Leaving Flat Iron Creek

CHAPTER NINE

I felt the sun’s warmth creeping up my legs and finally onto my face. I was so enjoying a real bed. I had to try several times before I could push myself to sit up. George was drawn up into the fetal position clutching his pillow tightly to his chest. His breathing was slow and easy. Occasionally, he would grumble some unintelligible sounds and move. He was very asleep. I stepped out on the balcony to survey the garden. I looked down onto the sky blue pool which was half hidden from view by a high hedge liberally sprinkled with white flowers glistening with the morning dew.

The morning breeze brushed my bare skin. We had to go to the lot but I was not in a hurry. I grabbed a towel and tossed it on my shoulder. I opened our door with a soft squeal and looked both directions before trotting to the bathroom. As I opened the door I saw the man I met last night sitting on the toilet. I immediately said, “Sorry, I’ll come back.”

The totally tanned fellow beckoned me to come in. I closed door. He was muscular and sported a small black mustache. Seated he extended his ample hand, “Hi, I’m Art. And you are?”

“Seth, Seth Newman.” With that he stood up and motioned for me to stand in front of the toilet. I could feel my dick beginning to rise so I sat quickly on to the seat and began a long slow pee. He stood at the sink giving no indication that he was leaving.

He must have felt my uncertainty and said, “Seth, no reason to be nervous. This is safe place for men to be with men.” I could feel my dick hardening and was afraid to look down. I could see his substantial dick rising to attention. With no other water to empty I stood up and walked toward the shower. He turned and put his hand on my butt. He didn’t remove it as I reached down to turn on the water.

I stepped into the tub and he followed me. “Let me give you and hand.” Without a response he reached for the bar of soap and lathered his large hands. He pushed me under the shower and rubbed his hands over my chest. Slowly he moved over my stomach and grabbed my dick. “Oh,” was my only response. My mind said what we are doing was wrong but it felt so good. He stroked slowly at first while his other hand traced the line of my butt. I felt his finger touch my butt hole and linger there. I closed my eyes as he continued. He pushed me under the water again and rinsed the soap away. I thought “What if George walks in.” Art didn’t stop and got on his knees and took my dick into his mouth. I could hear myself softly moaning as he went back and forth while his hand kept playing with my ass. I could feel the pressure building up, “I’m going to shoot.” He didn’t stop and let me cum into his mouth. I couldn’t believe it. I stood quietly.

“You ever been with a man before?” he said smiling.

“Not like that.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, what’s not to like. I just never had anyone do that.”

“Will you do me?” he asked sheepishly.

“I guess,” I said. “I am concerned my friend George will come in and see us.”

“I think we can hear the door squeak if he is coming,” Art said.

I repeated the steps that Art used on me. He especially seemed excited as I pushed my finger into his asshole. He wanted me to continue doing that as I sucked him. I didn’t take his cum in my mouth but as he shot George opened the bathroom door. He stood looking and not speaking.

After awkward moments I said, “Just playing, you want to join us?”

He smiled and said, “Will someone suck on me? I feel pressure.”

Art smiled and happily said, “Let me. Seth you work on George’s backside.”

I mechanically went through the motions of giving George pleasure. He liked me pushing on his butt hole. He came in a very few minutes a stream that wouldn’t stop. After we dried off Art said, “Sadly, I have to leave today but you guys are great. Seth, I am the guy you saw on the balcony last night. My room is next to yours.” We left the bathroom together with towels loosely wrapped around us. It was still too early for breakfast so I told George I was going to explore the place. He was happy lying naked on his cool sheets. “George, you OK with what happened in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I hope you aren’t mad at me for walking in without knocking.”

“George, I am the one who should be apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have let that guy do that to me. But I have to be honest I was feeling pressure and it just happened.

He naively added, “We can do that for each other when we feel that kind of pressure.”

“On the circus, I think not,” I said laughing.

