by Jerry Apps
I saw Pa looking at his pocket watch, and then he motioned for us to follow him into the Big Top. Inside the tent I heard the circus band playing lively music—very different music than what I listen to on the radio coming from the WLS Barn Dance Show in Chicago. We found seats on bleachers that surrounded three marked-off circles in the tent, which Pa told me are called rings. The rings were maybe twenty feet across.
We’d hardly gotten settled in when I heard a loud whistle, and a man with a red coat and white pants and a tall hat walked out in the center of the one of the rings. He grabbed a microphone and in a loud voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus!” Then, even louder, he shouted, “The greatest show on earth!”
Before the words were out of his mouth, the band was playing again and a woman rode into the ring on an elephant, followed by performers, horses, clowns—I guess everyone in the circus paraded around in front of us. All of a sudden four fancy riding horses began tearing around one of the other rings as a man with a long whip stood in the middle. With the snap of his whip, all the horses stopped, whirled around, and ran in the other direction.
Pa pointed to the center ring, and I quickly looked in that direction to see, way up in the Big Top tent, a lady on a trapeze bar swinging back and forth, back and forth. A good distance away from her, a man was swinging by his feet from another trapeze bar. Grandma, when that woman let go I was sure she would fall and be killed. But before you could snap your fingers, the man swinging across from her caught her by the wrists. It was surely something to see.
The show went on for nearly two hours, and it was just about the best thing I have ever seen. Annie was clapping and yelling nearly the whole time. Ma and Pa were grinning, and I even saw Ma laugh when a bunch of clowns crawled out of a little car. It was the first time I’ve seen Ma laugh since we moved to Wisconsin.
Everybody in the Big Top was having a great time. I would guess for most of them it was a rare chance to take their minds off their troubles and the Great Depression that has its grip on the country.
I didn’t tell Ma or Pa this, but I think I might try some of the tricks that I saw in the Big Top yesterday. Our big cattle barn would be a good place to try them out. Our barn is a little like the Big Top, with ropes and pulleys running this way and that. I might even try to put on a circus for the neighbor kids. What do you think?
It was a good day, Grandma.
Your grandson,
George
Dear George,
How lucky you are to have seen a real circus, and the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, at that! When I was your age, the Ringling Brothers performed in our area, but I never got to see them. Your great-grandfather said we just didn’t have money to waste on a circus. My brothers and I were so disappointed. But my father usually knew best.
So thank you for telling me what you saw, and what you thought of it all. I felt as if I were right there with you. It sounds like little Annie and your folks enjoyed the show, too. Sometimes we all need to put our troubles aside and see something like a circus. I’m so pleased you had a chance to have a fun day. And now you are planning to hold your own circus for the neighbor children. That sounds like so much fun. I wish I could be there to help you. Be sure to tell me what you decide to do.
Keep writing. I so enjoy hearing about all your adventures.
Love,
Grandma S.
P.S. How are things going with Amos Woodward? Is he still causing you problems?
May 8, 1938
Sunday
Dear Grandma,
Today was Mother’s Day. I wanted to do something special for Ma, but I nearly got into trouble for my efforts.
When we got home from church, I asked Annie if she wanted to go with me to find a Mother’s Day present. I told her not to tell Ma, and she didn’t.
After the noon meal, when Ma was busy in the kitchen, I took Annie by the hand and we headed for the big woods back of the house. Pa said that he’d seen some violets at the edge of the woods, in a clearing on top of a hill. I thought Ma would be pleased if Annie and I gave her a bouquet of violets. Of course, we don’t have money to buy her anything.
We went into the woods on an old logging trail that Pa told me about a while back. All the trees are shaking off the grays and browns of winter and turning many shades of green. Grandma, Annie is just filled with questions. Before we had gotten only a little ways in the woods she grabbed my hand and asked me if there are wolves there. I told her that maybe at one time there were, but not anymore. Then she asked about bears. She is really a ’fraidy cat. I told her that sometimes there might be bears around, but that we wouldn’t see any. She said she surely didn’t want to see a bear. I read someplace that bears are more afraid of us than we of them, and I told Annie that, but from the look on her face I knew she didn’t believe me. Then I told her that the chances of us seeing a bear were about as good as having a bobcat run across the trail in front of us. I wished I hadn’t mentioned bobcats, because now Annie wanted to know if one of those was around the next corner.
I pointed to a squirrel that scampered up a tree just ahead of us, and I said she should listen to the cawing of a crow that I spotted at the top of a big oak tree. But she had her little blond head fixed on wolves, bears, and bobcats. She squeezed my hand tightly as we walked, and she was humming a little tune that I couldn’t identify. I asked her what it was. Here’s how the discussion went:
“A song,” she said.
I told her I knew it was a song and asked what song.
“I’m not telling,” she said.
“Why not?”
“’Cause you’ll laugh.”
“I won’t laugh,” I told her.
“A keep-the-bears-away song,” she whispered.
