Those infected with The Phobia weren’t amused by the clown sighting phenomenon one bit. To the contrary, it only emboldened them to lash out at the professional clowns who made their livings by entertaining the young and old alike. Why some people took out their fear in violent acts and others not remained a mystery. Some pundits theorized it was a latent, deep-seated psychological fear and the clown sightings had triggered a fight or flight syndrome for a large segment of the population already predisposed to hating clowns. However, that supposition was merely speculation and the cause was never fully explained to anyone’s satisfaction. Nonetheless, there was an overall ambivalence towards clowns and an ongoing dialogue among the citizens as to whether they were good or evil people. The sentiment was never clear-cut and always a bit confusing and contentious when it came to clowns those days.
Clownery was an old, respectable profession with a long history of iconic characters. Emmett Kelly, aka Weary Willie, was one very prominent clown and his legacy was among the first casualties of the vicious conflict. His bronze bust on permanent display in the rotunda of the state capitol of Missouri went missing. Next, the Emmett Kelly Museum in Sedona, Missouri had to board up its windows and close its doors due to falling attendance as well as threats to its staff. Professional clowns suffered greatly by being fired by circuses, carnivals and funfairs across the country. No reasonable, caring parent would now hire a clown for a backyard birthday party those days. That was only asking for trouble.
A grassroots campaign had taken shape and organized itself into a powerful, national movement. Its official name was People Opposed to Clowning, but more commonly called the Haters. The Haters employed a sophisticated public relations strategy to persuade everyone that clowns were evil, spooky people who needed to be eradicated for the public’s safety. The Haters hired bounty hunters, better known as headhunters, to track down and kill clowns at $5,000 per head. It was apparent that a small, but growing number of law enforcement officers looked the other way when such atrocities were committed. The hunters were very efficient in eliminating scattered, isolated pockets of clowns. They were as yet untested in carrying out larger search and destroy operations. That was the dire situation facing the remaining clown holdouts gathered in Baraboo.
***
Baraboo had been home to the Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus for several decades in the early 1900’s. It was still home to Circus World, a full-fledged circus that catered to tourists visiting the Wisconsin Dells. Given the city’s long, historical relationship with circuses, the Klowntown settlers were warmly welcomed by the townspeople. There was a soft spot in their hearts for clowns and circuses. While the nearly four thousand immigrants stressed Baraboo’s municipal services, there was no tension or acrimony whatsoever between the newcomers and the townies. The authorities protected the clowns and their families from outsiders, most especially the headhunters from Hate. The clowns felt relatively safe in these circumstances, but were at risk when they ventured outside the city limits. That was something rarely done now since the Haters watched all vehicles entering and leaving Baraboo.
The hunters had developed an extensive bio data file on the clowns and were on constant lookout for members of their ilk. The clowns lived under a siege mentality, but had no other choice except to accept their common circumstances: all due to practicing the profession they loved. Ironically, they were considered lepers carrying a plague by many Americans. However, it was the Haters and their sympathizers who were afflicted with the medical condition called coulrophobia: a visceral, irrational fear and loathing of clowns. They were the true carriers of absolute hatred. Those so afflicted, in turn, spread the virulent phobia to other, like-minded people with whom they came into contact. The persecution of clowns grew accordingly.
***
Mister Chuckles was the titular head of Klowntown, largely a ceremonial position, but one respected by his peers. He presided at council meetings and was the go-to guy who handled disputes and problems within the community. He’d been the head clown with Ringling Bros. for almost twenty-five years before being unceremoniously let go by the circus. His boss simply told him his presence was bad for business. Chuck was also the spokesperson for their settlement and maintained liaison with the Baraboo officials on matters of mutual interest. One of his duties entailed coordinating self-defense efforts for his community. The clown legacy and culture had to be maintained at all costs or otherwise it faced extinction. That simply was unthinkable in Chuck’s mind since clownery in one form or another had existed for several millennia. He firmly believed the tradition must survive for future generations to enjoy. It was an imperative he couldn’t ignore. There was just too much at stake to let that happen. The very viability of the clowning tradition was at risk of being erased forever. A rich legacy as famous entertainers would be reduced to merely a curious footnote in the history books to be read by future generations of children who would never enjoy this form of amusement.
***
Mister Chuckles called to order the weekly meeting of the council. All members were fully costumed as required by protocol. After the pledge of allegiance, the membership solemnly recited the oath of the Clowns of America:
“We are the ambassadors of joy and amusement. We promise to uphold the clowning traditions and values to entertain the young and old alike to the best of our ability, so help us God.”
That was followed by a rousing cheer and then things quickly settled down to business. Tonight’s agenda consisted of committee reports and Twisted Sister was the first to speak.
“So where do I start?” she rhetorically asked at her opening.
“How about at the beginning,” someone shouted and the audience laughed at the obvious retort.
Sister may have blushed at the chiding remark, but if she did, it didn’t show through her grease painted face. Besides, it was all good natured fun, simply a bit of clowning around. As the council’s historian, she was responsible for chronicling the happenings in Klowntown.
