Under the Big Top

7/8/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Under the Big Top

            My grandparents fondly recalled attending Chautauqua. Unlike her younger sibling, Mom had been old enough to accompany them, and everyone agreed it was too bad that kind of entertainment had gone out of fashion.

            “What’s Chautauqua?” I would ask, whenever the recollections began; partly because the sound of the word rolling off my tongue fascinated me, and partly because I couldn’t quite comprehend the explanation of whole neighborhoods gathering under a tent to see historical figures portrayed, hear politicians persuade, and enjoy musical entertainment. Some folks traveled all the way across the state and camped out for a week, to take in Chautauqua.

I’d never been to a real stage play, museum, or historical production. None of the adults I knew—even city folks, who seemed to have landed here from another realm—would have dressed up in costumes and pretended to be someone who was long dead, and pretty much forgotten. Still, the notion called to me, sort of like the concept of mountains, and oceans, which we studied in geography classes. I believed such things existed, and was equally convinced I would never experience them directly.

            Mom was determined that my world would widen beyond our small ranching community. She’d been to college, traveled with her parents on family vacations, and met some well-known people. Dad regretted not having gotten to do these things, and supplemented his education with National Geographic, The Wall Street Journal, and all other popular magazines of the day. We listened to all kinds of music on the radio, and every news commentator. And we attended any and all live performances that were offered locally.

            It was understood that when the circus came to town, other commitments were placed on hold. Fourth of July meant rodeo. The Harlem Globe Trotters toured the back roads in those days, and we saw them several times. Rarely, there would be a musical program by some performer whose career was on the wane, but we weren’t very discriminating in our tastes, and most everyone turned out for the fun.

            Eventually, I got to the mountains, which are every bit as impressive as the pictures in our school books. It still amazes me that I’ve put a toe in the oceans on both sides of our continent, and spent time in all but half a dozen of these United States. Last month, a new kind of journey—time travel; Chautauqua came to town.

            Retirement has its perks. We were able to attend most of the events, and came away with a sense of having actually been in the presence of Mark Twain, Willa Cather, George Washington Carver, General Grant, and Standing Bear. As history buffs, we were aware of many aspects of these people’s lives, but the difference between a live interpretation and reading books is comparable to the aroma of bread baking, as opposed to tasting it hot out of the oven.

            Our only disappointment was that the tent, set up to hold 500 chairs, was never more than two thirds full. Mostly, the same folks were at every performance, and mostly, the hair color was gray.

I realize summer is busy, with all manner of organized activities for youth, and parents having to ferry them back and forth. And there are those who can’t bring themselves to miss a single episode of whatever reality show is on the tube. Still, in a town of nearly ten thousand, the audience seemed pretty thin, to us.

            I’m glad to have lived long enough to see Chautauqua revived. Now, if only the custom of whole families gathering for education, entertainment, and fellowship with neighbors would come back.