By Larry Johnson, the band’s last director, October 6, 2018
Larry Becomes The Director
Two circus acts, the Spanish Web and the Aerial Ladders, were performed on equipment suspended from rigging which had a limitation on the number of pounds it could safely support. Teen-age girls were always used as performers for these two acts for safety reasons. They would train with the circus during school months in lieu of P.E. classes and perform during the summer. In exchange they received credit for P.E. courses even though they did not actually attend them. The new superintendent changed this, and it was not well-received.
Another of the changes in the school system impacted the circus band. A policy was issued that school uniforms could only be worn for school events. Even though we all had band uniforms because we played in the high school band, we could not wear them for performances of the circus. From then on we never again wore any type of uniform. No problem. Blue jeans were more comfortable anyway.
Another new policy stated that school property could only be used for school events. That meant that the circus band, even though it was composed of high school students, could no longer rehearse in the school band hall. That wasn’t much of a problem. The band members loved playing for the circus and were not about to be deterred. We simply moved our rehearsal from the high school to the circus’ training barn. Also, we all knew the music and didn’t need many rehearsals. But the band suffered one setback. The music library was stored at the high school. The band director still had access to the library but the players didn’t. That was soon to become a major problem.
When the high school band director first arrived in Gainesville about five years earlier, he was visited by representatives from the circus. This was a common practice at the time. All new arrivals were visited, welcomed to Gainesville, and then asked what they might contribute to the circus. A surprising number of circus staffers were recruited in this manner.
But the band director wasn’t asked what he could do. He was told straight out that he was expected to lead the circus band as part of his duties in Gainesville. This was something he didn’t anticipate, and it certainly was not part of his contract, but it sounded like fun. He agreed, under not-too-subtle pressure, to give it a try.
Things went fairly well for half a dozen years and then he and his wife adopted a child. The circus band’s demands on his time, and the fact he wasn’t paid for it, became an unwelcome burden. He began looking for a way to break away from the circus band, and when the new administration started separating the circus from the schools, an opportunity to do so presented itself.
One day when I was in the band hall practicing my solo, the band director called me into his office. “Now that my wife and I have a child at home,” he said, “I no longer have time to mess with the circus band. I want to talk to you about taking it on.”
What? I was stunned. I had been enamored with the circus music ever since I heard Merle Evans and his band ten years earlier, and surreal circumstances had placed me in the right town and at the right time to actually play in a circus band. That was reward enough. But now I’m being offered a chance to lead the band? While still a high school student? I didn’t know what to say, so I sat there speechless.
The director continued, “You know the music. You are familiar with the acts as well as what music is played for them. You also know the tempos, starting places, cuts, and repeats. All the other players do too, so it won’t be all that difficult.” This was an exciting opportunity, but something made me hesitate to reply. I think it was fear.
Seeing he had a little more selling to do, the director went on. “You are one of the best band students we’ve ever had here. The fact that your mother is a music teacher has obviously helped because you know scales and key signatures better than anyone else. You are a very good player, and the other students know that and respect you for it. Next year you are going to be a graduating senior and that alone puts you in a place of leadership in the eyes of the other players. Don’t be afraid to step up. The other kids will follow you because they like to play in the circus band and want to keep it going.”
“Now consider this,” he said, “you have been talking about majoring in music in college. I think you should. But that’s expensive. Taking over the circus band will provide you with invaluable experience that will go a long way towards getting you a scholarship.” Scholarship? I had to listen to that. And so I became the leader of a circus band at the ripe old age of 18.
Then the fun began. Right off the bat I had lost the last adult still playing in the band, and he happened to be the solo cornetist. To counter this I decided to browse through the library and look for some music with easier solo cornet parts. Although there were a lot of circus tunes in the library, they were all mixed in with the other music. That raised the question of who owned the music. Was the music originally purchased with high school funds, or had it been bought by the circus? There were no records, and nobody knew. The school district claimed ownership because the music was stored in their facility, and the circus didn’t challenge this claim. So I began my tenure as a band leader with only the tunes that were in our books and no access to the rest of the music library.
Next I had to deal with the band’s instrumentation. Our core group was 12 players, consisting of two clarinets, one alto sax, four cornets (2 solo, one second, one third), two trombones, baritone, tuba (me) and a trap drummer. I added or subtracted from this combination as necessity dictated. When playing at home we would add a piccolo (in the key of D-flat in those days) and sometimes an additional cornet. On the road we would drop a clarinet, the second trombone, and sometimes the sax. This left us pretty thin, so I had to do something to fill out the band. My solution was creative.