I left the room and walked to the first floor and opened the screen door that led outside to the garden and the pool. I stopped to smell the white flowers on the hedge. They smelled just like my Mother’s cologne. I could hear water splashing so I stepped to the gate leading to pool. I looked over and could see two naked men swimming. Neither seemed to notice the other as each did short laps in the pool. I returned to the house. I could hear noise coming from an open basement door. I entered the stairwell and slowly took the steps noticing my leg pain every other step. At the bottom of the steps there was a gym for working out. The place smelled musty. I followed the noises and I stepped to a closed door. There was a small window opening into a dark space. My eyes took moments to adjust. As I focused my heart stopped. Not ten feet from me was Ralph with a whip in his hand with nothing on except a cap. He was clinching a cigar in his teeth whipping a guy’s bare butt. The guy was in a contraption like we use to lift a horse who is having difficulty birthing. His feet were straight up in the air. Ralph kept saying,”Take this, take this.”He would whip harder. I couldn’t understand why the voice kept saying, “Yes, sir, give it to me.” He said it over and over. All of a sudden it came to me that the voice was Mr. William’s. I didn’t understand what they were doing but now I understood what they were talking about yesterday when I walked up.

I quietly stepped away and guessed that George and I could eat a quick breakfast and leave the house before Ralph and Mr. Williams were ready. When I returned to the room George said, “Seth, you are white. Are you sick?”

“No, not sick but we need to eat and get going to the lot.”

“We have plenty of time. It is only eight and Mr. Williams said we don’t have to be there until eleven.”

“George, trust me we have to get going. I will tell you what I saw on the streetcar.” Obediently George slipped on his boxers, shirt and pants.

Sitting on the chair lacing his shoes he smiled at me, “Whatever you saw must have really surprised you. You are sweating.”

Later on the streetcar I told George what I had seen. He said, “That is really strange.”

“Yes, but now I understand why Mr. Williams doesn’t fire Ralph.

Three days passed quickly, and I finally got to watch a performance of the new act that replaced the von Leuvenfelds.

As we stood watching Ralph snarled, “Newman, you and…what’s your groom’s name? Where'd you stay?”

“Not too far from here. Sleeping in a real bed was wonderful. How about yourself?”

I caught him off guard, and he stammered before answering.

“We’re staying out near the ocean.”

“Who’d’ya stay with?” I asked.

His expression didn’t change.

“One of the guys.”

I turned and walked way knowing I had him and he didn’t even know. I fed and watered the horses and headed toward the cookhouse. I was hungry. As I passed the red ticket wagon, I heard my name called. I turned to see Mr. Rawlings standing on the top step in his straw hat. With both thumbs locked into his suspenders he was surveying the conglomeration of wagons, tents, people, and activity. He pulled his right hand away from his stomach and motioned me toward him.

I knew I had not done anything wrong so I confidently strolled in his direction. For one of the wealthiest men in America, he had an unassuming way about him. He was well-dressed in his brown suit. His wore a red tie with a perfect double Windsor knot, and a heavy gold watch chain draped between the two sides of his vest.

Luckily, I was dressed properly to meet the boss. I wore my clean brown pants topped off with a newly laundered white shirt.

“Look good today, young man. Want to do another parade?”

“Which way this time?”

“No, son, one parade is enough even for Los Angeles. But it wasn’t so long ago that we did do one in every town.”

“Mr. Rawlings, why did you stop the parades?”

”Seth, the parades drew people to the circus grounds when we got to a town. In those days, the billers were not as good as they are today. Now most folks know when were coming. Over the years, the towns have gotten bigger and pushed circus lots further out to the edge of the towns. Unlike Los Angeles, we are most often on the edge of town rather than near the town center. The time required to parade to the center of town and back got to be too long, and it is too hard on the performers. Many people think it was a mistake for us to stop the parades. Many of our competitors still do them. They will stop, too.” He paused taking a puff of his cigar, “I want you to hitch Two Hemispheres this evening and pull the wagon to a specific address which I will give you, Mr. Beery’s house. You met him.”

He mentioned the address. I didn’t have a clue where it was, but I had six hours to find the house.

“Yes, sir. Twelve horses?”

“No, just your salt and pepper team. Be hitched and ready at five. Wear what you have on and your brakeman should do the same. I’ll give you more specifics later.”

He paused for a moment.

“After the party, take the wagon straight to the train.”

Just as I started back to the cookhouse, Rawlings turned back toward me.

