The Geek 

by Lee Kolozsy

The Brush[1] had a love/hate relationship with The Geek…  

We were circus people. I was one of the many show-kids. In Gibtown[2]. A little Florida community of freaks, carnies, circus performers, con artists, show animals, and mystified crackers.

We all called this poor wobbly[3] “The Geek”… 

 We weren’t heartless, we never called him “Geek” to his face. Plus we tried to avoid his face. One girl said rats lived in his beard. I wasn’t gonna check. The Geek was textbook ugly. With every factory option. The full package. Odor. Visually offensive, filthy clothing, chewed tobacco, the works. Had hideous scars from dread diseases. A face full of revolting. A lingering rank stench. Filthy unhygienic, long, greasy, disgusting hair. The rednecks called him “hippie”  The Hippies called him “hillbilly” He was neither.

He was a geek… [4] 

The Brush simply loved The Geek, when he didn’t hate him. The Brush worked The Geek to death. Only he didn’t die. He just coughed up more phlegm, wobbled a little more than usual, stank a little more intensely, and kept on working. Not rocket science. Just boring, stupid, endless drudgery. For which he received no money. Only an old show truck to live in. And cigarettes and food. Mostly cigarettes. Hardly any food. And beer. Somehow The Geek managed beer. Us showkids could get a sixpack by paying for two. Ask The Geek. He’ll get it at the Tropicana. Behind the playground. If you could stomach the reek. Better get another six, it’ll help you forget the foul odor. And the ugly to match. 

Gibtown was a trap for some. The Geek was trapped. The Brush was a way out.

The Brush offered The Geek a job. A job with the promise of pay… 

The Brush was a Circus man. A Showman. A great Showman. An artist. A scholar. A great mind. A broke Showman. Trapped in Gibtown. Shipwrecked. But surviving. The Brush could paint. Not houses. Not cars. Not park benches. Not things. The Brush could paint thoughts. Well, pictures of thoughts. And words. Pictures and words. The Brush was a show artist. A banner painter. He could create a banner where the picture and lettering layout conjured up an irresistible desire to see the object it described. A master banner painter. Only no-one was ordering banners. Too many around. Good used banners and those damn stock O-Henry banners. Starve making banners. Lotta carnies need signs. Circus kinkers need props decorated. Work around for a painter.

Gotta get on the road… 

The Brush didn’t want The Geek around at first. The Geek found The Brush. The Brush was lettering a piece for old “ Col. Specs” at the Bluegrass winter quarters.  The Geek started handing The Brush stuff. The Brush was on a ladder. The Geek didn’t wait to be asked. When The Brush needed a Fitch[5], there it was, The Geek knew. When The Brush handed a brush to The Geek, The Geek cleaned it. He didn’t need to be told. He wrapped oily paper around the quills. Like he knew the drill. The Brush asked, “ you ever work in a sign shop?” The Geek mumbled something about before he became a lush..

The Mighty Blue Grass Shows didn’t want him, so The Brush took him home…  

To the lot in Gibtown. The lot with only a power pole. No water. No sewer. The Geek could live in the gutted Mack. Piss in the woods. Drink some more. Pass out… 

The Brush woke The Geek at daybreak. .. 

Dig a doniker pit. Sounds simple. A pit. With a shovel. A pit for The Brush’s house trailer to drain water into. Told The Geek, dig here, The Geek asked how big, how deep. This big and I’ll tell you when it’s deep enough. The Brush started a job. Went to town for paint. Stopped at the Giants Camp[6]. Had a few at Starkey’s bar. Got home late. Went to bed. Heard the damnedest sound. Coming from outside. Took a flashlight, had a looksee. Clods of dirt hitting the trailer. Coming from a hole in the ground. Eight feet down, up to his ass in water, still digging. The Geek.

The Geek was gonna make The Brush a bundle… 

 The Brush was framing a show[7] for The Geek… Actually, The Geek was framing a show for The Brush… More precisely, The Geek was framing a show for The Geek…  A Geek Show… for The Brush to exhibit The Geek in.

 A Geek Show…  

That is how he came to be called “The Geek”. He was going to be the geek in The Brush’s Geek Show. The Brush painted some sensational banners. Geek Show banners. Taught The Geek to glom[8]. Had a glomming geek. A glomming geek who looked the part. This was gonna be good. Traded some work for a twenty by twenty top[9]. Taught The Geek to put it up. Framed a banner line[10] from old sign lumber. Good looking show. Million dollar paint job on a pile of crap. Looked great. Had The Geek convinced he was gonna be a star. An actor born to the role. On a carnival show. High status. Gonna get your own trailer. When the money starts rolling in.

The Brush booked a route…  

A good one. Show painter and back end operator[11]. Free priv and green to boot[12]. Things were looking up. 

First jump was hell. Lotta miles and did I mention The Geek stank. Finally on the lot and in the air[13] and The Geek wants some money. Unprecedented. Not gonna start drinking are you? The Brush didn’t like it, but The Geek had worked all winter, framed a show, and seemed to be looking forward to opening the next day and acting. Like a geek. Probably needed some beer and other necessities.

Figured it was ok. Gave him ten… 

Next morning, as the show was getting open, we all heard The Brush raising hell. Sailors blushed, women swooned, flowers wilted. The Brush had traveled far. He knew how to swear.

“Why were you so mad at The Geek, Brush?”… 

 And a thoroughly enraged Brush bellowed  “Cause the miserable, no good, drunken, wobbly kneed, stupid, halfwit, simpleton, reject from a diaper factory, got a sawbuck[14], took a shower, and went to town and got a haircut, a shave, and a new suit from the mission, and now he’s reporting to work looking like a respectable banker!”