There are few events in this world that compare to what the Kelly Miller Circus does every day. We know circuses for their trained animals, clowns and acrobats, the venerable ringmaster, cotton candy.
However, the most astonishing aspect of the circus happens at daybreak and dusk. It is the masterful construction and deconstruction of a small city on a daily basis. It’s amazing! It’s routine! It’s free.
Recently, at 7 a.m. on a Sunday, the first of the semitrailers and personal caravans rolls up to an empty grassy field in Three Oaks, Mich. By 7:15, all 25 vehicles are in place and the crew begins the setup of the big top. At 9 a.m., the five pieces of the tent have been laced together and the sides are up on 10-foot poles, high enough for Viola, a 36-year-old, 10,500-pound Asian elephant, to enter.
She is hooked up to the end of the first of the four 38-foot center poles of the tent. Her keeper, Roy Wells, gives the command, “Move up, Viola, move up!”
By 9:30, all areas of this temporary small town — the tent, the elephant and camel riding areas, the snake shelf, the concession stand, the pony ride, moon bounce, the mess hall — they’re ready to go.
It’s a wonder of coordination for the 70 people who work 12-hour days for seven months straight and multitask in ways city folks cannot imagine. In addition to showing their skills to an audience as large as 1,500, performers are involved in the setup and tear-down while living on the road with families, doing laundry and teaching their kids. (There are two teachers who accompany the troupe.)
Kelly Miller Circus has been bringing its small-town, intimate excitement to Midwesterners since 1938, doing one-day stands from March to mid-October. In the winter, most of the crew go their own way while two dozen animals, six semis and equipment and a small staff go to Hugo, Okla., and prepare for spring.
In March they will hit the road for another 10,000 miles of nomadic odyssey, thrilling ageless kids, and rebuilding and repacking a city at a time.