“Oh,” he said, “Since the party is for Valentino, you better dress for evening. Tux. Get over to wardrobe.”

After lunch and the matinee, we got fitted for tuxedos. Shortly before five George and I hitched Indy and Travis to the pole of Two Hemispheres. My two horses had no trouble moving the hulking red and gold bandwagon closer to the horse tent. Our action caused little attention at first. Several fellows helped us hitch the other four handsome Percherons. Avery stood with the leads. Ralph sauntered up and surveyed the situation before asking us where we were going. Before I responded, Rawlings, already dressed in a tuxedo, came around the corner of the wardrobe tent.

“Boys, step over to wardrobe and get changed,” he said.

I nodded, and Ralph sneered as we finished hitching.

“Get up top. Hold the reins while they change,” Rawlings said to a teamster.

I opened the back door and took our suits and shirts off a nail.

“Follow me,” Rawlings said he said as he led us into the male performer’s dressing room.

Once inside, he left us to an assistant who gave us fresh water and clean towels.
The inference was clear that we should bathe. The assistant also provided a comb. We looked terrific as we walked across the lot to the freshly washed jewel that was the Two Hemispheres bandwagon. All eyes were on us.

We returned to find that someone had attached large red plumes to each horse behind their right and left ears respectively. I was slightly apprehensive as we climbed abroad because I had not driven with people aboard in a while. The big wagon groaned as George loosened the brake ever so slightly, and the largest circus parade wagon ever built gently bumped and swayed as we crossed the lot and moved onto Wilshire Boulevard. I made a wide right turn. My eyes focused on the horses, but I sensed hundreds of eyes staring admiringly at us we rounded the next corner and started down the hill toward Beery’s house.

From the moment we started the horses down the long slope off the lot through a neighborhood of large newly constructed mansions, I held my head high knowing it was my responsibility to represent our circus. The palm-lined street where Mr. Beery lived was populated with increasingly larger mansions. I stopped the wagon a short distance from the entrance of a long sweeping driveway that led up to the house.

Beery’s mansion was white stucco and looked like a Spanish villa. The roof was red tile and there were inlaid patterns in the tile near the roof line of the turreted front door. The relief over the front door was a ceremonial crown clearly visible to everyone who walked through. I stopped Two Hemispheres directly in front of Mr. Beery’s entryway. Four men carried a stairway especially constructed to allow the guests to mount the wagon graciously. They were dressed as Victorians with the ladies in long gowns and the men in top hats and tails. A second floor balcony enabled the guests to watch as we loaded and unloaded the bandwagon.

I carefully moved the great wagon around the red paving bricks of the curved driveway in between the flower beds that lined each side of the drive. George was always on the ground guiding the leads so their massive hooves did not stray from the pavement. We crossed one corner of the grass near the street because the wheel-base of the wagon would not allow such a tight turn without the horses smashing the flowers.

I had not been much of a moving picture fan until that night, but I was sure I would see every new Valentino and Beery movie. Many famous people introduced themselves to us as we took them for a ride through Beverly Hills. Valentino rode three times, and each time Rawlings was there to see him off. Buck Jones, Mabel Normand, Harold Lloyd, and Mary Pickford also rode in the wagon that night.

Each trip followed a slightly different route that I had scouted earlier in the day. Unknown to us, Rawlings had arranged for other grooms to hold the horses during the multiple loadings and unloadings. After the last ride, George and I went inside the mansion. The art, statues, and flowers were awesome. We walked into the kitchen, where we were fed.

For some people, it might have been depressing to then drive the wagon across town to a grubby train yard. But it wasn’t for us. We recounted to each other each trip, and all the people we met. I drove to the lot first to feed and water our horses and change clothes. We left our six horses because they had worked hard. We hitched a fresh team of four blacks and pulled onto Wilshire Boulevard for the trip. All worked perfectly. George and I found an assistant trainmaster and left the wagon in his care. We rode back quickly each of us with two horses.

We returned to the rooming house at two in the morning. No one was around. I couldn’t fall asleep. I sent George to bed and quietly stepped across the foyer past the front desk to the wide screen door that led to the rear of the house. The shapes cast by the light of a small hooded lamp in the hall gave the high-back wicker chairs a weirdly human character. I softly stepped down onto each of the broad wooden steps that lead to the backyard path. The warmth of the night enveloped me, and stars sparkled in the sky. I stood at the bottom of the stairs looking skyward and suddenly a burst of light streaked across the night.

