Dr. Hot's Thermal Therapy

For psoraisis of the psyche

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce a friend and fellow performer, anOswegonian of the ntb degree from thesoutheastern shores of Lake Ontario, apercussionist extraordinaire: Cafe-au-Lait. . . my name is Dr. Hot S.S.T., Q.E.D.and together we'd like to bring you "AnEvening of Escargot a la Carte". . .

CAFÉ-AU-LAIT and I were driving through the blond and red-haired hills of Kentucky toward Berea. It was half-past chain-saw time and almost Halloween. We thought we could do our juggling street show on the Berea College campus. October winds played on me and the van, and I was singing as we swayed and bounced at every bump. My pearl gray VW van was born in 1960 and had been living an eternal youth in Southern California until I bought it and began transcontinental cruises. It suffers from a mild case of rusty psoriasis, a cracked window or two, and it pops out of fourth gear. It demands a lot of attention but is predictable, and it lets in a lot of fresh air even with the windows shut. Cafeau-Lait says it reminds her of living on a boat. I have it decorated on the inside with theater-style curtains, billowing ceiling cloth, paintings and pictures, wood paneling, several costumes, and my hat collection. Tied to its hump back I have the four chrome poles of my slack-rope walking set-up, and four unicycles.

A bicycle up front broke wind for us as we sailed along the waves of asphalt. Café-au-Lait broke wind beside me as the secondary road abruptly became a thirdary dirt road. I opened the window for a better look at the clouds of dust we stirred. Rich earth smells, and trees heaped with the colors of ripe harvest fruit: amber and burnt amber, auburn, copper, and bronze. "I'd like to be a leaf witch for Halloween," au-Lait said, "covered with leaves, with leaves falling from me, with a cape and long hair and branch hands and these colors from the hills here." That would be a good act: her eyes bright as buckeyes, maybe a split mushroom smile.

I had visions of the hills as collapsing piles of colored leaves and I wanted to plow my car through them. A plane droned above me and I fantasized a parachute-jump into the October forest; quilt colors rushing up at me and a featherbed landing in the crowns of the trees; swinging happily, watching the colors spin down and smelling the scent of fall.

When we arrived in Berea it was noon and the student union was busy. There was enough space out front for our show but it would be congested. Back at the van, I painted au-Lait's clownface: white-face with a yellow star around each eye and full red lips. I wore my psuedo-tuxedo outfit, lensless wire-rim glasses, and a derby. She wore her grass-green baseball pants, striped shirt, suspenders, derby, and mukluks. In front of the student union we put up the embroidered banner and spread out the unicycles and juggling paraphernalia: clubs, fire torches, balls, boxes, Ping-Pong balls, knife, apple, rings, fireball bucket, welder's helmet, and top hat. Café-au-Lait set up her instruments: kazoo, slide whistle, tambourine, triangle, finger cymbals, party grinder and snake-whistle, balloon horns and horn normal, clacking teeth, cowbell, cymbal, service bell, and soprano teenie-weenie recorder. Au-Lait plays a sort of Harpo Marx silent clown. I play a sort of demented professor character.

Ladies and gentleman, you're just in timefor the next juggling and unicycle show.There are still a few seats available here onthe curb. I can tell it's going to be astanding-room-only crowd. We'll be starting in just one moment. . . just stalling fora slightly larger crowd. I hate to performfor less than 300 or 400 people becausearound that number a confused and disconnected group of people turns magicallyinto an audience. We'll be starting soonnow, probably within the next day or two.Maybe I could show you a few cane trickswhile we wait. The common walking cane,unlike sugar cane, lead cane, and Cain andAbel, has rubber tips at both ends . . .

We had a quick crowd of 50 before a security person asked if we had permission and explained that no soliciting was allowed on campus. I made a deal with him to do the show without passing the hat.

By now there were 75 people waiting street performers are a rare sight in Keri-tucky. Since the crowd was still growing, I stalled with some five-ball clowning and lariat tricks. There, were over a hundred spectators when we started, and the show went well. Cafe-au-Lait was impish and bouncy, and I was able to get the banter momentum going and exchange good repartee with the crowd. At the end, I explained that we had performed a regrettably free show but that we could probably get hired if people recommended us to the student activities office. After the show, we made connections for a grade school show later in the week and were invited to a home-cooked dinner. We had good luck with the student activities person and got hired to do two half-hour shows outside the student union at dinner time.

