My newest "adoptees" were Brenda, a 53-year-old English widow with a circus career dating back forty years, and her son Mario, 23 years old and as handsome and thickly-muscled as I would learn his Swiss father had been. Through their invitation to stay with them in their little trailer, I was able, during the circus's last four days and nights, to intimately observe the behind-the-scenes life of a circus. And to even be one of its performers (even if it was only shoveling after Mario's four trained elephants).

The world I was to be a part of turned out to be every bit as rewarding as I had always imagined it would be. Indeed, I often found the most tense dramas and the best thrills to be nowhere near the Big Tent's rings, but in the private lives of the performers themselves. Take, for example, the GREAT KARAH KAUAK and his monstrous alligators and boa constrictors: In the arena the reptiles were so obedient to their German master's "hypnotic" commands. But come dinnertime? Hooooboy! Then it was a case of everyone for himself, as the reptiles' powerful jaws snapped and their bodies lunged viciously at Karah's heavily-scarred hands and forearms.

Then there were the Moroccan acrobats.

Late one night, as the rest of our group ringed the flashing dance floor of a nearby beachside discoteque to wildly cheer the acrobats on, the Moroccans gleefully demonstrated to the disco's unsuspecting patrons the right way to boogie. Oh what fun it was to watch the Greeks' faces, as the Africans somersaulted, spun, and leapt in ways that made a mockery of gravity and any John Tavoltas of the disco worlds!

However, the best insights into the daily world of the Big Top were provided by perhaps the least visible person of the entire troupe--Brenda. Petite, blonde, and an endless reservoir of energy and kindness, she had for a long time been a star herself in the English circus world--first with her husband's Wild West act and later, after his death, on her own with riding horses and trained elephants. Now, though, she was considered too old for the ring, and for the most part the adoring glare of the crowd was a thing of the past.

Although every night she was able for a few moments to don a feathered cap and a bright gown and assist Mario in the ring with the elephants, her time was mostly spent doing all the side chores--sewing costumes, selling refreshments, grooming animals--that must be done to keep the circus's costs down, so there could be some semblance of profit and paychecks. It was a schedule that kept her going full tilt from early morning until past midnight, after which she'd drop to sleep on her bed, one of the kitchen table's cushioned bench seats.

I thought her present workload too much for someone her age, and very late one night, after Mario had literally passed out from exhaustion, I let her know my thoughts. She merely smiled tiredly, rose from her bench seat, and reached for some thick photo albums on a shelf. She handed them to me and slowly turned the pages, as I studied the large photographs. Most showed an extremely cheery-looking man with huge sideburns dressed in a fancy cowboy outfit, complete with pearl-handled pistols and an extra-wide brimmed cowboy hat. Usually at his side was one of the most beautiful tan-colored stallions I'd ever seen. Maybe I'm nuts, but the horse, too, looked to be always smiling and full of enthusiasm.

The man, of course, was her husband. The horse was his lead show animal, Trigger, a horse all others had dismissed as being too dumb to be trainable.

"I've too many happy memories with the circus to give it all up," she said softly. "Because of the circus, I had my husband and Trigger, and they showed me for so many years how happy life can be when you don't think only of yourself, but are always wanting to make others feel good."

Unlike many trainers who look upon their animals as dumb and responsive only to fear, her husband used only patience and gentleness in teaching his show's horses. As a result, Trigger showed responsiveness to her husband, whereas others had found only stubbornness in the beast. While other horse-riding performers needed whips, or loud voice commands, or even a swift kick to get their horses to heel, her husband needed but a subtle hand signal, or a whisper in the horse's ear, to make it perform.

On Trigger, her husband and the horse seemed as one. They were to become enormously popular, both in and out of the ring. He and Trigger were a perfect example of how love and patience could bring out the best in everything, she said. While he was alive, the days seemed to go so quickly and effortlessly, no matter how grueling the travel schedule and number of chores.

But then, in 1971, the dream stopped. In the middle of a Wild West performance, Trigger, as always, reared high and with nobility. Her husband's hand, however, never made it as far as his big cowboy hat. Instead, it went to his heart. Too overcome with grief, Brenda retired to her home in Southport, England, only to be coaxed back to the circus later by her son's own aspirations. She had her husband buried in his cowboy suit.

For her, life has since become one of chores, memories, and helping others live their dreams.
On the morning I was to continue on my way to Turkey, and the circus was to travel to the other side of Greece and eventually back to England, she went into Mario's bedroom and came back to my side carrying a large plastic bag. Inside the bag was something obviously big and light. She handed the bag to me. I opened it. Inside was her husband's cowboy hat. I was nearly at a loss for words.

"I can't take this...It means too much to you."

She brushed aside my words and had me try on the hat. It fit perfectly.

"I'd be proud knowing his hat went around the world with you," she said with an approving look. "For thirteen years, it's only been catching dust. How nice it'd be to think my husband is still helping others in some way."

When it came time to finally part, I was wearing the hat. After a minute or so of walking, I turned and gave Brenda and Mario my customary big final wave. Gripped in my hand was the hat. I swung it as wide, and high, and grandly as I possibly could--much in the same manner I imagined its former owner would have done.

From her trailer door, Brenda waved back...and then wiped something from her eye.

Steven