Boont, the Beemsh and the Broadie

Boonville, The Big Show and the Cow

    The circus that had been ballyhooed by a young man on horseback for weeks promised not to be a disappointment. All his drum beating, bell ringing and bugle blowing had stirred up the people for miles around. Every tavern or storekeeper had tacked up a sign announcing the arrival.
    With the circus in town, Boonville awoke to strange new sounds and smells.   Many of these were not entirely pleasant.  The smell of fresh sawdust wasn’t too offensive.  And the natural trumpeting, howls, growls, hoots and grunts of the visiting menagerie were different—but bearable.   
    The town folk raised their brows at the earth quaking beneath their feet as handlers put the pachyderms through their routines.  
    The smell of roasting peanuts and fresh popped corn hung in the air so strong you could taste it.   And somewhere, a tall figure dressed in a red striped shirt, black suspenders, gray flannel pants, and spats, pounded out the gay, festive notes of the circus on his calliope.  
The small minstrel shows that passed through town from time to time were no match for the delightful sights, sounds and smells of the circus.  
    In the midst of all the excitement, cursing cowboys and Chinamen with long braids bouncing on their backs grunted and strained to raise the enormous circus tents. 
Under the big tops, clowns rehearsed, trapeze artists flew through the air, and magicians practiced their sleight-of-hand tricks before small, wide-eyed children.  The dazzling costumes and death-defying feats of the entertainers mesmerized the townsfolk who stirred about in the early morning air.     
    The air was electric with excitement and anticipation.  The mouth-watering scents of caramel apples and cotton candy competed with the more pungent odors of big cats, animal feed, hay, and droppings.  And despite their thankless jobs, the animal caretakers made it plain that the thought of leaving the circus and their mundane tasks never crossed their minds.    
        “Have mercy, Mary.  That sun is blinding me.  Can’t a man sleep in when he’s left his chores at home?”  Bayless cried with a hand to his eyes to shade them from the bright rays.
Mary stood at the hotel window drawing aside the curtains. 
        “Who can sleep with such excitement about?  It’s six in the morning, Papa, the whole town is up.”
    Bayless rolled over and moaned.  “Lucky them.  They didn’t have an old lion roaring outside their window all night long.”  
    He glances about the room and notes that the covers are neatly spread over Alice’s bed.  “Where is Alice?”  
        “She was up hours ago.” 
        “Whatever for?” Bayless grumped.  She never gets out of bed this early at home.” 
        “She had friends waiting for her well before the sun was up.”  
         “Oh to be young again,” Bayless moaned. He rubbed the sparse hairs that defined his receding hairline.  
    In the lobby, the day shift desk clerk looked up in surprise to see Mr. Berry, the hotel’s owner.  Mr. Berry’s face indicated that he was not caught up in the excitement of the circus as were most of his guests and the townspeople.
        “What is Robinson’s room number?”  He demanded of the clerk.
    The clerk ran a finger down the registry.  “It’s room number five, Sir.” 
With his face dark as a storm cloud, Mr. Berry marched to room number five and pounded on the door. 
    Mr. Robinson answered the door dressed in his long johns, with his hair rumpled and his face creased with sleep lines.
        “What is it? How may I help you at this ungodly hour my good man?”
        “Well, I’m happy to see that someone in this hotel slept last night!”  Mr. Berry growled.  “Ever since your roaring lion arrived in town, I haven’t slept a wink and my cow refuses to give milk!”   
        “Mr. Berry, my good man, I can’t see how you possibly believe that this is my fault.”    
        “It is all your fault, Robinson!  It’s your beast that moans and roars all night long.  What’s wrong with that lion, anyway?”
        “I can’t say, Berry. Perhaps he’s offended by the smell of your cow.”
    Mr. Berry replied in a huff.  “Well, you and the guests will have no milk for your coffee this morning.  And do not anticipate leasing this property ever again.  I would throw the lot of you out this very minute if I could!” 
        “I don’t take milk in my coffee anyway.  Now, I’m going back to bed, I have a big show to put on this afternoon.”  Robinson wagged his head.  “There seems to be no end to how much I can irritate the people in this valley.” 
