I was on a mission to find a story.
People screamed, hanging upside-down above me on a thrilling ride. The sweet scents of funnelcakes and greasy corndogs filled the air. Live performers rocked out on stage as three fully-grown adults held hands and danced to the music. Vendors sold handmade artwork, t-shirts and cotton candy.
At the Utah State Fair, there are plenty of things to write a story about, but nothing was really catching my eye.
That’s when I saw him, and I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of approaching him.
He was a clown, you see, and I have apprehensions about clowns—though I’m not entirely sure why.
Perhaps it’s because clowns by nature are meant to challenge societal customs and poke fun at what we like to call “normal.”
In their book, "Clowns In Conversation with Modern Masters," Ezra LeBank and David Bridel said that the art can be traced back to ancient civilizations in Egypt, China, Europe and Persia, where fools deliberately went against social norms to challenge those in authority. Their irreverent jokes highlighted truth—truth that others were too afraid to admit.
I tend to gravitate towards the conventional, and I avoid what makes me question my perception of the world. Facing a clown was challenging my comfort zone.
However, I am a writer because I yearn to help others see that there is so much more under the surface than what meets the eye. I find joy in unveiling the beauty of undiscovered stories.
Could I overcome my prejudices for the sake of a good story?
Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer towards the man and noticed a crowd of smiling kids surrounding him.
His cherry-red hair was spiked up. His shoes must have been at least two times his actual size. He donned a red-and-white striped shirt, and his nose and cheeks were covered in rouge.
I introduced myself and started asking him questions.
He said his name was John Butte, or Johnny. In between long puffs of air into thin, skinny balloons, he began to tell me his story.
He started making balloons when he was three years old, and by the time he was five, he could blow up a balloon and make a toy sword all by himself. At eight years old, he won his first balloon competition with a motorcycle he made.
“I was competing against adults at that point,” he said. “There weren’t any competitions for kids cause kids really didn’t do balloons.”
I wasn’t surprised by Johnny’s early engagement in the balloon industry once he told me about his parents—they were both clowns.
His father had seen an advertisement for a clowning job in the newspaper and showed his wife, Johnny’s mother. They took the job, learned how to make balloons and got into the clowning business. Johnny joined them at events when he was 10 years old.
It also just so happens that Johnny’s father was born in the first week of August, which is National Clown Week.
On August 2, 1971, President Richard Nixon issued Proclamation 4071, which declared August 1-7 as National Clown Week.
After explaining in detail the need for a profession that brings laughter and joy into society, the proclamation states, “Today, as always, clowns and the spirit they represent are as vital to the maintenance of our humanity as the builders and the growers and the governors.”
At this point, I was warming up to Johnny, and all apprehensions had left me. His story was not just interesting, it was heartfelt. Perhaps clowning was just a misunderstood trade and maybe it was more noble than I thought.
Curious about how long it takes for a clown to get ready for work, I asked Johnny about his process.
“Make sure your face is really clean,” he began. “Get your makeup on, then after you get your makeup on, you get your balloons and other stuff ready, and then load up your car and go do the party and entertain the kids. Make everyone happy.”
It used to take Johnny almost an hour to get his hair and makeup done, but with years of experience, he now gets the job done in about 30 minutes.
But when Johnny has a birthday party show, which could include a number of things such as juggling or magic tricks, it can take months to prepare.
Johnny told me they’re keeping clowning in the family. His two oldest daughters are learning how to make balloons, starting with the basics like flowers, dogs and swords. He hopes they will continue to do it at least as a hobby as they grow up. No matter what they decide to do as a career, he teaches them that their work should make them happy.
After a party one night, his daughter said, “It’s so fun to see the kids just light up when you hand them their balloon. They get so excited.”
That’s Johnny’s favorite thing about his job—making kids happy.
Sometimes, when Johnny is leaving a party, he will notice a kid having a meltdown. Quickly, he blows up a balloon, ties and twists it into shape and hands it over to them, changing the entire mood of the moment. The parents are always so grateful.
It doesn’t matter if the line to get a balloon from Johnny is 30 minutes long, it’s worth it to those who wait.
“People don’t complain. They’re always like, oh, we’re having so much fun watching you,” Johnny explained.
Johnny has worked in numerous jobs—tech support for cell phone companies, auto repair and purchasing. “But I always end up going back to the clown life,” he said. He believes that people love to be entertained, and making them happy is where he finds fulfillment.
“Balloons just have that effect on people where almost everybody loves balloons,” Johnny said. “Kind of just like how sunsets affect people, you know, puts people in a better mood just by watching the sun. Balloons have that same effect.”
Leaving the Utah State Fair that early September evening, I passed the vendors once more and said goodbye to the music and the sweet aromas. As the sound of screaming slowly faded into the distance I thought about how in the entire fair, I couldn’t have found a better story than Johnny the Clown’s.
Sometimes, the most interesting people lie just beyond the borders of what we define as “normal.”
