The Unexpected Misfortune That Reshaped Our Lives’ Path
Empathy and kindness superseded an unfortunate act
In 1968, my parents told me and my brother, my uncle would take us to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus at Madison Square Garden. We had never been to the circus before, and the thought of seeing it had us jumping on our twin beds for joy.
My brother Frankie, a year and a half older than me at age ten, shared a bedroom, and when our heads hit our pillows at 09:00 PM, we lay there describing to each other our dream of seeing the elephants parading into the arena, the lion tamers cracking their whips, and the jugglers throwing flaming torches into the air.
My dad called “lights out” to us, so we continued to talk in the darkness except for a penlight my brother got for his birthday. He flashed it on the ceiling and pretended it was a circus light.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages,” my brother whispered as he waved the skinny light.
We imagined entering the arena where there’d be a dream diet of ice-cold Coca-Cola in a souvenir cup. Condensation on the side of the cup would soak our hand as we slurped the sweet juice through a plastic straw. We’d also hold a paper cone topped with fluffy cotton candy, which was so sweet it made the soda taste dull.
My normally stoic brother and I continued to describe in anxious anticipation the tightrope walker whose feet would wrap themselves around a taut cable with no safety net below.
“I wonder if he’ll fall?”
“Nah, they do that walk all the time,” my brother said waving the light.
The trapeze artists would tip-toe onto a narrow platform with barely enough space to perch.
“How do they stand up there without being afraid, Frankie?”
“They don’t look down, silly.”
My father popped his head in. “Lights out for real, kids. Tomorrow’s a big day. Uncle Phil will pick you up at 9 AM. You’re going to the 12-noon show.”
“Are we taking the subway?”
“Yes, you are. Uncle Phil will park at Kew Gardens, and you’ll take the E train to Penn Station.”
Another treat, I’d look out the train window and pretend I was driving the train.
“Can we have an advance of our allowance, Dad?” my brother asked.
“I’m going to do better than that. You’ll each get two dollars to spend.”
“Wow!” I said. I was ecstatic because our allowance was usually five cents a week. Sometimes we’d get a raise to ten cents or even twenty-five if we did many chores.
We’d be attending the event with our two cousins, who were the same age as us. My uncle’s wife, Connie, was my mother’s sister, so the four cousins practically grew up together.
Our mothers took turns hosting holidays. My aunt’s specialty was succulent lasagna with melted mozzarella and ricotta cheese spilling out the sides of the pasta.
“I wonder if we’ll eat at Aunt Connie’s after the circus,” I said. I dreamt of that meal that night, in between the sight of a three-ring circus.
The following day, my brother and I crunched down a bowl of Wheaties, eating so fast that milk trickled down the sides of our mouths and chins. After we placed our bowls in the white porcelain kitchen sink, my mother handed us brown paper bags with enough peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to share with our cousins. Then we proceeded to the closed-in front porch where we’d press our noses against the window, fogging it up with anticipation.
We saw the unmistakable blue station wagon pull up in front of our house with our uncle’s distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and conservative eyeglasses. What was missing, though, were my two cousins. My brother and I looked at each other and speculated.
“They canceled the circus, I know it,” he said.
“Then why did Uncle Phil come here?”
“Probably to deliver some food and toys to make us feel better, I bet.”
A few minutes later, we saw my uncle speaking to my dad. They both looked solemn. I rolled and unrolled my paper bag, causing the paper to wrinkle and soften. My dad shook his head.
“We might as well eat these,” my dejected brother said, referring to the sandwiches.
Our uncle strode by us, smiled, exited the front wooden door and down the brick stoop, then turned and faced the house. Next, my father entered the porch.
“Frankie, Johnny, unfortunately, one of your cousin’s friends took two of the five tickets. Only two of four kids can go to the circus today. Aunt Connie and Uncle Phil will let you attend today, and your cousins will go on a different day.”
I remember having great difficulty processing what my father said. As we drove to the station, I felt very sorry for my cousins and wondered what they would do instead. We hopped on the train, and I had a great seat for looking out the window, but I didn’t feel like playing pretend. Instead, I wondered how my cousins would spend their morning.
Knowing my aunt, she would reward them with a movie perhaps and a lunch treat. Perhaps she would buy them their favorite White Castle hamburgers. I pictured them peeling off the hot mushy bun and slathering the greasy patty with ketchup. I felt better.
“They’ll be okay,” I said to my brother.
“What? Who?” He said.
“Never mind.”
My brother and I remained quiet during the show. As much as I tried to convince myself my cousins would be okay, I felt my stomach burn for the plight of my best friends. Why would someone steal tickets they could never use? I could not process the theft. I looked to my left and right and saw all seats filled.
They should be here. Who are those people?
My uncle smiled politely. He was non-confrontational. Looking back, he could have started a ruckus with those in my cousin’s seats, but he thought of us and didn’t want to ruin our thrilling moment. Instead, he made us feel comfortable. He even treated us to phosphorescent glow rings we wore around our necks. We forgot our awkward situation, ate and clapped, and our mouths dropped open at the daredevil who rode bikes across a tightrope while balancing with long poles.
Finally, the circus clowns, dressed in rag tag clothes, with handkerchiefs a mile long, and orange and blue makeup painted across their faces, brought me to a surreal state of happiness via their silliness.
We never understood how and why that odd occasion occurred. My cousins and I developed a running joke about it. We will say, “Make sure Joey doesn’t steal the tickets,” when we plan an event.
What’s most important is I will never forget the sacrifice my late aunt and uncle made to ensure our happiness. Instead of a dramatic display of negativity that would bring the event crashing down for everyone, they salvaged what they could for as many as they could.
I’ve strived to live my life that way. I’ve paid their kindness forward as often as I can and hope others will too. It’s important to be kind to ourselves and to stand up for yourself, but it’s equally important to do unto others what we would have done to us.