A Little Comic Relief from the Election

Putting a "Real Clown" in Political Office

Well…. November 5, 2024, Election Day, has come and gone. Such a long-winded, time-consuming buildup, such a historical comeback and confirming victory for the demagogue, Trump. Such a devastating and depressing defeat for the rest of us.

We now have to come to terms with who the majority of Americans really are, as verified by their vote, and why they voted for such an obvious con man and criminal who the “minority” of Americans detest, and of whom they are terrified of what will happen upon his inauguration, January 21,2025.

Now I don’t claim to be either qualified or especially insightful when it comes to politics, elections, or historical trends, other than being informed by what I read on Substack, written by politically savvy people like Robert Reich, Dan Rather, Chris Hedges, and Steven Beschloss. Of course, I have my own ideas about why Trump won and Harris lost, but I won’t share them here, because by now, you all have your own opinions, that is if you’ve managed to get out of fetal position, cleared your browser of CNN and MSNBC, and/or are already gearing up for 2028.

However, what I do know about… is challenging the status quo – in a more comic, theatrical way, such as running for political office – as a clown!

So in this interim time of accepting a new American reality, licking our wounds, and looking for a smidgeon of relief anywhere we can find it, I thought I’d tell you about my little campaign to run for Mayor of New York City, back in the day.

 

As many of you may, or may not know, I used to be a clown.

“Gino Cumeezi”. That was my clown name. Great grandson of the infamous and toothless “Gums” Cumeezi. A cross between Charlie Chaplin, Jack Kerouac, and Grand Central Station.

I like to think of Gino as a subversive public fool. A comic outlaw. A provocateur to the max. Truly one of New Yawk’s “Finest”.

Gino ran for Mayor of New York City in 1977… but lost to the eventual winner, the inimitable, one and only, Mayor Ed Koch.

“Put a real clown in Gracie Mansion.”  

That was Gino’s campaign slogan, and Gracie Mansion is the residence of every elected NYC Mayor for his entire term.

Ultimately, Gino finished “5th out of 4 candidates”! (Ha ha! Get it? “5th out of 4”?)

Once, when he was campaigning for Mayor, shaking hands, signing autographs, and kissing babies, Gino was arrested for “reckless clowning”.

It’s true. It happened… one bright urban, smog-filled, Big Apple fall day of 1977, when two of New Yawk’s blue-suited “Finest” were so uncomfortable with the large crowd surrounding Gino – underground in the 57th Street IRT subway (2 decades before terrorism and 9/11 put an end to public clowning) – that they handcuffed him, hauled & stuffed him into the back of their black and white police car like a human accordion, then shut him behind bars at the 59th street station at Columbus Circle, just adjacent to Central Park (and the Trump International Hotel and Tower).

Now “clowning”, that is being a clown, is no laughing matter. It takes hard work, discipline, endurance, and total commitment. Especially the way I did it. You see, as soon as I left my small hotel room at 55th and Broadway (from the erstwhile seedy but elegant, Hotel Woodward) – in white face, black derby, size 34 fur-lined Klondike boots, black mourning coat, cream & red butterfly tie, and complete clown mufti, I was completely and entirely …“Gino”. Not me, Trules, dressed in a clown suit. No, I was the one and only “Cumeezi” (etymology: “cum” from the Latin for… whatever, and “eezi” from the great Italian line of Sicilian bozos).

But… when Gino was locked in the slammer in May, 1977, at the clean and immaculate Columbus Circle police station  for “reckless and indecent clowning”, he was also completely without… ID.

Or voice.

C’mon, what kind of silent clown starts talking just because he’s in jail? Well, certainly not Gino!

Ok, he did have his kazoo! Although at first, this didn’t go over too well with the Boys in Blue.

Ok, pal, what’s your real name?”

Gino” (in wild pantomime): “Here’s lookin’ at you, Boyz!

Very funny,  Gino, but you’re in jail now. The act’s over. What’s your fuckin’ name?

Gino (in wilder pantomime, with kazoo):“I’m Gino. Just Gino. Gino  Cumeezi.”

A few of da Boyz start cracking up. They have a clown in jail… who, they sense has done nothing wrong other than try to make New Yorkers laugh. He’s voluntarily encouraged them to arrest him, which they’ve clearly and stupidly done, and now the clown has no ID!

