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Boston Globe
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
The pizazz, perils, and pratfalls of life under the Big Top
He's setting up the Circus Smirkus 2025 Big Top tent at the Cracker Barrel fairgrounds on a Monday morning, bright and early. The tent crew arrived late the night before after breaking down the last show, 100 miles away in Greenfield. Circus Smirkus, based in Vermont, is the only traveling youth circus performing under the Big Top in the USA. There are 18 'troupers,' as performers are called, ages 12 to 18. A staff of 30-40 grownups complete their 'circus bubble' that travels around New England in 25 vehicles. Advertisement Nelson Wilson, 18 of Providence and Sekora Berge, 15, of Plymouth, Wis., do a warmup before going in for the 7 p.m. show. Stan Grossfeld The kids stay with host families at each stop. The grownups live in trailers at the tent site. They have a mobile kitchen, aka the 'Pie Car,' and a trailer was converted into six tiny showers. They'll do 65 shows in seven weeks, clowning around before some 35,000 people. It's not all jesting and jokes, and risks are present. That became clear the day after the circus was set up when an aerialist fell 15 feet while performing, suffering serious injuries. He is now recovering, his mother posted on social media. Salix Wraith, a senior Tent Crew member, puts up supporting beams in the tent. Stan Grossfeld In many ways, Circus Smirkus is a throwback to a simpler time. 'It's called a mud show, because it's set up in fields as opposed to stadiums,' he says. 'We're carrying on the history of doing circus tours like this.' Advertisement Story Gemmati, 14, of Huntington Beach, Calif., puts on her makeup before the show. Stan Grossfeld Ringling Brothers is taking 2025 off to regroup but Smirkus Circus keeps on trucking in its 38th year. This year's high-energy show is called 'Game On.' It's guaranteed to make you smile. ' Yeah, I love them,' Wraith says of the troupers. 'They inspire me. They're incredibly talented and athletic and sweet and creative. It's why we're here. We do it for the kids.' On a travel day, the performers go to their host families for rest and relaxation. A comfy bed, breakfast, and dinner. They are an eclectic group of athletes, twisting and turning in the summer air. Each January, 45 kids are invited to audition in person at the circus headquarters in Greensboro. Those that don't look people in the eye never make the cut. Nelson Wilson, 18, of Providence, warms up with a Hula Hoop before a show. He will attend Boston University in the fall. Stan Grossfeld The performers then meet on Zoom until they spend three weeks in June to finalize the show with their director and coaches. They also don't make any money, as Circus Smirkus is a nonprofit cultural organization. Tuition this year is $9,000, which covers training, housing, food, costumes, coaching, and touring costs. No one is turned down because of financial need, according to marketing director Genevieve Martineau. They typically work a 12-hour day. In between their noon and the 7 p.m. shows some troupers take cat naps. At rehearsal, Oscar Benninga 15, practices with aerial silks in the main tent. Stan Grossfeld Oscar Benninga, 15, of Lexington, practices flying through the air on a long swath of silk, which he twirls like a matador. Is it like being Peter Pan? 'You do get that sense of detachment,' he says. 'It's a different world . . . It's really fun. I get to train all day and perform for new people and make them smile.' Advertisement Lev Eisner, 18, a juggler from Baltimore, says circus life is a bit of a balancing act. Performers, top from left: Sylvie Merryman-Lotze,15, of Glenside, Pa., Adi Natof, 14, of Lexington, Ky., and Azaria Passini,12, of Plymouth, Wis.; with Miranda Myer,15, of Bellevue, Wash., at bottom left. Stan Grossfeld 'We know how to stay up all night and swing off the roof, and we also know how to get to bed on time the night before a show and wake up at 6:00 a.m. to start warming up our bodies.' The performers also do a multitude of other tasks. Last summer in Hanover, N.H., they were assigned to clean the tarps and mats. 'There's decomposing slugs all over the tarps,' says Eisner. Four teenagers lugged them down to the river, a half mile away. 'It turns out the current is really strong. They're in, they're unfurling, they're billowing away. We're pulling on them for our lives because we can't lose the tarp,' he says. We're going to be in so much trouble.' Somehow they managed to get back on land but the wet tarps were too heavy to carry. A fisherman who was a Circus Smirkus fan took them back in his pickup truck. 'I don't think they quite dried before the show, but at least we were on time,' he says. Sylvie Merryman-Lotze, 15, of Glenside, Pa., has been doing circus training since she was 5. She says her sister was taking piano lessons in Philadelphia and a circus school was right down the street. 'It was just something to kill time,' she says. She discovered her calling to be a contortionist. It has gotten her into a lot of tight spots. 'I love working with my body, and I love working with other people.' Advertisement So many things can go wrong. Charlotte, 11, and Daley Murphy, 4, of Mansfield enjoy the show. Stan Grossfeld 'A few shows ago, there were four nosebleeds during the show. Some people had to run off stage. We just had people sub in. We were behind the curtain, whispering, 'All right, who's going to do this trick'? It was crazy having to improv on stage to make up for it,' Sylvie says. The accident involving the aerialist brought an outpouring of love and support. The show was immediately stopped and refunds were given. Some patrons returned them with messages of love and hope. 