Photo Pest: The Greatest Show on Earth

Sarasota beckoned when the Folly had to be tented for a couple of nights to get rid of the termites that were chowing down on our Florida pine roof and cabinets. The Ringling provided a day-long refuge from the unseasonably cold, miserable weather on the Gulf coast.

The Ringling campus includes an art museum established by John--that's him on the lower left--and a circus museum on property that he bequeathed to the state of Florida, where he and his brothers had invested heavily in real estate in addition to running their Big Top and railroad empires. He and his wife Mable lived nearby in a waterfront mansion called Cà d 'Zan.

In his heyday, John, who outlived all his brothers, was one of the world's richest men with a $50 million fortune. But by the time of his death in 1936--more than 25 years after the family had purchased Barnum & Bailey Circus--he had just $311 in his bank account. His nephew eventually sold it to Irvin and Israel Feld whose company finally ended "The Greatest Show on Earth" in 2017, after it had entertained Americans for nearly 150 years. Feld Entertainment commissioned the massive mural that welcomes visitors to the Tibbals Learning Center. one of two buildings on the Ringling campus devoted to circus history.

The mural features nearly 30 circus performers, past and present, that artist William Woodward met before completing it in 1989, as well as dozens of animals. And a trio of elderly clowns from Lake Worth Beach!

Changing attitudes about the treatment of animals contributed to the decline of the circus. Although I never saw a circus as an adult, I do remember the news coverage it generated when dozens of elephants lumbered through the Lincoln Tunnel to get to Madison Square Garden. Here's Moroccan strongman Tahar Douis, an alligator wrestler. He also earned a spot in the Guiness Book of World Records during the 1970s by supporting a pyramid of twelve men, weighing 1,700 pounds, on his shoulders. Bragging rights were the currency of the circus world.

One of several circuses purchased by the Ringling Brothers featured "champion Great Danes from the Imperial Kennels of Prince Bismarck."

Chris and his family spent a month traveling with the Mills Brothers Circus over two consecutive summers in the 1960s. The Circus Fans Association of America relied on members like his father, an Episcopal priest, to legitimize a form of entertainment that also had its detractors. Sideshows had fallen into disfavor long before the era of political correctness.

Chris vividly recalls an aerialist being shot from a spring-loaded cannon like this one. "They saved the best act for last."

The museum's showstopper is an incredible scale model (3/4 inch to 1 foot) of the Howard Brothers Circus, named for the man who fabricated the 42,000 pieces over a lifetime.

Locomotive trains transported hundreds of performers, trainers, animals and laborers--plus tons of equipment--to small towns and big cities all across America in the early 20th century. Sometimes they stayed only a day or two.

Chris said he dined in a tent much like this one. One of the performers taught him and his brother how to snap a bullwhip, a skill that came in handy when they staged their own circus in the back yard after returning home to suburban Chicago.

It's hard to imagine today, but many of the people who bought circus tickets had no other way to see live exotic animals like camels and ostriches, festively costumed.

Howard Tibbals began the model as freshman in college and continued working on it for more than 60 years. He wanted to call it the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus but the owners at the time refused permission to use their name or logo. Now his model is one of the few reminders of the company's vanished significance in American culture. It simulates nighttime conditions, too.

The realistic detail offers something for everyone. No electric clippers at this bare-chested barbershop.

I knew from a visit to India how much elephants enjoy a bath.

Here's what the Big Top--just one section of the model, which occupies a large gallery--looks like from the second floor.

Another gallery exhibits well-preserved circus memorabilia, big and small.

Low ticket prices kept the crowds coming. Reserved seats cost just $0.75.

This papier-mâché head isn't a very good likeness of Buster Keaton, my favorite silent film star. When I visited Forest Lawn Cemetery, his modest grave made me like him even more.

Many circus performers were European, including Gunther Gebel-Williams, an animal trainer who emigrated from Germany after World War II. "Every day starts out the same, but each one unfolds and ends differently. That is part of the allure of our business." Television, which brought the world into everyone's home, increased his fame--he appeared on both the Ed Sullivan and Tonight Shows--also reduced the demand for live entertainment.

Video screens feature a variety of performers, including horse acts.

I have my own childhood circus story, although I have no way of confirming it. My parents took me to my first in Munich during the mid-1950s. According to family lore, the top-hatted ringmaster plucked me out of the audience and handed me off to a man on a horse who carried me around the ring. I take this with a grain of salt, given the Hon penchant for hyperbole.

An upstairs gallery reproduces historic circus posters.

"Van Amburg, The Brute Tamer" by Archibald Alexander Park (ca 1840)

Barnum & London: Jumbo (1882)

Although this satirical lithograph doesn't mention P.T. Barnum by name, his identity is pretty obvious. Funny story: to keep the crowds moving through his tents, Barnum--who once claimed that "no one ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the American public"--put up signs saying "This Way To Egress," as if it were a special attraction, not a lesser known word for "exit." His condescending ploy worked.