Midways offer a different lifestyle

by Michael Erskine
MANITOULIN---Near gale-force winds have shut down the Ferris wheel
while almost paradoxically, the late afternoon sun bakes the handful
of people wandering around a nearly deserted Midway in the parking
lot at the Little Current Howland Recreation Centre.
It is all in a day's work for foreman Marcel Boisvert and the 16
people who are manning the booths, rides and food concessions, but
this isn't shaping up to be a lucrative one.
"The ride guys are paid a salary," said 29 year-old Mike Lapointe.
"But I like running the games, you can make a lot more money."
Joinees, the people who operate the dart, ball and fishing pole games
are paid a commission on what they bring in, and without crowds of
young men vying to win that stuffed doll for the sweetheart, the
pickings can be lean.
Mr. Lapointe shrugs philosophically. He is a veteran, with four years
experience at rival Conklin's Big Show, he knows better days lie
ahead.
"I make an average of $700 to $1,000 a week," he explains. Not a
fortune, but a great way to save up the money for the paramedics
course he is planning to take in the fall.
The Midway's season runs from April through to Thanksgiving, and many
of those days run to 11 or 12 hours of steady effort.
"We will tear down here tonight," said Mr. Boisvert. "Then we move
everything to Blind River to set up tomorrow morning."
By early evening the next day, the rides, concessions and games will
be operating full blast for a whole new crowd.
The Midway operates on a profit-sharing arrangement with local
charities and service clubs, Manitoulin's visit is courtesy of Branch
177 of the Royal Canadian Legion. When the day is done, the take is
divided up between the sponsor and the Midway's management.
Come season's end, if a profit has been made, those carnys who have
stuck out the season can expect a bonus.
The people who operate the Midway are a close-knit group. Although
the touring company is based out of Kitchener, Ontario, no two people
seem to have come from the same city and with a life of traveling
from community to community, the other carnys are the only human
constant in an ever changing sea of faces.
"We are a pretty close community," said Mr. Lapointe. "We all get
along, we have our bad days, just like any other job, but everybody
is usually pretty positive."
The one thing universally missed by the younger carny crowd is
home-cooked meals.
"We usually look for a good restaurant when we are in a town," said
Mr. Lapointe. "We put money back into the community too."
Doreen Brake, a 17-year-old teen from Brantford is on the road with her mother.
"It's work," she shrugs shyly when asked about her off-season plans.
The rest of the winter usually sees her unemployed.
Jo Jo on the other hand is an outgoing mother of four who has been on
the carny trail for over 20 years. Her sun-bleached hair is
close-cropped above a strong tanned face and her eyes twinkle with a
natural good-humour. A life under the hot sun has left her skin
cragged, and creased with a thousand fine lines, but it suits her
well.
"I love it," she says of the carny life. "I raised four kids doing
this, and they all know how to work."
Jo Jo has a Class A license and drives the big rigs loaded with rides
and concessions from town to town. She will make up to three trips
hauling the equipment from Little Current to the next stop in Blind
River.
She and her partner have their own game booth, subcontracting from
the show and taking turns working the crowd.
"I do just about everything and anything around here," she says. "We
all pitch in when someone needs a hand."
Her family lives out of a 45-foot trailer and there have been plenty
of home-cooked meals made in its surprisingly spacious interior.
Jo Jo knows how to strip a ride down and load it onto its trailer
with the best of them.
"They are like a giant jig-saw puzzle," she said.
In fact, most of the rides are classed by how long it takes to tear
them down and set them up. The Big rides can run into a full day's
work for a half-dozen men.
The ride supervisor, known to one and all as 'Buddha,' for his
inscrutable smile, is normally a 'scrambler man.' He hails from
London, Ontario, and he has spent four years travelling the circuits.
In the off-season he is a chef.
"I like to take the summers off and do this," he said. "It gets me
out of the kitchen for a while," he laughs.
He is sitting with Wes, 22, from Fergus, Ontario. Wes is the Ferris
wheel guy and he has time on his hands due to the aforementioned
winds.
