Carny Chronicles: The Beginning

I was 18 when I began my journey as a carny. A lifestyle that would span just over 20 years. It wasn't some Hollywood start, with some bizarre or epic entrance into a unique subculture. It was pretty mundane. If anything, it started like the film "Adventureland". Just a teenager, with no job, no prospects, and just another summer in a small town. I already had something of a reputation for being a local nuisance. Getting into trouble, fights, and fairly high regularly. But this summer was different. This summer, I wanted something different. I had heard stories about being a carny. I even had a few friends who worked the shows every summer. So that year, I decided to give it a try. At this point, I wasn't homeless, but rather more of a transient. So it was an easy decision to pack a duffle bag and hit the road. The first show I worked for turned out to be a bad idea. I found myself stranded out in the country, and I walked for MILES until I found a tattoo shop. They let me use their phone to make a call to a friend to come pick me up. You would think that that would have discouraged me from trying again, but it would only be about a couple of weeks, and I found another show. This one would be the same show that I traveled with every year. By that time, I didn't have anything at all. I worked that first spot and made a little cash, but we had to jump to the next spot, so I didn't have time to buy any of the basics. We pulled into a small town called Bemidji in northern Minnesota. That night it got cold enough to have frost. I didn't have a blanket, and I wasn't assigned a "livy". These are trailers that are divided into small quarters. Each unit is a little smaller than a county jail (yes I have been in a couple in my day)m and usually holds 2 employees in each section. That night I slept in the crew bus, using my leather jacket as a blanket, still shivering throughout the night. That would be the turning point for me. I worked my ass off that year, learning how to build the rides in each town we pulled into. I would be a ride jock for my first few years as a carny. I learned about what it meant to have someone's back, and what it meant to watch your back. Once you show that you are serious about being a part of the crew, you learn that it isn't just a crew, it is a family, and as long as you do right by them, you are never without help.

My first year was rough. I learned that if you didn't work and watch your money during the carnival season, you weren't going to eat in the winter.  After a while, you start to see why some of the old-school carnies stayed in that life. For some, it was a means to get out of a dead-end job that gave you a check that bordered insulting. Some used it as a means to escape some unpleasant truth about themselves. For some of us, it was a life that reminded us of freedom. Being in a new town each week, being someone other than whatever boring person you were becoming in the off-season. For me, I fell in love with the ability to be anywhere other than the town that wouldn't let my sorrows fade.

And now, here I am 50 years old. Living in a small apartment in yet another small town. I guess I just don't relly like being around people. Not that I have a problem with people themselves, it is just hard to be around folks that never tasted the kind of freedom that came with the open road, seeing them still burdened by "normal life with normal problems". 

 But don't worry, I got plenty of stories to tell. Some will make you laugh, some will make you angry, and some will make you cry. But that is only because carnies, no matter how crazy we get, are still just as human as anyone else.