“You’re a clown first and an actor second.” said the funnyman with a huge knowing grin. “Want a tamale? It’ll burn a hole in your gut but it’s still delicious.” In 1999 my life changed. I left the East Coast for the West with $500 in my pocket, a steamer trunk filled with clown shoes, purple baggy pants, floppy maroon-button hat, greasepaint and an assortment of crazy ass clown props that would make CarrotTop jealous. I landed in The City of Angels with zero expectations. I just wanted to chill, decompress and hang out with some old circus buddies’ for a short while. ’98 & the beginning of ’99 had been rough for me. It was time for a short break from the insanity of The Big Apple. Or so I thought. Within a few days of landing my buddy Grainger had put me up in his 1971 Shasta Trailer in the back yard of his North Hollywood house called “The Monkey Wranch”, gotten me buzzed on Miller High Life & some pubic hair curling Hooch of the most disturbing order. Grainger’s roommate, Zippo, had gotten me a $75 gig as a singing telegram dressed in, even more disturbing, Drag (the song, I think, was “Happy Birthday, you SKEEZE!”…not quite sure….a little hazy on that detail thanks to the Hooch). But most memorable of those first few days in LA was when Grainger sold me a car for a $1. The car, itself, was brilliant! It was sitting in the far off corner of Grainger’s back yard/ clown compound with a dead battery and covered in weeds. A 1965 candy apple, red Volkswagon Bug (or as Grainger fondly referred to it as….”el bicho”)….all he said I needed for it was to get it insured, inspected/registered and jumped and then I was golden. I asked him where the hell he had gotten it from. He said, “I bought it off The Bickford’s. Robin and Kevin. I was gonna turn it into a clown car. But that, obviously, hasn’t worked out. So it’s yours, brotha.” “Who are The Bickford’s?” I asked. “They’re my West Coast grandfolks. Clowns. Really funny. Really cool.” He said simply. “They take care of everyone here in LA.” “Everyone?” “Yeah. You know. All us LA clowns. Any clown coming through LA who doesn’t know Robin and Kevin…. umm…well….let’s just say, that’d be really sad. They’re the best.” “When do I get to meet them?” “Let’s go down now.” “Ok.” So we hopped in his blue truck and rolled down to Hollywood. When we drove up to The Bickford’s house, neatly tucked up against The Hollywood Hills, I felt a level of wonder deep inside I hadn’t felt in awhile. The house reminded me something of the like that I had read in “The Lord Of The Rings”….an urban-style Shire of sorts…..a quaint, secluded home of comfort you’d find hobbits living in…but in this case, there were two clowns living there. Not the type of clowns most Americans think of when they think of clowns. These were REAL clowns. Fun, happy, sweet, welcoming and, most importantly, FUNNY! This short, adorable lady with dark hair and big round eyes was waiting for us out front as we pulled up. She looked over and a huge smile exploded across her face as she lifted her arms up, as if to give a big hug, and shouted…”GRAINGER!! How are you?” Grainger got out of the truck smiling and nodding as he lumbered across the front lawn and leaned down to let Robin Shaw’s embrace envelope him. I stood by the truck, a bit nervous, as a slightly taller male version of Robin came out onto the front porch. He was wearing overalls and had his thumbs clipped behind the straps holding them up. He stood there smiling just as big as Robin, if not even grander, with a sense of jolly you’d find Santa bearing on any given occasion. Grainger introduced me to The Bickford’s as his old circus buddy from The Blue Unit of ’91. We talked, laughed and swapped circus stories out there on the front porch of their casa for what seemed to be an entire day. Never thinking for a minute of the magnitude of what these two people would end becoming for me in the years to come. Kevin, soft-spoken, dry-sense of humor, but always a grin on his face pointed across the way to a string of apartments just off the driveway leading up to them. I can’t remember how many of them were there, but I do remember him calling it “BOZO’S ROW”. Apparently, some legendary Ringling clowns who had passed through Hollywood in the day had lived there on the ROW. Many of them had even found quite a bit of success in the Moving Pictures (as Kevin called them) of Tinseltown while living there. I was fascinated and in awe. Kevin just smiled proudly. Unbeknownst to me at the time, thanks either to my naivete or their complete abundance of humility, Kevin and Robin were more than just a coupla LA clowns. They WERE the Hollywood “go-to” clowns who had taken care of, guided, advised, befriended, adopted, loved-as-if-their-own almost every single clown who had passed through the City of Lost Angels……to others, less fortunate than the clown world, coming to LA to live the dream and hope for fame and fortune; LA truly was, I have no doubt, appropriately named HELL-A. But not for those who knew The Bickford’s. Kevin and Robin fed me, clothed me, made me laugh, got me my first extra job (and many more after), advised me, made me laugh, furnished my apartments with almost every stick of furniture I ever owned in LA, made me laugh AND most telling of their characters, spirit and gargantuan hearts….they loved me as if I was part of their own family. Which I was and still am. I called them Aunt Robin and Uncle Kevin for a reason, I travelled 3,000 miles across the country from my own loving family only to be welcomed by a West Coast family I never knew I had until The Bickford’s showed me that I did. It’s been over 8 years since I’ve seen Robin and Kevin, but not a day has gone by where their influence and support of me during my time in LA has NOT gone unnoticed and unappreciated. Every stitch and inch of success I have had since 1999 (which has been plentiful) I can honestly attribute to, at one point or another, knowing Kevin Bickford and Robin Shaw. My Uncle Kevin has passed on, but he will never be forgotten. His laugh, smile and awesome sense of funny has embedded themselves into my psyche and heart forever. Robin, anything you need, please call. My heart and mind are completely wracked with grief right now. I want you to know that your East Coast nephew misses you and wishes he could be with you now during this very hard time. I send out every ounce of love and universal energy of awesomeness that you and your brilliant man have bestowed upon me over the years a million-fold. And to you, Kevin. Wherever you go, whatever you do in the afterlife….know these true points of what you have instilled on me in this life: …. I love Tamales thanks to you….I love to make people laugh (clown first, actor second) thanks to you…..and I love to “pay it forward” whenever I can, thanks to you….and, of course, always and eternally….I love you…and I will miss you. Love always, Kevin C. Carr The Wayward Goof, ’99 – ‘14 R.I.P. Kevin Bickford (aka. Rufus T. Goofus/ A real sweet guy. And FUNNY too. Real clown with a real big heart.)
Posted on: Mon, 01 Dec 2014 23:41:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015