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Letter From Florida

 When I think of the circus, I think of the amazingly tasteless musical "Side Show," which assigns these lyrics to conjoined twins:


I will never leave you!
I will never go away.
We were meant to share this moment.
Beside you is where I will stay!

To its credit, the Ringling Museum in Florida doesn't shy away from the troubling history of the Side Show. There is an ad for "Bird Girl," whose posture resembles the posture of a penguin. There is also a gigantic man, a woman with unusually long hair, a photo of (yes) conjoined twins, a bearded lady, a three-legged man. When the circus was most popular, in or around the 1930s, you, a performer, would travel all over the country (staying for one day in each new spot with few exceptions). You would eat your meals in a tent. And you would share transit accommodations with aerialists, clowns, lion tamers, strongmen, tightrope walkers. The Ringling has a special alcove that describes the training of clowns and distinguishes between a whiteface performer (an instigator, group leader) and a redface performer (sort of a "straight man," a victim of the more ebullient whiteface clown). There is also footage of *modern* tightrope walkers, who work with a cord less than one inch in diameter, and who walk without a safety net. The thing that startled me is this: These walkers often jump over obstacles on the rope. They land and wobble for several seconds; then they keep going.

The Ringling suggests that, especially in the 1920s and 30s, you, an American, would rely on the circus as a kind of classroom. You didn't have Internet options. It's unlikely that you traveled a great deal. The circus was a way of spoon-feeding you--given your hunger for information.

The Ringling Museum draws a crowd even on a sunny day and with prices that exceed Met Museum prices.The space keeps going and going and going. It's easily the strangest part of my trip.






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