What the hell are they supposed to do with him? Take off his clothes and do an anal search?

What do you want us to do with you, Gino?

Gino: wild gesticulation. Cops: dazzlement and confusion.

A few more laughs. the blue-uniformed badge-wearing crowd is getting bigger around Gino’s jail cell.

C’mon,   Gino, give us a break!

The Boyz are caught somewhere between amusement and procedure. They write him up. Charge him with “reckless clowning and disturbing the peace”, give him a misdemeanor ticket with a court date, and… they set him free.

Gino (wilding gesticulating): “Thanks, Boyz. That was fun. Have a nice day.”

A month later, Gino has his day in court. Unfortunately for presiding Judge Lloyd Ohno, Gino has brought his entire clown troupe with him, the “Cumeezi Bozo Ensemble” (R.I.P.), along with his best childhood friend, Ric Reaper, now a public defender for “Legal Aide” right at 100 Center Street, where the court is, and oh yeah… the“New York Post”.

“Camille”, Gino’s prim and proper, white-faced  Cumeezi colleague, is sweeping the courtroom, “Mr.Eggs” is climbing all over the courtroom pews like Benigni at the “Life is Beautiful” Oscars, and Ric Reaper is pleading Gino’s hapless case to Hizzoner.

Your Honor, Mr.  Cumeezi means no disrespect to your law-abiding and esteemed courtroom. However, he is… a clown. As such, he has no other choice but to… clown. He hopes you will understand and dismiss his public transgressions.

Just a minute, Mr. Reaper, seethes the offended judge, turning bright red behind his ears. This is a travesty! Will you please have Mr. Cumeezi sit down in his seat and get his other clowns out of my courtroom? Otherwise, he will soon be trading his ridiculous and inappropriate clown suit for one of another stripe!

Anyway, you catch my drift. Gino  Cumeezi was one crazy & comic, badass provocateur. His sole purpose in life was to push the public envelope… and make people laugh.

To live outside the law you must be honest.

That’s what Bob Dylan said when he was still “freewheelin’”. And that’s exactly what Gino Cumeezi was. Free! Beholden only to his own laws… the cosmic, comic, and Cumeezi laws of the universe.

Gino didn’t conform. He … non-conformed… to the nonsensical, rule-breaking anarchy of white face and mufti.

He directed traffic at Broadway and Wall Street. He climbed the desks of Norman Cousin’s “Saturday Review” office on 6^th avenue in midtown. And he voluntarily got himself arrested and went to court. While the world just usually played… along.

You see, my style of clowning never included trained circus skills like juggling, elephant riding, or fitting 25 clowns into a Volkswagen Beetle. Nor did Gino ever do a birthday party for hire.

Sure, I remember seeing Emmett Kelly Jr, Ringling Brothers’ famous tramp clown, sweep the ephemeral spotlight in Madison Square Garden’s sawdust center ring in the late 1950s.

And I always loved the tv clowns of my youth: the Keystone Cops, Buster Keaton, Sid Ceaser, Laurel & Hardy, Abbott & Costello, Jackie Gleason, even the Three Stooges and Soupy Sales. And of course, my main man, Charlie Chaplin.

So when I first discovered myself becoming a “professional” clown in Chicago in the early 1970s, I realized that I had been touched by a blast of cosmic clown dust; inhabited by a free, improvisatory force that I had never experienced before. Because, I quickly foubd that  this was my “ticket to ride”… a unique way to enter into the 1960s rebellion… “living outside the law to be honest”.

I had found my alter ego, Gino  Cumeezi, my risk-taking and rebellious provocateur, my inner clown… who would take me places, both inside and outside myself, that I had never before… even knew existed.

“Freedom” is my favorite word in the English language. The pinnacle of human endeavor. Of discovery. Of invention. Of the creative act itself.

“Freedom”… is also the closest word I know to “transcendence”. The getting out of…and  beyond… oneself. Beyond ego. Beyond self-consciousness. Beyond the strictures of others’ control, opinion, comparison, even self judgment….

