 The Clyde Beatty Show. The world's greatest wild animal trainer Clyde Beatty with another exciting adventure from his brilliant career. The circus means fun for both young and old, thrills, excitement, snarling, jungle beasts. But under the big top, where Clyde Beatty constantly risks death in the most dangerous act on earth, you see only part of the story. Much of the real drama takes place behind the scenes of the circus, or in faraway places of the world where this master of the big cats has journeyed hunting down his beasts in their native jungle. All of this is part of the Clyde Beatty story. Here in Mr. Beatty's own words is the adventure he calls the king of clowns. The problems of circus people are like those of any group living a community life, except that they live so closely their problems are intensified. And as a circus owner, I'm constantly being called upon to act as judge, counselor, and even father confessor. A case in point occurred one evening after the closing performance in one of the larger cities on our tour. I was stretched on a rub-down table, getting the kinks knocked out of my tired muscles when there was a knock on the door. Yes, who is it? Bob Chase. Can I see a minute, Clyde? Can't it wait? Well... All right, come on in. The only moment of relaxation I get is during my rub-down, and that's usually the time my dressing room turns into Grand Central Station. Take it easy. You know I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. I'm not so sure. Okay. Hand me my room, please. Well, Bob, what's the beef? I'm your law superintendent. If there's nothing in my contract, says I can be abused by a flock of temperamental clowns. Oh, are those primidonists kicking up a fuss again? Anyone that thinks clowns are always happy-go-lucky guys should take a peek in that jewelry tent right now. Well, couldn't you settle the thing? I tried, but they insisted their case be brought before I hire a court. That means you. So wonder anyone can eat around here without me holding the fork for them. Well, come on. Let's go see what's got our palyachos all riled up. All right, all right. I can't hear all of you at once. Suppose you let Blackie Ross speak for you. Blackie, can you tell me what's wrong? Uh, yeah, Mr. Beatty, it's about changing the routines this late in the tour. We got them pretty well set, and the boys don't see no reason to change them. Well, I don't either. Who suggested it? Oh, his Imperial Majesty. Imperial Majesty? Sure, his Royal Highness had gone approved. He has ordered, or rather, he has commanded that all the acts be changed. Well, now, wait a minute. Just who are you talking about? The Emperor of all gestures. Archduke of merriment. Lord High ruler of might. Grand Duke of Jocularity. In short, Rex, King of the Clown. Great. Now, tell me who you're talking about. I am talking about Rex, the new Joey. Bob, did you hire a new clown? No, Clyde. Thought you did. Not me. Where is this guy? Uh, his Highness wouldn't dress in the same tent with us. Ordinary, Joey. He's got his own tent outside. Well, this is ridiculous. Hush. If he hears you, he will order your head to roll. Oh, he will, eh? Well, stick around, boys. You're just about to see an Emperor lose his throne. And now, back to Clyde Beatty's adventure entitled, The King of Clown. I rushed into the small tent pitched behind the clown's quarters and then stopped dead in my tracks. I stared open-mouthed at the spectacle before me and throned upon a raised dais was the most fantastic-looking monarch imaginable. The dais was a moth-eaten blanket thrown over an old trunk. What is the meaning of this infusion? With an air of outraged majesty, the specter upon the throne pointed a bony finger in my direction. His majesty was clothed in patched and tattered splendor. His crown was fashioned of tin can, soldered into a circle and cut into uneven points by a tin shear. How dare you enter the presence without you finality! My apology, Sire. It was not my intention to break in upon your reverie. Uh, however, uh... Heat man, or bite dad, your head will roll. Look, Grandpa, come off it. I'm Clyde Beatty, the owner of this show. Clyde Beatty? Ah, yes. You're the new prime minister. Good. We were about to summon you. There has been unrest within the court. We fear for our life. Now, wait a minute. Certain of our subjects have given voice in contradiction to our command. They are like rats, annoying from within. They make plots and counter-tops. They would dethrone us. I even destroy you. Okay, I'll buy your act, but take off that silly get-up and can the chatter. Ah, then it is your advice that we disguise our first as well as the common herd that we go about among our subjects as one of them. Ha-ha-ha! An admirable suggestion. In that way, we can become informed of the plots against our person. Look, old fella, I've had all kinds of pitches thrown at me for a job with my show. This one takes the prize. I'll tell the circus