My grandfather, Edward Austin Reno was the son of Edward Munn Reno, Dean of American Magicians, a pioneer in the entertainment field of Illusions. Edward Austin Reno took his big top tent theater along the Circuit Chautauqua and rural Redpath route. His daughter, my mother, gave birth to me while they entertained a week in each town offering stage plays, comedy routines and of course, Ed Reno's magic act. Reno's Funmakers had a history in show business. It was what they did. It was all they knew. It was a life they loved with all their hearts. The Great Depression coupled with WW2 finally brought the family off the road. They always planned to return once the war ended. Like so many plans we make ourselves, theirs didn't materialize. I grew up in the midst of their disappointment, thus the book. My career took a different path. First college, majoring in business, chemistry and art. (my medium being oils). Followed by management positions and later, with a partner, forming my own manufacturing company called Pilot Industrial Battery. After selling the company I consulted to the battery industry until retiring here in Florida. I'v always been interested in writing. But, mostly as a guest columnist in newspapers and technical articles. Reno's Funmakers is my first novel. My second is currently being worked on.
Reno's Funmakers
A Biographical NovelBy George MoonTrafford Publishing
Copyright © 2011 George Moon
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4269-6566-1Contents
Introduction.............................vDedication...............................viiPrologue.................................xiChapter One..............................1Chapter Two..............................9Chapter Three............................14Chapter Four.............................23Chapter Five.............................27Chapter Six..............................31Chapter Seven............................45Chapter Eight............................52Chapter Nine.............................56Chapter Ten..............................70Chapter Eleven...........................74Chapter Twelve...........................77Chapter Thirteen.........................80Chapter Fourteen.........................85Chapter Fifteen..........................89Chapter Sixteen..........................92Chapter Seventeen........................96Chapter Eighteen.........................100Chapter Nineteen.........................104Chapter Twenty...........................108Chapter Twenty-One.......................114Chapter Twenty-Two.......................117Chapter Twenty-Three.....................121Chapter Twenty-Four......................124Chapter Twenty-Five......................129Chapter Twenty-Six.......................140Chapter Twenty-Seven.....................145Chapter Twenty-Eight.....................155Chapter Twenty-Nine......................161Chapter Thirty...........................164Chapter Thirty-One.......................170Chapter Thirty-Two.......................174Chapter Thirty-Three.....................180Chapter Thirty-Four......................184Chapter Thirty-Five......................188Chapter Thirty-Six.......................192Chapter Thirty-Seven.....................198Chapter Thirty-Eight.....................201Epilogue.................................203
Chapter One
The year is 1931. The stock market crash on October 29, 1929, changed the sentiment and expectations of the future for most Americans. It began a period of unemployment, low profits, high poverty, and stagnant trade, affecting the entire world for the next decade. Besides heavy industry, one of the worst damaged sectors in America was agriculture. Farm prices fell 60 percent. Thus, commodities were sold at a loss, if sold at all. Many families lost their homestead and land due to unpaid taxes.
Coupled with the 1930s drought, the agricultural heartland seemed to suffer the most. Farmers in the Great Plains states had to deal with what was called the Dust Bowl. A constant wind brought clouds of swirling dust across the land, darkening the sky for days. The summer heat was intense, oppressive, and unending. Rainfall was nonexistent. Cattle died from inhaling so much dust, their lungs clogged. As if all that wasn't enough, grasshoppers swarmed and ate what crops remained. Though nearly 20 percent of all workers were unemployed, farmers, for the most part, were self-employed. With their hopes and dreams lost forever, many began the exodus to California, looking for work. Others rode the rails and lived in Hoovervilles, willing to labor just for food. The mood was dour and sad. Reno's Funmakers offered a respite, if only for a few hours.
Local officials assigned a pasture southeast of town for erecting the big top. The grass was tall, but once activity began, it was trampled down enough for patrons to have no trouble negotiating their way to their destination. A small creek winding around the edge of the pasture helped to beautify the area, and off in the distance a horse could be seen grazing. A stand of trees on the southwest side partially enclosed the field, giving the setting a comfortable feeling. The open end faced east, with the town a little to the north. Reno's Funmakers had arrived the evening before, just before dark. Like a slow-moving train, the cars, trucks, and trailers found the prearranged location and parked in an orderly fashion, to spend the night and brace for the morning's activities. The cookhouse tent was set up first. Ed Reno recognized what was most important to his crew and roustabouts. Nothing like a full belly to relax the workers before the tent went up.
The trip from Athens had taken most of the day. It had rained the day before, and roads were still wet and muddy. Several times trucks would get stuck, mired in mud, and had to be pushed, pulled, and, in some cases, dug out. The auto du jour was Ford Model Ts, with one or two Model As; and due to road conditions, the caravan traveled at only twenty miles per hour. Many roads were still dirt. The better ones were gravel. While the Depression had taken its toll on the auto manufacturers, government highway projects had improved state roads.
The following day began with a sliver of whitish yellow appearing in the east at the junction of land and sky. It slowly spread upward, brightening the horizon. The lightened sky promised sunrise anytime now. Sparrows began to shake their feathers, and before long a bird chorus was struck. Their gentle wake-up symphony filled the air. Folks in the area could make out songs of certain birds. Were they listening now, they could hear the familiar sounds of tanagers, mourning doves, bobwhites, sedge wrens, and blue jays, just to name a few. An occupant they would not hear rested high in a Georgia pine. A great horned owl overlooked the goings-on. As the morning dawned, his activity was completed. His consisted of night operations. His roost could be identified by the buildup of whitewash and regurgitated pieces of bone, the undigested remains of prey, beneath the tree where he made his home. Strong talons, a bill hooked like a hawk's, eyes with one hundred times our light-gathering ability, and keen hearing allowed him to hunt in total darkness. His prey never heard him coming. While the forest contained oak, sweet gum, elm, maple, and magnolia, owls preferred the pines.
The heavy knock on Ed's door signified an emergency of some sort.
"Ed, it's me, Jess Backster. You got to come quick. Whitey's mean as all get out and beating up folks down at the tavern."
Ed looked at Gladys and shook his head. "I had a bad feeling about that son of a bitch when I hired him."
A worried Gladys said, "Please be careful. Let the law handle it."
As Ed went down the steps, he thought of how bad news traveled fast. If Whitey did something seriously harmful, it surely would hurt the reputation of the show.
Ed could tell something was wrong the moment he opened the door and walked into the tavern. It's the feeling one gets when a room is full of tension. It's like you've just interrupted something. Ed knew the feeling all too well. He looked around the tavern and spotted Whitey at a table by himself. As always, Boyd was nearby, but only cautiously close.
"Okay, boys, the fun's over," Ed said in a raised voice. "Let's everybody get back. We've got a busy morning ahead of us." That was welcome news to most everyone, and Reno's group began moving toward the exit.
"You ain't the boss of me. I quit," Whitey shouted as he rose to his feet, taking a fighting pose.
"No matter," Ed answered. "You're causing a disturbance and wrecking this man's business. That's got to stop."
The bartender leaned over to Ed and whispered, "I've already called the sheriff and he should be here pretty soon."
Ed looked at Whitey. "Let's just simmer down. No sense making more trouble."
The red-faced giant...
