, the snake charmer, the others who make up the collection
of oddities, and the group of negro jubilee singers. The band thumps
seductively inside and frequently, as an evidence of good faith, one
of the freaks is called to the front for a moment’s survey. Doubts
vanish and the crowd hesitates no longer, when suddenly as the _pièce
de resistance_ is brandished aloft, impaled on a slender iron rod, a
raw hunk of beef. It is to be the wild man’s dinner!
By far the most interesting specimen in our side-show is this wild
man. His history is long and eventful. The side-show lecturer tells it
vividly, many times a day, and invariably the same when he is not in
a facetious mood. The narrative, however, is always thrilling, never
commonplace. A curtain shrouds the interior of the cage in which the
creature “lives and subsists in a state of nature.” Pulled aside, it
reveals a gloomy den, half filled with hay, where crouches, clawed and
tusked, and scantily clad in skins, the rude savage. The fleeting and
obscure view of the monster afforded is amply satisfying to the timid,
and the venturesome see the curtain drawn, impressed. A discharged
employee in a spirit of malice spread a tale of unexpected exposures.
The fellow asserted that once the wild man was eagerly “shooting craps”
with a colored canvasman, and a second time had hastily torn a clay
pipe from his mouth and become again a weird, uncivilized being. The
manager was very indignant over the infamous recital; and that very
evening came a full exoneration. The wild man escaped. (Business had
been unsatisfactory for several days.)
The alarm was sounded throughout the town and spread terror. We all
said we feared the worst. Armed men were sent in pursuit. The fugitive
was captured in a forest back of the lot and returned, shrieking,
biting and fighting fiercely, to his den. Order was restored and the
circus turned away a thousand persons for lack of room at the evening’s
performance. The side-show was not empty of visitors for a month
afterwards.
We retain the services of our wild man with some difficulty. His wife,
a very indiscreet colored woman from Vermont, has a pernicious habit
of appearing inopportunely and accusing our black prize of gambling
away his wages and not providing for the support of his family. She
is ample of form, emphatic in manner, and prodigal of words, and when
she begins to bellow and boister, side-show proceedings stop abruptly
and the overwhelmed orator hangs his diminished head and yields verbal
supremacy. It is not until she receives from the management positive
assurance of a cash advance that she can be persuaded to retreat. At
these times the wild man is a very meek and subdued person, and no
amount of urging will lure him from the security of his cage until his
wife is well out of town.
The original circus wild man, the denizen of Borneo, was white, but
his successors have almost invariably had dark skins. “Waino” and
“Plutano,” exhibited together, are now before the public. “Tom” and
“Hattie,” wild children from Australia, are dead. “Wild Rose” and
“Wild Minnie” are still in the field of savage honor, as is “Old Zip,
the What-is-it?” whose head is cone-shaped, and who utters mournful
guttural sounds.
The life of the professional wild man is an unhappy one at best. The
story is told of a Baltimore, Md., colored man, who, finding himself
penniless in Berlin, Germany, enlisted as an untamed arrival from
Africa with a small American circus then playing abroad. He endured the
torture he was compelled to undergo for a month and then stole away to
a hospital. He was required to explain how and why he came there.
“You see, boss,” he observed sadly, “I’se been working here, got ten
dollars a week to play wild man. I was all stripped ’cept around the
middle and wore a claw necklace; had to make out as if I couldn’t talk.
’Twas mighty tiresome to howl and grin all day. Then times got hard. I
had to eat raw meat and drink blood. The circus man, he stood off as
if he was afraid of me and chucked meat on the floor to me. I had to
lean over, pick it up in my teeth and worry it like I was a dog. It was
horse meat and pretty tough, boss, but it brought crowds for a while.
Then it got drefful cold for a nigger with no clothes on and they put
a snake around my neck. I couldn’t stand that, so I’se come to the
hospital.”
He was given clothes and medical treatment, which he sorely needed, and
a kindly American sent him back to Maryland.
Calvin Bird, a negro who hailed from Pearson, Ga., was a famous wild
man for several years with divers small circuses, and toured most
of the country, mystifying all who saw him and sending them away
impressed with a conviction that he was all he was represented to be.
Not until he appeared at a Syracuse hospital with a request that his
horns be removed was the secret of his unnatural appearance disclosed.
