JW-vol49no2-p49

FICTION

The Ghost Of Bobby May

by David Deeble

I woke early and packed my bags for Youngstown, Ohio. It was a long drive from Chicago and I didn't arrive until after dark. Approaching downtown I stole glances at the various homes along the highway, wondering if one of them might have belonged to, been visited by, or otherwise had some connection to the great American juggler, Bobby May.

Downtown was completely deserted - spookily so. At a red light I stared long and hard at an old columned building which I felt had surely figured, however tenuously, in his life.

At the club I completed my sound check then retired to my hotel room. I unpacked, placing my camera on the dresser. Tomorrow I would drive around the city and photograph various buildings. Maybe would find an old theater he had performed in. Somehow I knew he hadn't performed at the "Funny Farm," so his ghost would not haunt me during my show tonight.

The show came off nicely. There was this one young lady who seemed to particularly enjoy it. She laughed at every nuance and set the pace for the rest of the crowd.

After the show I didn't go straight to bed, but lingered over a beer at the club. I met the young woman. Her name was Helen and she was very beautiful. We talked for about an hour. She was born and raised in Youngstown, although she had never heard of Bobby May. We talked about my next day's photography project and she offered to come along. It was getting late. "Can I walk you to your car?" I said. . .

"Yes."

I explained that I'd have to drop by my room to get my jacket and gloves, and she came along. At the door I fished for the key and fumbled with it. I finally got the door open and walked right in without showing Helen in first. Just as I realized my faux pas, I began to feel a little faint. I dropped the key on the floor and suddenly couldn't move a muscle. I saw something from the corner of my eye. I looked over at the bed. There, sitting on the corner, was young Bobby May...

He was doing a five-ball shower with a cigarette dangling from his lip. That's how I knew it was him. Two of the balls suddenly collided and the entire pattern exploded all over the room.

"I'm getting my chops back!" he said, picking up the silicone balls from the floor. He walked over to me and offered me the balls, but I just stood there. I was afraid if I spoke or moved I would wake up and forget everything. "Worn out from the show, huh? I know what that's like. Say, any drops tonight?!"

It was like watching a movie - you didn't talk back. "Cat got your tongue, huh? Well tell me, who's your friend there?" He gestured to the doorway and I looked back. Helen was standing there with a beautiful smile on her face. Suddenly I snapped out of my daze. I looked back at Bobby May's ghost. "Maybe I'm not dreaming" I muttered.

He spoke again. "It's alright. I'm not used to this kind of thing either. It's not often a juggler comes to my hometown. Here..."

He held out his hand and I shook it. He said, "I'm Bobby May. Pleased to meet you."

His grip was firm and friendly, real yet ghost-like. I was staring into his eyes when suddenly I realized that I hadn't let go of his hand.

"Sorry!" I said, and released him from my grip.

"That's okay," he said, "It'll heal." He talked just like an ordinary Midwestern man. "Can... can we talk?" I said.

"Of course! But don't you think we should invite your friend in?"

Helen strolled in, graceful and smiling, and introduced herself to the ghost. "You're a real hero to David," she said. "He's been going on and on about your career and how strange it feels to be performing in your hometown."

"Strange? How?" I looked at Helen. She seemed to explain me better than I could.

"Well, he's been telling me about how precise and dedicated a performer you were, and what a golden age it was and so forth. He seems to think there's something to be ashamed of about performing at comedy clubs."

"Comedy clubs?" said the ghost. "What's that? It sounds like fun!"

"It is!" she said. She spoke through her smile and it was beautiful to watch and listen to. "I laughed and laughed tonight. It was like old time vaudeville! I didn't expect anything but comedians, but when David caught that hat with the hand inside his pocket, I nearly fell out of my chair!"

The ghost looked at me and smiled. I had lifted that trick from an old video of one of his early performances. "Well," he said, "It sounds like a heck of a place to perform."

"I guess it is," I offered.

I asked Bobby May how it was that he had returned from the spirit world and he politely explained that it was privileged information. Then he winked at Helen and they both smiled. They seemed to have an understanding. Something having to do with the spirit world, perhaps. I pressed the issue further but Helen changed the subject. "We're going downtown tomorrow to take some pictures of the city. Any suggestions, Mr. May?"

'Yeah!" said the ghost, who seemed to take great interest in this. "Check out the Powers Auditorium on Front Street. It's really beautiful. Seats about 1,200. A wonderful place to see a show."

He went on to describe various acts he had seen there as a boy and then his own first performance there in 1946. "It was great fun, those days..." He was reminiscing. "Say, what's the name of the place you're performing this week?"

I looked at Helen and then at the ghost. "The Funny Farm," I sighed.

"It was kinda like a night at The Funny Farm," he said, "People coming together to see a show..."

The next day I met Helen and we spent the day together. The Powers Auditorium had apparently been torn down in the mid-eighties and replaced by a Blockbuster Video outlet. We did find a smaller theater, though, called The Breathing Roomer which seated about 300 people. It was a very pretty place - domed ceiling, balcony, burgundy seats.

It was operated by a group of young people dedicated to preserving the live arts. It offered very diverse productions, from dance ensembles to plays to one person shows. The owner, a young goateed gentleman named Doug, showed us around. The stage was empty except for a lonely cello propped against a chair in the center. Helen began to play it, and that's how I learned she was a musician.

It turned out that Doug was a hobby juggler, I invited him to my show at The Funny Farm. Afterwards we discussed Bobby May, of whom Doug heard a great deal. When I told him he was from Youngstown he couldn't believe it.

That night we sat up drinking coffee and talking about the state of the arts. We began dreaming up a show featuring physical comedy with live musicians onstage interacting with the players. We talked it over for a good part of the night. Rehearsals began last week and that is why, three months later, I am still in Youngstown, Ohio.