For our first demonstration of that ancientart of aesthetics and amazement, kineticsand consternation, motion and emotion in a word: jugglery - Cafe-au-Lait wouldlike to present the Mahavishnu JohnBarleycorn Dowi Sticks. Originating in ancient China, they were first made out ofbamboo sticks and vegetable gourds. Inmodern times we make them out of halfinch white oak dowels and whiffle balls . . .

Although I usually work solo, in the past I have teamed with Cafe-au-Lait and two other partners. My first partner and I wore berets and vests. We did a sort of soft-sell aesthetic juggling and unicycle acrobatics act with concertina, tin whistle, and fire torches. The first Dr. Hot's Thermal Therapy Show featured Toothbrush Flanegan and myself as R. Rufus Reefer. In those days, Dr. Hot was away on business in Chillicothe. We had a vaudeville-style act in which we wore derbies and psuedo-tuxedos. There were good moments in the show: fire-torch passing on stilts and six-foot unicycle, the ten-razor-blade ingestion illusion, and Tooth's famous and disgusting tomato-eating routine, which he finished with the controversial and seldom seen half-eaten tomato face-catch.

I'm working now on a pizza baker routine in which I wear a white jump suit, red searf, and a baker's hat and mix up ordinary pizza dough from scratch in plain view of the audience. When the huge doughball is firm, if there is any audience left, I plan to demonstrate one-doughball juggling, two-, three-, four-, and five-doughball juggling, then reassemble the dough and finish with two-story high dough spins and a head catch. It's a little complicated, but I think it will work on the street.

And now Cafe-au-Lait turns from theDowi Sticks Regular to the Dowi SticksFlambe. In a precision performance ofpyrotechnical wizardry she risks possibleself-immolation and probably inflammation of the ego ...

I completed my first juggle freshman year. I ran cross-country that year .and a friend on the team taught me. Both cross-country and juggling require the same sort of patience: an ability to endure and even enjoy endless repetition of a physical movement. (Carving, hand-sewing, and making ships in bottles are also favorite skills of mine with similar repetitive mechanics.) I tossed Idaho potatoes for my first few lessons and remember attempting to toss two in one hand. I could see clearly what had to be done, but the potatoes were too fast for me. I'd begin standing up, but each throw went lower and lower until I was on hand and knees making shoe-string potato catches. I later moved on to rubber balls, which had less mass - making it more difficult but more personality. Their bounce-and-run techniques frustrate a beginning juggler and their hiding techniques bewilder. I think I lost 50 or 60 balls my first year in Hanover, and in those days it was tough to get a good ball. Most pros use lacrosse balls. In my street act I use non-bouncing gold lame birdseed balls. This prevents having to run into a busy intersection after a kamikaze lacrosse ball. They also match my gold lame socks and underwear.

My biggest push into juggling came when I took a three-dimensional design course with Professor Boghosian. We had three projects that term: create something out of popsicle sticks, fashion a toy, and make a puzzle. For the toy problem I wanted to lathe-turn five wooden balls and decorate them. When Professor Boghosian found that I could juggle three balls a little bit, he suggested that I practice the art of juggling for my three-dimensional toy. He said he'd give me an A on the project if I could learn to do five balls. I practiced 20 hours a week for two months. I learned three in a circle in a week. It took one and a half months to learn a shaky four in a circle. haven't mastered five in a circle and never perform it. (I learned long afterward that circular juggling is the most difficult pattern.) By the end of the term I could juggle four balls a little bit, but my five-ball toss-ups always exploded into five-ball pick-ups. At term's end, to demonstrate my three-dimensional design I gave a performance for the art class. It was my first performance and it was filled with drops and cries of "Whoops ... I know I can do this ... let me try again ... " Still, Professor Boghosian was satisfied by my efforts and gave me the A.

Friends, have you been feeling listless andlackluster lately? Have there been lowclouds and spiritual hemorrhoids bulgingon your mental horizons? Do you wake upin the morning with a mouth so swollenthat it's difficult to insert that firstcigarette between your lips? Does it takefive cups of coffee just to get dressed? Ifyou've answered "yes" to any of thesequestions then you are suffering from common American afflictions, and I'd like torecommend my own exclusive prescription,ladies and gentlemen: Dr. Hot's ThermalTherapy Show!. . .