“We’ve had five newbie families arrive this week and they’re put up at the recreation center until we can find them permanent quarters. They’ve already started the orientation process and they look to be a good bunch of people as best as I can tell. Perhaps Lady Jingles of Welcoming and Welfare can add to my comments.”
“I can,” Jingles spoke up. “They seem like honest-to-goodness clown folk to me, but Baggy Britches is still vetting their bona fides to make sure we haven’t accepted a fifth columnist or spy into our community.”
“While I have the mic, I should mention the schooling situation. Klowntown Elementary is up and running and now fully staffed with qualified teachers and aides. Our older children have been integrated into the Baraboo high schools and there have only been a few problems reported between the townies and the clown kids. Overall, things are going well on the education front. Blessed be to God!”
Baggy Britches spoke next. He was in charge of the Intelligence and Security Operations Committee for Klowntown. He was an experienced operative who’d retired as a special agent of the U.S. State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service before turning to his first love: the circus.
“So far the newbies look legit, but we are still checking them out. It takes time to vet them and our resources are limited,” he explained. “We rely on old trade magazines, word of mouth, internet searches, library sources and sometimes sympathizers outside Baraboo to verify clown credentials. It’s a painstaking exercise and it’s still no guarantee they are genuine entertainers, but it’s the best system we have to work with. The Baraboo police have been cooperative by conducting criminal record checks for us, but it needs to careful not to draw attention to itself by conducting unauthorized searches. That would shut down its access to the national law enforcement database.”
Baggy Britches paused to catch his breath and took a quick spritz from his seltzer bottle before continuing his spiel.
“I do have a bit of good news about our brethren livi
ng overseas. As best I can determine, The Phobia seems to be less severe there than here. Why, I’m not sure. Perhaps they live with a more rational, intelligent population of peoples or maybe just markedly different cultures which are more tolerant of clowns. There have been only a few instances of people attacking clowns abroad, although my sources claim that working engagements are getting more difficult to come by as a result of the hysteria. I wonder if they are in an early stage of what we’ve gone through here in the United States. Will their situation deteriorate over time like ours did to the point they are hunted down like rabid animals? We’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
A voice rose up with a question from the back of the room. It was from Crusty, a dour clown who’d stolen his name from a character on The Simpson’s show. That fact alone turned off many of his fellow clowns for his lack of originality. Crusty had worked middling carnies his whole career and his colleagues thought his act was second-rate at best. He was a loner and malcontent, but still welcomed at Klowntown despite his off-putting personality and demeanor. He was a difficult clown to deal with and his question confirmed the fact. It was a loaded one and meant to be disruptive rather than constructive.
“So Baggy, whatcha doing to protect us these days?” he snidely inquired. “Caught any Haters inside our gates lately? Any barbarians or quislings identified among us?” Crusty snickered and sat down waiting for a reply.
A cacophony of loud honks was heard from many bulb horns indicating that most of the attendees didn’t like the questions and Crusty’s intent to get into a verbal brawl.
Baggy Britches didn’t take well to the baiting, but gave a tempered, stock reply that each clown had heard before, from his security briefings to new arrivals to pap at events like this. He didn’t plan to engage with Crusty on the topics so he hewed to his vanilla script of the security situation.
“Crusty, thanks for asking,” he politely and disingenuously replied. “The situation hasn’t changed much from last week’s briefing so I’ll have to bore you once more with my answer. The county sheriff’s office and Baraboo police have been extremely sympathetic to our plight. Without their protection, Klowntown wouldn’t exist. We continue to beef up security measures in the community working closely with our law enforcement partners. I won’t discuss the specifics in this meeting for obvious reasons. It’s best we adhere to the need-to-know principle for our collective safety.”
“Loose lips sink ships, huh. I thought as much. You simply don’t want to share what you’re doing with the little people of Klowntown, right?” Crusty blurted out.
“No, that’s not the reason. It’s about being able to conduct our operations with some degree of secrecy because we know there are a few Hater sympathizers living in Baraboo. There’s no reason to advertise what we’re doing to protect ourselves. That doesn’t make sense to me.”
Several huzzahs went up from the audience which neatly concluded Baggy’s report and the meeting.
***
Mike Adams had been infected with the clown disease at age five while attending a backyard birthday party for a neighbor kid hosted by a clown; not an ordinary clown, but a creepy one named Mr. Rimples or Rumples, he couldn’t remember which and didn’t bother to try. He ran screaming to his mother’s arms and from that day forward he never wanted to see another clown again. He was emotionally scarred and scared for life and probably suffered from post traumatic stress disorder, but couldn’t admit it to himself. His hatred, fear and loathing of clowns knew no bounds and that was why he was chosen by the POC to spearhead the militia and headhunter operations throughout the eastern part of the United States.
As the council in Baraboo was meeting, so too was Mike’s war cabinet as he called his command and control operation outside Sarasota, Florida. Sarasota was the location of a small enemy camp and Mike was planning to overrun it and eliminate the clowns who still resided there. Many clowns refused to leave what had been the traditional winter home of circuses and carnivals for several generations. Some clowns went into hiding elsewhere, some migrated to Baraboo, but others chose to stay and take their chances with the future.