The circus traveled by road, not by rail, and certainly not by air. The trucks were loaded with equipment and animals, but they also carried animal keepers and other personnel along with the drivers. Many of the performers and other staff drove their own cars, and the rest, including the band, rode a chartered Trailways bus.
Upon arrival we would check into a motel and then go to a cafe or restaurant. While there I would ask a waitress, cashier, or even another diner for the name of the local high school band director. They always seemed to know, so when I returned to my room I picked up the phone book, looked up the director’s phone number, and talked to him. I introduced myself first and then explained that we liked to give some of the better local high school players a chance to come play with the circus band wherever we went into another town. The directors always knew which of their students would enjoy this opportunity and also welcomed the chance for those students to hone their sight-reading skills. The director would often give me a few students’ names and phone numbers before I asked for them because they wanted their students to have this experience.
The next step was to call those phone numbers and talk to the parents. I would introduce myself, tell them the local band director gave me their number and explain why I called. The parent’s always thought it an honor for their kid to be asked to play with what they thought were pros, and invariably would agree to let them play. However, I did occasionally have to throw in comp tickets to the show to close the deal, much to the chagrin of the box office manager.
To rely on the sight reading ability of high school students sounds risky at first. But it really wasn’t. Without access to our library, the band had to play many of our tunes several times per show. “Billboard” march, for an example, was known everywhere as the quintessential circus march. We played it for either the second or third act to establish the circus atmosphere, and then played parts or all of it again later. By the second time we played a tune, the guest musicians were confident they could play it, and when the show ended, our high school fill-in players had always made a contribution.
Our system of utilizing high school players when we traveled was born of sheer necessity, but it worked. However, it was strictly a product of its time. In today’s world, if I, a perfect stranger, were to call a teenager and ask them to meet me somewhere, I would probably be arrested.
Times have changed, as they say.
I would soon learn the hard way that I would always have to cope with two rules. One was that Murphy’s Law is inviolate. It was a sure thing that something would go wrong. This gave birth to Rule Two. No matter what happens, keep playing. Never stop. D.C. everything. Keep playing until the whistle blows. Sometimes you wanted to play the whole tune and hoped the whistle wouldn’t blow. Other times you silently prayed that it would. No matter what, keep playing.
The band is playing a fast galop to accompany a dog and pony act in the center ring. There is a side act in Ring 3 consisting of a performer juggling three Indian Clubs. At the end of his act he drops one of the clubs. Suddenly one of the dogs jumps off his pony and runs over to Ring 3 to bark at whatever that thing is that’s rolling around in the ring. What do you do? Keep playing.
The trapeze act is underway when the catcher sneezes. He misses the flyer’s outstretched hand by a fingertip. What do you do? Keep playing. She lands in the net, climbs back up to the rigging, and continues the show.
Odessa, Texas. The circus is performing in the very same football stadium that would be seen in the movie “Friday Night Lights” decades later. The band is sitting on the sideline near midfield playing for the Grand Entry. The procession is winding its way around the track when Gerry the Elephant approaches the band. The drummer strikes his cymbal in a way that startles Gerry. She rears up on her hind legs, lays her ears back, raises her trunk in the air, trumpets her cry, and charges the band. What do you do? Run! There are exceptions to every rule!
Life in the circus band could best be described by two words beginning with the letter “F”. No, neither word is what you’re thinking. One js the word “Fun,” and the other js “Frantic.” Many times the frantic part of playing a show was what made it fun. At other times, the apparent chaos would try the patience of a saint. But even then, muddling through, no matter what, was the fun part.
Most shows had a preprinted program, and when I could get one in advance I would stay up the night before the show and put all the music in each book in the order that each act was printed in the program. If there was no program, I would seek a conference with God. Sometimes the Almighty, also known as the Ringmaster, would grant me a few moments, and sometimes he wouldn’t. If God didn’t know the order of the acts, none of us mere mortals did either. I would be on my own at show time.
A performance of a 3-ring circus is organized I the order of the featured acts, which are usually in the center ring. The side acts appeared in the outer rings. The ideas is to have something going on at all times so there is never a dead spot in the show. The featured act is usually a longer one while the side acts are shorter. This way a second set of side acts can take the stage and be performing when the featured act ends. This gives the roustabouts precious seconds to knock down props used in the just-completed featured act and set up for the next one. It was a sensible idea, but theory and practice are two different things.
