their spats erupted. In a fury, Mom packed up, raged out of their hotel room, and marched resolutely down the street, suitcase in hand. A car driving down the street in her direction slowed beside her, and a man wound down his window and quietly called to her, “Five dollars for five minutes?” Stunned for a moment, she recovered and retorted, “Bugger off!” then sharply turned and marched back to the hotel and the safety of married life. That may have been the moment when she gave up packing.
With all that activity going on around our house — a married couple riding out on dual motorcycles, carnival rides being constructed in the backyard, the house assuming constantly changing dimensions — it’s not surprising that our neighbours looked on us with a mixture of bewilderment and envy.
Occasionally I had friends whose parents wouldn’t allow them to come to my house. It was the show business connection. When I told my mother, she exploded. “These people are nothing! We are infinitely superior to these small-minded bigots who have never even been out of their own country. We are cultured, knowledgeable, well-travelled, and well-read.” Somewhat chastened, I tried to keep all of that in mind.
For the most part, we were impervious to what other people thought. They knew nothing. We never had visitors, other than show people, and then only once or twice a year. We never had company for dinner. Only once do I remember my parents attending a parent-teacher night for Bobby and me. We were completely insular.
One winter, Dad decided not to return to Stelco. He ran his own plumbing and heating business for about two years. Quickly it became clear that he was pretty good at getting work, very good at doing the work, and abysmal at collecting the money. And when he ran his own business, his evenings and weekends were totally absorbed by that. No time for inventions or for building carnival rides. He hated that. He felt more a prisoner of his own business than he ever had at Stelco. Around that time my parents also quit travelling with the carnival. They played only the Exhibition and fall fairs. Then they stopped even that.
Bobby was ten and I was sixteen in 1951 when Rick made his appearance. He might as well have had four parents. We all loved him to death. But by the time Rick was three, I was gone from the home, so I’m not part of his memories of childhood. And on top of that, when we try to compare notes, it is clear that the parents I recall from my early years bear no resemblance to the parents Rick had.
Priorities changed. I think I can even remember the turning point for Dad. One evening in Hamilton, in the winter that Rick was born, I was watching through our living room window to the street where a blizzard was raging and a man’s car was stuck in the snow. He tried to drive forward; he tried to drive back; he tried to shovel; he tried to push. Nothing worked. Mom took a look too, and then Dad walked into the living room and stood beside us, looking out the window. I remarked that guy sure could use a push. Dad was silent for a while, then said, “Well, yes, he could use a push, but I’ve been thinking … that’s the problem with me, I spend too much time giving pushes, and if I keep spending my time and energy giving a push here and there instead of concentrating on my own projects, I’ll never get anywhere.” Mom and I were incredulous. We flounced out of the room and didn’t speak to Dad all evening.
It was a remarkable change. As time went by, Dad became ever more preoccupied with his projects. Our beautiful Sunday mystery tours faded into memory.
Shortly after Rick’s birth, we sold the house in Hamilton so that Dad could build one in Stoney Creek. It was a beautiful, big, modern house with real ceramic tile in the bathroom and a basement with a walkout to ground level overlooking a ravine. Mom and I loved it. Dad kept saying, “Don’t get attached to it. We’re building it for sale.” I think he had aspirations to become a full-time house builder.
In between work that kept food on the table, it took Dad about two years to complete that house. Or should I say, Mom and Dad? She held this while he hammered that. When it was time to paint the exterior, two stories front, three stories rear, Dad built a scaffold and Mom swung up and painted, ever the helpmate.
They barely got that house finished and sold before they decided to give the Globe of Death another try. They hadn’t ridden in it for four years. It was during their first month back that they had their only other accident. Mom said she could hear Dad riding too fast; he was too close behind her. She went faster; Dad sped up. Mom went even faster; so did Dad. Mom said she couldn’t figure out what was going on; it was as if he had lost his sense of timing. Finally Dad’s motorcycle clipped Mom’s rear wheel. Fortunately, she fell not into the centre of the globe but against the side. She slid down to the bottom, where her motorcycle lay waiting with wheels spinning. Although badly bruised and stiff for weeks, she fortunately sustained no serious injury.
They completed the year without further mishap. During the following season, Bobby, now sixteen, joined them, learning to ride a motorcycle for the Front. However, Mom and Dad found they no longer enjoyed carnival life. It was a grind.
Then they had a stroke of good fortune. In Quebec City, their last spot of the season, Sam Pollack of Pollack Brothers Circus caught their act and offered them star billing to tour the United States with the Globe of Death. They were thrilled. This would be the crowning achievement of their careers.
They had been riding motorcycles with the carnival for years, but carnivals and circuses are very different. A circus consists of a number of acts that appear together under one roof, or big top, with everyone under contract for so many months for so many dollars to circus proprietors. Circus management sets the standards and the tone for the entire show. On the other hand, a carnival is a travelling collection of rides, shows, and concessions, some owned by show management, others by independent operators who give a percentage of their take to show bosses.
One big difference between carnivals and circuses lies in the expertise of the performers. While one act or another in a carnival may require some skill, in the circus, all performers are highly trained. Top billing in a circus means you are the main attraction among many very accomplished acts, including high wire artists, tumblers, trapeze artists, jugglers, clowns, and animal trainers. These people spend their entire lives honing their skills.
In that era there was another significant difference between circuses and carnivals. Carnivals were, at that time, sometimes sleazy, containing acts like striptease shows. They also contained games of chance that were not always honest — rings in the ring toss that were too small to go over the good prizes, roulette wheels that were rigged to stop where the operator wanted. The circus, on the other hand, was innocent, wholesome good fun.
My parents were delighted by the offer to headline Pollack Brothers Circus and proudly accepted. Preparations began for their trek to California. I must admit, after all those years of dreams of the fun we’d have when we joined the circus, it broke my heart to see them set out without me. But by now I was married and had just given birth to my daughter.
Mom, Dad, Bobby, and Rick were on their way to their next great adventure. Mom pulled a house trailer behind the Packard. Dad drove a truck loaded with the globe and motorbikes, behind which was towed the globe’s base mounted on wheels.
To get to where the circus opened in California, Mom and Dad had to drive across the United States, including over the mountains in California. Mom found that to be a daunting experience. Although they intended to drive in a convoy, road conditions and those old vehicles pulling such heavy loads precluded that, so Mom insisted that Bobby, by then seventeen years old, ride with her. More than once she gladly let Bobby take the wheel to spell her off. Later she told me that she had been absolutely terrified pulling the house trailer through the mountains. Several times she had to take a run at an incline to get underway, and she trembled as she drove through winding mountain roads edged by sheer drops.
In the meantime, Dad was having his own troubles getting through the mountains with his old five-ton truck and heavy load. The engine in the