“A shooting star,” I whispered.

I took my eyes off of the sky and looked back at the house. There was a soft glow here and there. George was either still up or he had left a light on for me since there was light coming from our window.

I walked around the moonlit mirrored surface of the pool, sat down in a lounge chair, and closed my eyes. I was happy and my mind focused on Raina and Rudi and our wonderful afternoon in North Dakota. I was lonely and wanted to feel human touch. I stripped to my bare skin, slipped into the warm water and pushed back from the ladder trying not to disturb the surface. I floated suspended in the foreboding blackness. A sudden movement caught my eye. As I slowly swirled suspended in silence I noticed more movement and the silhouettes of figures.

I heard whispers and saw a flurry of movement. The strangers slipped down the ladder and swam toward me. One touched me. I started to speak, but a man touched my lips, quieting my urge to say something. The two companions touched every part of my body. They gently rubbed and massaged. I wanted to touch them back but couldn’t get my hands to move.

Just as quickly as they appeared, the strangers disappeared. I quietly moved to the edge of the pool to get out. Looking toward the house I noticed two people standing on the balcony next to our window. I pulled myself out of the pool not knowing what to make of the people who touched me. I sat quietly wrapped in a towel until my eyes could not stay open.

I opened my eyes at dawn and looked over the top of the hedges that surrounded the pool. I noticed an older man on our balcony. He surveyed the yard. My eyes focused on the floor below ours. Two windows to the right there was a man standing safely inside the French window. His face was concealed by the shadow.

I rubbed my eyes with the corner of the towel and looked more closely. Ralph’s face caught the sun. He squinted into the direct rays of the sun. Mr. Williams walked up behind Ralph and put his arms around him. He wore an undershirt nothing else. Ralph turned and kissed him solidly on the lips. I was astonished because it was so sweet and so out of character.

Remembering that I was clad only in a towel I tightened it. A young man entered the pool area from a gate behind the pool house, and when I turned back to the balcony Williams and Ralph were gone. My towel fell away briefly as I pulled on my pants.

“Nice arse!” the redheaded boy said.

I blushed and headed toward the beach for a walk, hoping that Ralph and Mr.Williams stayed in their room. I also hoped that George slept late. I got both wishes.

I walked down the long wooden steps into the misty, pounding surf. I watched as wave after wave crashed down leaving a momentary mirror on the sand. Each wave approached as a whisper, quickly built to a roar, and then retreated. Over and over, the waves surged and collapsed as they tried many different ways to reach my bare toes.

My toes were numbed by the cold, salty water of September. I was ready to move on. I loved my morning walks by the ocean and I knew I would return. I was rested and ready to take Mr. Rawling’s show to new places for new people to enjoy its joy and excitement. I walked until the sun emerged from the mist and I climbed the stairs.

The next time I saw Ralph or Williams was back on the circus lot in the late afternoon. Neither acknowledged me in an unusual way. Sometime later, Shorty walked into the harness tent and told me that Williams wanted to see me in the red wagon. My first thought was that he would fire me.

He was happy and simply wanted to know if I had decided to take the job as assistant hostler. I took the job on the spot and immediately received a fifteen dollar per week raise. He told me to keep the news quiet for a while. I walked slowly to the horse tent to check on our team. I devilishly wondered how and when what I knew about Ralph and Mr.Williams would help me.

At five-thirty, we started stripping the lot to prepare for the trip to San Diego. I pulled myself atop one of the cookhouse wagons as we loaded off the lot. My eyes were fixed on the azure blue sky and the billowing white clouds that raced across the sky. A tingle in my leg brought me back to reality. I had climbed up the narrow cast iron ladder only a few times since we arrived in Los Angeles. The last time had been after Beery’s party. George and I had our team ready early. The lines tightened as Travis, my right lead, pulled to the right. The movement startled Whitey. Pushing and pulling ensued, but we got on the street behind the blacksmith wagon. George walked along side, and Avery sat next to at the brake. .

