Pod is living his dream

Damian Gordon, with a trademark head of wild grey locks, was the youngest of six siblings – all boys.

The hair has nothing to do with image, but everything to do with clowns. 'It saves a lot on wigs.”

And as the youngest, there was absolutely nothing Damian could do that would surprise his parents. Because five brothers had done it all before, the trouble, surprises, successes, failures. So he became the funny man, the clown.

'And I was pretty good at it, I could make people laugh.”

He even told the careers advisor at a Wellington Catholic boy's school he wanted to be a clown. 'Don't be stupid boy,” they said. 'That's not a career. What are you talking about?”

Well that catholic brother would now be twiddling his rosary apologetically and the embarrassment would be creeping up over his clerical collar because the boy who would be a clown now is a clown. He even owns his very own circus to clown around in.

'It was always going to happen,” laughs the ringmaster, clown, boss and hired hand, depending on what time of day it is.

His circus, the Aotearoa Circus, is sitting snugly in one corner of Memorial Park – it looks very comfortable there. The set-up's as neat as a pin, with the red-striped big top circled by trucks and caravans as though marauding Apaches are expected to come whooping down 11th Ave.

It's between shows – the big top is an empty and sad place – it needs expectation, excitement and surprises, chatter and laughter and kids high on candy floss and popcorn to make it work. In fact, the only nod to normality today is a drying rack draped with undies, T-shirts and socks.

So one minute there are gasps as the aerialist defies on the trapeze, next minute they are doing their handwashing. That's circus life. Bright lights then drudgery.

In the middle of the ring ‘Pod' the clown is playing up to The Weekend Sun camera. 'You want happy or sad?” Either or and he can turn on both equally well.

Pod is Damian Gordon's alter ego – he got Pod at clown school, a name given to jesters who entertained the wealthy in Roman times. Yeah Pod is good, it sits comfortably with the shock of hair.

But aren't clowns intrinsically sad people, or people with something to hide? 'I haven't analysed it that much. But if they did they might find something.”

One of the circus hands wanders aimlessly into the big top while we're talking, probably just being nosey. Pod seizes the moment. 'You looking for a job, you looking for something to do?” Clown turns boss.

Circuses have changed. Changed lots. 'The older guys with the history and the stories have gone,” says Damian. He remembers a homeless and unemployed guy on a park bench. 'We called out to him to come help put up the tent. Four years later he was in the ring performing.”

Nowadays it's young people heading off to the various performers schools. And there are no animals of course.

An elephant called Jumbo was once the star of this circus tent, and a pride of lions and tigers. But the animal protest groups hounded them out of the business. Now there are no animals.

'Expectations have changed. But some people are still disappointed there are no animals while others say they wouldn't come of there were animals. You can't win.” But they are winning – a full house is 240 and some seasons they are turning them away.

'But we are happy with 150 to 200 – this season is a bit quieter.”

And it doesn't stop – 26 to 28 weeks touring then home for a couple of months to prepare for another tour, up and down the land, town to town, two and three shows a day som

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