From humble beginnings in his mother's laundry room, young David taught himself how to juggle with socks that he was rolling up to put away. When he was 13 and broke, he needed to replace a pedal on his bike, so he hit the streets of Ottawa. His friends suggested he try juggling on Sparks Street where other huskers performed. He recalled, "They told me there were some awful musicians down there and they made money so I should be able to, too." After earning enough for the pedal, the forces of entertainment were re­leased from within, and since then he has not looked back.

 

Although he credits several workshops and conventions for improving his various skills, Aiken found that his true education came from the street, where anything can happen and usually does. While any live performance has an element of spontaneity, street performance is more vulnerable to it, and as a result, Aiken's show has evolved over several years - much like his character The Checkerboard Guy.

 

His costuming began in the mid-80s, when checkered Vans sneakers were all the rage. Aiken wore his while performing, and he eventually made himself checkered wrap­around pants to match. The transformation became complete at an Amherst mini-convention when someone gave him a checkered bandana. The Checkerboard Guy moniker was given to him by stand-up comedian and fellow-juggler Joe Murray, though not until a couple of years later.

 

He said, "I was looking for a hook to make myself different from all of the other jugglers and it just seemed to work. Sure there may be other jugglers who use checkerboards in their show, but there is really only one Checkerboard Guy."

 

Aiken also pointed out that people easily identify with a strong personality or image, which means they can be drawn more deeply into the performance and enjoy the show even more. It also means they are more likely to remember you later on if they are looking for an entertainer.

 

But costumes often aren't enough to distinguish one juggler from others on the circuit, so Aiken devised a finale to separate him from the crowd. As he begins his show, an energetic version of "Sing, Sing, Sing" blares from the sound system while The Checkerboard Guy gathers a crowd with antics such as shaker cups, cigar boxes, seven ball juggling, and casting a fishing rod with a rubber spider attached as bait at people passing by.

 

When the music dies down he holds the attention of his audience with a ball spinning routine, helped by a young volunteer. He then juggles clubs, balances on a freestanding ladder, and exchanges a few Tarzan yells with another volunteer. The latest addition to his show, the finale, is a stunt parody of Evel Knievels jump across Snake River Canyon. Instead of the Sky Cycle X-2 though, he has a tiny Go-ped scooter that he jumps over a member of the audience who lies on the ground. The volunteers wife or girlfriend leads the audience in chanting "Dave, Dave..." to give him inspiration.

 

For his first three years performing he became very familiar with the street scene

in Ottawa, but eventually he began to make small trips to Montreal, Toronto

and Baltimore. "In the summer of '85 I got my driver's license and bought a 1978 Austin Mini... "

 

In 1988, The Checkerboard Guy really began to tour, juggling at festivals in Ottawa, Fredericton and Halifax, winning a couple of People's Choice awards along the way. The following season he went West and was spotted by an agent in the Japanese entertainment industry who invited him to perform at Expo '90 in Osaka. Having heard the great reports from other performers who had worked at Expos in Vancouver and Brisbane, he jumped at the opportunity and began an international career.

 

In addition to his career in juggling, he is also juggling careers. In recent months Aiken and a partner have been involved in the establishment of a management and consulting company, Beaver Street Management & Consulting, aimed at providing services primarily for street performers. Over the years he has seen many acts struggle to make a living, not because they weren't talented enough, but because they didn't like doing the kind of work involved in setting up their performing schedule.

 

In a perfect world, performers would be naturally inclined in artistry and business acumen. But it's not, and the company helps out those who are tired of dealing with business, especially if they still want to include street festivals in their tours. Most

agents would balk at getting a performer gigs where the sole or majority of their income comes from hat-passing. "Let's face it," Aiken explained, "the most common perception of agents is that they are blood-sucking leeches who are out for themselves, and that's a big part of why we prefer to call ourselves consultants. The time and energy involved in scheduling bookings does have a value and so we take a percentage... but because we are putting ourselves on the line in terms of trusting our clients to tell us what they earned, we believe that they'll recognize our sincerity in wanting the best for them."