manager to sign you on. There you are, Clyde. I've been looking all over for you. Hi, Harriet. Bob and I have had the quiet and outburst of temperament from the joy tent. I'm not so sure we've been successful, either. I think that character you hired is off his rocker. Ah, he's just a harmless old coot, and I think his act is very funny. Gee, you boys mind telling me what's going on? Well, I signed on a new clown and called himself Rex. It makes himself up in tattered robes. I tell you, he actually thinks he's a king. Oh, nonsense. It's just an act. It's a good one, too. He convinced me that he belongs in the show. Well, I don't like it. And here's the joys. That old boy's going to give us trouble. You wait and see. Bob, you're a warrior. Well, I'm too worried for tonight. I'm going to bed. Night, Harry. Oh, good night, Bob. Clyde, are you sure about this old man? Bob doesn't act very reassuring. What can an old guy like that do? Oh, I'm tired. Come on, honey. Let's call it a day. Gaya moves. Yeah, even I feel extra good. Oh, here comes Blackie Ross. We'll have to congratulate him. Oh, Blackie, would you come here a moment? Oh, hi, Mr. Bady and Mrs. Bady. Did you get your act? Oh, we certainly did. You and the boys were sensation. It was great, Blackie. Really great. Oh, you can thank yourself for that, Mr. Bady. That new act you signed on did the trick. Do you mean the old man, Rex? Yes, ma'am. I've been in the business a good many years, and I've never seen a better performance by any clown. Oh, except yours, Blackie. No, I tell you, that old man's down at the heel's royalty routine. He's one of the finest bits of satire I've seen. Is the old boy getting along with the other joys? Well, that's a funny thing, Mr. Bady. Usually when a clown takes off his grease paint, he's just like anyone else, but this Rex, he stays in character all the time. Perhaps he's done his act so long he can't make the switch. Could be. Matter of fact, I've seen old Blackie here going to his act at the least provocation. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, here, here, here comes his majesty now. Brother, look at that regal pose. Oh, he looks angry. Yeah, and he's heading this way. It appears we're going to be the subject of his regal... Oh, idiots! Why do they laugh? Why do they make mock of one born to rule? It is in appreciation of your majesty's great nonsense. It is a conspiracy. A plot? Why is everyone against me? Why am I persecuted? You are my prime minister! Do something about it! Do something about it before it's too late! There you are. See what I mean? I don't think he's acting. Ah, of course he's acting. He's a clown and he loves it. Well, all I can say is, if he isn't acting, it's the saddest thing I've ever seen. They cannot fool me. This I know. Behind those closed doors, they plot and plan, plan and plot for what? For my blood. The heart's blood coursing through these royal veins and arteries. They think I do not know they are, but fantasms. They mirror the characters of my dreams. When I sleep, they disappear. As such creatures should in the face of reality. When I awaken into this dream world, they mistakenly call life. I become subject to the fantasy in which they exist. Now they sleep, but I sleep not. For now I come alive to wander free and safe, to perform whatever acts my heart and mind impel me to perform. Ah, how good it is for sport to be released. The more we're about in the world, that is, mine. Sleep on when I do what I must. Hey, hey, get away from that cage. What are you trying to do? All right now, get out from behind there. No, I can release the rest of these tortured beasts. What? What's the matter, Harry? God, listen. Hey, that's the animals. They're roaring up a storm. It sounds like the whole shooting match is loose. Those cats are fighting and not in their cages. Where are those darn boots? Talk to me, my family. I've got to get out there. Hank, Hank, what's happening? Who turned those cats out? I don't know. I heard some money. The cages went warmly comfy. Whoever it was opened every cage in the place. The cats are loose and ripping one another to pieces. Well, what are we going to do? I don't know, but we've got to do something. Man, look at that messy cat. We've got to stop him and bring him. Hank, get me some guns and a whip. Then get the men and some cans aside. I've got to corral those cats before it's too late. And now, back to Clyde Beatty and the King of Clowns. While Hank, the cage boy, went to get men and equipment to round up the frantically fighting cats, I wondered what depraved person could have released them. I was certain it had been done purposefully since all the cages had been opened at one time. Here's a weapon, a couple of guns, Mr. Beatty. This one's loaded with blanks, the other with live ammunition. I don't think I'll need the live stuff. The cats are still fighting under the big top. If I can keep them in there, we might be able to round them up. What are you going to do? I'll keep them occupied. When I go out there, get the men to form a V with those side walls. Yeah? I'll keep the cats in a bunch, have them in advance until they're in the corner, then bring on the cages, okay? Okay, Mr. Beatty, here I go. Here you go. Not too fast. Wait till he's got them in a bunch. Down, Roger. Okay, this is awesome. It'll be all right, Bob. Willem's cages are under the opening. That canvas wall will never hold those cats if they charge. I know, but they won't charge. To them, that canvas looks solid. Thank goodness. If those cages are in line, open the chute. I'm going to drive them in. Okay, Mr. Beatty. Let them charge! Are you all right, Clyde? Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. But I'll tell you this, Bob. We sure were lucky. Oh, you better come and lie down, Clyde. That was a terrible ordeal. I just don't get it. I don't get it. How could anyone have done a thing like that? No, it's dreadful. Everyone in the troupe was in danger. Could those animals have broken loose by themselves, Clyde? No, impossible. Anyway, Hank heard somebody fooling around the cages. He tried to stop them, but whoever it was bashed them over the head. Now, this was done deliberately. But why? He'd have to be crazy to do such a thing. I know. And if he's crazy enough to do it once, he might try again. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be in your dressing room. I'm worried, Harriet. I've got the strangest hunch that something bad's going to happen. Oh, don't be silly. You're just nervous after what happened last night. No. There's something going on in this circus. Something sinister. Harriet, look. What is it, Clyde? The guy wires holding the big cable they've parted. Oh, the cable started to sway. He's going to fall! There he goes. Come on, Harriet. Let's go. Come on. Come on. Let me through here. Let me through. All right. Now, don't move him. Don't move him. Here's the doctor. Give him air. Let me see. Hmm. He's coming around. Must have broken bones on that one. It's called an ambulance. We'll have to get him to a hospital. A couple of us tried to catch him, but we couldn't hold him. Oh, yes. But you broke his fall. That may save his life. Clyde, we're in trouble. Real trouble. What now, Bob? Well, the entire troupe's up in the air. Performers, supporters, rater backs, everybody. It's just a series of accidents. And Clyde, do you think someone is trying to wreck the show? It's possible. But who? That's what's driving me crazy. Come in. Save me! Save me! Get out of here! They're going to kill me! Oh, Rex, what's happening? Here, here, here. Here, old time. And I'll take anything. Get out of here! Bob, take a look outside. All right. Now, look. Now, calm down, will you? Tell me. What's the matter? They're after me, I say. They? Who are they? Sanctions. Conspiracy. Oh, nonsense. Look, I've got enough trouble without you carrying on like this. There's nothing out there, Clyde. Look, if this is a gag, Rex, you're pulling it at the wrong time. Now, get out of here. Beat it. Very well. I'll go. But remember, my blood will be on your hand. Well, what was that all about? I tell you, that guy's goofy. He sure picked the wrong time to pull a stunt like that. Now, it's my turn to have a hunch. I don't think that old man was kidding. Things went from bad to worse. Every day, something happened. Little things. Some of them insignificant enough to be laughed off. However, if everyone hadn't been alert, some of them might have proved tragic. What was going on had us all frantic. For almost a week, I'd been unable to sleep. I prowled the grounds at night, seeing danger in every shadow, and jumping at the slightest sound. Dude, dude. Oh, uh... Who is it? It's... me. Blacky Ross. Hmm. I didn't see you in the shadows. What's the matter? Can't you sleep either? Oh, yeah. I've been asleep. And I was sleeping like a baby. What got you up? Somebody tried to kill me. What? The patron saint said, Joey, you must have awakened me. Somebody was standing over me. I saw the Glen O'Stealer When a stealer has a knife flashed towards my throat and I tore up my arm just in time. Blacky! You've been hurt. That arm's badly cracked. No, no, I just, just a scratch. The knife only nicked me. Do you know who it was? No, it was too dark. It all happened real fast. How long ago was this? Three, maybe four minutes? Well, he couldn't have gotten very far. I chased him. He ducked under the wall of the big top. Well, why didn't you sing our song? I thought I might track him down if I didn't raise a rump. He might have gone on through the tent and out the other side. Yeah, yeah, and he might still be inside. Well, it's worth a try. Look, I'll slip inside and see if I can spot him. You get as many of the men as you can. Keep him quiet. Have him make a complete circle around the big top. When that's done, sneak inside and give me the word. Yeah, right. If that bird's still