The announcement came: This was the last year for the circus– The working man's circus, The last ******* child of Ringling Brothers And P.T. Barnum
Good, my wife said Think about the animals. I nod in absent agreement -
But I am at Coney Island as it might have been, once. And watching amusement parks in Celeron, Bay Ridge, the Palisades and a hundred others places vanish - One by one like altar candles extinguished before the recessional.
I am a young boy staying up late tearing through Ray Bradbury's "Something Wicked this Way Comes" while everyone else in the house is sleeping.
I am at a City Lights book store in San Francisco Where Lawrence Ferlinghetti is sharing his cotton candy with Diane Arbus and Allen Ginsburg
I am listening to "Take Five" in stereophonic sound.
I am behind the Big-Top with Edgar Allan Poe and Charles Dickens trying to catch a glimpse of the show through the shadows - Then being told to get away by a large sweaty man who doesn't smile.
I am eating peanuts salted in the shell.
I am holding my daughters tiny hand while my son hides behind me– a clown is walking by.