During the recent visit with Barbara Carter, author/artist and new friend, we learned about one another‘s childhoods. I was really interested to discover that she had a Roly Poly, I saw it in one of the photographs she showed me of her home. I’ve not known any other children that had one. She keeps hers sitting on a shelf in her studio, an innocent collectible from her past, while mine is guilty, buried somewhere, out of sight and out of mind so I don’t have to look at it. The more I stare at the fanatical smile, the more sinister it becomes. Overall for me, the clown disguise is innately unnerving, as is the perpetual smile. Now I’m not freaked out enough to be categorized as having Coulrophobia, the fear of clowns, but let’s say I find them creepy and leave it at that.
I’d come about the toy when we moved to the upstairs apartment at the Post Office when I was five. Frankie Langille, the custodian of the building gave it to me. It had been in the dark, dank basement, perhaps someone left it there to be rid of it, didn’t like the look of it either. The clown grabbed a bit of my attention, spinning it and watching it weave back and forth, smiling at me from all directions, but it was rather useless for long term entertainment.
The clown, in all it's various incarnations has been presented as toys for decades. I browsed the internet looking at vintage Roly Poly’s and let me tell you some of them are downright satanic looking. Why anyone would design and present them as toys for children fails me. Further research and clowns got pretty wild looking, the are portrayed more as demons than a fun family toy. Ironically, of all the items from my childhood, Roly Poly is the only thing that survived, the only link to my past and I couldn’t be any less thrilled.
If broken down, a clown’s mask may be a happy image, but then why throw in that lone tear, making it all seem rather schizophrenic? The person behind the makeup could be a happy soul, but they could also be angry, resenting having to prance about, and how do we know which side of the fence they perch? And really, what better way to prey on children then for a pedophile to present themselves for their amusement. I often wondered about Ronald MacDonald, the representative of MacDonalds Restaurants; if a better mascot would have served them better, but then unlike other children’s fallen heroes like say, Pee Wee Herman, Ronald seems to have kept his red nose clean.
I own a memory of a clown; it’s now faded and lost its impact, but occupies a space in the back of my mind. I was almost abducted by a circus clown when I was three, at least that is what the police thought of the incident. A sunny, summer day in the sandbox was interrupted by a yellow car coming to a stop perpendicular to our driveway and a clown in the backseat opens the door, filling it with all his splendour. He's magnificent in his large pouffy wig, big red nose, white face, huge red lips, white ruffle around his neck and he holds out his hand to offer me a shiny new quarter, held between the fingers of his big red gloves. I loved shiny things, I’ve said many times my mother called me crow, so I dropped my less interesting pail and shovel, scaled the wall of the sandbox and started toward the car. My mother saw what was happening though the kitchen window and ran to the door. Once on the door step, she became paralyzed with fear and could only holler my name. At some point her crying broke the spell of the coin glinting in the sunlight and I changed course to run to her. The clown slammed the car door shut and the driver sped away, leaving rubber on the road. I’m not sure what might have become of me if I’d reached the car. Perhaps it was innocent, I was so darn cute maybe the stranger felt compelled to give me a present, pat me on my blond head and go on his merry way. Or perhaps I would have been the victim of a child molester or even worse, ended up a toothless carny in a circus, taking people for their hard earned money.
Joking aside, I’m not saying I would run from one today, but I would keep my guard up and not turn my back, or if one asks if I want a balloon, I’d think twice about accepting it.
Occasionally, you hear about clown misdeeds, there'll be stories of crimes perpetrated by people in clown costume. And of course history gave us a real “Killer Clown”, Wayne Gacy, one of the world’s most infamous serial killers. He worked as a clown part time, dressed up as “Pogo” at children’s parties and fundraising events in Chicago. He was known to say that "clowns can get away with murder", and during that same period, he sexually assaulted and killed at least 33 young men between 1972 and 1978. I wonder how the families that hired him to dazzle their children felt when they realized the great Pogo had a basement full of bodies.
I don't mean to paint all clowns with the same brush. I’m sure there are many who dress up with love in their hearts. It’s just that darn old adage; one bad apple spoils the cart. One never really knows what is in another person’s soul, and it only seems logical that it would be even harder to identify the true essence of a person when they hide behind a mask.