Under his scalp was found inserted a silver plate, in which stood two
standards. Into these, when he was on exhibition, Bird screwed two goat
horns. Thousands of people had paid admission to see the curved bone
projections and hear him bark. The artificial additions were the idea
of a physician in Central America who gave the man an anaesthetic and
inserted the plate. The operation of removing the support was a simple
one and Bird started for home from Syracuse with a normal head a few
days later. The wild man business had got monotonous, he said, and
anyway, he had made enough money out of his deception to maintain him
in idleness for a long time.
The “electric lady” is one of the phenomena of our side-show, and
a source of great wonder to the gullible visitor. She is saturated
with the mysterious force. A continuous supply passes from her finger
tips to whoever touches her flesh. Scoffers are confounded at the
manifestation, and there is a general feeling among the side-show
sightseers that she is a supernatural being. There is nothing
indicating a violation of natural law in the lady’s appearance, and
nobody appears to enjoy the curiosity she excites more than her own
merry self. A strange feature of the exercise of the invisible agent
is that it generates only for commercial purposes. For instance, the
power leaves her when the performance closes for the night, and does
not develop again until she is on exhibition the following day. Then,
too, the current confines itself to a fixed spot. It passes away
instantaneously if she moves from her chair.
The “electric lady” in private life is a very domestic and studious
person. She is Mrs. E. N. Willis, whose husband is one of the managers
of the tent and a recognized authority on “freaks.” When I asked her
for a contribution to the story of the side-show she took pencil and
paper and evolved the following product. It was done under the circus
canvas on a hot September afternoon in Illinois, while country visitors
stared in wonder at the sight of the “freak” in the act of composition
and thought. It is attached in the exact phraseology in which it was
handed to me.
“So much has been written regarding circus life as seen only in the
‘Big Show,’ it will not come amiss to chat a while with a member of the
side-show fraternity. When the parade returns to the show grounds, it
is followed by a large crowd of people, who have been invited by men
with megaphone voices to witness a series of free exhibitions which
are used as a means of getting the people together for the opening of
the side-show, which is the attraction until the ‘Big Show’ is ready to
admit its visitors at one p.m. The side-show presents a most attractive
appearance to the rural visitor, showing as it does upon huge banners
the many wonderful sights to be seen within.
“As a means of collecting the followers, a platform is erected directly
in front of the side-show entrance. In showmen’s parlance it is known
as a ‘bally-hoo stage,’ where, as promised the multitude, these free
exhibitions are given.
“Fearing that there may be a few stragglers or sweethearts who have
failed to keep up with the procession, and wishing to give them all
an equal chance, the band is called outside, and with great strength
plays its loudest and swiftest selections. Then the principal orator
mounts the ‘bally-hoo stage,’ and striking upon a huge triangle enjoins
silence. In glowing terms he describes the row of paintings, proving
the truthfulness of his assertions by bringing out a few of the
subjects and dilating upon their merits. After this there is another
‘hurry up’ tune, and then pandemonium reigns supreme, as from their
elevated stands the ticket-sellers, each trying to outdo the other in
lustiness of tone, proclaim the price of admission--ten cents. Very few
resist the eloquence of the orator and the cries of the ticket-sellers,
and in a short space of time the outside workers have a chance to rest
their lungs, as nearly all have passed inside.
“In the old days of circus business the side-show was justly styled
the annex or museum department, and contained only living curios
and a performance of Punch and Judy. Of late years this has been
greatly changed, there being such a scarcity of freaks of nature that
vaudeville acts, and even minstrel shows, have been introduced to fill
up this vacuum. The interior is in charge of a lecturer, who is usually
either a magician or a Punch and Judy man, he thereby serving a double
purpose.
“There is always a feature upon which the side-show revolves, either a
giant or some other wonderful freak of nature, and it always occupies
a high platform in the centre of the canvas. The other stages are
arranged in horseshoe shape, and upon these the different curios
are seated. All side-shows have a snake enchantress, this being an
attraction that never fails to please, and the rural visitor stands
open-mouthed, with a look of astonishment as the lady lifts these large
serpents one by one from their boxes and allows them to coil about her
person. She is supposed to answer all questions put to her regarding
the reptiles, and is asked many strange ones, such as ‘Do you keep
them on ice?’ ‘How do you feed them?’ ‘Are they stuffed?’ ‘Did you
catch them yourself?’ As experience has made her quick-witted, she is
ever ready with a reply. The other curios are generally a midget, a
long-haired lady, or a tattooed man.
