This joke was probably old before Vaudeville.
A reporter was visiting the circus when he came upon an old man leaning on a shovel. When asked what he did the old fellow replied, "I'm the elephant assistant. Each morning I have to poke the elephants with a sharp stick to wake them up. The elephants hate me for it and try to trample me at every opportunity. After that I sort through the buckets of vegetables and pull out all the stuff that's too rotten for them to eat. I spend the rest of the day shoveling up elephant droppings. Every day I wind up exhausted, smelling terrible, with my back killing me. I have to sleep in a train car with fifty other guys. The food is lousy and I only get paid a dollar a day"
"That sounds awful!" said the reporter "Why don't you just quit?"
The old man was scandalized
"What?! You mean get out of show business?"
I like this joke. It sums it all up really.
To work as a touring puppeteer means keeping a sleep schedule that is officially banned by the Geneva Code. You are constantly having to get up way before sunrise to drive for hours to a school where the custodian may or may not know you are coming, but is definitely not happy to see you. Once you establish that you are supposed to be there, you need to wrangle for an adequate performance space, usually in a place called "Cafetorium" or "Gymnteria" or if you're extremely lucky "The Multi-Purpose Room". Then you need to carry all the equipment in through the smell of Tater Tots. More than likely you are carrying over an unnecessarily long distance filled with random debris or poorly supervised children. Needless to say all the equipment needed for a puppet show is that perfect magic combination of awkwardly shaped, heavy, and incredibly delicate. About midway through your setup when you are most drenched in sweat and a very bad word is forming on your lips, just after you've discovered that some impossibly fussy but vital piece of equipment is malfunctioning for no readily apparent reason, The PTA rep arrives. This is usually an excessively tidy person who has very exact ideas as to how things should go. All your future work in this district depends on keeping this person happy, accommodating their lightest whim, and, assuring that they remain generally unaware of the small fire that has just broken out. This is of course followed by the comparably easy task of holding your arm above your head for two hours, and convincing an audience of 350 kids that the inert object you are holding is alive and experiencing emotions. When you're on the road it's an endless string of highway miles, cheap motels, gas station coffee, and bad food. The work schedule itself is erratic and your financial well being is inexorably tied to the ability of complete strangers to find arts funding. You can never be entirely certain when or where the next gig is.My life is far less stable than practically everyone I know. I need to buy groceries dependent on whether or not they will expire when I'm on tour. Other friends are paying mortgages, getting married, having children and behaving like sensible adults. I don't even have enough economic and schedule consistency to commit to cat ownership. I work harder and stranger hours for less money than almost anyone else I can think of
When I tell people that I'm a professional puppeteer they always say "Oh! that must be so much fun!"
I tell them that it has it's moments.
It does too.
With my particular skill set, it would be very difficult to think of what other job I am actually qualified for. At this stage in my career I can barely imagine doing anything else. Maybe it's some sort of weird recessive gene in play that makes people go into show business, or a form of mental disorder but I do know once you're in, it becomes nearly impossible to leave. I could find a sane and reasonable job that provided healthcare and regular hours, but I wouldn't like it. I would miss those rare golden moments that make all the heartache and strife worthwhile. The moment when you come up with a perfect new gesture or expression that makes your character really gel. The excitement and anticipation when the children see you setting up. Those times when a child breaks rank with their class and runs up to you, regardless of the fact that they'll get in trouble later, because there's a question they just HAVE to ask. The gasps, laughter, and spontaneous exclamations from the audience when a bit goes just right. The Applause. Oh yes! Always, the applause!
When someone becomes involved in performance we say:"(S)He's caught the bug.". Perhaps it's contagious. I was once cast in my friend's independent film. Between takes I was hanging around with some of the extras. They were all volunteers, practically everyone on set was. The extras seemed to spend the entire time complaining. They complained about the cold, the rain, the mud, the food, the delays between takes, the itchy costumes, the fact they would probably only have a few seconds of screen time, and the general air of chaos that is an essential part of any set. When asked if they would be there for tomorrow's shoot. the answer was unanimous and given without a second's hesitation:
"Oh, Yes!"
I remember watching a herding demonstration when I was a boy. It was neat to watch the border collies dash back and forth dividing the dirty white cloud of sheep in two and pushing them back together again and driving them across the hillside at the shepherd's command. The part I'll always remember about it is when the two black and white dogs loped back to their handler's side, pink tongues lolling and sat by his side. The shepherd turned to the audience and told us that the best way to reward the dogs for a job well done is to let them do it again and sent them sprinting back at the startled herd.
Yeah.
I understand that exactly.
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