Barbara sent these sketches she’d done years ago of her Roly Poly so I thought I'd write a little story. I never knew the real name for the toy until she enlightened me. I used to call mine Clowny.
I’d come about the toy when we moved to the upstairs apartment at the Post Office when I was five. Frankie Langille, the custodian of the building gave it to me. It had been in the dark, dank basement, perhaps someone left it there to be rid of it, didn’t like the look of it either. The clown grabbed a bit of my attention, spinning it and watching it weave back and forth, smiling at me from all directions, but it was rather useless for long term entertainment.
The clown, in all it's various incarnations has been presented as toys for decades. I browsed the internet looking at vintage Roly Poly’s and let me tell you some of them are downright satanic looking. Why anyone would design and present them as toys for children fails me. Further research and clowns got pretty wild looking, the are portrayed more as demons than a fun family toy. Ironically, of all the items from my childhood, Roly Poly is the only thing that survived, the only link to my past and I couldn’t be any less thrilled.
If broken down, a clown’s mask may be a happy image, but then why throw in that lone tear, making it all seem rather schizophrenic? The person behind the makeup could be a happy soul, but they could also be angry, resenting having to prance about, and how do we know which side of the fence they perch? And really, what better way to prey on children then for a pedophile to present themselves for their amusement. I often wondered about Ronald MacDonald, the representative of MacDonalds Restaurants; if a better mascot would have served them better, but then unlike other children’s fallen heroes like say, Pee Wee Herman, Ronald seems to have kept his red nose clean.
I own a memory of a clown; it’s now faded and lost its impact, but occupies a space in the back of my mind. I was almost abducted by a circus clown when I was three, at least that is what the police thought of the incident. A sunny, summer day in the sandbox was interrupted by a yellow car coming to a stop perpendicular to our driveway and a clown in the backseat opens the door, filling it with all his splendour. He's magnificent in his large pouffy wig, big red nose, white face, huge red lips, white ruffle around his neck and he holds out his hand to offer me a shiny new quarter, held between the fingers of his big red gloves. I loved shiny things, I’ve said many times my mother called me crow, so I dropped my less interesting pail and shovel, scaled the wall of the sandbox and started toward the car. My mother saw what was happening though the kitchen window and ran to the door. Once on the door step, she became paralyzed with fear and could only holler my name. At some point her crying broke the spell of the coin glinting in the sunlight and I changed course to run to her. The clown slammed the car door shut and the driver sped away, leaving rubber on the road. I’m not sure what might have become of me if I’d reached the car. Perhaps it was innocent, I was so darn cute maybe the stranger felt compelled to give me a present, pat me on my blond head and go on his merry way. Or perhaps I would have been the victim of a child molester or even worse, ended up a toothless carny in a circus, taking people for their hard earned money.
Joking aside, I’m not saying I would run from one today, but I would keep my guard up and not turn my back, or if one asks if I want a balloon, I’d think twice about accepting it.
Occasionally, you hear about clown misdeeds, there'll be stories of crimes perpetrated by people in clown costume. And of course history gave us a real “Killer Clown”, Wayne Gacy, one of the world’s most infamous serial killers. He worked as a clown part time, dressed up as “Pogo” at children’s parties and fundraising events in Chicago. He was known to say that "clowns can get away with murder", and during that same period, he sexually assaulted and killed at least 33 young men between 1972 and 1978. I wonder how the families that hired him to dazzle their children felt when they realized the great Pogo had a basement full of bodies.
I don't mean to paint all clowns with the same brush. I’m sure there are many who dress up with love in their hearts. It’s just that darn old adage; one bad apple spoils the cart. One never really knows what is in another person’s soul, and it only seems logical that it would be even harder to identify the true essence of a person when they hide behind a mask.
Barbara sent these sketches she’d done years ago of her Roly Poly so I thought I'd write a little story. I never knew the real name for the toy until she enlightened me. I used to call mine Clowny.
  |   Do these faces really say children's toy? To me they say "I'm going to eat you with some fava beans and a nice Chianti" |   |
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