In addition to regular militia, Mike’s team consisted of brutal, coldblooded murderers, the scum of the earth who were only motivated by the money they could earn from headhunting and other extracurricular duties that Mike assigned them from time-to-time. Funding the operation was effortless since the POC had many contributors to support its eradication program. There was no dearth of rabid Haters who wanted nothing more than to wipe clowns off the face of the Earth, no matter the cost or how long it took.
“What’s the head count for the past week?” Mike inquired of his staff assembled at the large table inside his makeshift headquarters.
“Twenty-two killed in three southern states boss,” one of his lieutenants promptly answered with the latest stats.
“Not good enough! We still need to ramp-up the kills another couple of notches. But as all of you are aware, it’s Sarasota with clown holdouts and our next big target. Killing them off one by one, here and there is fine, but Sarasota still has a couple of hundred clowns residing there. We need to regroup our resources there to mount a major campaign to root them out and annihilate them. There’s big money to be made with the cleansing operation. Put out the word and have the hunters and militiamen report to me for new duties.”
“Bill, what’s the latest skinny on the whereabouts of Mister Chuckles? Still holed up in Klowntown like the coward he is? If he had any balls, he’d meet me mano-a-mano.”
“Yes sir. Sorry to say he hasn’t ventured outside of Baraboo according to our informants. If he does, he’s dead meat. We have a cordon of watchers surrounding the city and it would be suicidal for him to leave his sanctuary. I suspect he knows that too.”
Mike thought so as well. Chuck wasn’t stupid or careless because he understood the consequences of a foolish misstep. He’d be a hard catch for the Haters. Unfortunately for Chuck, the organization didn’t have a catch and release policy.
***
Chuck’s kids, Willie and Amy, again begged their father to let them join Baggy Britches defense force for Klowntown. They were both teenagers who’d been brought up as circus kids. The circus’s life force flowed through their veins and they wanted nothing more than to be professional clowns like their dad. This time he relented and told them they could volunteer only a few hours a week as long as it didn’t disrupt their schooling. Chuck was proud of his children and he was their sole caregiver since his wife died after a long bout with cancer. They were growing up and he was amazed at how mature they were for sixteen and fourteen year olds. He loved them both very much and constantly worried about their future.
Chuck learned of the gruesome event through the clown grapevine which was still very active among his peers. His old friend and sometimes partner, Doink, had been run to ground by the hunters in a small Louisiana town. The townsfolk who witnessed his takedown demanded the hunters hang Doink rather than shoot him and burn his body. So hanging it was to be with Doink forced to dress in full regalia and face paint for the amusement of the crowd of morbid onlookers. The inane, backward people left Doink’s body hanging from a tree branch in the town square as a warning to others who might contemplate plying the clown trade. No one was arrested or prosecuted for the crime.
Chuck’s heart was heavy when he heard the news about Doink’s death, especially about the degrading, humiliating circumstances of his dying at the hands of a lynch mob. Doink was the only clown Chuck personally knew who had been killed by the hunters. The other clown deaths were simply names in a newspaper or on the internet. They were all reprehensible killings, but Doink’s was even worse. It was like the KKK lynchings of long ago and it made him ashamed to be an American who still believed in the nation’s values involving life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. These days it seemed to him it was all about the pursuit of clowns and nothing more. Chuck now began to question his leadership role
at Klowntown. He was no longer sure if he was up for the job where many people depended on his guidance and support as well as protection. The responsibilities seemed overwhelming. He was conflicted as what he should go. Maybe resign his position on the council, perhaps so.
It had been almost three years since Doink and I had worked the center ring together at Barnum & Bailey’s show in Milwaukee. I remembered his Dog & Pony skit very well. It was a hit with the audience and a favorite among the clown acts. The dog would take the pony’s reins in its mouth and ceremoniously parade the animal around the ring. At various points, the dog would stop in front of the bleachers and drop the leads. The pony would then fold its front legs and kneel in front of the crowd all the while shaking its head as if to say hello to the patrons. The kids in particular loved the act. I loved Doink and would greatly miss my good friend.
***
The Haters invasion of Sarasota was lightning fast and brutal in its house-to-house execution. It was like a Nazi blitzkrieg that spared no one. Like all street combat, there were civilian casualties, just collateral damage which couldn’t be avoided, at least according to the Haters’ propaganda machine. The local law enforcement authorities turned a blind eye to the carnage which ensued. No one was held accountable for the horrific crimes. America had finally gone totally lawless and insane!
The headhunter teams had done their homework well by identifying friend from foe and prosecuting attacks on known clown residences in the city. One by one, they sealed off streets around clown houses and conducted search and destroy missions at each one. Barricaded doors were easily breached with battering rams and small order explosives. The hunters moved swiftly from one location to another, referring to their lists of those to be executed. It was a meticulously planned operation and they’d done their due diligence to perfection. The clowns didn’t have a chance. It was a bloodbath of great proportion and a terrible blow to all people who believed in clownery. It was a time of anarchy when constitutional rights were largely ignored and chaos seemed to reign in America.
Macabre Memories Page 9
