Early in my radio career I was a copy writer, and that qualified me as "one of the guys". I played on the station softball team, did remotes and worked promotions with the staff. For the most part our spouses and kids joined in and it was a great time in our lives. We were the WMAN-ALLSTARS.
In those days, working in small market radio could shave a lot of things off your bucket list. That's because you were often asked to do things that were fun for a crowd to watch and dangerous for the person asked to do them. These requests required you to be (a) young enough and (b) dumb enough to show up and do them......I was both.
Our crew had been recruited to be in an elephant 'race' by the circus as part of their advertising plan, so on a Saturday morning Larry and I loaded the kids into the car and headed to the fairgrounds. We walked around looking for other mustard yellow t-shirts and soon found our group. Four of us were to race elephants that day, and it's safe to say it was a new experience for all of us.
A tall man who seemed to be in charge led me and the other three disc jockeys around the side of the tent while our families walked on to find the track to watch the race. As we came around the corner I found myself face to trunk with the biggest animal I had ever seen. It wore a sad, tired expression and it occasionally pawed the dust with a huge foot and leg that was bigger than my whole body. I immediately began to second guess my decision, but there wasn't time to do anything but push on.
"I can do this...I can do this....I can do this"....is the mantra that runs through my head when I am completely out of my comfort zone and hoping for a better outcome than the one that just crossed my mind. I only start this mantra loop in my thoughts when I think there's a good possibility I am going to die.
The man in charge said some magic words and the huge, dusty beast went to it's knees in what looked like a deep, courteous bow. A younger man made himself into a human step stool, and the next thing I knew I was up on the elephant's head trying to figure out where to sit. The man shrieked at me to put my legs behind the elephants ears, and then to hold onto the red leather head harness (which I already had in a death grip). When I finally got as settled as I was ever going to be, he yelled at the elephant again and the beast rose up into the air with a grace I didn't think possible. Next thing I know, we are walking to the track for the race. I'm thinking, "hey, this isn't so bad. After all....how fast can an elephant run?"
This is an excellent point to give you some very important information that could come in very handy should YOU ever decide to be in an elephant race. They can actually run....especially when they are being chased by a man wearing a turban, screaming in a foreign language, and wielding a very long metal hook that he doesn't hesitate to use on said animals backside. My next nugget of information is this....they don't corner worth a darn! Every time we approached a turn I found myself sliding to one side. The leg still hooked over the elephants neck would grab on for dear life, the other leg looking for something important to do, but dangling uselessly. In truth the only thing that kept me from sliding off and being trampled was the leather headdress that I kept my fingers clenched in as I bounced from side to side. (Mommy!)
The "race" was mercifully short, and I was fortunate enough to lose, which meant I didn't have to race again! YES! My competitive spirit had died the second I locked eyes with this huge beast and realized it could reduce me to a greasy spot in the dust if it chose to do so. I was unashamedly relieved.
The man in charge mumbled the magic words and once again the elephant made a deep bow. This time I didn't wait for the human step stool. I slid to the ground and moved away from that creature as if I'd just been informed the detonator on a very large bomb had been set.
In my abject fear I had clenched the red leather headdress without realizing that the elephant's skin was like sandpaper and it had small, needle like hairs across it's massive head. During the race my knuckles had been rubbed raw, and I now stood bleeding but blessedly intact as the other racers went on to the second heat.
We finished the day at the circus, and our three kids had a great time. Larry and I walked along behind them, hand in bleeding hand. I look back at pictures of that day and remember a wonderful, if terrifying, time with great friends. I am grateful for the experience, and while I wouldn't care to do it again, it's all part of why life is good.
Oh. my.gosh. Is all I can say.
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