6. Music Lessons

Of course I can’t remember everything in that long parade, but soon after the large troupe of equestrians came a band wagon, painted with gay colors. The band played very fast music and it was very loud. You might think the horses would be frightened but apparently they were used to all manner of noise and confusion. Behind this band came an open buggy with no top and spindly wire wheels with rubber tires. It was drawn by six Shetland ponies, hitched two abreast, and two fine-looking men rode in it. I asked Uncle Worth if these men were Mr. Barnum and Mr. Bailey, and he didn’t know. Many people, standing near, overheard me and laughed, and I think Uncle Worth was embarrassed; for he was a shy person who didn’t like to attract attention. I wanted to add that if these men were Mr. Barnum and Mr. Bailey, perhaps the big man who led the parade was the President of Fort Wayne or maybe the Governor of Indiana, but I didn’t because that might make Uncle Worth wish he hadn’t brought me along.

There were lovely ladies riding astraddle, like men. It was the first time I had ever seen a lady with no dress on. I wondered what Mama would have thought of that.

Now came three tall camels, single file, exactly like their pictures in the Bible. Their riders were dressed like the Wise Men from the East. Following them were two Roman chariots, each drawn by four horses harnessed abreast, reminding me of the chariot race in Ben Hur, the wonderful story that Papa had read to us on winter evenings when we lived in Ohio.

There were many cages of wild animals, but the sides were closed. If you wanted to see the animals you would have to come to the show. Some of the clowns rode in little carts drawn by ponies and goats. One clown’s carriage was drawn by a very big dog. Uncle Worth said the dog was a great Dane. I think this clown and his dog was the funniest thing in the whole parade. The children along the street laughed more at that than at anything else the circus people had. Every little while the big dog would get tired and lie down, and the clown would step out of the carriage, unharness the dog and invite him to climb in, which he would do. Then the clown would draw the carriage for a few yards! Then he would lie down and pant until the dog returned for his trick.

Near the tail end of the parade came the elephants, a half-dozen of them. One was a baby that had to trot a few steps frequently to keep up with the others. All my life I have been curious about elephants. I see no excuse for the creation of an animal as clumsy and as poorly equipped to defend itself as the elephant. It is said that he has remarkable intelligence: if so, this too is a misfortune, for his keen brain would make him aware of his numerous disadvantages.

Throughout my lifetime I have had something like Walt Whitman’s sympathy for animals, most of whom deserve our pity. The more intelligent of them have quite given up any hope of independence. Long ago the horse decided that the easiest way to get along with men was to do their bidding. Dogs have no self-respect. They will put up with all manner of indignities. If you ever attended a dog show you noticed that as the Board of Judges approached one of the exhibition dogs the owner would put one hand under his dog’s chin and with the other hand hold up the dog’s tail so he would stand the way his owner thinks he would stand if he were a dog. You will never find a cat consenting to such treatment. It has often been said that nobody ever owned a cat.

Many years ago we had a Sealyham. This make of canine is often called a “one-man dog.” It was certainly true in the case of Zocco: he was my dog. He treated the other members of our family courteously, but there was never any question about who owned him. He would indulge in the silliest antics to inform strangers of our close comradeship. It never occurred to him to demonstrate his affection unless we had callers. On such occasions he would plunge into the room at high speed, leap into my lap, and lick my face. If the visitors thought this was cute, and called to him in baby talk or dog talk, he would jump off my lap and saunter out of the room, giving them what has become known as the perfect squelch. Through the decade that Zocco lived with us, I spent many hours almost every day for months pounding out novels on my typewriter. Soon as I settled to work in the morning Zocco would stroll into my library and lie face down with his chin on the toe of my shoe. If I got up he would bound to his feet, but if I reached for a book the joy left him and he would heave a deep sigh as he settled down again to wait. I know he felt that novel-writing was a tedious business, and probably wished that I was pursuing a different occupation.

The last thing before going to bed I would tell Zocco to come with me and he would follow me to the library, hop up on the davenport and lie down on his side, with his head on his little pillow. Then I would cover him with a small blanket, leave the room, and close the door. Should I return, five minutes later, Zocco would be found lying on the floor. He would pretend to be asleep, but it was easy to see that he was embarrassed. As I left the room I would catch a glimpse of a half-opened eye.

Well—after the elephants came the noisy steam calliope which must have been a pretty hot job on an August noon. All around us the crowd was breaking up. Uncle Worth wanted to know if I was hungry. I hadn’t thought much about it until that moment, but now I knew that I was very hungry indeed. We had risen very early and I had been too much excited to eat. I told Uncle Worth I was hungry as a bear!

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