“Few would be considered complete without a mind reader or fortune
teller, who by merely tracing the lines of the hand is able to foretell
the future. So, when Mary and John stand before her, the lines of
Mary’s hand always read that John is the favored suitor and is to be
her husband, while those in John’s hand plainly indicate that Mary is
for him alone, and that their union will be blessed with many little
ones; which good news sends them giggling and blushing on their way,
thoroughly satisfied at having parted with their money, as it has
brought them such good results. All curios have the privilege of
selling their photos, which is really a part of their revenue, and many
a stray dime is coaxed from the pockets of the country visitor to that
of the curio who is collecting a ‘pork chop fund’ for the winter. The
initiated photo-seller knows which States will be the most productive.
This calls to mind a remark made by a giant while on a trip through
Canada. One day after a fruitless endeavor to foist his photos on the
public, he demanded:
“‘How long here? Me want to go back to Yankee-land.’
“Thus he proved that the Yankees part with their dimes more readily
than the Canucks.
“In order to fill the side-show with small circuses there is always
a candy stand, and whenever there is a lull in the proceedings the
voice of the candy ‘butcher’ may be heard calling his wares in this
manner: ‘Strawberry lemonade, ice cold, is five cents to-day. Lemonade,
peanuts, cakes, candies, everything is five cents.’
“The space not taken up by stages is usually occupied by slot machines,
and many a stray nickel is dropped into them during the day. The
lecturer, after going the rounds and giving a detailed description
of each curio, concludes the performance with Punch and Judy, which,
though the oldest attraction before the public, is always a source
of amusement for the little folks, and even the grown folks laugh
and cheer as if they had never seen it before. This being finished,
the reed manipulator steps from behind the frame and explains to the
gaping multitude how easily any one can do the same with the aid of a
reed made by himself of silver and silk and ‘only costing ten cents.’
Children and grown folks alike, in their eagerness to obtain one, push
and almost knock one another down, and within a few seconds old and
young alike have them in their mouths trying to say ‘Oh! Judy, go get
the baby.’ The side-show has been likened to a church fair, there being
something doing every time one turns around.
[Illustration: BAREBACK RIDERS READY FOR THE RING.]
“The band is always placed upon a high platform directly behind the
entrance, so that only a thin canvas separates it from the outside
public. This is done in order that its noise may be easily heard by the
passing visitors, whom the ticket sellers are always trying to entice
to part with their dimes to see the many wonders exhibited within. This
band stage is also used for the minstrel and vaudeville performances
which are given as frequently as the occasion demands. The side-show
may be justly termed a continuous performance, as there is always
something going on to entertain the visitors, who are continually
dropping in. When the eloquence of the orators fails to arouse the
many hangers-on who have become listless, a curiosity is occasionally
brought out upon the ‘bally-hoo stage,’ and the huge triangle is struck
upon to stir up those who are still wavering. There is no let-up until
all the people have left the big show and concert. There is then an
opportunity for these hard-worked people to eat supper and get a rest
until 6:30, when the side-show is again opened and remains in operation
until the big show is over, about ten p.m.”
Hassan Ali, the Egyptian giant, eight feet two inches tall (one has the
orator’s word for it), comes each year from the land of his nativity
to arouse American wonder and earn American money. He is the pest of
hotel keepers on the route, for on Sunday nights he chooses to pass the
time for slumber away from the cramped recesses of the circus car and
in the regulation bedstead of commerce. The view of Hassan, dreaming
of his far-off home, with his brown legs protruding, from the knees
down, over the foot-board and his skull rammed against the headpiece,
is a sight people flock from all parts of the house to witness. About
midnight, generally, there is a noise like an explosion, a rattle,
crash and shimmer. The other circus guests turn over and resume sleep;
they know the familiar sound, it is the shattering of the giant’s bed.