'I returned to the tent on Wednesday and dropped off a cake to try in some small way to show that you are thought of by so many. It is a helpless feeling but I continue to keep all of you in my thoughts,' one woman wrote. Azy Berge (top), 18, of Plymouth, Wis., and Jaycee Roethel, 18, of Sheboygan, Wis., nap between shows. Stan Grossfeld 'I support and care about sustaining all of your hard work and all of the emotional work you are doing right now.' The accident devastated the Circus Smirkus family, especially troupers, says Rachel Schiffer, executive and artistic director. " They're sad. They're curious and concerned. They're frustrated because they want answers, understandably so.' Two shows were canceled, but troupers bounced back. They spent a day off performing a show in the gym at Staff member Nora Kempner does the laundry behind the troupers' backstage tent and the shower trailer. Stan Grossfeld 'They've been amazing in a really tough time,' Schiffer says of the troupers. For now there will be no aerial acts until the investigation is complete. 'When we do circus, we come into a world of calculated risk,' despite rigorous training, education, safety checks, and balances, she says in an interview after the accident. 'With all of those things, things can still go wrong.' Advertisement Sylvie Merryman-Lotze, 15 of Glenside, Pa., does chores between shows. Stan Grossfeld Schiffer says a safety net is not feasible because the circus tent isn't tall enough. A few days later, there's good news. The performer's mother posted a photo of him at home smiling and giving the peace sign with two of his circus besties. Tawnya Sauer, assistant general manager, displays an old circus saying on her arm. 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Indianapolis Star
09-07-2025
- Indianapolis Star
On the map: the origins of Indiana's quirkiest town and city names
You don't need a passport to visit Peru, Morocco, Versailles or the North Pole. You don't even need to leave Indiana. From names that conjure far-off places to those that feel plucked from a fantasy, Indiana's towns trace a map that is unusually enchanting. Some names were borrowed with ambition, others chosen out of a hat, literally. Here are 11 of the quirkiest town names in Indiana: This southern Indiana town in Spencer County goes all-in on its name: The town includes 'Jingle Bell Lane," a post office that processes thousands of letters to Santa each year, and the Holiday World theme park that embraces the holiday spirit year-round. But how did the community end up with such a merry moniker? According to the town's website, the name dates back to a Christmas Eve in the mid-1800s. As debates ensued to find a name for the growing settlement, a gust of wind flung open the doors, and the sound of distant sleigh bells echoed out. Children rushed to the doorway, calling out, 'Santa Claus! Santa Claus!' On May 21, 1856, the Santa Claus, Indiana Post Office was officially established, cementing the town as forever synonymous with Christmas cheer. When you hear the name of this north-central Indiana city, you might think llamas, but think bigger: elephants. Once the headquarters for traveling circuses like the Ringling Brothers and Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, Peru, Indiana in Miami County is the Circus Capital of the World. Today, although elephants no longer appear, that legacy lives on each summer, when local kids perform under the big top during Peru's week-long Circus City Festival, which this year runs from July 11 to 18. Though many longtime residents still pronounce the name as 'Pee-roo," the town is said to be named after the South American nation. And, the town's history is as colorful as its circus tents. In 1913, a catastrophic flood swept through the area, destroying homes, factories, and circus wagons. One circus suffered more than $150,000 in damages, which translates into more than $3 million today. Today, you can swing by the International Circus Hall of Fame, visit the birthplace of composer Cole Porter, or watch how a small Indiana town turns into the big top every July. Founded in 1851, the Newton County town got its name, according to local legend, from a traveler passing through in red-topped Moroccan leather boots. As the story goes, early settlers asked the traveler to suggest a name. He offered up Morocco, and it stuck. Today, the northwest Indiana town's welcome sign still features a red boot. While you won't find camels here, you might spot bison roaming the prairie, thanks to Kankakee Sands, a nearby nature preserve working to restore native wildlife. Morocco is about an hour away from the sandy dunes of Indiana National Park, but it's a reminder that traces of faraway sands can settle anywhere. Jackie Spinner, a journalist who lived in the country of Morocco, stumbled upon the Indiana town on a map during a road trip. Her adopted son, born in the Moroccan capital of Rabat, saw the sign and said, 'This doesn't look like Morocco.' Her other son asked where "all the Moroccans were." Their conversation sparked 'Morocco, Morocco,' Spinner's documentary about the