“You and your bears,” I said.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
I told her I wasn’t laughing, only smiling. We had been climbing for a while, and now we came to the top of a hill to an opening where no trees or underbrush grow. I told Annie to look at the ground.
“Posies,” she said.
“They’re violets, Annie. Aren’t they pretty?”
I showed her how to pick them so the stems would be long enough for Ma to put them in a water glass. Soon we each had a fine bouquet of violets, mostly dark purple, but some with lavender petals. I told Annie to hold them tight, but not too tight.
We headed toward home, thoughts of bears, wolves, and bobcats forgotten.
I was sure Ma would be surprised. She had spotted us coming out of the woods, and she was waiting for us on the porch. Right away she asked where we had been. She said she had been worried sick about us, and she looked really mad. Then she looked right at me and said, “George, you know you’re not supposed to go into the woods. You should know better. What if something happened to you and Annie?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just walked up to her and handed her the bouquet of violets and said, “Happy Mother’s Day.”
Annie did the same, only she said, “Happy ’other’s Day.”
I have never seen such a surprised look on Ma’s face. One minute she looked very angry, then she looked surprised, and then she burst into tears. She hugged each of us and said, “Thank you, thank you. What a perfect Mother’s Day.” She put both of our bouquets in glasses of water and set them in the middle of the kitchen table.
That was a close one, Grandma. But it turned out to be a good day.
Your grandson,
George
May 9, 1938
Monday
Dear Grandma,
Pa sure is full of surprises. After school today, while I was doing my evening barn chores, the big red truck that had delivered our cows and horses drove into our yard. I’ve gotten to know the driver a little; Ross Caves is his name. Mr. Caves stepped down from the truck and asked if Pa was around. I said he was in the barn and I’d go fetch him. When I told Pa
the trucker was here and wanted to see him, he started smiling—just a little smile that Pa sometimes gets when he is feeling good about something.
“Hello there, Adolph,” the trucker said. “Where do you want me to unload him?”
Now I wondered what Pa had bought. We already have horses and cows, and Ma has her chickens. I thought maybe Pa had bought a hog somewhere. Mr. Caves let down the ramp at the back of the truck and walked inside. When he appeared again at the top of the ramp, he was leading a pony, a little Shetland. Slowly Mr. Caves and the pony walked down the ramp, and then he handed the halter rope to me and said that this must be my new pony. It sure wasn’t a hog.
I took the rope, but I just stood there looking dumb. I don’t know anything about ponies. Pa asked about the pony’s name.
“Ginger,” said Mr. Caves. “He’s been injured at one time or another—you can see his front knees are overly large—and he’s pretty old. But otherwise he seems okay. Very gentle. Seems to like people.”
Ginger stood beside me, not moving, just looking at me as if to say, “Who are you?” I rubbed his forehead with my free hand, which he seemed to like, as he moved his head up and down against my hand.
Mr. Caves put up the ramp, crawled into his truck, waved goodbye, and drove away. When the truck was out of sight, I asked if this was really my pony. Pa said it is but I will have to share Ginger with Annie, and because I am older it will be my responsibility to take care of him.
I asked Pa where he had found the pony. Pa explained that Ginger was a circus pony and had performed for several years with the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. But he is getting old, so the circus sold him to Mr. Caves. Mr. Caves knew Pa has kids and thought he might be interested. Pa said he paid only ten dollars for Ginger.
Now Annie came running from the house, yelling at the top of her lungs, “It’s a pony! It’s a pony! Can I ride him? Can I ride him?”
Pa lifted Annie onto Ginger’s back and told her to hold onto his mane so she wouldn’t fall off. Then I led Ginger around the yard a couple times, with Annie holding on tight and grinning from ear to ear.
Pa said Mr. Caves told him Ginger knows a bunch of tricks. I asked what kind of tricks—I’m still thinking about putting on my own circus, and having a pony do tricks will surely make it more interesting. Pa said we’ll wait a few days for Ginger to get acquainted with his new surroundings, and then we’ll see what tricks he knows.
After a few turns around the yard, Pa said that Ginger was probably tired after arriving on the circus train to Willow River and then being trucked out here to the farm. Annie slid off him and I led him into the barn and tied him in his new stall, which Pa built in the barn while I was at school today.
Imagine, Grandma, now I have both a dog and a pony. What more could a kid want?
Your grandson,
George
Dear George,
Have you ever heard of a “dog and pony show?” Well, now that’s just what you can do with the circus you are planning. And you have a real circus pony—how lucky can you be? I’ll bet your little sister is just smiling like everything. I know I would be if I had both a puppy and a pony.
Do you know yet what kinds of tricks your pony can do? When you find out, let me know.
Congratulations. You are a lucky boy!
Love,
Grandma S.
May 11, 1938
Wednesday
Dear Grandma,
Our school plays Forest Grove School in softball next week. Forest Grove won last year 7 to 6, and Miss Harvey says we can’t let that happen again. Our team practices every noon and every recess, too. I don’t practice much, though. I can’t run fast enough to play any of the positions well. At least I don’t fall down as often anymore. I guess my leg is getting a little better. But Amos still thinks I shouldn’t be on the team.
