THE SPECTACULAR SAILOR CIRCUS

  The Sarasota     

Sailor Circus

When I was growing up in Sarasota in the Fifties, the highlight of every school year was the spectacular Sailor Circus held in the football stadium at Sarasota High.  In my memories the nights are always cool; the moon is always golden in the starlit sky and it never, ever rains.  In those halcyon days the famous circus families lived in Sarasota--the Wallendas, the Canastrellis, the Zachinnis and many more.  At one time we lived down the street from the Wallendas and were used to seeing the family practicing on the high wire in their backyard.  For many years these circus professionals trained teenagers (their own children among them) to perform in the Sailor Circus.  I know I shall bring the wrath of present-day Sarasota down on my head when I say that during the fabled Fifties the Sailor Circus reached heights it was never to reach again.  Under the watchful eye of circus luminaries at the top of their game, even kids who did not grow up in the circus learned to do things they had thought were impossible.  For a child like myself who lacked strength, coordination, balance and grace, the Sailor Circus performers became like the gods of Olympus.  They were superhuman.  They were magic!

One moonlit night stands out among all the others.  I remember the girls on the Spanish Web--all grace and beauty, their long legs wound around the thick rope, bending their bodies in impossible curves and smiling, always smiling at us all.  A young man seemed to dance and leap on the high wire, fearless as he flipped over on the thin cord.  We too were fearless because we knew in our hearts that he could not fall.  And at last came my favorites, the glittering stars of the evening,  the artists on the flying trapeze.  High above us the five performers appeared relaxed, taking their daring feats for granted, but my heart was beating so fast that I felt almost dizzy.  They flew through the air, turning somersaults as their sequined costumes caught the lights; their timing was perfect as they flipped and caught the opposite trapeze.  As the performance grew more intricate, I knew that everything depended on faultless timing and the special skills of the catcher.  The young man hung by his knees, his wrists taped, his muscular arms outstretched to catch the performer hurtling toward him.  I was breathless.  The act was racing toward its spectacular finish; one extraordinary pass after another until the last girl grasped the trapeze and swung out, turning over and over in the air until at the last possible moment the catcher grabbed on and held fast.

I am an old woman now and the flyers, if they are still with us, are even older than I.  But in my mind's eye, I see them still, their strong, graceful bodies forever flying toward one another against the midnight blue of the sky.