My cat was nearly finished and ready to send to the paint shop. However, I became really frustrated and tired of working on it. Finally, I told Jack, the head carver, that perhaps I needed a new project because I felt like stabbing my cat. I think he got the message, so he started me on a new project – carving a small horse head. I was somewhat taken aback since I assumed that the next challenge would be a flat relief of a pineapple, which is what most folks do. I am not quite sure what Jack was thinking since he is not a man of many words. Nonetheless, I started hacking away at the rough cutout of the horse head. Then, a curious thing happened. The cat disappeared. I looked all over the carving studio, in the paint shop, in the museum gift shop and at home. No cat. I searched for it week in and week out. No cat. Cats are truly curious animals. I think it ran away because it sensed that I didn’t like it anymore. Probably it became a feral cat. Strangely, I miss it.

Recently I have been volunteering at the Brass Ring carving studio to see if I have the “right stuff” to help create the menagerie of carousel animals.

My first project as an “intern” carver was a ”cat.” Everyone starts with this – some finish it, some don’t. Some abandon their projects, never to return. The stylized cat is carved in relief out of a flat piece of basswood. This is the same type of hardwood that is being used to carve the carousel animals. The cat project goes on, and on, and on for months. Progress is slow, but noticeable. At this point, my project looks more like an owl than a cat – whoooooooooooooo. I must keep my notorious impatience in check if I want to ever make it to the “major league” of carvers who actually create the masterpieces. Meanwhile, I just keep chipping away at my cat until I am at least called up to the “minors.” There, I may actually carve small pieces that will be used on the carousel itself, or sold in the gift shop as a way to raise funds for the project. Either way, I will feel that I have contributed to making the carousel a reality.

In the beginning, God said “Let there be merry-go-round horses in Stevie’s basement,” and there was! (Maybe this was the 11^th commandment.) In my office at home and in my office at work I now have many small replicas of carousels and carousel animals. However, keeping them dusted is quite another matter. Even though I am surrounded by the miniatures, I had neither helped refurbish nor helped create any lions, tigers, bears or horses other than those for the carousel on my train layout. As if by magic, I discovered the Albany Brass Ring Carousel Project booth at the Albany Art and Air Festival in the summer of 2006. I was overwhelmed with joy when I found this group of dedicated people. Without going into great detail about the organization, suffice it to say that the project is building a hand-carved 53 animal carousel in Albany, Oregon on a 1909 Dentzel mechanism donated by the Dentzel family.

After learning about the project, I visited the Dentzel Carousel Museum in downtown Albany run by project volunteers. They were selling two-inch metal buttons depicting some of the carousel animals that had already been carved. There were seven different buttons in all, and of course it was imperative that I had one of each. However, there was an even larger treasure waiting for me to grab, just as people had grabbed brass rings on carousels during the latter part of the 19^th and the early part of the 20^th centuries. In addition to the colorful buttons, the museum also sold large prints of Dentzel carousel animals from 1890s era carousels. William Dentzel III (the grandson of Gustav Dentzel, the master carver who founded the carousel company) visited the museum on occasion. He had signed a few of the prints, which were being sold for a mere $35! This was only $10 more than the unsigned ones. Initially, the rather new volunteer did not know if there were any of the signed prints left. After calling one of the more knowledgeable volunteers, the woman located some in the back storage room. Unfortunately, the few remaining signed prints had not been carefully stored and all had creases to some degree. I was determined to possess one anyway, and selected the print that was in the best condition. Although not pristine, I knew that an opportunity to own a piece of carousel history such as this would not likely present itself again. I carefully placed the purchased print flat in the trunk of my car, and I rushed to the same frame shop used by the museum. Fortunately, the framing process flattened the print so that the creases were barely noticeable. It now proudly hangs on the wall of my home office, and it has become one of my treasured possessions along with my Imperial Nappie.

Stevie

1962 was my first year on the carnival, and I knew virtually every song on the Billboard top 100. Bobby Darrin, Leslie Gore and the especially the Four Seasons “Sherry” blasted out of the loud speakers on the Himalaya ride. It was so great! I loved the songs because they were part of me and part of everyone else that I knew.

