The Greatest Show On Earth?
An Execution, Or A Three-ring Circus?
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!! Come see the really HUGE SHOW---come into the big top and give your senses a treat! We've got Bobo the Dog-Faced Boy and elephants that get all kinds of nasty shocks by trainers desperate to make those dromedaries do their stuff, dammit!! As for the clowns---well what can I say? We've got three little midgets (I'm being very politically incorrect--sue me) who perform as the "Pint Size Three Stooges." They poke one another in the eye, remove each others' hats and hit the clown to your left and even pull their tongues out and get them hammered with a blunt instrument. What did I promise you, everyone in the bleachers? You ask for a thrill-a-second circus show and that's what you'll get!
Over in the first ring, Martelli Freeborn twists himself into a pretzel for you--just for you, ladies and gentlemen. Do you suppose this will be the time he gets tied up so tight that he chokes himself to death. What about that, you rabid circus friends. Here comes a treat tray---get yourself loaded up with hot dogs, hamburgers and pop!!! You'll be burning calories like mad as you gleefully jump up and down, cheering Harrow Beemer as he works the trapeze without a net! Without a net, ladies and gentlemen!!"
Okay, okay, now for the very, very awe-inspiring circus trick---more dangerous and thrill-filled than anything you have ever laid your eyes upon! In the middle ring is the main attraction!! See him in the cage that Mona the bearded lady is locking up tight. Can you believe that a grown man is able to fit inside this tiny structure? How's THAT for excitement. Oh, hey, what's Mona got up her dazzling little sleeve? She's now taking "cage boy" out of the box!! See him struggle to his feet. He hasn't been out of that cage for six years!! Can you even begin to imagine what his life has been like? He's fed through the bars, where little kids pet him as if he were a dog.
"Now what's happening? I tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that I haven't seen Tommy out of that cage for all these long and agonizing years. Let's see what's in store for a very wrinkled ex-boxdweller!"
* * * * * *
Pat and I had been sitting at the farthest row of bleachers from the three-ringed circus. We'd come to the circus to protest the way the poor animals were tortured and denied food if they didn't learn their tricks fast enough. We handed out pampthets, spoke to any passer-by about joining the Animal Alliance. Pat, a good friend since high school, agreed with me that a peaceful and law-abiding protest would go much further and give us credibility than if we'd been arrested for civil disobedience. My days of jumping chain link fences, only to be hauled off to the police station and charged. That was for the rebellious kid in me. I suppose now I had finally grown up.
The two of us decided to watch for ourselves, to make sure that the elephants, tigers and lions were not being mistreated during the show. We'd already seen that scruffy lion trainer doing his nasty and illegal thing and were writing to our member of parliament to get circuses banned. Pat, somewhat taller and heavier than I, was blessed with the most wonderful halo of reddish blonde hair---her natural colour. She possesed a ready smile and quick wit--where I was serious in handling most issues, including our political activites, Pat loved to laugh and saw the humour in everything. She'd even burst out in peals of noisy glee at her great aunt Katharine's funeral, just like Mary Tyler Moore did in a particularly hilarious episode of her 1970's show. Perhaps it was highly inappropriate, but Pat offered no apologies for anything she said or did. I admired her for that.
* * * * * *
Our attention was suddenly diverted to the centre ring, where it appeared as though that loud-mouthed ring leader was asking "cage boy" to lie down on a narrow bed-like structure. "What the hell is this all about?" I asked, thinking I'd never seen an act like this before. Pat munched on her hot dog and I gulped cola. It suddenly felt close and hot in the huge tent---Pat didn't seem to notice, but when I gazed upon the famed centre ring, I watched, bewhildered and suddenly overcome with an asthma attack. Slick Jones, the ringmaster's appropriate name, was in the process of placing straps--leather, around the very thin cage boy, until he couldn't move his legs, arms or head. Was this some strange variation on the knife-throwing bit.
Just then, a clown dressed in large overalls, with clown paint packed on so heavily that we were afraid he'd crack it if he opened his mouth wide. With a multicoloured explosion of hair, he approached Slick and cage boy with something that looked like an introvenous drip attached to a moveable pole. Then I knew. Pat knew as well. This was no ordinary circus trick. Cage boy was not going to be put through a hair-raising ordeal and come away from it as hale and hearty as he was before.
As an audience looked on in a mixture of curiousity and fear, sitting there, silent and held captive by the chillingly evil Slick, Slick announced: "We are ready." Transfixed and horrified, Slick pulled out a large syringe---it had to be that size so those of us in the back would be able to see this nightmare step by step.
Seven minutes later, as annoying, grinning clowns tossed a beach ball back and forth, cage boy stopped moving and remained as still as a stagnant pond. Slick grinned from ear to ear, then hollered loudly enough to be heard five miles away, "There you are, ladies and gentlemen!! The biggest act of the biggest show on earth. This man had no life, living in his cage. He had to stay there because he was a danger to himself and others." Slick then stepped away from the body on the table. "I haven't done that trick for nearly twenty years. And it worked!! There's absolutely no sign of life anymore. Godspeed, Roy!"
Pat clenched her fists so tight they looked bloodless, while I proceeded to become violently ill. We knew the rest of the story. Every twenty years, a baby is kidnapped and groomed to be "the boy in the tiny cage." Now Slick would need another boy. The life expectancy of these kids was a mere two decades.
Pat rushed out the tent door and fought her way through the noisy crowd until she approaced Slick Jones. "How dare you!!! How did you get away with this?? You killed that man! He was your big draw to this flea-infested excuse for a circus.! Why, in the name of God are you allowed to kill people? Nobody has the right to do that---not you, not me, just no-one!"
I finally caught up with my livid friend and motioned for her to walk away from the monstrous ringleader. He had removed his black top hat and velvet cape and was checking the souveneir booth." That's where patrons could buy t-shirts and buttons extolling the virtues of Slick and how, through the supposed kindness of his heart, he was "rescuing" babies from teenage mothers who had no money or resources to raise children.
"Everyone wins here," Slick spoke in smugly self-satisfied tones, showing nearly a row of golden teeth. "Everybody's happy and, as they say, "the show must go on."