I gave a Dartmouth Experimental College course in juggling that spring with Mark Elmer '73, who was my first juggling teacher. After that my enthusiasm waned and I juggled sporadically for the next five years. By the time I graduated all my career ideas had evaporated. I had majored in English because novels were more interesting to read than textbooks. I had enjoyed writing before sterilizing the skill in college. I had also prepared for teaching, but teaching English didn't inspire me. I wanted non-scholastic and non-career experiences. After college, I worked as a lifeguard, a taxi driver, a digger of ditches, a bus boy, and a waiter. I traveled as much as I could: throughout the U.S. and several trips into Mexico. I saw my first juggling street performers, in New Orleans at the 1976 Mardi Gras. They were the Loco-Motion Circus, two men who performed gymnastics and all manner of juggling, uni-cycling, and music. I saw how entertaining juggling could be when presented well, and the lifestyle was inspiring. These two fellows traveled all over the continent working big festivals, cities, and campuses. I began intensive practice with balls again and moved to San Francisco. I supported my habit by busing and waiting tables. At the restaurant, I perfected soup-ladle nose balancing and lemon juggling and worked often on the bartray controlled somersault with and without crockery breakage.

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San Francisco is the premier city in the world for street performing. There are hundreds of street musicians, a dozen mimes, a dozen magicians, and at least 20 professional street jugglers with 20 unique styles. I studied performers and learned which tricks were most effective on the street. I bought a six-foot unicycle and began work on fire torches, three-cigar-box tricks, and Ping-Pong ball mouth juggling. I could ride a regular unicycle a little bit, and I hoped the tall one would become my trademark. Juggling technique is far less important on the street than performance technique. I began to think of amusing ways to present a trick and of stories that described the movement of the objects. Several performers had a heavy influence on me: Ray Jason, the classical San Francisco street juggler; Zu-Zu Ha-Ha, who bills himself as Whoopee the Clown; A. Whitney Brown and his amazing dog Brownie; Michael Davis; "The Act That Killed Vaudeville"; the Flying Karamazov Brothers; and The Amazing Kristavo, who works the street when he isn't touring with a circus. After a year of solo practice I performed my first street show in San Francisco.

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The street is a challenging theater. The audience hasn't paid and feels free to walk away. You may have to compete with city noise, car traffic, or construction crews. No one whispers during your show. Some people yell. No one politely endures a bad street perform,ance. A magician told me that one street show equaled five stage shows for performing experience. Reaction from the crowd is immediate. You learn quickly to project confidence and an air of skill. You learn how to involve the audience, to make them feel a part of your show, or you walk away with sympathy tips only. It took me nine months to develop a consistently good street act.

My first problem as a street performer is to break down the suspicions directed toward street people with no visible means of support and no apparent direction. I fall into both categories when I'm wandering around with my six-foot unicycle and a bulging pack of juggling paraphernalia, looking for the ideal place to perform. I have to do a heavy job of relating as I set up to make myself and the people in the space comfortable. My second job is to gather a crowd, from ten to 50 people depending on the scene. Interesting props, a low-key friendly rap, and a few short humorous juggling bits turn the trick. Cafe-au-Lait would do upside-down yoga. Nothing is more magnetic on the street than a group of enthusiastic people applauding. That's the third problem: to cause your small crowd to react. I begin my act with fire torches to incinerate the inertia and incite applause. If I get no response after torches, I sit down or move on.

By the end of my first year in San Francisco, I was juggling on easy street. I had good spots established throughout the city. My favorite was in front of the Opera House, performing for the symphony crowd. I became a regular fixture, a sort of faucet of absurdity, and usually managed to score tickets to the symphony.

And now for the cruel and unusual "punk"portion of my program: gaze in awe andwonder, with fear and loathing, as I slicethrough my juggling routine with thisrazor-edged butcher's knife, narrowly escaping abrasions and amputations, incisions and circumcisions, woundedanatomy, and almost certain lobotomy . . .