"We don't wear our T-shirts when we go out in a new town," explains
Wes. "Some people don't like us very much."
With the bravado of young men everywhere, Jason, 22, of Woodstock
surmises it may have something to do with women.
"They don't like us 'cause we take all their women," he laughs.
The other two carnys nod solemnly. "It's a curse," agrees Wes shaking
his head ruefully.
Jason operates the cookhouse, serving up corn dogs, hamburgers French
fries and other standard Midway fare to the hungry crowds. He and the
two 'ride guys' exchange light hearted jibes. A little carny
hierarchy is on display, time in, job titles and just plain old
posturing all play a part in the pecking order.
The young men live in a bunkhouse for the summer season, two to a
room, with showers at each end, not much privacy, but it is cheap.
"It's okay," said Wes. "You get used to it."
Carnivals often cross the border a number of times during the year,
following their respective circuits.
"I was just outside of New York when the attacks on the World Trade
Centre happened," said Mr. Lapointe. "Although we didn't find out
about them until we stopped in Boston."
The tensions of a changed world quickly became evident, and the days
following the attacks saw a huge drop in the number of people coming
out.
"People were just afraid," surmised Mr. Lapointe. "They stayed home
waiting to see what would happen next."
Things are just about back to normal now.
December Chatham, 19, is a new joinee from Brockville. She has been
working the carnival for six weeks.
"I like it," she smiles, describing herself as a 'free spirit'. She
joined the carnival with her boyfriend, since estranged, and she
enjoys the chance to travel and meet new people. Like many young
people, body piercing glint with silver studs here and there on her
features. While it is an exciting diversion, it is also a life with a
certain unsettled quality about it. She may have a free spirit, but
she thinks about home and her family often.
"I call home every two weeks," she said. "Just to let people know I
am all right."
This is the furthest North Ms. Chatham has ever been.
"I went to Wasaga Beach once," she said. "That was the furthest I
have ever been till now."
She found herself helping to secure a tent over a game during her
first day on the job.
"It has been mine ever since," she laughs. The day is quiet though,
and she looks around the fairgrounds a little wistfully.
"We get paid a percentage of what we bring in," she says. "Today it
isn't going to be much."
The day before was not much better, the entire day's take amounting
to a mere $160.
"I hardly made my bunkhouse fees," she said. But she knows things
will look up. "Canada Day was awesome," she adds.
As she learns how to 'work' a game, her take will doubtlessly increase.
"I am learning more every day," she says confidently.
Brian Weir, 15, of Port Dover, is a long way from home. He is
handling the fishing pond. He deftly dangles the magnetic 'hook' in
front of a floating fish. It lifts effortlessly into the air.
"My dad works here," he explains. "My older brother did this for
years," he adds. "He works in a pulp mill near Montreal now."
The carny life is not one most people starting a young family may
want to adopt, but DeeDee Aubrey, of Sudbury, like Jo Jo, has been
doing just that for over 20 years.
"My sister did it before me," she said. "I had just had a baby, so I
waited until the next year to go. She didn't like it, but I love it."
Ms. Aubrey works the candy shop, deftly catching spun sugar on a
paper cone. Aleana and Nikita, both 11, are two of the children she
stillhas at her mobile home.
"I have two of my own and two of my ex's live with me too," she explains.
The young girls are learning how to dip candy apples and serve cotton
candy for the summer.
As the crowd begins to grow with the late afternoon sunshine, and
small children begin to drag their parents towards the rides, the
faces of the carnys begin to lift with their spirits. Laughter is the
sound of money.
"We make our living making people happy," said Jo Jo. "We are in the
entertainment business. We have a reputation as being a little shady,
a little scummy, but we are really just ordinary people, trying to
get by," she said. "We have our own little community here and we
support each other."
As the sun goes down and the lights come on, the carny crew begins to
bark out their banter in earnest. There might not be a lot of money
floating around, but it is important to gather in what is available.
Tomorrow is another town.
 

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