Two-transistor hand-held radios were the rage and six-transistor radios were the deluxe models. For two bucks I hustled a ‘’transistor” from a young girl visiting the carnival. We all had them glued to our ears – the radios not the girls.

That’s about the time my Uncle Sammy gave me the carnival version of the “facts-of-life” speech. It was mostly about avoiding “jail bait” and not much about avoiding impregnation or disease. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one’s point of view, I was too naïve and shy to score anyway. In retrospect, the songs were more pop than rock and roll, and the girls’ best attribute was they were “easy.”

The sound pouring out of the ride speakers and AM radios at the time was far from “hi-fi.” That archaic term from pre-stereo, 8-tracks, cassettes, CDs and MP3 days, meant that the sound on AM radio was “low fidelity” (or crappy sound) rather than the “high fidelity” (with scratches) heard on 12” 33 1/3 RPM long-playing records. No one cared at the time. If you were a teenager, you listened to top-40 radio and 45 RPM singles. These terms could be explained, but I am not sure it’s worth the trouble. On second thought, maybe it is. On top-40 radio they played the most popular 40 records or so that were out at the time. Every station played virtually the same songs, and there was fierce competition between the stations for listeners. Every station had contests of all kinds. For example, “Be the 6^th caller and receive two free passes to Edgewater Park” (the only amusement park in Detroit). The only thing I ever won was a junky transistor radio when the DJ announced my street on the “street where you live contest."

45’s were 7 inch vinyl disks with about a 2” hole in the center, and like LP’s they were played on a “record player.” No, not a gramophone – I’m not that old! Each 45 contained only one song, as opposed to MP3 players that can hold hundreds. It was primitive technology by today’s standards, but again, no one knew or cared.

The music and my experiences on the carnival are forever melded together. The sounds of the rides, the smells of carnival food, and the music create a heady brew in my mind even today. For me, they were part of the essence of summer, and a part of my coming of age – first wet dream, first date, first kiss, first girlfriend, first orgasm, first car – and of course, first heartbreak.

-Stevie

Well, it has been over 3 1/2 months since my last post. Like nobody could figure that out. =) I have mostly been recovering from my surgery, but there are a couple of items worth noting. The first of which can be found here, and the second will appear in my next blog entry. 

A few months ago, I became conscious of my desire to own a piece of carnival glass. Carnival Glass These colorful iridescent pieces of molded glass were frequently found in carnival midway games such as the Penny Pitch. This was a game where you "pitched" coins, and if one of them landed inside a piece of glassware or chalkware (see web site Photo Album "Carnival Glass" and "Carnival Chalkware"), you won the item and proudly carried it home. Of course, many of the items ended up in thrift stores and garage sales, until they became a hot item in the vintage collectibles world.

As I was strolling around the sidewalk antique fair this past summer in historic downtown Albany (Oregon), I had my eye out for an attractive piece of glass that I could afford. I saw a beautiful plate, but alas, the proprietor of the stall wanted $300. Not exactly my league, which was more in the $25 range. Since the choices in the street booths were few, I began browsing in the antique stores for which Downtown Albany is famous. I scurried between shops with names such as Arlene's Victorian Rose, Opulence and Whispering Willows.

The week before the fair, I had found a nice piece of Fenton glass at the Pastime Antique Mall for $27. Unfortunately, it had been sold the day after I found it. Although they had another piece of Imperial glass that was desirable, it just didn't hit the mark. I was disappointed and felt disheartened. After looking around in Pattycake's Plunder, I found a small piece of Imperial glass that was priced at $50. I didn't want to pay that much, so I continued my search at other shops. At this point, my desire to own a glistening example of carnival glass shifted into high gear. I was now on a mission! It became clear that pieces in my price range were limited. I returned to Pattycake's, and it was no doubt evident to the proprietress that I was hot for the Imperial Nappie. (see picture below) I negotiated with her until she offered it to me for $25, which did not seem out of line. I had previously done some exploring on the Internet to learn a bit about types, styles and prices. When I turned the Nappie over, I found that there were some small chips on the rim around the base. When I gave the impression that I might just forget the purchase and walk out, the shop owner offered it to me for $20. At that, I grinned and handed her the $20. I really had no intention of selling the beautiful sparkling find on E-Bay, so the chips were irrelevant to me. For several weeks afterward, I lovingly fondled and caressed my Nappie several times per day.

