If you’ve ever wondered what would make a clown—or anyone—want to swallow a sword with a chainsaw attached to it, Memoirs of a Coney Island Clown will enlighten you. The book follows Jellyboy the Clown’s beginnings in the sideshow world and details his many adventures, triumphs, and tragedies along the way.
Jellyboy, who you may have seen on Season 19 of America’s Got Talent (he made it the Quarterfinals) or performing with the Squidling Brothers Circus Sideshow, spent twenty years putting this book together. “I started writing it by hand in a journal and made outlined notes in sketch books over the years while I traveled performing shows,” Jellyboy told Weird Historian.
Since learning to swallow swords from sideshow living legend Red Stuart about twenty years ago, Jellyboy has added his own unique twists to the ancient art. Beyond the aforementioned chainsaw addition, he’s integrated other creative elements, including a flamethrower at the hilt and experiments with Tesla coils. These and other endeavors are all covered in Memoirs, which presented its own new, unique challenge: writing a book.
I asked Jellyboy how it compared to something like swallowing a chainsaw sword. “Both ideas and the creative process came out of my sketch books and took a great deal of perpetuation and collaboration,” he explained. “I needed help with the book with layouts and editing in the same way I needed a friend to help me in his workshop to design the chainsaw sword. It’s all a process and I couldn’t have done it completely on my own. Both require risk and dedication.”
An excerpt of the first chapter is below. For the rest—which includes a foreword by actor and performer Mat Fraser—pick up a copy of Memoirs of a Coney Island Clown, published by Outside Talker Press. Signed editions are available here, or order wherever you buy books online.
“I hope people read the story and feel the time, places and characters that the story happens in,” Jellyboy said. “It’s a window into an underground network, a world that I fell into as much as I ran towards. I hope people will see the humanity of a fledgling clown trying to test his metal in the face of tragedy and adversity. Hopefully people can see themselves in the story and get inspired for adventures of their own.”
CHAPTER ONE
Carnivolution
The World’s Greatest Nipple Lifter called on the telephone. We met up at the Bean Café on South Street with Red Stuart, the sword swallower. They were looking for an inside-out sideshow talker. The lip flapper with a nail in the head, presenter of bizarre mind bogglers from out of time. Red was sketching contraptions in his little black book of shadows. The old road carnie inhaled a cigarette and savored the smoke before releasing it through his nose. He sat still, a little like an iguana staring into the midway of his mind. His shoulder length red hair was tied back between a white Japanese headband and a choker necklace made of beads.
“It’s all in the mind, you know,” he said as he looked up at me over the lenses of his spectacles. Red’s eyes were shining as if he wanted to tell me the secrets behind his leathery grin. He and I had a job working in the jazz section of Tower Records down the street from the coffee shop where our meeting was taking place. The year was 2004, in the city of Philadelphia. I had just hired him and his sideshow partner to perform with my space rock band, The Hydrogen Jukebox, in a street festival we called Carnivolution. Our band was becoming an art collective variety show. The tentacled concept brought in poets, dancers, puppets, painters, fire and of course circus sideshows. They were impressed with the way I presented the acts on the microphone in between singing songs. “Nipple Man is just checking on his car. He’ll be back in a minute.”
As if on cue, the World’s Greatest Nipple Lifter emerged triumphantly through the door. He was glowing with pride as he said, “I was so close to a parking ticket. The cop was writing it and I walked up to him and said, ‘Do you realize you’re giving a ticket to a man with the strongest nipples in the world?’ I pulled out my pitch card, and the cop started laughing and ripped up the ticket.”
He looked like a mix between a pirate and a circus strong man with muscles rippling through his clothes. Long, skinny, rope-like locks were woven into his brown hair, and his ears were pierced with thick gauged rings that left hollow spaces in the lobes. On his face a well-groomed beard sat tightly with mustache, sideburns and chin whiskers all separated by the fine work of a razor.
“Nipples strong enough to bend the law,” I said looking at the pitch card.
