A story about Tonopah illuminates a strange connection between disappointment and entertainment
It was the mid-1980’s inside the cavernous and smoke-shrouded Salt Palace Arena in Salt Lake City. The smell of candy and popcorn was overpowering, except for occasional breezes from the fanning of folding seats beneath rows of restless children.
Down in the ring, Gunther Gebel-Williams paraded alongside two tigers. With his beach blond hair, flashy costume and tanned skin, he was the grandmaster of “The Greatest Show on Earth,” part of the Ringling Brothers & Barnum and Bailey Circus.
Until now, the crowd had been awaiting the arrival of “King Tusk,” a bull elephant who was set to make a dramatic debut. In the meantime Gunther kept onlookers fixated on his tiger act.
When the last set of stripes had jumped through the last fiery hoop, the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. Was this the moment when King Tusk would finally arrive…?
After what seemed enough time for even an elephant to prepare, the lights came back up. And there, from the right side of the ring, it appeared: a small cartoonish car, overflowing with clowns. Disappointment swept the crowd.
It could have been an unforgivable programming blunder, yet somehow, the clowns managed to quickly regain control. They were amazing professionals, with captivating energy. Soon people were laughing and forgetting about elephants.
In his article for New Lines Magazine, Andrew Chamings writes about another seemingly impossible clown diversion. The desert–with its great, silent distances and crushing scarcity–can drive people to disillusionment. It’s a recurring story line in Western lore. Clowns might never have been considered to be part of this scene until now.
And so, here’s a story that shows us where tragedy, history and isolation combine into one of the strangest juxtapositions imaginable…
The Desert Toad 