Salude,

Stevie

  Charles Looff         Gustav Dentzel          C. W. Parker  

             M. C. Illions                     Charles Carmel        

"Tail between my legs"

OK, now I felt worse than hell. I did a spectacular job of completely deluding myself. Ah, the wisdom (or lack of it) of an adolescent.

On the other hand….the coup de gras of being passive-aggressive was that I had a kidney stone attack on the bus on the way back to Detroit. I didn’t know what was happening to me at the time since I had never had one before. By the time I arrived at home, I was in utter and complete agony. It was an eleven on a pain scale of 1-10. That’ll fix ‘em for sending me to the damn carnival again! Or, did I fix myself for going against my own wishes?

In any case, I never did return to work on the carnival after that summer. Do I miss it? In a way I do, but only in the romanticized version. It doesn't seem so wonderful if I think of the times I worked for fifteen hours straight tearing down the show, or living in the back seat of a car, or getting battery acid on my hands, or suffering the humiliation of dumping the popcorn equipment in the middle of the road. I can either laugh at it or cry. I did learn some important lessons during those two summers: how to make it on my own…really on my own, how to find my way when I get lost, how to write letters, how to get really dirty, how to drive a stick shift and a really piece of crap car, how to order food in a restaurant, how to enjoy places I have never seen before, and how to walk straight down the center of a midway without falling prey to all of the barkers and side show distractions along the way. Later, I would have to relearn how to let myself enjoy the distractions that give raza (juiciness) to life. Most of all, I learned how to be in the world. Not the world of my sheltered youth, but the larger world. I have my parents to thank for that, although I never did say it to them while they were alive. When I leave this life, maybe my kids will be thankful that I gave them this “thing” about me that they cannot see, hear, taste or feel in any other way but through these words. Let the show go on!

SADLY, THIS CONCLUDES THE DRAFT VERSION OF MY CARNIVAL MEMOIRS. A MORE COMPLETE AND DETAILED RENDITION WILL FOLLOW IN TIME. THANKS FOR YOUR INTEREST AND SUPPORT. I HOPE YOU WILL CONTINUE TO VISIT THE SITE TO SEE HOW IT GROWS AND DEVELOPS.

Stevie

"Mom & Dad set me straight"

In response to my whoa-is-me diatribe, my Mother wrote me the following:

“Steve dear, we are very sorry to hear that things have been so bad for you. You ask me what you are doing there-you should ask your uncle that not me. I think maybe you better talk to him and ask him wouldn’t it be better if you came home. It doesn’t sound like they really need you or can afford to have you there. So dear if you think it best come home.”

My Dad wrote:

“Like I told you before you left, anytime the situation there is not favorable, to come home.”

Well, now that made me feel like shit. So much for the “poor me my parents cast me out to the hard cruel world to fend for myself” routine.

Wait, it gets even worse. In the next letter, Mom wrote:

“It was so good talking to you and I hope it helped you a little talking to me. Your father and I have been quite concerned about you and worried. – that is why we wrote you should come home – and so long as we found out you are still sleeping in a truck that’s it. Tell Uncle Sammy that you are going to come home at the end of the week. Stevie dear did you think we wouldn’t want you to come home. We love you very dearly – and if we had known this was the way you were going to live we never would have let you go. After all we weren’t trying to get rid of you as you seemed to think. “

Next: "Tail between my legs"

"From Bad to Worse"

Before it was decided that I would have a return engagement on the road in 1963, we received a letter from Uncle Sammy and Aunt Lucy that said I shouldn’t come this summer because they didn’t want me to suffer because business was so bad. Well as you already know, I was sent anyway. At times business was so bad, that one week we only took in $30.00. Date after date turned out to be “blanks”. To make matters worse, Uncle Sammy had a seizure at 3:30 one morning and was rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, he was OK. When I realized how bad things were, I wrote home and asked “What am I doing here? Business is worse than ever!” At the time, I thought that my parents knowingly exiled me to a fate far more bizarre and frightening than any Twilight Zone episode. Later, as you will see, my folks would challenge my view of things.

