hall of fame

I was making the kids at Walmart laugh, pretending a rubber plant was eating me, when the wheels of the woman’s grocery cart screeched like fingers across a giant chalkboard.

“You’re the fella from the Clown Hall of Fame aren’t you?” she asked me.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

“No, you’re him alright,” she said, pulling out a brochure with the museum’s name on it. “I was there last week, I know.” 

I told her it must’ve been a mistake. She moved on, still eyeing me suspiciously. I thought about it some more. Clown Hall of Fame? I’d been clowning around my whole life without getting paid. I had to see for myself. I got in the car, pulled out of the parking lot, and drove from Terrell, Texas, to the International Clown Hall of Fame & Research Center in Baraboo, Wisconsin.

Fifteen hours later, I arrived smelling rather meaty, just in time for them to open. I paid my admission fee and entered. The walls were covered in posters and pictures of famous clowns throughout history. I tripped over a fire hydrant when the attendant startled me, letting me know he was available if I had any questions. There was a bathtub on wheels, mannequins clothed in bright orange and red checkered clown suits, and a mini clown car big enough for a first grader. A school group was also there on a field trip. I was standing under the Do Not Touch sign trying to squeeze seventy-year-old water out of some antique squirting toilet seats when I heard whispering. The kids were all frozen in prairie dog-like stance on their tiptoes.

“It’s him, it’s him,” they whispered.

“Him who?” I asked.

A little girl raised her pointer finger at something behind me. I turned around, sure enough, there it was: a perfect life-sized wax replica of me wearing a derby and a polka dotted suit with a nose as large as an apple. It even had the mole on my lower left cheek, hairs and all.

Pictures started flashing and I shielded my face. One of the parents accompanying the field trip came up to me saying what I was doing was illegal.

“How’s that?” I asked, scratching my head.

“You’re an exact copy. I mean, look at you. Clown-terfeit is a serious crime here in Baraboo.”

I felt since I was the clown, and the clown was me, we might as well swap clothes. I took him into the bathroom to make the switch. The oversized shoes took some getting used to, and the drop-down clown pants proved to inappropriate for the present company, since I happened to be going commando.

When I got to my car, but it didn’t feel very clown of me to be driving a Honda Civic, so I pulled around back, left the keys in the ignition and everything I owned inside, swapping it out for the mini clown car.

Driving in a clown suit and clown car felt totally different than wearing everyday clothes and driving an everyday car. People honked and waved at me. When I pushed the horn, a slew of Roman candles fired off, exploding over the highway in gold, red, green, and blue sparks. Rain began to dribble on the windshield. I hadn’t even made it to Wisconsin Dells when I saw more lights flashing, this time in my rearview. A police siren wailed behind me as I pulled over.

The policeman sat inside the cruiser for what seemed longer than the Lord of the Rings director’s cut when the door opened. By now my arm was drenched since there were no windows. I knew if he asked for license and registration—neither of which I had—I’d end up going to jail, or worse, back to Terrell. I opened the glove box when a loaded flare gun fell out. I picked it up and aimed it at the opening. The officer was bending over when from behind his poncho a small boy appeared looking just like him, asking for a balloon giraffe. The boy brushed aside his wet mossy hair showing a wide smile, his eyes opening even wider, expecting a flag to pop out when he pulled the barrel.  

Guy Cramer is from east Texas. His poems and stories have appeared in a number of publications including HAD, Full Mood Mag, HAWKEYE, Be About it Press, and High Horse Magazine (forthcoming). His self-published novella Cowboy Melt will be available this fall. For more details visit him on IG: guy.cramer