We had gone six or seven blocks when we stopped long enough for George to climb up. I handed him the lines. He smiled and said nothing. George was a great teamster with few life skills to help him survive in the modern world. On the other hand, Avery always anticipated and watched. I had the best of both worlds, George’s brawn and Avery’s street smarts.

When I shuttered slightly, Avery picked it up immediately.

“Mas’er Seth, somethin’ wrong?”

“No.”

“My mama say if you talk out yer troubles they maybe ain’t so bad.”

“Oh,” I said, “I’m just thinking about the night I was thrown off the train.”

Neither my accident nor Haskins’ death had been resolved, and no one cared much about them anymore. In fact, I had not heard Haskins’ death even mentioned since I returned. Ralph and his boys had not stirred up trouble while we were in Los Angeles. I wondered if harassment would start again once we got back on the road, my knowledge of Ralph’s secret might be useful.

On each trip to the yard we gawked at the construction of new buildings all around the Los Angeles. I commented to George and Avery that Los Angeles was going to be a big city someday even though I doubted it would ever get as big as Chicago. After the fourth trip, I was sleepy and could hardly keep my eyes open. George sent me to our bunk and said he would return the horses to the train after loading was completed.

We played San Diego for two days, and I vowed to return to that beautiful place. We moved onto to Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. As we crossed dusty and barren West Texas, I wrote to my father and sent fifty dollars so he could hire someone to do my harvest work. I had promised I would be home, but I didn’t really want to go home. Mother’s letters had become less frequent, but I still heard from her every several weeks. It seemed little had changed.

One afternoon, I walked across the lot and detected a flowery aroma. I stopped trying to remember who wore that sensual fragrance that my mother wore. I closed my eyes and remembered the soft brush of her hair. I remember when she leaned down to kiss me with her warm, moist lips on my forehead when I was little. I loved mother, but she would never understand me and the circus. I wrote her and told her about California and my wonderful walks along the Pacific Ocean. I asked about home and her sisters. A few days later I mailed the letter from Abilene.

Two weeks later a white envelope with lavender violets printed in left corner arrived for me. Inside two pages of inked script related the news of home. Molly, Thad’s old girl friend wrote me about Thad’s upcoming wedding, an event that mother had alluded to but had given few details. She wrote that she would like to see me at Thanksgiving and signed the letter “Cordially.” I reread her letter several times over the next few days and decided that getting together would be fun. I did suspect her motives were more than friendship.

From Texas, we went to Arkansas and Louisiana. We rolled Two Hemispheres off the train in New Orleans, where we did a Sunday parade. It was the only place in the South that allowed a Sunday parade, and we marched through the French quarter and onto Canal Street to the circus lot five blocks along the streetcar tracks. Our band played and three Negro jazz bands followed us. Even though it was a sultry ninety-five degrees, people jammed the tent to capacity for the afternoon and night performances.

The last performance of the 1923 season occurred in Greensboro, North Carolina, on November 1. We didn’t load off the lot until the following morning because we had a big party after the night show. For the first time since I had been with the show, all employees celebrated together.

We knew that when we began to scatter not everyone would return in three months when we opened again in New York. I stood in the center ring when Rawlings approached.

“Seth, you’re staying on in Bridgeport aren’t you? We’ve got lots to do.”

“Yes, sir. I going to Bridgeport. I’m going home for Thanksgiving if its OK with you and Mr. Williams.”

“Of course, it is son,” he said in a fatherly way. “You’re a good man, Seth. You have a great future with us.”

Ralph and another fellow walked up to me.

“Asshole, what’a gonna do?”

“Goin’ to Bridgeport tomorrow mornin’.”

“No, I mean afterward,” Ralph snarled .

“I’m staying on all winter,” I said, realizing Ralph must not have been told that assistant hostler means year round employment.

“See you around,” he said as he stalked off.

The celebration ended after midnight. It was the only time that I had been aware that alcohol was tolerated in the open. People pulled flasks out of pockets and purses and passed them around. I had never seen circus people get noticeably drunk on the lot.

