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CZAR NEWS #10 Posted by johnny at 02:10PM on Feb 9, 2004 From the Home Office Greetings & salutations, Here is part 2 of Johnny's Buskerfest tale. If you missed part one, you can read it here. If you enjoy Johnny's stories, be sure to check out more here: (http://www.czarofbizarre.com/prose/) And if you REALLY enjoy his stories, pass along the URL to all your friends! Enjoy, -Mike
Buskers II Buskers hold forth on the sidewalks in cities from New York to New Orleans and at seaside resorts from California to Key West. Either chased or embraced, the communities in which they perform either view them as colorful tourist magnets or unwanted vagabonds. Among the melange of dancers, magicians and musicians you'll find an occasional fire eater, sword swallower or contortionist -- proof positive that there's an ample supply of oxygen to keep this sort of entertainment breathing. A few decades ago, they would have been ranked as "sideshow acts" but, truth be known, many on either side of the impromptu stages have never seen a sideshow. Acts of a bizarre nature have simply evolved into mainstream entertainment. There are as many reasons that performers take their talents to the streets as there are reasons why they became performers to begin with. In some cases, perpetuation of a craft for which a venue had ceased to exist was reason enough. Much like the demise of sideshows, Vaudeville's decline in popularity created a similar dilemma. Charlie Reading was a Vaudevillian. Reading was not one of the comic impressionists who became famous on the circuit but he did stay regularly employed. When movies and later television dropped the curtain on Vaudeville, Charlie and many other lower echelon acts with a desire to stay in the entertainment business became street buskers. There, stripped of the comfort of a weekly salary and all that it provided, the careers of many of these performers perished. After a few weeks of standing in drafty doorways cadging coins from mostly disinterested passersby, many threw in the towel and abandoned show business for more conventional forms of employment. Reading didn't join the ranks of those jumping ship, instead staying aboard the rather wobbly vessel, developing new survival skills and at least managing to eke out a living. By the time I met Charlie in 1962, he had shed at least part of this street entertainer persona and had melted what remained into that of a carnival concessionaire. He operated a Fool the Guesser game. This was not the version that you see today at the State Fair with a giant platform scale and shelves full of prizes framed with twinkling lights. Charlie Reading's operation consisted of a beat-up bathroom scale and a derelict bookshelf housing however many cheap plaster statues he could afford to buy from the wholesaler that week. And then there was Charlie himself, a thin, rather wistful little man who always looked like he was on the verge of apologizing for something. When I first saw this tragic cartoon, with its scribbled cardboard signs, I wanted to add one saying, "This could happen to you!" But Charlie didn't care. He somehow managed to cover his expenses and, best of all, he got to do his impressions every night. You'd walk by the "scale joint," as it was referred to, and Arthur Godfrey would tell you that he'd guess your age, Fred Allen would offer to guess what day you were born or Jack Benny might inquire if you'd like to win a prize for your girlfriend. The impressions were very dated, as Charlie apparently stopped developing new ones about the time his Vaudeville career ended. As a result, younger midway patrons probably thought that he was afflicted with a strange illness that caused his voice to continuously change. We were setting up on a lot in Carthage, a little town in upstate N.Y., when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I turned to see Jerry O'Sullivan, a former girlshow operator, approaching. I hadn't seen Jerry for a couple of years and had heard that he'd abandoned the rigors of carnival life for the nightclub circuit. Jerry verified the story, telling me that he and his wife, an exotic dancer, were working a club a block away from the showgrounds and that he was the comic/M.C. of the show. As we finished our chat and he prepared to leave, he invited me and any of the showfolks I knew to come down to the club, adding, "bring along anyone who'd like to perform." At that point in my career I did pretty standard little sideshow acts and had not developed much in the way of a monologue. The thought of entertaining a nightclub audience, (which I privately regarded as "The Bigtime"), was out of the question. But I immediately thought of Charlie Reading. Later that afternoon I ran the idea by a friend and we hatched out a plan in which we'd invite Charlie along to the club but not mention that he'd be invited to perform. "He'll love it," my friend said, "It'll be a great surprise for him." After we closed that evening I walked down to the club and presented the idea to Jerry. He immediately liked the plan and said he'd give Charlie a nice introduction. The following afternoon I casually invited Charlie to the club. He first declined, saying that he wasn't much of a drinker, but finally agreed to go. That night we entered the club with Charlie in tow. Why a little club in the middle of nowhere would be packed on a Tuesday night remains a mystery, but it was -- and a loud, boisterous audience at that! My heart began to sink, thinking of Reading's dated material. Even worse, the only logical slot for the "Guest Artist" would be after Jerry's wife, a particularly seductive Latino stripper, performed. Performing as an antidote to sex can be an uphill climb for even the best of entertainers. The Latin bombshell finished to whooping applause and Jerry returned to the stage, launching the most overblown introduction imaginable, concluding with, "And we're privileged to have him here tonight, so here he is, direct from Las Vegas, the one and only, (checking a slip of paper), Charlie Reading!" O'Sullivan pointed toward our table and the band hit a chord. All of the "deer in the headlights" analogies couldn't begin to describe the look on Reading's face. "Go get 'em, Charlie," we chorused, and Charlie reluctantly rose and shuffled toward the stage. The only thing missing from this death march scenario was a reading of the twenty-third Psalm. Charlie began his routine to shouts of "Louder" and "Who's this old fart!?" But somewhere between Red Skelton and Cary Grant they quieted down and when he finished he got a better than expected round of applause. The house lights came up and the band began playing dance music. "Where's Charlie?" someone at the table asked. I looked around the room and finally spotted him. The surprise celebrity act who'd purportedly been flown in from Las Vegas was working his way from table to table -- passing the hat! Old habits, it seems, die hard. -Johnny Meah
Anyone who's enjoyed Johnny Meah's writing in the widely acclaimed banner art book, "Freaks, Geeks and Strange Girls," his magazine articles or his serialized internet stories, will find his first novel, Polidore, fascinating. Now you can get an autographed copy from the Czar himself! Send check or money order for $16.50, (shipping included) to: Johnny Meah If you want to order online with a credit card then visit: (http://www.czarofbizarre.com/shop/) to pick it up.
The Czar's spectacular limited edition signed and numbered lithographs are currently OUT OF STOCK. We are working on getting the last batch of them to the warehouse so we'll let you know when they are available again.  |
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