…through love, through God, through art, through devotion, through surrender… each, a unique way… to set oneself… free. Whether submitting to Allah, to Muhammad, to Jesus, or Yahweh, to your husband, to your wife, to your son, to your daughter, to your practice, to your art, to your church, to a cause, to a guru, to a… what…ever. It hardly matters - as long as you put something above and beyond yourself.

And that’s what dance… what art… and what clowning did for me. It set me free. Through the art of improvisation. By taking chances. By making up and discovering the next moment. Each moment after the other. Each spontaneous, new moment… like jazz. Without knowing, Without planning. Just being… in the moment. In the flow. Whether it was improvisational dancing onstage… or being “up a tree” in a desperate Cumeezi clown improvisation.

It occurred regularly by… clowning in public… at O’Hare Airport in Chicago… or at “La Marqueta” in New York’s Spanish Harlem. Or in the middle of Bloomingdales. Yankee Stadium. The Staten Island Ferry. On the QE2. Even overseas, Pais, Zurich, Rotterdam… and in the shopping malls of Kota Kinabalu, East Borneo, Malaysia.

Clowning in public, with the public, was about investing enough comic, manic, risk-taking, rule-defying energy that you could transform the ordinary into… the extraordinary. Make magic out of the mundane. Make theater out of the everyday urban encounter.

Gino  had the “freedom”, the instinct, the ridiculous courage… to flout convention . To climb the concrete lions at the New York Public Library.

To sit in passengers laps and to create frolic and mayhem on the New York City subway.

To show up at 100 Center Street – in a clown suit – with 6 other clowns – in Judge Ohno’s straight-laced courtroom. Just because… Gino’s “job”… was to challenge… laws, mores, authority, even convention itself. To see how FAR he could go… without getting caught. Without causing injury or… offense. Because Gino knew the clown’s job was to speak truth to power… like fools historically did to kings. Because Gino was certainly no mere mortal. He was sprinkled with “fool’s dust”. With  “clown karma”. And so… Gino climbed up… downstairs escalators, and chewed businessmen’s ties on Wall Street.

He rode baggage claim belts in the airports.

He started public food fights. He stomped from office desk to office desk in corporate Wall Street America. He comically “stole” a black man’s girlfriend in broad daylight.

You name it, not only could Gino do it, but he WANTED to do it. He was EXPECTED to do it. The public begged him to do it. And they rewarded him with – love. With – laughter. The more he flouted convention, the more wild risks he took, the more he made people laugh… at themselves… at each other… and with each other.

How to capture – a real Cumeezi moment?

Well… let me try to bless you with a little clown fairy dust.

First, you have to imagine yourself… like a larger than life,  animated cartoon character… dropped helter-skelter… into… ordinary life.

You know how they say that a race car driver has so much more control of his vehicle at 180 mph than an ordinary driver at 60? Well, that’s a start. Put this elevated, hyper-animated clown energy together with the controlled, human-drawn animation of a cartoon character, then… step directly into life’s hustle and bustle.

Every moment is a new animated moment. A new “frame”, so to speak. Movement has content. Move the shoulders up, what does it feel like? Show it in the face and gesture. Look at the surprised person in front of your white animated face… what can you make of the moment? Surprise? Delight? Guffaws? Hopefully not intrusion, embarrassment or shame? Those were never Gino’s intentions.

But here he is in action….

It’s an ordinary Saturday afternoon in July. Hot as a pancake griddle. Gino’s found himself “up a tree” in Brooklyn. Literally. He has climbed this long, slim-necked oak, planted in a public sidewalk well. Maybe in twenty years, the oak might be good for some shade. But right now, it’s succumbing to Gino’s frantic weight as he climbs higher and higher, quickly running out of real estate… as a large motley crowd gathers underneath him and eggs him on.

Go, Gino, go!

What the fxxk?

That’s what I’m (Gino’s) thinking. I have (Gino has) no idea what to do next. What’s going to happen… to the tree… or… more importantly… to me.? To Gino?

Gino grabs another branch, hoists himself just a bit higher. His size 34, fur-lined Klondikes look like two Titantics. One is above his head, extended like a distorted isosceles triangle; the other is supporting all his/my weight, on a thin, yielding branch that’s muttering

C’mon, Gino, you must be kidding me!”

The crowd is screaming & whooping it up:

Higher, Gino! Higher!”, not knowing that this isn’t a well-rehearsed circus act, where the clown comically crashes to his own demise onto a soft foam rubber bed of theatrical artifice.