After that first year,.l left San Francisco and spent two months traveling and performing in South America. When I returned I began exploring America in my van as a gypsy performer. Each year, more street performers survive in the States. If you want to settle down, you have a choice' of several cities that support and encourage street acts: Boston, Boulder, New York, New Orleans,- San Francisco, and Key West. There are other cities where a good performer can eke out a living feeling more like a panhandler than a street artist. But there are few traveling street performers. Most cities have laws against soliciting and make no distinction between street merchants and street performers. I depend on college campuses as I travel cross-country. When I'm lucky, people who have seen my show help me get other work. I have been hired by colleges, grade schools, children's organizations, a chamber of commerce, and a rock band. I wander at my leisure and support myself adequately. Since I began traveling I think I've eaten an entire field of cream of wheat.

South America is the most interesting place I've worked in the streets. Last summer, I traveled two months through Columbia, Ecuador, and Peru and worked in about ten towns. In some of these places a gringo tying a shoe in the town plaza would draw a crowd. When a gringo wears a clown white-face and carries, a pack of juggling equipment, huge crowds gather. I began each show by drawing a big chalk circle and then getting people out of the circle so I had room to work. My biggest fans were the shoeshine boys who always sat on their stools in the front row. I worked solo or with a friend I was traveling with, and for a while we had a banjo player from Vancouver back us up.

For as many as 400 people, we did 45-minute shows with magic and music, jug- gling, clowning, and acrobatics. My rolled-up pants and sickly striped socks were balanced by a white-face mask and elegant Pierrot-style wide-sleeved blouse. My partner also wore white-face, a royal mauve shirt, a silver tinsel jacket, and a Panama hat. The only aspect of Spanish more primitive than my vocabulary is my accent. I adopted a crude but eccentric character and spoke in a hoarse Tom Wait's voice rolling my r's like they were logs. My partner and I tripped and bumped heads a lot. Although the "sticks of fire" and "dinner of razor blades and thread" went over big, our most popular bit was clown juggling. I tossed a variety of fruits, vegetables, and miscellaneous objects into my partner's three-ball pattern after mispronouncing or misnaming each. At the finale, my friend juggled a large ball of clothes, a carrot, and an unrolling roll of toilet paper.

I found three cities in South America with a lively tradition of street performing. Each evening, on a picturesque bridge in Cali, Columbia, an acrobat dove through a hoop of knives and a tight-wire expert walked between two bridges. In Cuzco, Peru, an excellent storyteller and mime performed political and social satire in the central plaza. In Lima, I found the largest number of performers. There were several mimes, several stick-and-chain karate exhibitionists, some music, and about ten stand-up comedians. The comedians got the best response. They worked in pairs: a clown in costume and a straight man who did most of the talking. In a 20-minute show they performed obscenities, knockabout clowning, poetry satires, puns, and female impersonation with more obscenities. I learned a lot about Peruvian and human humor from them.

Whenever possible, I traded off shows with other performers. I worked in city squares and in parks near playgrounds for children's shows. (The fastest path to the heart of a South American is through his children.) In a small city in Ecuador, my friend and I worked for a mayoral candidate, doing shows at his political rallies. We performed at tiny Indian pueblos on the outskirts of town for people who seldom went to town and who had never seen juggling. We saw the political process at first hand. The experience was powerful, but our man lost the election.

From the classical I would like to turn tothe exotic in juggling. You've heard of theChinese water torture - I am about todemonstrate the dread and treacherousManganese Choke Balls, a feat importedfrom Outer Mongolia, in which I riskalmost certain strangulation. I will attemptto manipulate these two tiny orbs throughthe atmosphere without use of hands orfeet. It's a demonstration of incomparableoral dexterity . . .

As far as the future goes - which seems to be far enough - I'm interested in clowning, traveling, and working with a larger group of people, perhaps my own wandering half-ring circus. I'm working now on a clown version of slack-rope walking and unicycle with juggling on the slackrope. I've worked nine months on it and hope to perform it within a year. It would be a perfect act for a small circus, perhaps in Europe. I'm enjoying my travels in the U.S., but next year I'll head for Europe and points unknown, following the centuries-old tradition of gypsy jongleur.

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Shortly before Thanksgiving, on his way topoints unknown, Bill Galvin '73 performedseveral shows in Hanover.