    Somewhat taken aback by Mr. Robinson’s manner, Berry stormed off in a huff.  He continued muttering loudly to himself as the Smith’s arrived in the hotel lobby.    
        “This is the last time I will lease space to a circus!  The people are disrespectful, ungrateful, smelly….”  
        “Well, there’s a little good news to start our day, Momma,” Bayless quipped.   He and Mary made their way to the dining room when they were startled by a loud roar.  
        “Goodness me, what was that?  It sounded like a lion….”  Mary cast a curious glance at Bayless. 
        “And it didn’t…”  Bayless finished. 
    Hearing the sound, Berry stops his muttering.  
    The strange roar is repeated.  
    The Smiths and Mr. Berry lead a parade of curious diners and hotel guests  to the livestock area of one of the big tents.   
        “What is it, Bayless?” Mary prodded, perplexed at the roaring sound that she could not quite identify.  
        “Well, I could be wrong but I think it is Mr. Berry’s cow.”
     The Smiths approached the lion’s cage, and there, beside the cage, stood Mr. Berry’s cow.  The lonely beast bellowed loudly, sounding very like the roaring lion.  The imitation roar could be heard throughout the tent and the town as well.
    Rumors circulated for the longest time with claims that Mr. Berry’s cow continued his curious roar long after the circus had folded its tents and moved on. 
    The Smiths returned to the dining room when they passed Mr. Berry.  The poor man stood at the back door of his hotel with his hands covering his ears, staring at the cow.  
        “The circus will not be returning to this town if I have anything to say about it!”  He exclaimed.
    A bright smile lit Bayless’ face.  ”Look at it this way Mr. Berry, that beast of yours will make folks think that the circus is in town even when it is not.  That might be good for business!”  
    Berry scowled at Bayless and stormed off, making no reply.  
        “Shall we have our breakfast now, Momma, some of those famous Easters?”
    Noting the disapproving look on his wife’s face, Bayless quickly added, “Some of them famous, but all quite inferior to yours.”   
        “You’re a wise man, Mr. Smith,” Mrs. Smith quipped as she followed him into the dining room.
    Alice and her friends had gathered outside Oliver Olsen’s Mercantile.  Folks could hear the girls giggle several blocks away.  
        “Oh Beth, I can’t wait!  I so look forward to having some time with Thomas at the dance.  I hope that Mr. Mason Lawson will leave me be.  When he passed us on the road on the way in to town he asked me to save him a dance.”
    Some of the giggles turned to moans at the mention of Mason Lawson.  
        “Is he that bad Alice?”  One of the girls asked.
        “He’s too rough for me. I don’t care that his parents are the richest in the valley. In my book he’s not marriage material. He’s too highpockety for my likin'. He’s actually kind of scary.”   
    Beth polished an apple against her skirts and raised it to her mouth to take a bite when Alice took the apple.  
        “Beth, let me see that ganno.  Alice took the apple and very slowly and very carefully twisted its stem.  
     She glanced at her group of friends.  “You say a letter of the alphabet with each twist of the stem.  They say that you’ll marry the person whose initial you call out when the stem falls off.”
    Beth laughed.  “Oh, Alice, you and your silly superstitions!” 
        “No-- really,” Alice said and continued to twist the stem.  If afterwards you cut the ganno open and count the seeds that will be the number of children that you will have.”
Alice continues to twist the stem, “K…L”  
    Beth grabbed for the apple just as Alice said the letter “M” “Let me do it, it's my ganno!”  
    Alice looks horrified.  
        “M!  No!  Now look what you’ve gone and done, Beth!”  
        “I’m sorry, Alice.  Don’t believe these silly superstitions.  I don’t!”   
    Tears stream from Alice’s eyes.  
        “I loathe Mason for his bullish ways!  I’m tired of his advances and I don’t want this stupid ganno to be right!”  
        “It’s okay Alice, it’s just a ganno,” Beth said and hugged her frightened friend.
        “But his family controls the fortunes of most of the people in this valley!  They own the hop fields and several of the apple orchards.  Some of our neighbors depend on the Lawson’s for extra income, and others depend on them for their sole income!”
