The Wire Dancer

This post was originally published on my Typepad blog (RIP). Over the next mumble months, I’ll be reposting my circus stories here.

Yes! The guy on the tightwire has baskets on his feet!

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I present to you the masters of the tightwire, Los Latinos!

Actually, Los Latinos were Herbie Weber and his Lovely Assistant, Marcella. Herbie was probably in his late fifties when I met him, back in 1976. Marcella was from Mexico, so the “Los Latinos” name had at least a smidgen of authenticity. She was young enough to be Herbie’s daughter. I was never quite sure of the extent of their relationship, mostly because I never had guts enough to ask.

In any case, Herbie really was a master of the tightwire. He was more of a wire dancer than a wire walker, and I mean that. Herbie didn’t just walk along the low, tight wire; he leapt, he danced, he boogied. His act was amazing -- not only did he walk the wire using the baskets, he walked the wire on stilts, he rode a bicycle across the wire, he jumped rope on the wire.

Marcella was no slouch either. She walked the wire wearing toe shoes, en pointe.

But the absolute best part of the act was the grand finale, where Herbie jumped over Marcella and landed on the other side of the wire. He set up a platform under the center of the wire as the ringmaster announced the trick. Marcella walked the wire out to the platform, then stepped onto it, looking back at Herbie.

Then she bent over from the waist as Herbie walked out to her, gauging the distance, preparing to jump over her. The ringmaster went into full announce mode at this point:

“Now ladies and gentlemen, this is an exceedingly dangerous trick, as Senor Latino cannot see his landing point. Therefore, we must have complete silence. And now, all eyes on Los Latinos!”

The drumroll began. Herbie milked that moment perfectly, then he’d leap over Marcella’s back.

Now here’s the thing. If the day was nice and the lot was grassy and the crowd was good, Herbie fell.

Yes.

After his leap, he landed on the other side of Marcella, wobbled and shook on the wire, and then he slipped off, grabbing the wire on the way down and landing full-length on the grass, his head on his arm, his body limp.

We clowns looked shocked; the ringmaster dropped the mic and rushed out to him to help him up; Marcella climbed off the platform and went to his aid. Herbie would lean against the rigging, his hand over his heart, and then he would whisper to the ringmaster while he held up his index finger.

The ringmaster would shake his head in horror, but Herbie would insist. The ringmaster would then announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, Senor Latino is all right, and he’s going to try it one more TIME!“

Marcella would shake her head in disbelief and dismay, but Herbie would have none of it. She resumed her position on the platform as Herbie limped to the ladder, climbed up, and limped across the wire.

Yes, he limped across the wire. He shook slightly as he measured the distance and prepared to leap over his partner Then, gathering himself together, he jumped. He landed on the other side of Marcella, fought for his balance, got it, and then he reached down, grabbed the wire with both hands and swung himself all the way around it. Then he jumped off and bowed with the Lovely Marcella.

The crowd went nuts and gave him a standing ovation.

Every single time.

That fall was much, much harder to do than the trick and much more dangerous. That’s the hallmark of a true showman, I think. He knew the power of the tightwire is the audience’s anticipation of the accident, so when the conditions were right, Herbie gave them an accident.

But he also gave them the triumph of trying again and succeeding, and the audience loved him for it.

And that’s what made him a great wire dancer.