The Gainesville Circus had a full staff of roustabouts, technicians, and support personnel. Watching them load and unload the trucks was a perfectly choreographed act in itself. That crew could assemble, erect, anchor and prepare a complete unit of rigging inside of two minutes while the side acts entertained the audience. This certainly kept the show moving. The performers operated under completely different circumstances. Gainesville, with a population of about 12,000, didn’t have an abundance of circus-quality acrobats. But the four or five they did have were gifted performers who could do just about everything. The same can be said for the women. None of them were limited to just one act. One of the trapeze artists was a tight wire walker, the elephant handler, and could also do the Roman Rings. The catcher and one of the male flyers teamed up to do the trampoline and the springboard acts. With this kind of versatility, a small core of performers could carry the whole show.
There were other performers besides the core group. Animal trainers were specialists whose one act was putting the animals through their paces. Many of the side acts were also specialists who performed only one act. This group of people were never a problem because they were dressed and waiting for the Ringmaster to call them.
The other group, the core, created nothing short of chaos. These performers had to change costumes between acts and sometimes had just seconds to do it. The dressing tent was hectic enough on its own, but with seconds counting the scene was one of pandemonium. Even though there were men’s and women’s sides to the tent with a screen between them, bits of flesh sometimes got exposed and no one thought anything about it. That’s show business. On with the show!
To this day I still admire the job the wardrobe mistress did. She had to know which costumes were needed next and have them laid out and waiting. That was a key to keeping the show moving and she was rock solid in doing it. May she rest in well deserved peace.
All of this frantic activity away from the main tent certainly had an influence on what happened inside it. I did all I could to put the music in order, and it paid off for about three acts. By the third or fourth act a performer didn’t change costume fast enough and the scheduled act wasn’t ready to go. The ringmaster called whatever act was ready, whether it was scheduled or not. This blew the effort to put the music in order. For the rest of the show the band had to frantically flip through our books to find the music for whatever act had just been announced. There were times when the act was half over before the band started playing, but we had to roll with the flow and do the best we could. Looking back on it, it was the challenge of the constant scramble to get the music up that made it fun. So, ultimately, “frantic” and “fun” came together to create the most memorable times of my life.
I learned quickly. To combat the confusion of what was coming next, I began seating the band where we could see the entrance. That way we could see for ourselves which act was waiting and gain a few seconds to pull up the next tune. This was much more reliable than the printed program, and we didn’t have to wait for the ringmaster to announce the next act. Then I reconfigured the band from sitting in two straight rows to two semi-circles. I stationed myself on the right front corner,played Sousaphone with my right hands, and conducted with the left. I started each tune by counting off, always started on a downbeat, and cut off when the ringmaster blew his whistle. After I made it through a few shows, I gained an enormous amount of confidence, kept the band together, and could legitimately claim to be a genuine circus band leader. Although I wasn’t exactly in Merle Evans’ class.
Then I graduated from high school and entered Midwestern University in Wichita Falls, Texas, as a music major. Since most of the students who had played in the circus band with me were in my class, I would have few available players for the next circus season. I then conned players from the college band to meet me in Gainesville the weekend the show played at home. They jumped at the chance. These were better players, and far better sight readers, than I was used to. That may have been the best band the circus ever had.
There was a road engagement at the State Fair Coliseum in Dallas that August. Some of our old players were in town for the summer, and all of the college players who had done the May show in Gainesville welcomed a chance to play again. From these two sources I cobbled together the largest band we ever had, including a tuba player, and we all rendezvoused in Dallas and sight-read the show. That was the one and only time I ever led the circus band as a stand-up conductor.
The band played for the last time in the summer of 1962. I remember the circus performed in the long-abandoned baseball stadium and the band sat on the pitcher’s mound.
There were few people in the stands and without an audience the performer’s hearts weren’t in it anymore. The whole thing was ragged, including the band. It was so forgettable that I can’t remember anything else about it. I can’t even recall who the players were that night — only that it fell flat.
By then everybody in Gainesville had seen the circus and they weren’t coming out anymore. The new medium of television kept families at home, and the circus’ future was seriously in doubt. It tried to produce a down-sized show the next summer (1963) but attendance was negligible. That was all. It was over.
That final performance was done to the sound of an electronic organ played by a high school student. The band had been a victim of downsizing, and the calliope was retired. The sounds of circus music were never heard in Gainesville again. It was a sad loss.
Next installment, “Epilogue”
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