Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, February 1, 1991 TAG: 9102010239
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JOE KENNEDY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
You get Charlie Thacker, "Cinders," in his tramp suit, handing you a plastic rose and then pulling it back, leaving you with the little plastic holder for the stem.
You get Jack Lucas, a retired board chairman now passing himself off as "Jocko," explaining the fine points of his hand-squeaker, a kiddies' de-lite.
You get Ed Moore, a.k.a. "Sparky," talking about balloon sculptures and showing you his giant yo-yo, built of two connected frisbees and a string.
What a bunch of klowns. Specifically, the Kazim Klowns. But what did you expect?
You put a squadron of grown men into polka-dot shirts and oversized shoes, stick big red noses on their faces and bright red or yellow wigs on their heads, and you're going to get kraziness. No doubt about that.
So you can forgive them for being giddy. Especially when you factor in the Kazim Shrine Circus that comes to the Roanoke Civic Center today through Sunday.
It brought $70,000 to the operation of the Roanoke temple last year. More important, it's a chance for these krazy guys to be in the spotlight before thousands of kids.
Spotlights and kids are what make these guys tick. You bet they're worked up.
Thacker spent 40 years as a railroad conductor. Lucas was chairman of Tidewater Supply. Moore is retired from United Technologies in Connecticut. Now he lives in Rocky Mount.
Each one says he came to klowning as a way to bring laughter to kids. You may have seen them yourself, most likely at one of the valley's Christmas parades. If so, you'll never forget them or their antics - the kookie vehicles and squirting flowers, the mix of energy and abandon with which they present their bits.
Take the trolley. Bobby Boitnott drives it. Sherman Rucker helps. Paul Caldwell marches out in front. When Caldwell stops, the trolley keeps going until Boitnott slams on the all-wheel brakes and screams to a stop inches from Caldwell's back.
Who would be foolish enough to play point man in this routine?
"Somebody who ain't got no sense," Boitnott says.
"We got a whole lot of those," says fellow klown Guy Dooley, sitting off to the side.
Look at them now, in this bright basement room of their Campbell Avenue building, daubing makeup onto their everyday faces, smoking cigarettes, trading wisecracks. A photographer is coming. Their adrenalin is up. They're describing how they chose the faces they wear, telling you what prompted them to join the klowns in the first place.
Thacker spent 10 years on the temple's fire unit, riding and waving from a vintage pumper truck. B-o-r-r-r-i-n-g, he tells you. This is better, he says.
"They tell me I've been a klown all my life," Lucas says. "I've been a salesman for 42 years."
Bob Brammer is recalling a camping trip a half-dozen guys took to Smith Mountain Lake. Boitnott spent the weekend working on all of them.
"If you weren't a Mason, you had to become a Mason," Brammer says. "And if you were a Mason, you had to become a klown."
Brammer not only became a klown named Fluffi but also ended up buying a trailer and some other stuff. Boitnott really worked him over, he says, "and I'm paying dearly for it."
They do some good, these klowns. They performed more than 1,300 hours last year, at nursing homes, shopping malls and the like, and sent $4,500 to the Shriners' orthopedic hospitals and burn centers.
This weekend, a kontingent of klowns will do a human kannonball routine at the Kazim Circus. They'll do six shows in all, including three on Saturday. They'll be in makeup and costumes for more than 12 hours that day.
Which brings up a good point. "You couldn't hardly be involved in the klowns without the wives being part of it," one klown says.
"My wife calls me her fourth child," another pipes.
On Saturday, the klowns will rent a room at the Days Inn. Some wives will be there, cooking their meals and helping with refreshments between shows. Fellowship, you see, is part of klowning, too.
It's not all laffs, though mostly it is.
Two things strike fear into these klowns' hearts, silencing their silly horns and causing their merry red mouths to droop. One is the fear that some child will get run over at a Christmas parade during their routine with the speedy little cars. The other is that some child will recoil, rather than light up, when the klowns turn their way.
Cinders was at the Cave Spring Corners shopping center a while back. "Two kids started screaming when I came in the door," he says.
"You can tell when they're gonna take to you," Lucas says. "Their eyes get real big and they start to smile."
When they cry, there's only one thing to do: "Get the hell away from them," a klown in the corner observes.
The majority light up when they ramble into view. The klowns light up, too.
Now they're posing for a picture. The photographer tells them to move in tighter.
"We're a pretty tight group," a klown says.
"It doesn't take much to get us tight," another chirps.
Sheesh. These guys.
KAZIM TEMPLE SHRINE CIRCUS: Tonight, 8 p.m.; Saturday, 10 a.m., 2 p.m. and 8 p.m.; Sunday, 2 p.m. and 6 p.m., Roanoke Civic Center. $6 adults, $3 children. 343-9838.
Keywords:
CLOWN
by CNB