“Why are you dressed as a clown? This is a business meeting. You should save some things for the stage,” the pierced weightlifter said disapprovingly. I was dressed in neon green spandex pants covered in black polka dots; a striped, sleeveless, multi-colored tailcoat; a red clown nose, accompanied by vintage 3D glasses with red and blue lenses. My hair was short, messy and brown attached to a ginger beard, sharpened to a point on my chin.
“Life’s a show; I’m just being a natural eyesore,” I responded. “Dirty looks are just as good as smiles.”
In ‘the business,’ making a fool out of yourself is a bad idea, unless you are a fool hired in place. Either way, bad ideas are dangerous, and danger is entertainment. A clown with no makeup is an unfinished work, confusing to the eyes. Some people say you should go to clown school, learn the tradition before declaring the profession. However, it was as if clownhood had declared me, and school isn’t the only place a person can learn. Anguish could be turned into laughter. Torture acts could morph into antidotes for human tragedy. Reality with the occasional gaffe or swindle, prick your finger on the spindle to show you are more powerful than the poison.
“Let’s get down to business,” said the World’s Greatest Nipple Lifter, joining us at the table. “Red and I have a group we’d like you to join.”
“Sounds great, but I don’t know any sideshow tricks. I’m more of a clown and a barker.”
“You need to know the terms for what you’re talking about, Jellyboy. It’s not a trick when Red swallows a sword. He is literally risking his life; it’s called a stunt. Magic has tricks; it’s fake. Sideshow is absolutely real.” The pierced weightlifter looked over to Red.
“The lingo we use in the carnival and the circus are how we tell the normies from the freaks,” Red added. “You’re still green yet, Jelly. People are really touchy about the words you use. Not everyone will take the time to explain it, so listen up. The term ‘barker’ is an insult. You’re an artist, not a dog. It’s called talking. You are an outside talker delivering a pitch to gather a crowd, or you are an inside talker who guides the madness on the inside of the tent.”
When Red was done explaining, the nipple lifter thought for a second and said, “By the way, sideshow and clowning are two different things. You should think about changing your name and getting a costume that makes you look a little tougher.”
“But I’m a clown. Can’t you be both a clown and sideshow performer?”
“There’s no written rule, it’s just not really done,” said Red. “It doesn’t seem like you’re interested in the rules all that much, Jellyboy, but you should learn what they are before you bend them, or break them. Sideshow as it was in the old days is dying. There aren’t traveling shows any more, the way there used to be. Things have to change to stay alive.”
The World’s Greatest Nipple Lifter wanted me to learn a list of stunts from Red and get us a monthly show. The molten lead spit, dancing on broken glass, walking up a ladder of razor sharp swords, putting a cigarette out on the tongue, and of course the human blockhead. Passing on information to the next generation. Scrawny, poverty stricken proportions became the makings of a freaked freak with a nail in the head.
Red opened a metal tube inside of which was a collection of stainless nails of various sizes. All shining, each one menacing. He picked one of the smaller ones and handed it over to inspect. It spun like a screw that was flattened and polished. He put his thumb on his nose and said, “Make a pig-nose, aim the nail, and drive it in.” After the clown nose was removed, I held the nail up to a pig nosed nostril and considered the consequences. Red saw the angle was wrong and helped guide the nail. It was frightening, like getting pushed, when where you’re falling to can’t be seen. Red’s thumb was on the flat end of the nail, which was lodged in my shocked but smiling skull. “Your eyes may tear, and you may want to sneeze, but those reflexes will go away after a while.” The old stunt was passed on and fear was replaced with confidence; pompous arrogance, déjà vu in a blender, innocence lost in the outfield.
“Now you try yourself, but don’t screw up,” said Red. That was the start of our partnership.
Memoirs of a Coney Island Clown is available from Outside Talker Press. Take a closer look here and explore other sideshow-related books from Outside Talker.
You can also hear more from Jellyboy the Clown on the To The Hilt podcast, hosted by your Weird Historian, Marc Hartzman, and sword swallower Dan Meyer.