As you can tell, things were excruciatingly slow. To keep busy, we painted the Kiddy Train. Whoopee. In addition to running the popcorn, candy apple and candy cotton concession, I sold ride tickets and ran kiddy rides. They wouldn’t let me run the Tilt, merry-go-round or the Ferris Wheel. I was glad of that, because running the kiddy rides was plenty for me to handle.

Next: "Mom & Dad set me straight"  

"The Great Depression"

Besides not wanting to return to the carnival in 1963, business stunk! I had a room that cost a whopping $8.50 for the week. My expenses for food and bus fare came to $10.00. Those were the days…My salary was normally $40.00 per week (less than $1.00 an hour). However, since business was so bad, I only got $20.00. As I mentioned previously , my transportation, such as it was, was a 1950 Pontiac jalopy. I probably shouldn’t refer to it in such a disparaging way since it was my home. I moved up to these digs after a few nights sleeping on the floor of the generator semi. At least this house had windows. The back seat was a bit cramped though. In its final gasp of life, it died in the middle of the road on a hill from Brockton to the next show date…never to be seen or heard from again. As it turned out, I had to walk the rest of the way.

Next: "From bad to worse"

"JERKS"

While traveling with the carnival, there were some "down times". If the weather was bad, or before the show opened for the day, there was time to goof off. Some of the places we often frequented were drug stores where they had soda fountains and soda jerks. You could get long cigar-sized pretzels from a glass jar topped with a chrome lid, ice cream scooped from five gallon tubs into stainless steel pedestal "sundae" bowls, banana splits, milk shakes, malteds (milk shakes with malt powder added), Boston coolers and egg creams. Yummy! But wait! When I discovered vanilla Cokes, I thought that I had found heaven for the sum of $.10. I tried strawberry  Coke, but I always went back to vanilla. Of course, the Coke came out of the fountain, and vanilla syrup was added. There were no cans of Coke with vanilla flavor already in it. Actually, there were no cans of soda at all! Coke came in 7 oz. glass bottles, which you could get out of bright red cooler chests at many gas stations and stores. Royal Crown (RC) and Pepsi came in "huge" 12 oz. glass bottles. No plastic, no two-liters, no cans. Soda from fountains was sweeter and fizzier.

Next: "The Great Depression"

Oh, I forgot to formally introduce the two 18 year old “wiz kids” from Homestead Florida – Freddie and Travis. I don’t think they had twelve years of school between them. I remember one night I was riding in the cab of a ride truck with Travis driving. Freddie was driving another truck. It was pitch black and we were traveling along a narrow two lane back road. A nameless roadie we picked up somewhere along the way was riding shotgun, and I was sitting on a milk crate between the seats. The two of them were drinking beer out of long-necked bottles and tossing the empties on the side of the road. Beside the pain in the butt jostling ride, I felt uneasy about their drinking. At one point we were going through an underpass and the ride parts that were piled on top of the truck crashed into the bridge. The clearance was too low. The guys had to climb onto the truck and rearrange the cargo so that we could get through and get out of the middle of the road. Fortunately for us, no police or sheriff came by.

Then there was the time when Travis was driving the beater panel truck with me in the passenger seat. He was speeding and a cop was signaling us to pull over. Apparently, Travis’ driver’s license said that he was supposed to wear glasses, but he never did. He hastily told me to give him my glasses, which he could not see through, so the cop would not give him a citation for not wearing his own. That panel truck turned up in another adventure.

(Next episode: Off to church!)