The night was wonderful. The stars sparkled in the crisp fall air of North Carolina. There was not a cloud hindering my view as I looked up into the heavens. The crispness was noticed by the upper edges of my ears. The moon was not full but there was plenty of light to cast long fall shadows.

The hulking shapes of the tents were eerie. The sounds that punctuated the night were animal sounds--growls, whinnies, and a soft trumpet from an elephant. The voices of people quickly died away as I lay on top of 86.

I slept peacefully until the clang of pots and crash of dishes slipped into my subconscious the next morning. The aroma of bacon frying seeped into my nostrils. As I stirred, I felt someone’s butt up against mine. George and Avery stretched out next to me. Avery lifted his head and smiled.

“Mas’er Seth, when I’se come back? I’se leavin’ with dem boys dis mornin’.”

Avery really didn’t need to be in New York when we opened the new season. “Come back at the end of March, maybe the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth, just before we leave New York.”

He looked deflated.

“But the jobs be gone.”

“No, they won’t. Come see me when you get back, and I’ll go over’d the red wagon and get you signed up. If you can’t find me, just hang around and work for free. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

He smiled as he tied his tattered high top gym shoes.

By this time George was awake.

“What about me?”

I was startled because I hadn’t thought about George. He was always there, ready to do whatever he was asked to do.

“You’re going to Bridgeport with the horses. We’ll see when we get there.”

I knew I would find a way to keep him with me. He was my good luck charm.

After breakfast, we loaded the train. The cuts pulled out about noon and started north. I neither heard nor saw Ralph after the party. Someone else helped Shorty. I guessed Ralph got mad at Williams and left. Our trip to Bridgeport was long and unusually slow. The circus trains were put on a spur in New Jersey waiting for engines from the New York Central. We gave the stock a little breather. Twenty of us worked fast and furiously as we unloaded over two hundred head of horses. The elephant department and the menagerie fellows did the same.

“Look at that,” one teamster said.

Of course, everyone looked. On a flat car located three tracks over, three trucks--two red and one white painted with 'Rawling Bros. World’s Greatest Circus.”

“Yeah, I heard they are ordering trucks to replace the horses,” someone added.

“Impossible,” I said. “You’ll never be able to get heavy work out of a truck.”

We reloaded the stock and waited several hours before we moved on. Four hours later, we jockeyed onto the siding that ran to Rawlings winter quarters. Bridgeport was a real surprise. The winter quarter buildings were big and orderly. A brick horse barn had permanent stalls for one hundred sixty horses, and a large pen held the rest of the baggage stock..

We unloaded the train, but the pace was completely different with thirty men using six teams. The menagerie was unloaded first because the bosses were concerned that the wild animals not get chilled. The weather in Bridgeport had turned cold. The menagerie staff kept their barns as cool as the outside air to start with. Only after the animals were inside and adjusted did the attendants warm the buildings, but elephants kept their barn warm with their own body heat. There were separate barns for cats, performance horses, and several others for a mixture of animals. Since we were in winter quarters and not blocking any streets, it was simple to spot a wagon near the carpenter’s shop or tent maker depending on what the wagon needed or what was in the wagon.

I was constantly fascinated by the amount of attention the exotic animals received. I knew that the menagerie drew many people to the circus, but the animals just ride along and eat. They don’t even perform. I supervised the culling of the baggage stock. With the help of older teamsters, I decided which horses would be wintered in Bridgeport and which would be sent to the Rawling’s farm in Indiana. I had a week to do the job, and it took almost that long because so many of the decisions were not clear cut. A decision about one horse often affected an entire team.

Bridgeport had seen the fall disappear, and the last of brilliant yellow and red maple leaves had fallen. Frost was routine on the shiny silver tracks we crossed going to work in the morning. We prepared for the gray months of winter. The atmosphere around the tidy red buildings that held the paint shop, the wagon department, and tent maker was bustling with the coming and going of suppliers.

An occasional roar or trumpet could be heard over the clanging and sawing as craftsmen prepared for a new season. I acted more like a boss to keep from getting confused as a regular worker. I bought a new windbreaker to wear over a tan work shirt. That gave me more of an official look. I even got a haircut, which helped to set me apart from the other workers.

