Vellanoff’s Journal

Stop That Cab! Good Luck With That

One summer it was my pleasure to be assigned by the Company to escort around the city of Chicago a high-ranking official from Ukraine. I was chosen because this fellow was, first of all, enamored by the theater, of which I was of course a modest part, and secondarily because I could speak Russian.

One afternoon we took a taxi over to the Museum of Natural History. I got out and paid the driver. Boris got out behind me and closed the door. As the cab moved forward, Boris discovered that he had closed his coat in the door. Not wanting to tear his coat he started to run alongside the cab while trying to get the cabby’s attention. About two blocks down the street the cab driver realized something was wrong, noticed Boris, and immediately stopped the cab. (Obviously this cabby was new at his job.) The driver jumped out, released Boris’s coat, then asked, “Are you all right?” “Yes,” gasped Boris, “How much more do I owe you?”

One Picky Elephant

On one of our swings through the South, we played in a small town in Georgia. We knew things would be slow for the show when we saw that the Dangling Brothers Circus was in town and would be for about a week. The night before we opened a bunch of us decided to attend the circus. As the program proceeded, we really enjoyed ourselves. Then to my surprise out came the Flying Busalatos. Now the name didn’t mean much to me, but I knew those guys. They were my second cousins, the sons and daughter of my Uncle Smirnoff who had to leave Russia because of the very probable political persecution, which followed closely on the heels of a scam he had run on the local governor. Anyway, it was because of his small wiry body that he had been able to hide in the center of a wheel of cheese and get himself shipped to Italy, where he settled down after several name changes, and raised a family. How the hole got in the center of that wheel of cheese is another story--but we digress.

As they started their act I didn’t realize that we were about to witness circus history. Yes, boys and girls, the first, and well, last, pachyderm high wire act.

You should have seen the look on the face of that elephant. It was--well the elephant was blind, so he didn’t have the slightest idea that he was eighty feet off the ground. He walked back and forth, rode a bicycle, and balanced a guy on his head while standing on his hind feet.

 The trouble came when they prematurely tried the finale. My cousin Eke, or that was his name when he crawled into the cheese, was supposed to come out onto the wire also blindfolded, and, after lifting the animals trunk, put his head into the elephant’s mouth. As I said they were a little ahead of themselves and the elephant was facing the wrong way when Eke tried his trick. Well, the elephant took exception to what he considered an invasion of his privacy and in the process of turning around to slap Eke up against the opposite side of the tent, fell into the net, which didn’t really slow him down much, and landed on a clown.

The audience thought it was the funniest thing they’d seen. The coroner showed up to fix the clown’s cause of death, which was quite an exercise in itself. After moving the elephant, they just rolled up the clown like a large multicolored throw rug and two other clowns carried him out of the center ring. The audience howled with delight. 

It was in this same town we were asked by the police to make this announcement before our show. “The police are looking for a small man with one eye.” Some wisea - - guy in the front row shouted out “If the man is so small why don’t they try using both eyes?”

 

To Stop or Slow Down

One summer our troupe was playing Lexington, Nebraska. These folks loved Hamlet, but had no idea who Shakespeare was. One beautiful day we decided to take a drive out in the country, despite the lack of scenery.

Roy drove us out into the country. We came to a stop sign at a crossroads. Since we hadn’t seen any other cars in half an hour, Roy decided that he only had to slow down a little, which he did and then proceeded through the intersection. Unfortunately for him, a young sheriff’s deputy saw him and pulled him over.

“Sir,” said the sheriff “That’s a stop sign.”

“Son,” said Roy “I’ve been driving for twenty years and have yet to have an accident. There’s not a bit of difference between ‘stop’ and ‘slow down’.”

“Well sir,” said the sheriff, “I’m going to show you the difference.” He hauled out his nightstick and began beating Roy on the head and shoulders.

“Now, sir,” said the sheriff “Do you want me to STOP of SLOW DOWN?”