Carnival Guy
I had a spare half hour one day in Austin, and decided to go to a pinball place near Mom 95.2s house.I arrived about 10:20. They didn't open until 11.
Bad luck for pinball, but there was a carnival in the parking lot. I took the opportunity to walk over and take some photographs.
It wasn't long before I saw a guy with a clipboard looking at me. Shorts, work boots, clipboard; he was clearly running the show. I waved and he waved back.
I kept taking pictures, and within minutes, he was back.
I walked over to him. "I know I'm not supposed to be here because you're not open yet, but I haven't seen a carnival in a while and it reminds me of when I was a kid, so I'm taking some pictures."
"No problem," he said. "Take all the time you need."
From the neck down, he was in prime shape: muscular legs and arms with a flat stomach (or it looked flat under his t-shirt, anyway). Physically, he looked like he was young.
His face, though, was old.
Heavily weathered by the sun. A wound on his nose. Most of his teeth were missing, and the ones he had weren't in good shape.
He was a colorful local character, in other words.
After another few minutes, I went back and said I'd like to ask him some questions, if he didn't mind.
He didn't.
He said he'd been in the business for 45 years because he'd been born at a carnival. His family owned the second-largest carnival in the country (180 rides) at that time.
He was working booths when he was 8. Taught to drive a semi at 10.
He worked with his family for as long as he could stand it, then moved to another company. It was simpler in the old days, but it was all politics now. This was his fourth company.
I asked him about carny, the language my neighbor Mr. Neal taught me (it's actually in the book I'm working on now). You put an "iz" after the first consonant of every word. He said not many people speak it anymore--mostly old-timers--but that was indeed how you spoke it.
Well done, Mr. Neal (who worked at a carnival with his wife in much younger days).
I asked him what was the craziest thing he'd ever seen, and he said it was his best friend running over his own grandson and killing him.
Not what I expected.
He yelled at him to stop before the accident--he saw it coming--but his friend didn't hear him. No one listens at a carnival, he said. Everything they do between each other is with hand signals. He said he doesn't even hear the crowds anymore.
He was generous with his time. I thanked him and went on about my day.
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