Tales from the Ville: Under the Big Top-The Adventures of Crash Pollard

Part two of the Under the Big Top saga, a three part "epic" recalling my first vaudeville show at the

Two Cyclinis and a fish

Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville in Stockton, California.

PART ONE OF UNDER THE BIG TOP-BE A CLOWN

Neil Pollard is one of the funniest men who ever walked the face of the earth. That I was fortunate enough to work with him was an unexpected, but more than welcome perk of this show I didn't expect. It paid off dividends in the end because I was able to momentarily ride on the coattails on the man, the legend, the guy who never met a chicken he didn't like. 

As I stated in the first installment, Neil was managing the Chicken Kitchen restaurant as the same time the show was underway, taking care of those customers as well as the theater patrons since this was indeed a dinner theater. How he knew to race across the parking lot to get ready for whatever act he had been cast is beyond me. Sometimes he'd run a little late like the blackout Neil and I were cast in.

Me: I heard your parents used to be in the circus. 

Neil: That's right. They used to make love on the flying trapeze. 

Me: What did they call themselves? 

Neil: Hi Diddle Diddle! (buh-dump-bump!) 

One night, Neil missed his cue and I did the whole thing myself. When he realized his error, it barely fazed him. "Shit," he uttered. "Well, carry on!" Then he dashed back to the restaurant because, above all else, Neil Pollard was a early pioneer of multi-tasking.

In UNDER THE BIG TOP, Neil also appeared as The Great Flamo, a fire eating act. (Or was it Flamo the Great? Maybe it was just plain Flamo)  I should have asked how he did it, when he learned it or even why. Whatever the answers were, he certianly did it. Set up on one of the side stages, Neil gave a little audience patter as he lit his torches over a can of Sterno on a small podium. While I didn't witness this myself, I got the full report from several sources of what occurred during an early performance. After he had fired up the Sterno, he accidentally knocked the can over, spilling the jellied fuel and igniting the podium on fire. Neil basically stood dumbfounded, flipping his hands in the air like Art Carney's Ed Norton character from THE HONEYMOONERS. Thinking fast (mostly), Greg Dart ran down the side aisle with a fire extinguisher. He put out the fire, but the powdery blast from the extinguisher bounced off the back wall of the side stage and ricocheted into the audience members who were unfortunate enough to be sitting in the front row that evening. Unaware for what happened since we were getting ready for our Wild Willy number, Goldie and I entered the same side stage soon afterward in the midst of a toxically dusty haze. When the lights came up, I couldn't get my lines out, basically choking throughout the whole thing. I could hear Goldie coughing inside her bear mask as well. Once it was mercifully over, we stumbled our way backstage and I think we both said in unison once we got our breaths back, "What the hell happened out there?" Oh, it was Neil.

Another sketch in which I had been cast was the other circus act known The Cyclinis. All the

performers, with the exception of Flamo, were all Italian. (There were a bunch of "inis" in the show.) Our bicycle act consisted of Neil as Bicyclini, our brother Vincent as Unicyclini and me wearing a crash helmet and chewing bubble gum as little Tricyclini. For my entrance, I rode a creaky tricycle around the band pit, stop midway, blow a big bubble and complete the circle. How I never fell into that dark hole is a theatrical miracle. The sketch consisted of the three of us writing our bikes back and forth across the stage as Phil De Angelo, in his role as ringmaster, narrated the entire act. Vince had popped a wheelie across the stage, hence his designation as Uni. After a couple of more back and forths without or reason, I switched bikes, now riding on the handlebars of Neil's bike backwards and had to pedal us the two of us in reverse from stage right to stage left, hitting the proscenium arch with the front tire or my back whichever came first. What could go wrong? Well, it started off all well for the first month or so until one night as I was about to start pedaling, my foot slipped once we got started. We instantly started to wobble and Neil attempted to regain our balance, but took took a sharp left upstage in the process. He tried to adjust by steering right just as hard. Helpless, I didn't know what to do except lift my feet up so it's not to get caught in the spokes or drag on the stage. All of a sudden we passed up Phil. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's funny. There goes Phil." And in that split second, we fell in a heap down stage left on the other side of the proscenium arch. I landed sideways on one ass cheek directly onto one of the footlights, basically a cut out spray painted can, flattening it and a crushing the light bulb underneath. Had I landed an inch or two over, I probably would have cut off my right buttock, remaining half ass for all eternity. In a burst of adrenal shock, I immediately stood, brushed myself off, walked off stage and screamed to the top of my lungs. I then returned a second later and posed. Ta da! The act was never the same again which I can only blame myself for since I had grown a little skittish after our pile-up, throwing off both my timing and balance. What were the odds that would have happened again? In my mind, pretty goddamn good.

Our founder

On closing night I had something in mind I had been plotting for a while. When Neil would pop in from the restaurant duties for the Cyclinis, he quickly don his tights, sometimes just wearing hem underneath his street clothes to save time. Then he'd change hair. It's no secret that Mr. Pollard wear a rug in his daily life. But for this show, he'd put on a curly wig, not over his toupee, but in place of. To accomplish this without anyone watching, he'd shove his entire head into the wardrobe and pull the old switcheroo. He wasn't fooling anybody. If he did, they'd probably still wonder, "Why is Neil sticking his head in the wardrobe?" During the last performance, I chose Hubba Bubba, the juiciest bubble gum at the time. Before our big ride across, Neil used to give me a big kiss right on top of my crash helmet. That night after the big smooch, I took the gum out of my mouth, lifted his wig, place it underneath place and slapped his curly locks down upon it. Splat! Backstage as he pulled off that juicy wad of Hubba Bubba, he gave me the ultimate Neil insult:

"You sumbitch." 

An ass move on my part to be sure, but believe me, it was done with a lot of affection. Honest.

Neil and friend

Following that show, Neil only appeared onstage only a handful of times, still flying across the parking lot in the nick of time, sometimes not. I, for one wish there was more and I'm not alone in that, but the tide was changing around the theater at that point. What Neil did onstage appeared so deceptively effortless and devoid of self-consciousness because he didn't have a false funny bone in his whole body. He was all natural and, dare I say, organic. Probably free range as well. In real life, he certainly had his moments as well with an abundance of unintentional slapstick to his credit. There is nothing more satisfyingly hilarious to a Pollardville veteran than a Neil Pollard story and there a million of 'em, all solid gold.

I was proud to work for and with the man, especially during my very first show. If I had to do it all over again, I'd give Neil a big kiss on his head. That is, before I stuck my gum on top just so I could hear it one more time again:

"You sumbitch."

COMING UP: NAZIS INVADE POLLARDVILLE

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