Angol
My story is about the people and animals of the Big John Strong Circus. The circus was--Red, the ringmaster with his carrot-colored hair that lit up the midway like a cheerful beacon and his incredibly blue eyes that often had the look of a frightened hare. When Curtis, my husband, reminded him that we had a late show, which meant an eleven o'clock teardown, and 150 miles to cover before having to put on an early matinee the next day in another town, Red smiled with that map of Ireland face of his. "Don't worry. We'll make it easy--somehow." Billy, our four-year-old clown, never doubted it for a moment. He said, "I've been with the circus all my life, and we've never missed a show yet." Tent up, tent down, rolling down the road, men heaving and tugging on guy lines--men hungry and cold, or sweating and hot--trucks breaking down, running out of gas, getting lost, playing to empty houses, thrilling when there was a good audience--that's what this book is all about.