        “And Mason Lawson knows it!  He feels like he can bully anyone he pleases with impunity because no one wants to get on his bad side for fear of losing their job!”  
    Beth turned to a growing crowd down the street.  
        “Look, Alice.  They’re blowing up a hot air balloon!”  
    Alice and her friends watched as the deflated red and yellow striped Solarmax fabric of the balloon grew taller, wider and rounder.   
    While the inflating hot air balloon distracted Alice, Beth threw the bad luck apple as far away as she could and then she yelled, “Let’s go!” 
    Alice quickly forgot the tragic twist of the apple stem.  She and her friends made their way through the milling people to the front of the crowd that had gathered near the balloon.
    The girls moved so close to the balloon that they could feel the heat from the propane burners on their faces.  They watched with interest as the four-man balloon team checked and tightened the tethers as the balloon expanded.
    They laughed at the antics of Toby the Clown.  He moved among them, clumsy in his floppy, oversized shoes, handing out candy and balloons.  They peeled the wrappers from the peppermint sticks as the balloon pilot addressed the crowd:
         “Ladies and gentlemen, this balloon is a veteran that served our country in the war.  This reliable balloon was used in communications, to transport Army Personnel, mail and equipment. I assure you that this is a risk free, historic ride. Soar with me above your majestic redwoods and see your beautiful valley the way God views it every day.” 
    As if on cue, Toby the Clown popped some of the balloons that he carried.  The women and girls that had jumped and screamed were quickly reassured that there was no need for alarm.
    Toby laughed his scripted laugh and then hung his head as the pilot barked.  
        “Toby!  Take your unreliable balloons somewhere else!”
    Toby recovered quickly and began blowing up balloons for the people.  
    The pilot barked.  
        “You see folks, you just can’t keep a good balloon blower down! Now, who wants to be first?”   
         “Oh, let’s do it, Alice!”  Beth cried.
        “Not me.  It doesn’t look safe.”
        “Oh, come on, Alice.  Stop being so over cautious!  This is a government balloon. The government wouldn’t make a bad balloon. The pilot just said there’s no risk. He does this all the time and he looks alive to me.”  Beth looked to Alice with pleading eyes.
        “How about if we watch him go up first?”  Alice suggested. 
        “Okay, but we’re going up in the next one.”  
        “No takers?” The pilot cried.  “All right then.  Just watch me folks, then you can line up for the next ride.”
     The balloon team finished filling the balloon.  They waited until the pilot stepped into the basket and then they released the balloon’s tethers. 
    The brightly colored balloon looked magnificent floating above the redwood forest and into the crisp blue sky.   The day could not have been more perfect for flying.  The air was crisp and clear.  There was no fog or low lying clouds to mar the view.
    The crowds watched in awe.  “Look how beautiful!”  They gasped in astonishment.  “I want a ticket for the next ride,” one onlooker yelled.
         “Me too!” Another cried, then another.
        “Step right up, folks!  Get your tickets right here!”  One of the balloon team members shouted as he peeled one ticket after another from the roll that he carried.
        “Look!  Look!”  A woman screamed.  A sudden gust of wind barreled through the narrow valley.  It whipped the balloon about like it was an empty wrapper and then tossed it into a towering redwood.
    Pierced by a redwood branch, the balloon suddenly deflated and deposited the pilot in a tangle of redwood branches.  
        “Help me!  Somebody help me!”  The man screamed.  He was cut and bleeding and he clung to a redwood branch for his life.
     The festive crowd broke into pandemonium.  Women screamed.  Children felt suddenly sickened at the sight of the endangered, injured man.
        “Some of you other lumberjacks in the crowd grab your tree climbing gear and follow me.  A couple of you bring ladders and ropes from the mill.  Load up my buggy, my team’s hitched in front of the mercantile.  Be quick about it before that man falls to his death.”
    Working like a well oiled piece of machinery, the lumberjacks and town locals put harnesses and ropes in place.  They reached the pilot, untangled him from the balloon’s tethers, and secured him about the chest in a rope harness.  
    The men slowly lowered the pilot to the ground.  He was so battered and shaken that he could not trust his legs to carry him to the back of the lumberjack’s wagon. 