in the tent, we'll take him. I crawled under the side wall and into the big top. There was but a single dim light strung at the top of each center pole. I crawled cautiously under the row of yellow benches and maneuvered to a position where I could see down the entire length of the arena. Nothing moved. It seemed forever until I heard a slight noise. It was Blackie Ross making his way toward me. I spot anything, boss. Not a thing. Did you get the men in position? Yeah. If anybody's in here, he ain't gonna get out. Good. We may be on a wild goose chase, but anything's better than standing around waiting for something to happen. Yeah, that's for sure. What do we do now? Let's wait a few minutes until we get more used to the dim light. If nothing happens, we'll cover every inch in a place. Right. Cheapers. I've been around psychosis most of my life. I still can't get used to being under all the canvas while I went to big tops empty. Spooky, isn't it? Yeah, it makes me feel like I want to run. Kinda makes my back hair rise, too. Well, there's not much sense just waiting. He could be hiding in a thousand places in a year. We'd better start a search. Yeah. Okay. Blackie, wait. I think I saw something move down there. You mean to? What a break. We've got him trapped. Look, in the center of the box is on the left. He's ducked under the seats. Hey, you, whoever you are, this tent is surrounded. You can't escape. Come on up. Holy, can't you scare them to death? He's dashing for the center pole. The lights. What's happened to the lights? He pulled the switch at the base of the pole. There's a spotlight up here in the back of the boxes. Let's get to it. Sure is dark in here. Have you got a match? Yeah, I think... Here. Here's the spotlight. I hope the juice is still on. Ah, it is. Flash it over toward the pole. He isn't there. Well, he couldn't have made it outside. That shot came from up in the air. He must have climbed the pole. I'll focus the light on the base of the pole. Let the beam travel upward. There he is. Halfway up. Yeah, what? What? It's Wax. The clown. I don't understand. I do the old boys just playing nuts. Watch it. That shot was too close for comfort. Don't worry. He can't shoot straight from that position. Keep the line on him. I'm going over there to see if I can talk him down. It's something out of a nightmare. Hey, Grandpa! Yes. Come on down! You ain't got a chance! I am the king! The emperor! Save me! Save me! I directed the beam of light to the very top of the arena. From some untapped source, the old man had marshaled enough strength to climb to the very hikes of the big top. And there he perched. Men poured into the arena from outside and gathered in a tight circle around the center arena. No one fought to turn on the main lights. Rex stood on a cross brace holding onto a guy roped to keep his balance. From his hand, I trained the beam of light on him. With his free hand, he swept his tattered robe across his shoulder in a wriggle gesture and gazed down at the knot of men below him. Come, march! Names! And shall step the beam of light from one again to rule! Never! There would be even apparitions of a dream! And now, the dream ends! I stood fascinated. The tragic figure tottered on its precarious perch. The hand on the guy rope slipped from its hold. For a moment, Rex, king of clowns, stood grabbing wildly for something to grasp. And then, he plunged over and down. Oh, man! Believe me, Mrs. Beatty, it's better this way. He was insane, wasn't he, Doctor? Oh, yes, violently. He suffered from extreme paranoia. Then, he really did think he was a king. He wasn't acting. He wasn't acting. You see, this unfortunate person was at the stage in his illness where the line of demarcation between reality and illusion had virtually disappeared. Oh, you mean he couldn't tell fact from fantasy? That's correct. Life to him was simply a dream. And his dreams were reality. Dreams? So much as show business is based on fantasy and illusion. I wonder. Clyde, don't tell me you think people in show business have to be crazy. No, my dear. But believe me, sometimes it helps. Clyde Beatty will be back with a word about our next exciting story. But now, a message of interest to all of us. Once more, here is the style of our show, Clyde Beatty. Sometimes in a man's life, something happens that isn't particularly dramatic, exciting or thrilling. Nevertheless, it will remain in his memory as something important, truly worthwhile. One of these incidents that always tugs at my heart is the simple story of a crippled boy and a horse called the Fabulous General Ike. I'll tell you about it when next we meet. All stories are based upon incidents in the career of the world famous Clyde Beatty and the Clyde Beatty Circus. The Clyde Beatty show was produced by Shirley Thomas. The King of Clowns was written by Frank Hart Tossig. All names used were fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a Commodore production.