Clowns of Enchantment
Mike Smith
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Springtime in New Mexico can be beautiful—a time when the cottonwoods unfurl their leaves, when shades of green begin to lace the desert, and when the cantinas resume seating on their patios and the sun finally rolls away the winter.
In New Mexico, though, spring can also be a time of fear—a time when the too-bright, sun-choked air shrouds everything in a feeling of overexposed unreality, when muddy footprints give kitchens and living rooms the look of crime scenes, and when an alarming number of grown men and women intentionally put on face paint, rainbow wigs, and red rubber noses.
Spring: is when the clowns come out.
All across the state, from north to south and from west to east, New Mexicans—men and women, adults and children, people from every class and walk of life—make the conscious yet inexplicable decision to go outdoors while dressed as clowns.
According to the May 6, 2008 Artesia Daily Press, residents of Artesia, in southeastern New Mexico’s Eddy County, recently found themselves faced by the all-too-real specter of “Pa Pal,” the concocted alter ego of local man David Romine. This brightly cadaverous ambassador of cheer—dressed in Ronald McDonald-style shoes, a polka-dotted bodysuit, a poinsettia-colored boa, and a patriotic wig—stood on the corner of Artesia’s Ninth and Main Streets on Monday, May 5, spinning a multi-colored umbrella and flanked by two fez-wearing Shriners, Ken Dickson and Don May. These three costumed men began their eager vigil with 250 ten-pound bags of Vidalia onions, and have threatened to remain at the same location all week, until every $11 bag has been sold.
The Shriners are a charitably-minded branch of Freemasonry—the Shrine Club is also known as the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine—and their Artesia-based membership plans to use whatever the onion-peddling clown earns them to help the children in their community, to fund their local organization, and to support the Shriners’ Temple, a.k.a. the Ballut Abyad Shrine Center, in Albuquerque.
Other clowns are lurking out there as well. According to the May 9, 2008 Ruidoso News, in the community of Capitan, in south-central New Mexico's Lincoln County, two members of the local “Sheriff’s Posse”— Kathy Carey and Dick Sundt —dressed up as a pair of the most terrifying clowns the world has ever beheld, to celebrate Capitan’s annual Smokey Bear Days, on May 2 and 3, 2008.
Capitan’s most famous resident was the scorched bear cub that, after being rescued from a nearby forest fire in 1950 and initially dubbed Hotfoot Teddy, became the living counterpart of Smokey Bear, or Smokey the Bear, the Forest Service’s already extant mascot. What that furry icon of campfire safety has anything to do with dressing up in rainbow suspenders, neon lemon wigs, and ghoulish face paint, would be hard to say for certain, but hey, whatever—it’s spring—clown time! Clown season.
In George A. Romero’s classic 1968 zombie film, Night of the Living Dead, the zombies don’t all arrive at once. The story starts in a cemetery, with only one. Then, there’s another, and another, and the next thing people know, the survivors are boarded up in an old house, as hundreds of the rotting undead mill around them outside, hungry for brains.
On Monday, this column’s subject will be continued. Tonight, there was one clown. Then, there were others. Soon, there will be even more.
(For parts two and three in this series, click here and here.)
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Reader Comments (2)
Mike! This time you have slipped too far beyond the edge of that which is psychologically acceptable! What hideous terrors can we expect to be dredged up from the ghastly darkness of your macabre mind next time ?! ;-)
( And, I wonder - Do Shriners in Roswell, NM dress up as "The Killer Clowns From Outer Space"? )