No, this is a truly Cumeezi moment, where neither Gino or I have any idea how to get out of this Laurel and Hardy “What kind of mess have you gotten me into this time?”… improvised moment of concrete comedy and/or… bow-breaking tragedy.

And here’s Gino’s inner monologue, as the ever-growing crowd keeps chanting:

Higher, Gino, higher!

Sure, Gino, take the next step… “Higher!”... knowing, of course, that maybe the branch will just break… and you’ll fall to your (and Trules’)… miserable, untimely death.

While… I’m/Trules, is… simultaneously thinking…

Maybe Gino’ll just grab onto the next branch. Or… he’ll comically and providentially end up wedged into the crook of two convenient branches down below… perhaps a little scratched up the next day… but it’ll be a Great Moment. The crowd will laugh and you’ll…

You’ll… what?

You don’t exactly know, do you?

No, of course not.

I’ll just…

Take the next step.

Yeah… see what’ll happen.

Make ‘em laugh.

Make ‘em squirm.

The now huge crowd is hyper-excited. They have no idea what will happen next. But they’re… transfixed.

You got ‘em in the palm of your panicky hand, Gino.

What next,?

Grab the next branch.

Give ‘em the ol’ Cumeezi “clown tremble”, practiced like the rubber-faced dancing bear you are.

Not too difficult to manufacture… up here, maybe 20 feet in the air, oak branch bending to the will of the crowd… and the weight of the manic, 155-pound Cumeezi.

Wave to the kiddies below, Gino.

Reach out for help, Gino.

Let go of one hand. Up the ante, Gino!

What the fuck, Gino? How the hell are you gonna get out of this one?

Yeah, that’s it… the feeling of controlled, unknowing… panic. Excitement. Risk. Performance anxiety. Invincibility. Staring down into the lion’s den. From the mouth of Vesuvius. Vicarious thrills. Freedom. Transcendence.

All in the name of… art!

Sad to say, Gino retired a few years ago. Hung up the well-worn black derby. The size 34 fur-lined Klondikes.

No broken bones. No broken tree bows. Just lots of bends. Lots of scratches, falls and tumbles. Most intended. Some not.

Gino Cumeezi immortalized in oil, Painter’s name sadly forgotten

They say a clown gives his audience the opportunity to laugh at themselves.

Damn, look at that fool. He’s dumber than me!

As he takes another pie in the face. Trips over his own gi-normous shoes. Slams headfirst into another unforgiving wall, into another steam-rolling train. Chaplin, Keaton, Harold Lloyd… dangling from the face of a 1920s downtown LA clock… in the old Keystone comedies, and all the other long-forgotten Hollywood silent movies. Made right there in my old neighborhood, Edendale (now called… Echo Park).

Perhaps Gino was always trying to be a new kind of urban clown. A comic outlaw. A public fool. Always wanting to see how far he could go… without getting caught.

Perhaps not too unlike our newly President re-elect, Mr. Trump. The showman. The con man. The narcissist. The liar and convicted criminal

Oooops! I said I wouldn’t go there!

But Gino? He was no Trump!

He just wanted to crush and crumble social norms — melt them with laughter… blow up the barriers between people, between their cautious, oh-so-civilized exteriors – and their oh-so-vulnerable “inner children”.

Fuck pretense.  Fuck convention and conformity! We gotta lot more in common than we’re lettin’ on…

That’s what Gino  Cumeezi would say… if you could ever… get him to talk!

Yassuh. yassuh!

Gino was the great grandson of the infamous and toothless, Gums Cumeezi. And he was … damn proud to be so.

Most “ Cumeezi” photos by Anita Feldman. Many thanks!

Well…. let me know if I succeeded in… distracting you from your political pain and pessimism… with a little comic relief. Tossed together with a little more “clown philosophy” than I intended.

May you always find laughter in the world. Even if the last resort is laughing at…. yourself.

Love from Clown Heaven

(Before bozos were banned from schools for Halloween for being tooooooo scary and threatening. Don’t’cha just HATE that, Stephen King, Pennywise, & “Clown Killers from Outer Space”?)

Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

With thumbs up!

Gino

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