The landlord, hurrying to the apartment, finds Hassan on the floor,
enveloped in slats, sheets, counterpane and mattress. This is almost
a weekly performance and causes Hassan to breathe awful Egyptian
imprecations against modern American furniture. No visitor to the
side-show has ever approached him in height, and only one person, an
aged man wearing a G. A. R. badge, has been able to seize, by standing
on a chair, the photograph guaranteeing circus admission which the
giant holding between upraised fingers and resting on the floor is
accustomed to offer as a reward for the feat. Hassan was much mortified
over the veteran’s accomplishment, but finds balm in the consciousness
that no one else has duplicated the achievement. His favorite exploit
is to spread his extended fingers from edge to edge of the top of an
ordinary waterpail. If you think it a simple digital trick, try it.
The whole energies of a slender man with a trim figure are devoted to
entertaining the side-show visitors. He talks almost unceasingly from
morning until night in brief but lucid descriptions of the assembly
of oddities. His addresses are delivered with great ostentation and
search after effect. He is a man of easy wit and repartee, and of tact
and practical intelligence; qualifications necessary to the successful
conduct of his vocal calling. Each “freak,” barring the “wild man,” has
for sale personal photographs, the receipts for which the management
lays no claim to. This is an important part of their incomes, and the
lecturer’s failure to call attention to the offering brings upon him
reproach and censure. I attach one of his harangues, exactly as he
delivered it one afternoon before an audience of grinning Connecticut
countrymen. It is interesting as a truthful reproduction of a style of
unique oratory which prevails nowhere else.
“Now in about five minutes we will start our regular show in here
and have it all over forty-five minutes before the circus commences.
(The band blows hard for five minutes.) Everybody pay your attention
this way. We commence our show here first. I call your attention
to Signor Arcaris and sister. They will entertain you with a
wonderful performance known as the impalement act, better known as
knife-throwing, without a doubt the best act of its kind in the world.
(The act and music.) Now down this way next. I take great pleasure in
introducing Princess Ani, the wonder worker and mind reader. We will
have what is known as spirit calculations on the blackboard. We will
have a number of gentlemen place some figures on the board. The minute
you place a figure on the board she knows what figure you place there,
although she is blindfolded. She can describe anything and tell you
while blindfolded what you are thinking about.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to tell you how this lady tells
fortunes. She reads the lines of your hand. Every line denotes some
peculiar trait in your character. Tells you what you ought to do for
your own benefit; tells you what talent you possess; tells you when
you are going to get married; tells you how many children you are
going to have, if any. The line is there in your own hand, you can’t
get away from it. Tells your lucky day, lucky number, family affairs,
love affairs. Tells how long you ought to live by the life line of your
hand! Now, it is all private. She don’t tell it out loud. First she
explains about the large lines. She whispers so that no one can hear
but yourself. And for the small lines you get what is known as the
number. The rest your hand-reading calls for is all printed on this
slip of paper. No two alike. Every one’s fortune is different. Just
show her your left hand. The price fifteen cents all the way through.
Walk right up and show her your left hand.
“Now to the stage. I call your attention to the smallest lady ever
placed on exhibition, Miss Bertha Carnihan, twenty-nine years of age,
stands thirty-nine inches in height and weighs thirty-eight pounds. The
most perfectly formed little lady on exhibition. She is well educated;
has been all over the world. Step up and have a talk with her. She will
answer all questions in regard to herself. She also has her photographs
for sale.
“Now direct your attention to the large stage in the centre. You will
be entertained by Professor Lowry’s Nashville students. (When the negro
concert is finished, the “big song book, words and music, fifty songs,
five cents a copy,” are sold.) Now, fix your interest this way, please.
I call your attention to Miss Millie Taylor, better known as the Queen
of Long-haired Ladies. This lady has without a doubt the longest hair
of any lady before the public. The length of the lady’s hair is seven
feet four inches. Step up and examine it for yourselves. She also has
her photos. Now we come to Miss Julien, the world’s greatest snake
hypnotist. The lady will entertain you with her large den of living
monster reptiles, introducing anacondas, boa constrictors, pythons and
the turtle-head snake of Florida. (The performer coils snake after
snake around her form.) The lady now has one hundred and sixty-eight
pounds of snake around her body, neck and arms. You will find her
entertaining to converse with. She will tell you all about snakes, etc.
She also has her photographs for sale.
