Reply #10: The Story of Seabag the Clown, continued.

[evlbstrd]

The director of the play, a man named Hank who looked like Mutt of Mutt and Jeff

worked at the Armed Forces Radio and Television station on the base. He loved my death scenes and would howl with laughter at every rehearsal and performance, which only encouraged me.
After the play was done, Hank came to me to talk about a project he had in mind.
The only children's programming available to him was broadcast from the Cuban mainland. It was all old American cartoons dubbed in Spanish. (We also got sporting events days after they occurred, which made it fun placing bets with guys who'd been at sea.) Hank wanted to do a weekly children's show, but hadn't been able to find anyone suitable for a clown. He asked if I would be interested. How could I resist?
So, he arranged with my department head and my senior chief for me to have every Monday morning off to tape for the next Saturday, and "The U.S.S. Kiddie Hour" was launched.
Our hostess was Miss Patty. She always seemed to be hungover or sleep deprived, and had large, noticeably uneven breasts. I sacrificed a set of dress whites to make my costume, sewed orange hair into the dixie cup hat and put on combat boots, horn rimmed glasses and makeup. Seabag was born.
We would have five or six kids on each week, interview them, show cartoons and play a game or two.
We actually attempted to script the first show. We did retake after retake until the kids got cranky and we had to wrap.
It didn't take long for word to get around the supply department that I was now Seabag. There are many wild variations on the word seabag.
The cast and crew all got together to watch it that Saturday as it aired. And it sucked. It was forced and un-entertaining. I asked Hank to let me improvise the next show. He was a little nervous, as we had been out drinking together a few times during the play and knew how I could be. I reassured him that I wouldn't be drinking on Monday mornings and he agreed to let me try it.
It's amazing how liberating a costume can be. Sometimes, you aren't fully comfortable with a character until dress rehearsal. I considered the first show to be my dress rehearsal. The second one was much better. All I had to remember was which camera was on me and to watch Hank in the booth for cues. I stepped all over Miss Patty's lines, goofed with the kids and made self-deprecating jokes. I got real laughs from the kids and they applauded and cheered for the cartoons whenever I wanted them to.
Hank was much happier, though Miss Patty now became cranky. I don't know if he was sleeping with her or what, but she got him to let her be a little more free, too. I argued that the clown needs a straight adult foil. Oh, well.
We taped shows for several more weeks, and the waiting list for kids to come on the show grew longer and longer. The parents were more excited than the kids. I got into a routine of hanging with the kids before taping started to find out which ones were going to bust out crying or start jabbering their heads off and to get them relaxed and natural around me.
The improv also gradually got more "free," if you know what I mean. Soon, Hank was screaming with laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks, and you could hear him from the supposedly sound-proof control booth. There was a question about the humor beginning to get too adult, and we were asked to tone it down.
I was becoming famous. People, and their kids were starting to recognize me without my makeup as I went about my business on the base, to the exchange or the gas station. In the enlisted club I still got tons of shit from the other sailors, but there was a weird respect, too.
Then, someone had the splendid idea of a live appearance for Miss Patty and Seabag at a large picnic. This was fine for Miss Patty. She wasn't going to stand out like I was. But I agreed to do it. When I parked and got out of my car and started walking over to the cabanas, I heard a high-pitched squeal: "Seeeeeeeabag!!!!" About three dozen little kids suddenly turned and stampeded. This scared the shit out of me.
Kids were grabbing me, kicking me, trying to climb me, trying to kill me. I dragged the writhing mass over to the tables and did some shitty tricks I'd practiced being shitty at and got the hell out of there as soon as it was possible. Then I called Hank and told him no more live stuff. Kids don't think of clowns as being people. They apparently also think they're invulnerable. I was in some serious pain.
We went back to taping our regular shows and even did a Christmas show. But eventually my tour was up and I got orders for sea duty. The Communications Officer, who was in charge of AFRTS (pronounced A-Farts) went up the chain of command and to Naval Personnel to try to get me extended another year, but was unsuccessful. So we planned our last show.
Miss Patty announced to the kids and the camera that Seabag had new orders and would be leaving us. The kids all went Awwwww!
And, in my best Seabag the Clown voice, I said, "Aah-Yup! They need me in the Fleet."

It was brief, but glorious.
The End.