    The town volunteers carried him. They gently lay him in the wagon where they saw to his more serious injuries.  As the lumberjack headed to the town doc with the injured man in his wagon, he heard the pilot vow.  
        “Never again!  I quit this dangerous, lousy business!” 
    Before the dust settled from the retreating wagon, frantic women screamed and fainted.  Mr. Edgar Estell’s pigs had found their way to town and the townspeople’s dogs had found Mr. Estell’s pigs.
    Squealing pigs and barking dogs can very effectively disperse a crowd of genteel women whose movements are restricted by long skirts, tight corsets and boots that require a button hook for buttoning.
    Harried husbands and opportunity –seeking suitors dashed like theatre house heroes to catch their fainting wives and girlfriends.   In no time, Alice and her friends found themselves virtually alone on streets that had been overcrowded moments earlier.
Alice pointed to the retired military balloon.  
        “Want a free balloon?”
    The girls watched as the wagon with the injured pilot on board passed the medicine show.  The loud carnie tossed the pilot a bottle of his snake oil.  
        “This will cure your ills, your ails, your aches and pains, Sir.  It might even cure your fear of flying.”
      Moans came from the back of the wagon.  
        “Owww.”  
    The snake oil salesman added 
        “This one’s on the house!”   
    He waved more bottles at the fleeing crowd.  
        “Anyone else? Are you faint of heart?  Got the gout?  What won’t kill you will cure you!  If yer hair’s straight, this will curl it.  If yer hair is curled, this here will straighten it!”
“What about you young ladies?”  He waved a bottle at Alice and her friends.  “Give this to your beau and he’ll fall under your spell faster than if Cupid hit him with an arrow!”
         “It couldn’t hurt to try,” Beth said with a giggle and reached for a bottle.  
    Alice pulled Beth away before Beth could take the bottle of snake oil.  
        “Come on Beth, we’ve had enough excitement here.  Let’s go see what’s in the big tent.”

                                                           
                                                                 A Floyd Hudsell = Lantern   
    As the girls walked back down the dirt street that afternoon they saw a young local named Floyd make his way down the road. Now Floyd had a fear of being caught in the dark. However, the sun was shining high in the sky that time of the day. For Floyd a lantern was an item of comfort. While this is an unusual sight to visitors it wasn’t unusual to locals. For as long as anyone could remember they had never seen Floyd without a lantern, day or night. 
    Now there was no recorded history of the sun ever setting suddenly in that area, but Floyd was not about to let darkness sneak up on him. His lantern was as much a part of him as any limb that Mother Nature gave him at birth. 
    Floye would actually be a comforting sight to some. They liked know that somewhere in Boonville there was always going to be a light. It was reassuring to know that Floyd was in charge of it. He town in the years to come would grow to appreciate Floyd, and his quirks, even more.
    This was such a common sight that a lantern was soon called a Floyd Hudsell. However, Floyd was not the only anomaly in the area. The entire valley was an amalgamation of interesting characters. They didn’t have to wait for the circus to come to town they simply had to look around. There were the Indians, and they had been there before the white man arrived. There was Mr. Jeans, a run-away slave. Then there were the much lighter complexioned Scandinavians. Not forgetting the fun-filled, loud, wine making Italians.      Yes, living in Anderson Valley in those days was like living on an international, harmonious quilt. 
        “Are you hungry?”  asked Alice.
        "I am” answered Beth.  
        “Let’s go to the ladies bazaar. I know there’ll be some bahl gorms (good food)  there.”     
    Beth sushed Alice.
        "Shhh, Alice. Do your parents know that you know some Boont?”  
    Alice laughs. 
        “Beth, everyone knows Boont! Each one thinks that the others don’t. The men speak it and sometimes they’re not saying very nice words. Why, I’ve seen grown women blush. And the women folk speak it too! I think they think that us children don’t know what they’re sayin’ but we do! It’s the funniest thing.”  The girls laugh. 
        “It’s the best kept secret in Bell Valley, Beth, the one that everyone knows!”  
    Beth’s tummy growls and she pats it. 
        “I think my stomach just said ‘feed me’ in Boont.”