Let me tell you the story of my uncle William. Forgive me if I wax poetic: I’ve heard it a lot.
When William was a boy (this would have been in the ‘40s, I guess), he loved clowns. Whereas my dad liked dinosaurs, my uncle’s room was full of clown paraphernalia: clown picturebooks, clown toys, clown costume pieces. You name it. One of his favorite possessions however, was the poster he proudly displayed on the wall above his bed.
The poster was a circus advertisement prominently featuring a clown. I can never remember the clown’s name. Let’s call him Bonko. Bonko’s name was splashed across the poster. Apparently, he was a pretty big draw for the circus, and was pretty talented. Six-year-old William loved that poster, and especially the depiction of Bonko, and would tell anyone who would listen all about Bonko’s exploits, real or imagined by William.
One day, a newspaper advertisement caught my grandfather’s eye. Bonko’s circus was coming to town. Well this was just too good to pass up. He told my dad and uncle about it, and agreed to take them to the show. Uncle William would spend the next three weeks as an insufferable pest. The poor bastard could barely sleep for excitement.
So the day finally came and uncle William was beside himself. Granddad knew how much it meant to him, so somehow managed to get them all into the front row. The lights went down and various acts came out. Uncle William was indifferent to the elephant and the jugglers and the contortionists: he was dying to see Bonko.
At last Bonko emerged. He did some clowny tricks and what have you, and the crowd lapped it up. He fell down over various things, spilled various foodstuffs on his person, got hit in the crotch with various implements of pain. You know – clown stuff.
Finally, he got to the audience participation part of his act. To William’s delight, Bonko approached them. A spotlight landed on my family as the clown theatrically leaned in.
“Hey there little boy!” he shouted to William, “What’s your name?”
Awestruck, William barely managed an answer. “Bil… Billy!”
“Why hello there Billy! This is Billy, everyone! Billy, let me ask you a question. What kind of circus animal are you?”
William did not know how to answer. The clown went on. “Are you a giraffe, Billy?”
William giggled, “no!”
“Are you an elephant?”
Another giggle, “no!”
“Are you a zebra, Billy?”
“No!”
And the clown, in his silly clown voice, announced to the audience, “Well then you must be an ASS!”
There must have been a much lower threshold for humor back then, or everyone was wasted, because the crowd howled with laughter. William, shellshocked, could do nothing but sit there, mouth agape. The clown had just called him an ass, and everyone had laughed at him! The clown went back into the center of the ring and left my uncle, emotionally destroyed, to his own devices.
That night, back at home, William’s childhood came to an end. Standing in his room staring at the now hated poster, he vowed revenge. He had never been one for verbal come backs, and eloquence wasn’t his strong suit, but he knew he would make a fool of that clown someday.
That week at school, he began his training. He practiced on the unpopular kids at first, building up his confidence with simple taunts and jeers. After a few months he moved on to more elaborate wordplay with quick witty retorts to the school bullies and snarky replies to his elders.
In seventh grade he joined the debate club. He sharpened his verbal skills against more worthy opponents, always with revenge in the back of his mind. He continued to track Bonko, no longer as a fan, but as a general monitoring the movements of enemy troops. The clown’s career progressed just as William’s verbal acuity grew.
William became a state champion debater, and chose a university renowned for its training in disquisition. His oratory became renowned in his small university town, and he was especially acclaimed for his ability to disassemble his opponents in any adversarial debate.
He continued to keep a bead on Bonko, and noted with interest that the now-middle-aged clown was as popular as ever.
He went to law school and became legendary for his advocacy. Few dared cross him in moot court, and he won every prize the school offered. He went straight into litigation and immediately made a name for himself for his indescribable presence in the courtroom.
He never lost sight of his goal, however, and carefully tracked his quarry, Bonko, as the clown processed through the carnival ranks.
Forty-five years after that fateful afternoon under the bigtop, William felt he was ready. He waited for Bonko’s circus to come to town, and bought a ticket for the night he knew the aged performer would appear.
He arrived ten hours early for the performance to be sure he would get the seat he desired.
That evening, William sat in the front row of the circus bleachers. He was calm and relaxed as he watched the opening acts come out. When the jugglers and lesser clowns withdrew, William straightened up in his seat and peered through the curtain to see his old nemesis.
Bonko, now in his golden years but still quite nimble, emerged into the spotlight. The old clown, always the consummate performer, went through all his old tricks and routines with the same flair and panache as ever until finally he came to rest in front of uncle William.
“Why hello sir! What’s your name?”
“My name is William,” my uncle replied in a strong but calm voice.
“Hello William,” cried the old performer, “I have a question for you! What kind of circus animal are you? Are you a giraffe?”
“No,” said William, still calm.
“Are you an elephant?”
No,” came the answer, with presence and poise.
“William, are you a zebra?”
“No. I am not a zebra” said William.
“Well then you must be an ASS!” cried the jester, much to the mirth of the assemblage.
With infinite grace and dignity, my uncle arose from his bench, lightly brushed off his lapel, leveled a finger at Bonko and shouted:FUCK YOU, CLOWN!