Rachel asked me last week if I’d like to be the team pitcher. She told me that pitchers don’t have to move around much, and she said that she knew I could do it. I told her I’d like to try, so every night after chores I’ve been practicing out back of the pump house. Miss Harvey said I can take the softball home overnight, if I remember to bring it back every morning.
I drew a circle on the side of the pump house with some chalk, backed up the correct distance, and practiced hitting the target. At first I didn’t even come close, but after a while I was hitting the circle right in the middle about two out of three tries. Now I’ve got to work on pitching faster. When I pitched at recess today almost everyone hit the ball, even the second-graders. I’ve got to do better so I can strike them out. They shouldn’t be able to hit so easily.
Your grandson,
George
May 20, 1938
Friday
Dear Grandma,
What a ball game it was! We played at Forest Grove School. Their ball diamond is in a little field out back of their school, and it crowds up to a big oak woods. It’s mostly flat ground, which makes it better than our diamond, where we have to run uphill to get to second base (of course then it’s downhill to home plate—if we get that far).
Grandma, these kids can play ball as well as they can spell. They can hit, and they run like deer. There were a lot of mothers at the game, cheering for both sides. I was so happy to see my mother and little Annie. Grandma Woodward came, too. I asked one of the kids where Amos’s mother was, and he told me that she died when Amos was a baby. Grandma Woodward is quite a lady. You should have seen her standing along the first base line, waving her arms and cheering every time our team got a hit or somebody caught a fly ball. Sure helps to have somebody cheering. Little Annie got into that, too. She cheered no matter who hit the ball, their team or our team.
I was the starting pitcher. Grandma, I struck out the first kid that came up to the plate! I figured he must be one of their best players, or they wouldn’t have had him bat first. I think he was a little anxious and swung early. I still haven’t learned how to throw very fast, but Miss Harvey showed me how to hold the ball so that it drops or climbs when I pitch it, depending on how I throw it. It took maybe three innings before these Forest Grove kids caught on to what I heard one of them say is a strange way of pitching.
Herman—that same tall, skinny kid with the badly worn overalls who can spell so well—was the first one to hit one of my sinkers. He whaled on it! Herman sent the ball flying past second base and got himself a double.
As usual, whenever I came up to bat I either hit the ball high in the air and somebody caught it, or I hit it on the ground. By the time I limped to first base, their first baseman was standing there with the ball, waiting for me. It was embarrassing, but it didn’t bother me quite as much as it once did.
I kept on pitching until the seventh inning. By then I was getting mighty tired. Amos wanted to pull me after the Forest Grove kid hit a double on my sinker ball, but Rachel said no, that I should stay in a little longer. I don’t know how Rachel does it, but she talks back to Amos, and he listens.
At the eighth inning, the score was tied 5 to 5. Forest Grove got another run in the ninth. Now we had just three more chances to tie the game and maybe even win. I was beginning to think that the ball game was going to turn out just like the spelling bee.
Grandma Woodward, Ma, and Annie kept cheering us on. Grandma Woodward waved a little red handkerchief as she yelled. I was surprised that the Forest Grove teacher didn’t tell her to quit shaking that handkerchief and sit down, but she didn’t.
Amos was up to bat. For all his faults—and he’s got lots of them—he’s a good ball player. He can really hit. His grandma was yelling, “Hit it into the woods! Hit it into the woods!” Amos looked over at her and said, “I’ll try, Grandma.” I’ve noticed that Amos has a different way of talking to his grandmother. He’s always polite, and he doesn’t say anything nasty like he does when he talks to me and some of the other kids.
Amos stood up to the plate and glared down at the new Forest Grove pitcher, a girl who came up
only to his shoulder. One thing I noticed about this pitcher, besides seeing that she is just about the cutest girl in their school, was her fastball. Her name is Amy, and she can pitch a softball twice as fast as I can. Herman is their catcher—his hands are as big as sofa pillows—and even he shakes his hands after this cute pitcher whistles in one of her fast pitches. The ball must sting something fierce. (Nobody on either team wears gloves of any kind, not even the catcher. And the teachers trade off calling balls and strikes. It sure is different from how we played ball in Ohio.)
Amy’s first pitch sailed right by Amos. He took a mighty cut at it—and nearly fell down in the process.
“Strike one,” the Forest Grove teacher yelled.
Amos was embarrassed. He picked up a handful of dirt, rubbed his hands together, grabbed the bat, and stepped back up to the plate. He waved the bat across the plate a couple times and yelled to the pitcher, “Show me what you got.” The pitcher did, and Amos got another strike.
His face got redder and redder. It is one thing to miss the ball, but to miss a ball pitched by a girl must have been too much for Amos to endure.
Meanwhile, Grandma Woodward was still cheering for him, yelling, “You can do it, Amos!”
Amos didn’t respond. This time he spit on one hand and then the other before grabbing the bat and stepping to the plate. He pointed his bat out toward the woods, I suspect to intimidate the pitcher. So far nothing had upset her.