that end had put an ad in the paper. The first applicant appeared just before matinee time three days after my initial ride from the high tower, and I was present when Dr. Carver explained the act and asked her to stay for the performance so she could see for herself. After the show she said she would like to try and was told to report the next morning.
For three mornings thereafter she was subjected to the same riding exercise I had undergone, but on the fourth Dr. Carver suddenly announced she was to make her first jump from the low tower.
As I went up on the platform with her to show her how to stand, I was deeply ashamed. I had spent weeks learning to hang onto the horse, and here she was riding from the low tower after only three days of ground training. I was not only ashamed but also perplexed. She had not ridden the horse any better than I had. What, then, did this mean?
The routine that followed after I came down from the tower was the same for her as it had been for me. The groom stopped the horse, she mounted, and after a brief pause the horse dived. I wasn’t enough of a rider yet to judge, but since she was still on the horse when he came up I assumed she had done pretty well. Then she went up for the second time and the horse was turned into the runway, but the groom didn’t release him after she had mounted. I could see that she was talking but could not hear what she was saying. From her gestures, however, I could tell that she was hesitating.
At this point the conversation on the tower was interrupted by Dr. Carver, who shouted, “What’s going on there?” At that she threw both hands in the air, began screaming, and scrambled frantically over the horse’s rump and down the incline.
I ran to the back of the tower. “What’s the matter?” I asked, but she shot past me, unheeding, and slammed into the dressing room. About this time Dr. Carver walked up. “What happened?” I said.
“Nothing,” he answered in disgust. “She just hasn’t got the nerve.”
“But,” I argued, “maybe if you’d given her more ground training—“
”No,” he said. “I haven’t time to waste on a girl without nerve, and after watching her the past three mornings I decided she didn’t have any. I let her ride from the tower just to be sure.”
This, then, was the test. There had to be several along the way, and she had just flunked hers.
After we found someone to ride for Al, which we did the following week, we trained her and sent her off to Texas, and then there was nothing on our calendar except two daily performances. I passed the morning hours by practicing on the trap bar AI had put up for me before he left and by swimming in the tank. I was forbidden to swim in the big pool in the amusement park because Dr. Carver said that I shouldn’t mix with my audience for the same reason I shouldn’t mix with the people who worked in the park. “Familiarity breeds contempt,” he said. “They’ve got to think you’re special.”
Thus I was forced into a close and isolated association with Dr. Carver. His influence was to prove to be both wide and deep, endowed with a creeping quality much like inflation. He influenced not only my deportment but also the length of my hair. I found to my astonishment that I was letting it grow!
In 1920 when I had cut my hair there were still precious few bobs in the South. Most women put their hair up or back but did not cut it. One day when I was sixteen I spent the afternoon with a friend, during the course of which we washed our hair. After the shampoo came the brushing and putting-up ritual, which always seemed to take hours. When I could not get my locks to stay in place because the pins kept sliding out, I suddenly reached for the scissors lying on Mamie Lou’s dresser and hacked off my hair.
Within a minute it lay in a pile of red-brown glory, hair I had had since the day of my birth. There was silence, as well there might have been. I sat there looking at
For three mornings thereafter she was subjected to the same riding exercise I had undergone, but on the fourth Dr. Carver suddenly announced she was to make her first jump from the low tower.
As I went up on the platform with her to show her how to stand, I was deeply ashamed. I had spent weeks learning to hang onto the horse, and here she was riding from the low tower after only three days of ground training. I was not only ashamed but also perplexed. She had not ridden the horse any better than I had. What, then, did this mean?
The routine that followed after I came down from the tower was the same for her as it had been for me. The groom stopped the horse, she mounted, and after a brief pause the horse dived. I wasn’t enough of a rider yet to judge, but since she was still on the horse when he came up I assumed she had done pretty well. Then she went up for the second time and the horse was turned into the runway, but the groom didn’t release him after she had mounted. I could see that she was talking but could not hear what she was saying. From her gestures, however, I could tell that she was hesitating.
At this point the conversation on the tower was interrupted by Dr. Carver, who shouted, “What’s going on there?” At that she threw both hands in the air, began screaming, and scrambled frantically over the horse’s rump and down the incline.
I ran to the back of the tower. “What’s the matter?” I asked, but she shot past me, unheeding, and slammed into the dressing room. About this time Dr. Carver walked up. “What happened?” I said.
“Nothing,” he answered in disgust. “She just hasn’t got the nerve.”
“But,” I argued, “maybe if you’d given her more ground training—“
”No,” he said. “I haven’t time to waste on a girl without nerve, and after watching her the past three mornings I decided she didn’t have any. I let her ride from the tower just to be sure.”
This, then, was the test. There had to be several along the way, and she had just flunked hers.
After we found someone to ride for Al, which we did the following week, we trained her and sent her off to Texas, and then there was nothing on our calendar except two daily performances. I passed the morning hours by practicing on the trap bar AI had put up for me before he left and by swimming in the tank. I was forbidden to swim in the big pool in the amusement park because Dr. Carver said that I shouldn’t mix with my audience for the same reason I shouldn’t mix with the people who worked in the park. “Familiarity breeds contempt,” he said. “They’ve got to think you’re special.”
Thus I was forced into a close and isolated association with Dr. Carver. His influence was to prove to be both wide and deep, endowed with a creeping quality much like inflation. He influenced not only my deportment but also the length of my hair. I found to my astonishment that I was letting it grow!
In 1920 when I had cut my hair there were still precious few bobs in the South. Most women put their hair up or back but did not cut it. One day when I was sixteen I spent the afternoon with a friend, during the course of which we washed our hair. After the shampoo came the brushing and putting-up ritual, which always seemed to take hours. When I could not get my locks to stay in place because the pins kept sliding out, I suddenly reached for the scissors lying on Mamie Lou’s dresser and hacked off my hair.
Within a minute it lay in a pile of red-brown glory, hair I had had since the day of my birth. There was silence, as well there might have been. I sat there looking at
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