Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, March 28, 1994 TAG: 9403260070
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By MEGAN SCHNABEL STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
A band of pint-sized clowns is sweeping the room, waving balloon-sculpture swords with decidedly unclownlike war whoops. Nearby, a quarter-pint-sized marauder with a sword of her own sneaks up behind a clown putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
"Shhh, I'm gonna get my sister," whispers the tiny attacker with a stifled giggle.
But before she can make good on her threat, before the roving clowns can start another circuit around the room, a calm voice rises above the fracas.
"All right, everybody, quiet down and come sit over here a minute."
Their attention wrested - temporarily, anyway - from their battles, the clowns drop their inflated weapons, and the monthly meeting of the Red Cross Youth Clown Corps can continue.
"They're a lot of fun," says Thomas Stokes, the man behind the tolerant voice that earlier brought order to all that end-of-the-week energy. Although he sounds a bit worn out now that the meeting is over, Stokes, youth services coordinator for the Roanoke branch of the American Red Cross, has nothing but praise for his young clowns.
Started in 1983 as a way to get kids involved in volunteer work, the Clown Corps has 32 members between the ages of 8 and 16, as well as several young mascots. The group hosts face-painting and balloon-sculpture booths at school fund-raisers, participates every year in National Clown Week festivities, and visits nursing homes and hospitals.
Although spending time in hospitals and care facilities isn't always easy for the kids, many of whom have rarely been in such environments, Stokes says it can be a valuable learning experience for the clowns.
"We try to teach them that older people need love and attention, too," he says.
The outings usually end up being a lot of fun for both the entertainers and the entertained.
"I can be myself," says Angie Wade, 13, whose clown name is Pookie ["after Garfield's teddy bear]," she explains. "I can say anything to get people to laugh."
Katie Hart, 14, is putting the finishing touches on her makeup in front of a small mirror.
"You can act weird and nobody knows who you are," says Katie, puckering as she expertly applies color to her cheeks. "You get to go to nursing homes and hospitals and see people smile."
Makeup is a big part of any clown's identity, and these clowns, although young, are no exception. After learning the basics from a training video, many of them have become pros.
"I change it around every single time I put it on," says 14-year-old Joy Appel, or Dazzle, as she dabs color on her lips. Although her she always includes balloons in her designs, the artwork changes according to her mood - or how much sugar she's had that day, she says with a laugh.
"It's basically inspiration," Angie says as she swats at Joy's face with a loaded powder puff, bringing on an exaggerated fit of coughing and a threat of retaliation.
It may look easy, but putting the best clown face forward is no small task. Twelve-year-old Aaron Coulter, the balloon whiz who taught the group to make those distracting balloon swords, spends 30 to 45 minutes putting on his makeup before each performance. And he's a lot faster now than he used to be - it used to take him an hour or two.
"It's called practice," says the rather preoccupied clown, at the moment more interested in turning the red balloon in his hands into a lion than in chatting about his face.
Despite all the fun and games, the organization isn't just about clowning around. Stokes says he likes to open the meetings with something to get the kids' minds moving - tonight, a game that makes them think about the people and possessions most important to them. He always ends the gatherings on a positive note, having the kids tell the group about something good that has happened to them since the last meeting.
And there is the constant emphasis on voluntarism, whether through visiting nursing homes or spending a day raising money for cancer research.
"It teaches them that you don't always have to be paid for something in life," says Robin Murphy-Kelso, mother of 10-year-old clown Harry Kelso and a member of the group's parent advisory board.
"And they seem to enjoy it," she says as she watches the kids' antics. "We need more things like this."
by CNB