The Day The Circus Died

I moved yesterday and although I want to post pictures and discuss how awful it was to move a couch up a flight of stairs, something tragic has paused my excitement. Yesterday, Dickie, my old circus coach, passed away.

I got the call yesterday from Megan, her voice choked up. We each called a person or two after, painfully spreading the news. It was better hearing it from someone close rather than facebook or twitter. My friend Dacia called me freaked out - she works for a funeral home. She was the one who got the call. She had to close his eyes.

He was like a father to us, in a way only a teacher could be. He knew our flaws, physically, and would point them out when we were up in the air. Not to make us embarrassed or upset, rather to inspire us to achieve something move.

His wrinkled hands were scarred from years of skin cancer and he smelled like fresh laundry and stale cigarette smoke. He had a southern drawl that personified someone who was born and raised in Florida. He pronounced my name "Laren," not "Lauren" and for him I never cared.

I wasn't one of his favorites, he didn't hand pick me to be in quartette, but I still strived to impress him. To make myself better so he'd be proud. I jumped further, swung higher, flipped faster. Adrenaline pumping, I'd fly through the air towards approval.

He wasn't always there, like a part time parent, which we constantly joked about. He'd miss practices and sometimes didn't see an act until the show's run-through. But when he was there, his skinny legs always clad in tight jeans, would walk him over to the net and ensure everything was safe. And when something was done wrong...

One wrong move and he'd freeze, hands raised slightly over the light dimmers, as he'd see one of his children falling wrong into the net. Sometimes they'd be fine, sometimes they wouldn't be. He saw broken legs, wrists, hips...he saw it all, and every time it hurt him.

He was difficult, at times, stubborn and set in his ways but it was always for a good reason.

He was one of the best directors the FSU Flying High Circus has ever seen. A year ago he left, retired, to finally rest. At the show this past April he sat in the stands like any other spectator, grinning ear to ear. He longed for being part of it again, of course, but he was so proud of what went on after him. So happy to see it survive and prosper. So happy to see us all again.

We were his children, all of us, and we're all incredibly sad to see him go. The circus won't ever be the same. Tallahassee won't be the same.

And so, rest in peace Dickie. We'll always miss you.

October 17, 2009 - The day the circus died.

(Photo thanks to Mike)