cultural echoes between the two communities despite being worlds apart. The result is a look at identity, imagination, and how places shape the people who call them home. For such a regal name, the southeastern Indiana town keeps things practical. In Ripley County, Versailles isn't pronounced vair-SIGH, it's ver-SALES. And while many assume the town is named for the French palace, historians trace the origin instead to Frenchman John DePauw. That's about where the French elegance ends. This southeastern Indiana town leans more into pioneer grit than palace glamour. Versailles sold its first 166 lots for just $815, survived a Civil War raid by Morgan's Raiders -- who looted the courthouse and threatened to burn the town -- and once saw a sheriff chase grave robbers off a cliff. Between its Revolutionary War-era legends, Civil War drama, and enduring mispronunciation, Versailles proves that a royal name doesn't need a crown. Just a good fairytale-like history. This rather curiously named Orange County town originated as a French trading post built near a mineral spring and natural salt lick, hence, French Lick. By the late 1800s, the town had blossomed into a full-fledged spa resort, attracting travelers from across the country eager to experience the supposedly healing waters in southern Indiana. And it turns out, the water really did have an effect. 'When the FDA tested it in the 1970s,' local historian Joe Drabing told WISHTV, 'they found it had lithium in it -- a controlled substance. Everybody was happy.' If the casino and springs aren't enough, French Lick also has a claim to fame as the birthplace of basketball legend Larry Bird. The comic sans lettering on the Gas City water tower in Grant County does not give away how this small city got its name from one of Indiana's most energizing eras. Originally called Harrisburg, the city was renamed Gas City in 1892 after a massive deposit of natural gas was discovered nearby in 1887, which attracted factories and investment. Hotels, banks, an opera house, a racetrack, and riverboat rides on the Mississinewa River turned the tiny town into a mini metropolis. The population exploded from 150 to over 3,600 in a decade, with some living in tents until homes could be built. As of recently, the east-central Indiana city has not experienced the same growth, only doubling in population since it took off more than 100 years ago. The history behind the name of this Martin County city is puzzling even to residents: is it a mashup of two early settlers' names? Or the name of a founder's wife? Here are the five theories: Some say it was a mashup of Thomas Gootee, who filed the original town plat in 1853, and a railroad engineer, Mr. Loo. It could have also been a mashup with another engineer, Lowe. Or, DeLoo, surveyor of the tract. Others insist the town started as Waterloo, until the post office shot it down for duplication and someone suggested adding the last syllable of Waterloo (Loo) to Gootee. Others have said that the town was named in honor of Thomas' wife, Lucinda the name came about, this western Indiana city's name is a fun one to say. Or try to say. Originally called Osceola, the town was renamed Advance in 1820 anticipation of the arrival of the Midland Railway. The Midland was expected to transform the town into a booming hub and connect northern Indiana to St. Louis without going through Indianapolis, according to the Indiana Transportation History blog. Instead, the route became one of the least successful lines in the state, and Advance experienced little of the prosperity town officials once pictured. Today, in northwest Boone County, the main streets are quiet and lots sit empty. But, Advance is still holding on with a little over 500 residents. There's not much rainforest in Clay County, but there is Brazil, Indiana, named, like many Midwestern cities, after far-off places that evoked opportunity. Brazil does not offer samba, but it does have 43 saloons. Or, at least it did in 1906. Brazil got its name in 1838, when settler William Stewart from Massachusetts suggested 'Brazil' as a short, memorable name for the new settlement to commemorate the revolution he had heard about in South America. The country of Brazil eventually took notice of the City of Brazil. In 1956, the Brazilian ambassador visited Brazil, Indiana to help dedicate a replica of the Chafariz dos Contos, a historic fountain from the city of Ouro Preto, Brazil. Made up of six man-made lakes and just a few hundred residents, Shamrock Lakes in Blackford County is Indiana's smallest incorporated town. The first lake, dug in the early 1960s, was shaped roughly like a shamrock leaf, which inspired the developer to lean into the Irish motif. According to the town's website, it is "one of only 5 cities in the United States that bears the symbolic emblem of Ireland." Shamrock Lakes offers a few cozy pubs and plenty of stone-skipping horizons — just enough to let you pretend you are in County Cork halfway between Fort Wayne and Indianapolis. Some pick rabbits out of hats, others draw town names. Utica, Indiana, a small Clark County town, mirrors the name of the city in upstate New York. In 1798, a group of settlers in New York gathered at Bagg's Tavern to name their community and picked "Utica" out of a hat, the story goes, a name that honored the ancient Roman city. The origin tale of Utica shows that history can be found in the most unexpected places, even at the bottom of a hat.