After a week, it became clear that George was not needed in Bridgeport. Even though he and I had gotten a nice room in a rooming house about four blocks from the winter quarters, I would make other plans for him. Twelve people lived in the house. The woman who owned the house was Mrs. Wiggins. She looked like a circus freak. With a frame of four feet eight inches, she carried the weight of two people her size. Each day she wore the same blue calico dress under an apron stained with the remnants of the last meal she had fixed for us. Her hair reminded me of one of Georgio, one of our clowns. It was thin on top and reddish and wispy on top, sticking out in all directions. She was sweet, and her calm voice always had an encouraging word.

Our house mates were not just horsemen but also clowns and the Tomasini acrobats. Benny befriended me and told me that the Tomasinis were going back to Italy for the winter. They were staying in Bridgeport until their ship departed around the first of December. We had pleasant times after dinner talking about the season. Our conversation remained formal, respecting the hierarchy of performer and worker. Benny and I exchanged knowing glances several times when the subject of the von Leuvenfeld came up. We spoke privately on the second or third day, when he told me he was going up to Hamburg, Germany. He hoped to see Anna who was Raina and Rudi’s cousin.

That evening I wrote Molly a short letter and asked her if she would like to have dinner with me when I was home for Thanksgiving. I suggested that we meet for dinner at the Harvey House Hotel in Ft. Wayne after Thad’s wedding, which was on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I told her not to worry about replying since I would be home in little more than a week. I didn’t miss her, but I missed what she represented. I carried the letter around for another day before I dropped it in the mailbox.

One day late that week, I mentioned to Williams that I was going home for Thanksgiving, but told him I’d be back in a week or so. He probed as to the exact date of my return. I had to assure him twice that I would be back before Christmas. He smiled, turned and walked away.

The experience of culling the baggage stock was arduous but eye-opening to me. During this close examination, I realized the poor condition of a significant number of our horses. George and I worked everyday doing regular chores in the horse barn and examining horses. We marked some, pulled others from the corral, and put others out. We conferred regularly with Evans, the horse superintendent. He told me in one of our conversations that I would take a number of horses to Indiana on my trip home.

After much consultation, we decided that thirty horses, all mares would stay in Bridgeport. Mr. Evans believed that few horses would be needed until the show hit the road in April after the New York.. The remaining horses, about two hundred and twenty-five, would be sent to the farm in Indiana. We marked forty or so for sale. The rest would be pastured for the winter at the farm. We prepared sale notices and hoped to auction them on the Saturday before Thanksgiving.

George, usually oblivious to other people, knew staying in Bridgeport served no purpose since he was not included or acknowledged by year-round workers. He told me one morning that he had decided to head home to California the next day. I persuaded him to wait and ride to Indiana. That way he didn’t have to pay for his train ticket. I invited him to come home with me for Thanksgiving. He was reticent at first, but consented making it very clear he would be on his way to California the day after.

Several days before we left for Indiana, first, I got a letter from my brother telling me that he was marrying Laureen, which Molly divulged in an earlier letter. Second, Rawlings summoned me to his office. I had only been inside his outer office once to collect my first paycheck. I waited for about ten minutes until he called for me to come in. When I saw his chalk white face, I worried about his health. Williams, Evans, and the others were already seated as I entered. I sat in an empty chair in front of Rawlings’ desk. The roomed smelled musty. He offered me a cigar, which I graciously accepted. We politely chatted, but I could not figure out why I was there.

“Seth, you have had a good first season with us,” Rawlings finally said. “Some mishaps happened, but I hope you have a positive view of the circus.”

I acknowledged that it had been good.

”Mr. Williams and Mr. Evans have recommended you for a special trip. You have an extremely good eye for horses. We have decided that we need some new horses. You know the condition of the herd. Until now, we have bought all our horses in the United States. But we have decided that we need some new blood to strengthen our breeding stock. We want you to go to Belgium and France and bring back good teams and breeding stock. Our agents over there tell us that the stock has recovered from the affects of the war and may, in fact, be better than before the war.

“You will be working with brokers, and some of our people who are already in Europe. We have confidence in you. We have booked passage for you on the Queen Mary which departs from New York on December 7.”