“Over this way next. I call your attention to the crowning feature of
our side-show. The tallest man in human history, Hassan Ali, better
known as the Egyptian giant. Born in Cairo, Egypt, twenty-six years of
age, stands eight feet two inches in height and weighs three hundred
and twelve pounds. To give you a better idea in regard to his height
and reach we will allow the tallest man in the audience to stand on
this high chair. The giant will stand on the ground. If the man reaches
up and touches the photograph Hassan Ali holds up between his fingers,
we will make him a present of a ticket, taking him all the way through
the big show. There (pointing) is a tall man. Would you be kind enough
to stand on this chair and reach with him. All right, you see (turning
to the audience) he comes about six inches from it. This gives you an
idea in regard to the size of the giant’s hand. Here is a good-sized
water pail. See how far you can span it Goes about half way. The giant
spans it. His fingers go two inches over the rim. Now, he has no thick
soles on his shoes, no high heels. There’s his foot, No. 18. He also
has his photographs for sale.
“Now pay your attention over that way. That’s Neola, the electric
lady. By shaking hands with her, you will receive a slight current of
electricity, the same as you would from a battery. Don’t be backward,
walk right up and shake hands with her. She won’t harm you. She also
has photos.
“Now, the wild man! Down this way for the wild man! Now, stop that
crowding there! Take your time, remember there are ladies and children
in the crowd. (He pulls the curtain aside and pokes at the inmate with
an iron bar.) There he is, with flat head and low forehead, showing he
has very little brain. You notice the maniac look of the eyes, just
the same as a beast. He has teeth just like a lion, arms four inches
longer than our arms and walks on all fours. Captured in the everglades
of Florida, a little over four and a half years ago. Handcuffed and
shackled ever since he was caught. Now if you stop to think, you know
there is a cause for a monstrosity of that kind. Just before he was
born his mother was frightened by a beast. It left the mark on that
freak of nature, just as you see for yourselves. Half Indian, half
negro, don’t understand a word, don’t talk, growls like a beast, eats
nothing but raw meat. (He draws the curtain.)
“Now pay your attention there. You will be entertained by musical
Swarts. (A man gets melody from bells and various instruments.) Over
this way next. The old-time funny Punch and Judy. (He enters a booth,
gives the familiar show and reappears.) Now, I will show you how I
change my voice. It is done with a reed, made of silver and silk. All
you have to do is place it on your tongue and talk right. The sound
of the words goes through the reed just like this. (He illustrates.)
That’s the way to do it. There are full directions how to use it. Ten
cents, three for a quarter. If they don’t blow as I represent, hand
them back and I will give you back your money. (When the sales are
finished he concludes in loud tones:) The big show commences in five
minutes. All over in here.”
The lusty-lunged orators on the outside make a great clamor as the
crowd passes out, and one of them shouts: “The gentlemanly lecturer
will now pass around again, explaining the curiosities, monstrosities
and freaks of nature. Come on! Come on!” The heartless band lures with
brazen notes and the scene is repeated without variation.
No feature of the side-show is more keenly relished in the country
towns than the Punch and Judy show. The lecturer works the figures
and carries on the dialogue. The movements of the puppets are managed
simply by putting the hands under the dress, making the second finger
and thumb serve for the arms, while the forefinger works the head.
Punch’s high back, distorted breast and long nose give an increased
zest to his witticisms, and his career of violent crime is followed
with absorbed attention until he is dragged away to expiate it, and
the curtain falls amid the shouts of his conqueror.
The freak business is divided into about three varieties, foreign,
domestic and fake. In the first class, the collectors travel all over
the world in search of rarities, but the very best freaks come from
India and the Malay peninsula. In those countries there are people
who breed freaks. They buy young children and animals and deform them
while their bones are soft, by all manner of means. Then they are
constantly on the lookout for genuine, natural freaks, and in those
lands the birth of a freak occurs very frequently. The headquarters
of this business is at Singapore. There are, too, a number of men who
devote themselves to the discovering and placing of freaks of all kinds
and varieties, and scarcely a day goes by in winter that we do not
receive photographs and illustrated circulars from some freak merchant
or other. Of course, there are faked freak men--a perfect host in
themselves. If the proprietor of some little show needs an additional
attraction and does not have any money to hire something good--for,
like everything else, freaks have their price--he can get something
for little money that will serve his purpose. The real, genuine, live
freaks always command high prices--from $50 to $800 per week each--and
travel all over the world in order to exhibit themselves.