A week of Clown Skool

I lost three pounds at Coney Island Clown Skool! Silly burns serious calories.

My temp recruiter asked what I planned to do with my new “soft” skills of miming, magic-ing, masking, puppeting, improvising, and slapstick-ing.

“Nothing,” I said.”

But that’s not entirely true. I really see me making a Mrs. Claus show, perhaps one for adults without me in costume, and one for children and adults with me in costume. Beyond that, I just feel a change, a lightness.

At any rate, all of this was an excuse to watch summer turn into fall in South Brooklyn. I got to take my lunch breaks on the beach, where lifeguards left their big chairs empty, at least until the weekend. When wind blows across the boardwalk, flags snap above Paul’s Daughter and around the Wonder Wheel.

What a sound.

The rides, still until the weekend, are metal monsters. Their tracks and poles turn into seabreeze chimes.

The sole Starbucks on Surf Avenue is a chill mid-week spot to chat with faculty, like Michael Trautman. His performance in the teacher show knocked my socks clean off into Brighton Beach. His sensitive coaching sharpened everyone’s acts.

And Glen Heroy, who started the school, happens to be one of my favorite Santas. Once again, he proved one can lead with kindness. With terrific results.

Above, see some pictures of the week. Some are by Jim McDermott. Some are by Coney Island’s historic chronicler, Norman Blake.