He handed me a second piece of paper,

“You should fill these forms out today and get it into the mail to the passport office. Mr. Webb will give you the registration money and you will need a photograph which we will pay for as well.”

He paused and looked at me.

“Seth, I presume that you don’t speak French?”

A slight smile and the side to side moment of my head confirmed his assumption.

I choked on my words. “Mr. Rawlings, I believe the Tomasinis also sail the same day. I am quite sure Beneto speaks French since he already speaks Spanish and Italian.”

Rawlings smiled. “But aren’t they going to Italy?” He looked to one of the men who confirmed his statement.

“Seth, I believe they will be working on a new act, and he wouldn’t be able to help as a translator.”

I said nothing further, but believed I could convince Benny to be my translator with the right enticement.

Rawlings handed me an introduction letter and several others called letters of credit. They were written on engraved Bank of New York stationary. One was written in English, but the other two were in French.

I smiled as I stared at the papers. Rawlings stopped abruptly and looked at me: “Seth, did I say something funny?”

There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “No, sir, I was just thinking about what you asked me to do. If I didn’t smile, I might pass out.”

The other men laughed heartily, and our conversation went on for another twenty minutes as we discussed how many horses to buy; what type, and a myriad of details. I asked Rawlings for a pencil and a pad and wrote as fast as I could. He seemed pleased. The last subject covered was money. Rawlings indicated that I would have plenty to spend, but I got little help from him about much to spend per horse. The group warned me not to judge horses by prices in the United States because of currency exchange rates.

I thanked Rawlings and the others for their confidence in me. As I rose to leave, Rawlings handed me one more envelope.

“This is expense money.” It was a thin envelope, and I just stuffed it in my shirt pocket.

“Seth, get over to the wardrobe department and pick up that tuxedo that you had in Los Angeles. You’ll probably need it on the ship.”I did as I was directed.

I saw Rawlings leave immediately after our meeting for his new home in Florida. The air was cold and I had to buy a new winter coat since mine was still in Indiana. George also wanted a coat, and he insisted we get identical ones, which slightly annoyed me. We loaded two hundred twenty-five horses into seven Mather-labeled stock cars. The cars belonged to the New York Central. We also coupled a circus car I had not seen in the regular season. The car had bunks, a large work area, and the whole thing smelled like a bakery. I was told it was an old advance car, and we were happy we didn’t have to ride with the horses. I knew we had to change lines in New Jersey but not again until the spur down to Rochester, Indiana. I hoped that we would not encounter delays getting around and through New York because we would have to unload and exercise the horses. There were too few men to do that efficiently.

We were not delayed anywhere on the trip, and we drove the horses four miles from the train station to the farm near Rochester, Indiana. The horses immediately scattered into the fields and liked the space. The pastures still had plenty of grass even though it was late November because the fall had been mild. We then segregated and penned the horses we would sell at auction.

Thad came to the farm with the hope of picking up a good horse, which he didn’t find because we weren’t selling any of the really good stock. He then drove George and I back to our farm. He talked constantly about the wedding, who would be attending, and where he and Laureen were going to live.

I half-listened because I was focused on the beauty of north central Indiana. The truck moved north on U.S. Route 30 toward Ft. Wayne, going thirty miles an hour and even forty on some downhill stretches. The leaves had fallen from most of the trees but the ditches and stream banks were still colored with red sassafras leaves. With Thad still talking, we got home about four Sunday afternoon. Laureen and her sister, Jennifer, followed us up the road. We had a happy homecoming filled with circus stories and talk of the wedding, which was only five days away.

George seemed perfectly at home. He didn’t say much but jumped up immediately when it was time to head for the barn to do chores. With four of us doing the chores, we finished them long before the women had the supper on the table.

Father wanted to know why I was going to Europe and why they didn’t send someone who spoke French or German. He desperately tried to hold onto me. As we walked back into the yard, Aunt Mildred and Uncle Harry’s new Studebaker pulled up to the house.

They had heard I was home and wanted to hear the details of my trip to Europe. They told me they were planning a European trip next summer and wanted me to write down the noteworthy sights I visited. Mother had fixed a meal unlike our normal Sunday supper. The potatoes were hot, the pot roast wasn’t left over and the apple pie was warm and fantastic.

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