Yahoo
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Rarely-Seen '80s Pop Star and Actress, 66, Thrills Fans With Recent Appearance
Rarely-Seen '80s Pop Star and Actress, 66, Thrills Fans With Recent Appearance originally appeared on Parade. It's been nearly 40 years since her hit single, "Two of Hearts," shot to the top of the charts — but fans still haven't forgotten about Stacey Q. The former pop star, who also played the fan-favorite character Cinnamon on two episodes of The Facts of Life, made an appearance at The Hollywood Show pop culture convention in Los Angeles this weekend where she thrilled onlookers with a performance of "Two of Hearts." In a clip shared to TikTok, the 66-year-old singer wore a shiny black vinyl jacket over a sparkly crop top and a short, shimmery skirt as she belted out the iconic tune. Her blonde hair was cut in a bob with bangs — a major switch from the heavily hairsprayed style she was known for back in the '80s. Fans loved seeing the star back in action. "Stacy Q a blast from the past! pretty cool," gushed one person in the comments, with another calling the singer "amazing." "This would be fun," agreed another wistful viewer. In a 2018 interview with Rediscover the '80s, Stacey — who started her career after as a performer with Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus — reminisced about getting the call to appear on The Facts of Life. "The writers of The Facts of Life called my record company and inquired about my availability," she recalled. "Since my life then was being Stacey Q, I ran out to Hollywood like my hair was on fire," the singer continued. "The reception I received right away was that the last thing this show needs is another female. I couldn't have agreed more. I had never heard the theme song. They were mortified. Danny [Medellin] overheard one of them in make-up say, 'She is just the type you wanna hate but you can't because she's so nice.' Bless her, whichever one it was. I know which two it wasn't. If it wasn't for the great and glorious importance of ratings during sweeps week, you never would have heard of George '80s Pop Star and Actress, 66, Thrills Fans With Recent Appearance first appeared on Parade on Jun 9, 2025 This story was originally reported by Parade on Jun 9, 2025, where it first appeared.
Washington Post
21-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
He was an 8-year-old ventriloquist. Now he stars in a Baltimore magic show.
BALTIMORE — Before his appearance on 'Late Show With David Letterman' back in 1994, Spencer Horsman toured the set at the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York and got a snap of himself at Dave's desk. The 8-year-old ventriloquist and magician surveyed the empty seats. 'I've entertained for larger crowds,' he reassured his parents. Horsman, now 39, discovered magic at age 4 and later practiced escapes by asking kids to tie him to the jungle gym or a tree during recess. He went on to perform with David Copperfield and Lance Burton in Las Vegas, with Criss Angel on his 'The Supernaturalists' tour, and on multiple editions of 'America's Got Talent' and its counterpart in France, including one escape in which he was locked in a metal harness inside a tank and submerged in 150 gallons of cement. That tank decorates a corner of his Illusions Bar & Theater in south Baltimore. The sole performer for shows that can sell out several weeks in advance, Horsman focuses on magic, mentalism and comedy in which he moves fast and talks faster, his vertical blond hair an exclamation point to his manic energy. Audiences are kept to 40 per show in the art deco space, an under-the-radar gem where Horsman's act has been quietly gaining fans over the course of its 18 years. 'You feel like you're really part of it. You get a feeling of belonging,' said Risa Bruck, a math teacher from Pikesville, Maryland, at her second Illusions show in January. Horsman hopes to create a sense of community. 'We all love to laugh, right? We all love mystery. We love wonder,' he said in an interview. When audiences are immersed in 'that same element of wonder, you get stripped back to how you were as a kid. When we were kids, we didn't hate anybody.' His onstage persona is the opposite of the suave figure that the profession often embraces. In this two-employee enterprise, Horsman greets customers as they walk in; he and his wife and business partner, Nicole Horsman, mix drink orders at a frantic pace as people get settled. Three minutes into the show, he confesses that he's got ADHD, 'probably surprising nobody,' he adds as the crowd cheers. If this sounds like a bit of a circus, that's part of his heritage. Horsman's parents met as Ringling Brothers clowns. His mom, Bernie Spencer, performed acrobatics. His dad, Ken Horsman, often traveled as an 'advance clown' to