Homer And Hobo: Two For The Road -- A Clown And His Canine Chase The Big Time Under The Big Top

Homer the Happy Tramp and Hobo the dog with one black eye and a natural-born sense of the silly ran away to join the circus.

That's probably why you haven't seen them around wherever would-be clowns, jugglers, unicyclists and face-painters gather in spring sunshine to entertain the kids and collect a few quarters in a hat.

It's taken Homer, a k a Gordy Klein, 36 years to decide once and for all to quit trying to make a living in odd jobs and woodworking - although his cutting boards and birdhouses are wonderful - and concentrate on clowning.

It's been a couple of months since Klein and Hobo took their rubber noses, Frisbees, funny hats and juggling pins south to Hot Springs, Ark., and the George Carden Circus Int'l., to spend half a year under the big top, looking for laughs.

Klein wanted to be a circus clown ("always"), to take his talent for pratfalls and pantomime into the center ring of the big top. But somehow, until Hobo, he hadn't made his move.

A high-fivin' pooch

Hobo's new to the act, a mutt with an instinct for slapstick.

"He's a natural clown. I'm his straight man," Klein says. "He just seems to know what will work for the audience. I've made up my mind I don't really want a clown partner - they don't show up or they show up drunk. But you can depend on Hobo."

Even with Hobo's natural talent and professional attitude, it took the partners weeks to get their act ready for the road. Hobo had to learn several new stay and fetch tricks and high-fivin' paw to hand.

Klein built Hobo a slalom course to run through and a box that looks like a refrigerator and taught him to open it and pull out a can of beer. They do a clown-walk called "weaving" - Homer strolls along on wobbly legs as Hobo weaves in and out.

It's not exactly sophisticated comedy, but the kids laugh, "and we can make enough to get along; the best clowns make up to about $1,000 a week."

Homer hopes he'll be compared someday to his heroes, Emmett Kelly, Red Skelton and Harpo Marx.

"The first time I ever saw a clown, it was when Emmett Kelly was still alive," he says. "There were a whole lot of imitators. They may have done some hokey stuff, but they weren't ever dirty. That's why I like being a clown. If you're a talking act you can be lewd to women, or belittle someone in the crowd. People may leave me saying, `Boy, that was corny.' But they won't say I wasn't funny."

The first clown Klein remembers seeing was with the Wenatchee Youth Circus. He had this droopy Emmett Kelly look and didn't even brighten up when Klein offered him a Popsicle. It made a huge impression on Klein.

"He was really sad. I wanted to be just like him."

Klein started like most street clowns do, blowing up balloon toys for kids. In 1986 he went to the Ringling Brothers Clown College, and when he graduated he drifted into "the school assemblies tour" and "the rodeo thing," hiding in a barrel while bullfighter clowns distracted the bulls.

None of it seemed like clowning to him.

In 1992 Circus Circus in Reno called, and Klein spent six months there, learning the finer points of clowning with a professional, Serge Uchanov. It was Serge who decided Klein should become Homeless Homer.

Riding the rails

"We did it because I lived in a trailer and didn't really have a home," Klein says. "I really got into it. I even hopped a few trains to see what it was like to really be homeless, but it's a very ugly life. I could always stop and buy dinner, but the other hoboes couldn't. It just didn't work. It wasn't funny."

So he settled on being Homer the Happy Tramp, working the fairs and malls. Until January, when the George Carden circus called.

Klein and Hobo hooked the 23-foot trailer to the back of an ancient black pickup truck and headed for Arkansas.

The trailer's still not much of a home. Klein made it road-ready by stripping it of everything but clown necessities: pink Converse sneakers, a striped Mad Hatter hat, a painting of a clown by Red Skelton, a box of Baby Wipes to clean off the clown paint before bedtime. The cupboards were empty except for a little dog food and a box of herbal tea.

Their circus days haven't been uneventful.

It took Hobo, a border collie mix, a while to warm up to the elephants and other wild animals. And another clown's potato cannon blew up in Homer's face, sending him to the emergency room with painful powder burns.

But Homer and Hobo have been introduced at least once into the center ring - nirvana for a circus performer.

The circus season will end with the summer and Homer and Hobo will turn the old truck and the no-frills trailer back toward Seattle. They hope to work the Puyallup Fair again between seasons, and they'll probably show up at a few malls and street gatherings.

Clowning "is where I really belong," Klein says, "not woodworking or doing odd jobs. I tried the wood thing and the birdhouse thing and it isn't for me. I finally accepted that this is the way I have fun. Hobo and me are a team."