Ground Scores and Shake and PBQs

Rick and the Ride Jocks

When we were in Prince Albert I met Rick, who was 35.  Rick worked at the Witch’s Castle, one of the dark rides that belonged to the Zacchini family.  A “dark ride” is the kind of ride where you sit in the little cart and travel through the spooky ride and things would jump out to scare you.  Most of the things that would jump out to scare you are, aptly, called “Scares”.  They are mechanical things that automatically pop out at people as they travel through the dark ride. 

Rick "Spooking"

After taking people’s tickets and putting them in the cart, Rick would “Spook”: He would don a Halloween mask and hide in the ride and scare people as they rode through.  He loved people and he loved being the thing that popped out to scare you.  He was quick to smile, very smart, and had dancing mischievous eyes.  He was the perfect guy to be the guy who popped out to scare you.  His favorite trick was to hide and wait at the end of the ride.  People would see daylight and realize they were at the exit.  They’d assume that the dark ride experience was done and let their guard down.  Then… POP… there would be Rick popping out from someplace to scare them.

In addition to his talent for popping out to scare you, Rick was also a licensed hair stylist.  My co-worker, Sharon, knew him and offered to arrange for Rick to give me a haircut.  Rick cut my hair in his “salon”; a stool just outside of his friend Buffy’s trailer.  We talked; we hit it off immediately and became an instant item. 

We spent what time we could together, hanging out at his trailer with his friends, in the cookhouse, or in my apartment.  He got private toilet privileges. 

Rick and me (back in Red Deer)

Rick came with his own back-story, though, as any carnie worth his salt would.  He’d already been married three times and had children with wives one and three.  He had a criminal record from when he was in his early 20s and had robbed some banks with an Irish friend who sent his portion of the “take” to the IRA while the two of them lived on Rick’s portion.   He also had more than his fair share of family and personal tragedy. 

A couple of people tried to warn me off of Rick, but I wouldn’t be dissuaded.  We ended up being together for a year, which was a mostly good year, but Rick’s demons, and the day-to-day reality of living in the real world, eventually drove us apart.

My parents have never said exactly what they thought of me returning at the end of the summer with my 35-year-old carnie boyfriend.  They were too supportive for that and welcomed and accepted Rick.  I’m sure there’s a story in it, though, but one that would be better told by my mom than by me. 

The Ground Score

A carnie tradition is that of the Ground Score.  A Ground Score is anything that a carnie finds on the ground that is worth keeping – usually something lost by a Mark.  A ground score was something to treasure, and to show off to your friends… and sometimes to covet. 

I had the good fortune of finding a wonderful Ground Score in the form of a gold colored jackknife that was carved in the shape of an (East) Indian god.  Pat wanted that knife so badly.  He hounded and hounded me to give him the knife but I never did.  It was my special thing… my ground score. 

Shake

I used to chat now and then with a guy who worked some ride that went around in circles (not a music ride, though).  He taught me about “Shake”.  Shake is the change found on the ground underneath a ride at the end of the night after it has fallen out of the marks’ pockets while they were on the ride.  All shake belongs to the carnie running the ride.  It’s a definite taboo to collect someone else’s shake.

PBQs – Possum Belly Queens

Rick’s ride-jock friends told me about Possum Belly Queens, or PBQs for short.  PBQ refers to any female who is unattractive to the speaker.  Originally it meant a female who didn’t have her own living accommodations and so she slept in the “pot bellies” of the trucks, except when she could find someone who would let her sleep in his bed in exchange for sex.

Teo Zacchini

Teo Zacchini

Rick worked for Zacchinis.  Teo Zacchini, the patriarch of the Zacchini family, was a hoot.  He was 84 years old and was in the process of handing down his operation to his son, but he and his wife still traveled with the show. 

I was always happy to see Teo coming.  He was somewhere in his eighties, about five feet tall and in about as rough a shame as a man can come in, but he still travelled with the carnival.  (He just had to swipe his grandson’s three-wheeled ATV to get around the Lot).  He’d developed and single-handedly built just about every dark ride that existed.  He and his wife had their start together when Teo was the guy who got shot out of the cannon and his wife was a motorcycle daredevil who rode her bike around on the inside of a spherical metal cage.  Teo took a shine to me and shared some of his life stories with me.  He’d pat my hand and call me his “pretty girl” and ask everyone who walked by if I wasn’t a pretty girl. 

Jump from Prince Albert to Toronto

The jump between PA and Toronto was a long one.  We were driving one evening and it was getting late.  Terry found an old abandoned service station on the side of the road so he pulled into it to camp for the night. John and I followed.  We radioed back to Sue who was always about a mile behind us, to watch for us and pull in.  We sat and watched for her; and watched her drive right on past us.  Terry got on the radio and asked her what was going on.  She’d heard us calling her, but didn’t hear the rest and “didn’t bother” asking us to repeat it.  We were steamed.  Rather than try to make her turn around, Terry decided we might as well go on to Brandon.  I was tired, and the idea of riding another two hours didn’t thrill me or anyone else.  We were all really irritated at Sue, but we drove on to Brandon.

We dropped Sharon off in Winnipeg.  She “ran away from the carnival to join a home”.  I was sad to see her go.

Seeing northern Ontario was an experience.  I had imagined a rocky, barren, smoggy, ugly province because all I’d ever heard about it was all the industry and mining that it had.  Beautiful winding roads, trees, lakes and inlets were what greeted me instead.   The area around Kenora had me absolutely spellbound.  I wrote a long letter home about it to Laura Lee who told me my letters got weirder and weirder as the summer progressed and that one was particularly weird.

Revisiting the Toilet

Returning to my joy about having my own toilet… think about that for a minute.  Often, we’d be lucky to get a few minutes to run for a bathroom break, and most of my contemporaries were forced to stand in horrifyingly long lines for the on-the-lot public washrooms.  I could easily race back to my apartment for a quick pee.  I was so happy to not have to waste what precious little time I had to myself waiting in awful line-ups to use vile and disgusting public facilities.

Most carnies are not afforded their own toilets, or showers.  Groscurth’s had a shower in the rear of the truck beside “my” apartment.  Heck, most of the carnies were lucky to be provided a bed, or transportation from one spot to the next. 

The ride guys that I knew slept in bunkhouses in the backs of trucks… six… eight… maybe more men to one room.  Rick told me that he and CJ often avoided being in their own bunk room because their roommate, Pops’ (who was awesome, incidentally), feet stunk so bad that they couldn’t stand to be around it. 

The jointies (who worked the games) often didn’t even get bunk houses.  They actually slept inside the games after they were closed up at night, largely to protect the product (the prizes on offer).  They had to find their own way, often by hitchhiking, to the next spot. 

With Groscurth’s we were, indeed, pampered, although, there were levels of pampering.  Terry and Sue had a motorhome-ish apartment in the truck.  I had the small manager’s apartment.  John had his cubby.  But all the other staff had bunks in our stock truck.  No privacy at all.  Every one of our employees had complete access to their sleeping area, and their possessions.  When they were on break, if they tried to catch a nap, they’d be constantly interrupted by people coming in and out to get supplies.  I wouldn’t have lasted if I had to live in the stock truck.  I could have survived in John’s cubby (don’t tell him I said that); but not in the stock truck.