promote the circus before it arrived in town. When the couple left life under the big top, Ken worked as Ronald McDonald for McDonald's in several states and in Baltimore opened what became known as Ken-zo's Yogi Magic Mart, which was once next door to where Illusions is now. His son demonstrated tricks at the store by age 6. He taught himself ventriloquism at age 8 by watching a VHS instructional video. Within six months, he had won second place in the youth division at a national competition and landed the Letterman gig. In the act, he recalled, he and his puppet partner, Dexter, wore tuxedos and bow ties while chatting about school, a place the boy loved and the puppet hated. The act incorporated magic. In one trick, Horsman and his puppet blew bubbles, but when Horsman reached forward to pop one, it turned into a solid crystal ball. Horsman went on to perform in Vegas, on TV's 'The Jerry Springer Show' and at a White House Easter egg hunt. The Post wrote about him in 1996 when Dexter went missing in the mail following repairs. The puppet turned up about three weeks later, and the story made national news. Horsman trained in ventriloquism with one of the masters, Sammy King. He also learned from well-known magicians who came to the store to give talks, and from the musicals and improv shows he saw with his parents. In high school, he gave up ventriloquism to focus on magic. Spencer and Ken Horsman opened Illusions together in 2007, when Spencer was 21. They promoted the venue's opening by arranging for Spencer to dangle from a crane outside the front door, and escape from two straitjackets. Ken died in 2016, and his bio and photo are prominently displayed in the theater. Spencer's tattoo sleeve combines an image of his father in costume along with the Three Stooges, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Abbott and Costello, and the Marx Brothers. He honors his father but in performance has gone his own way. 'I've done an exponential jump in finding more of my persona in the performing world since he's passed,' Horsman said. 'He came from a very old-school style of thinking,' including an insistence on squeaky clean comedy. Horsman is willing to riff where the bar audience leads him. During a recent show, he asked everyone to imagine a unique superpower they want. 'The more specific to you, the better,' he coached, turning his back while five people wrote their wishes on boards without signing their names. An audience member gathered the boards, shuffled them and presented them face down to Horsman. He correctly matched four people with their wishes by asking about their superhero origin stories and desire for a sidekick. The remaining wish was still on a table, hidden from view. Horsman turned to the last participant. 'Is this something you would use for good, for evil or somewhere in the middle?' 'Somewhere in the middle,' the woman replied, laughing hard. 'Would you want people to know you had this ability?' 'Absolutely not!' Horsman jotted down the wish, drew an image and revealed it. He guessed correctly. The woman wanted, for her superpower, an invisible penis. Anything can be an inspiration for a new trick: a piece of music, a movie, something he reads. He doesn't do escapes anymore, partly because of his diagnosis of RCVS, or reversible cerebral vasoconstriction syndrome. If he puts too much internal pressure on his body, such as holding his breath or hanging upside down for too long, he gets a 'thunderclap headache' and can black out from pain. The decision relieves Nicole Horsman, who handles business matters for Illusions. In his younger years, Horsman blacked out underwater when an escape went wrong during a rehearsal for a Criss Angel show. A cage lid smashed into the back of his head while he was practicing an escape for 'America's Got Talent: The Champions.' More recently, he stapled the side of his head because he hadn't gotten enough sleep and set up the trick wrong. He might be famous if his club were in Vegas or New York. But 'he has absolutely no interest in being famous,' Nicole says. His priorities are being imaginative in his work and having quiet time at home with Nicole plus their four dogs and two cats. Dexter the puppet oversees the Horsmans' bathroom at home, 'keeping the spare TP safe and scaring the living daylights out of unsuspecting guests,' the couple wrote on Instagram. But Horsman has never shied from performing. When he was introduced for his segment on Letterman, he bolted across the stage to meet Dave. Later, the producer asked him why he ran when he hadn't done so in rehearsal. Horsman replied matter-of-factly: 'Because I wanted more time on the air.' 1025 S. Charles St., Baltimore. 410-727-5811. Dates: Fridays at 8 p.m.; Saturdays at 3 and 8 p.m. Price: $60; includes two drinks or magic tricks to take home.
