Members’ Clothes May Be a Bit Ragged, but They Still Manage a Lot of Laughs

It might have been any group whose members gather to talk about a common interest. Except that there was something funny about it.

The group’s president was conducting the meeting while wearing baggy pants, a colorfully patched jacket, elongated flapping shoes and “tramp” make-up that took an hour to apply. And there was carnival music in the air, albeit from a cassette player.

It was a merry way to conduct business, and that’s just how members of the San Fernando Valley Clown Alley No. 30 of the World Clown Assn. like it.

“It’s a good place to learn new skills and to keep up with what’s going on in the clown world,” said Mike Halpern, 25, who is “Mikey” the Clown.

Usually about 25 to 30 clowns meet monthly to talk seriously about honing their craft of silliness and goofiness. Classes and workshops are given on such subjects as circus gags, like pulling out a shirt with a 20-foot tail; balloon sculpturing; creating a clown identity through makeup and costumes, and pratfalls--tumbling and rolling so that they don’t hurt themselves.

Clowns also talk among themselves about a lot of things, including what to do about the child who is afraid of a clown.

Audrey Ruttan, 33, of North Hollywood, known as Jiffy the Magic Clown, said that, when an 8-year-old boy became frightened of her, “I let him keep the distance between us but told him I was a real person, that what I had on was makeup and a costume. That, like him, I had gone to school and believed in God. Gradually, he moved closer to me.”

Most children, though, are familiar with clowns and just have fun with them. Lynda Malerstein, 44, of North Hollywood, known as Lolly, recently appeared at a birthday party for 7-year-old Kristin Love of Tarzana.

“They knew that Lolly was a real person but, all the same, some part of them thought she was magical,” Kristin’s mother, Wendy Love, said of Lolly. “And they talked about her for days afterward.”

There are many reasons to become a clown, but money probably isn’t one of them. Clowns make $25 to $125 for a parade, depending on the sponsor, and $65 to $155 a week plus food and accommodations for a circus. Some of the best money can be made at a party, where the going rate is $75 for the first hour and $25 an hour after that.

Often clowns perform free. Members of the Valley clown club recently appeared on behalf of a group raising money for cystic fibrosis and for a 75th anniversary celebration of Girl Scouts.

So, for obvious reasons, clowning for many is a part-time profession. At the clown association meeting were people who work at a variety of jobs.

Clowns Gerry Robinson, 50, and his wife, Martha, 47, of Canoga Park, known professionally as Luther and Molly, work as, respectively, a purchasing agent for an electronics company and a library assistant at California State University, Northridge. In their clown act, they work with hand puppets of human characters or animals such as ostriches, alligators and rabbits. They also do face painting for children’s parties, creating clowns, teddy bears, stars and rainbows on little faces.

Audrey Ruttan, 33, of North Hollywood is a cleaning lady during the week. On weekends, she’s Jiffy the Magic Clown. Halpern, of Canoga Park, is a drummer when he isn’t Mikey the clown. He said he never leaves his house without a balloon and his red clown nose in his pocket. “A magic trick or two in the supermarket, and you’ve made someone laugh,” he said.

Because of their costumes and makeup, clowns can remain clowns as long as they like.

“Once you get in a clown costume, you’re ageless,” said Roger Scholl, 65, of Reseda, who is Dr. Clown.

“You can clown until the end,” said 67-year-old Agnes Hendershaw of Sylmar, known professionally as “Aggie.” Hendershaw, once was a nightclub singer, started her clowning career 12 years ago by donating time to nursing homes. “My feet may be killing me when I’m out shopping, but, when I’m being a clown, I forget all the pains and aches,” she said.

Some clowns said the makeup and costumes make them feel like a different person and that they like having two identities.

“You’re not you anymore. In your heart and soul, you’re a clown,” Scholl said.

Gerry Robinson said, “In a clown costume, you can be more comfortable letting go and cutting up.”

Terry Teene, 45, of Granada Hills, the first West Coast Ronald McDonald clown in 1967 and now known as Clownzo, said many clowns are the hurting-on-the-inside, laughing-on-the-outside type best portrayed in the opera “Pagliacci” by Ruggiero Leoncavallo.

“Most of us have been hurt as a child and don’t fit in the normal run of society’s expectations of an adult,” he said, an opinion that many clowns in the club shared.

‘Making Up for It’

“But we’re making up for it as a clown. Because all you have to do is to appear in your clown identity. There’s no need to be introduced; everyone’s been waiting for you. And you achieve immediate friendliness, even love.”

An underlying worry at the clown club is that the art of clowning may be dying. The era of the traveling circus has waned and the club’s president, Kenny (The Tramp) Ross, 51, of North Hollywood, observed downheartedly that, although they are “on Hollywood’s doorstep . . . clowns are not in demand in either the film or TV industries.”

The club, once associated with the former Cavalcade of Clowns, has been meeting for four years. On its roster are two famous funnymen as honorary members: Red Skelton and Doug Ashton, the Australian clown sometimes compared to Charlie Chaplin.

Meetings are held at 7:30 p.m. on the second Thursdays of the month at Mercury Savings Bank, 7040 Sepulveda Blvd., Van Nuys. There is a $15 annual membership fee, plus $10 for any additional family member who joins. More information is available by calling (818) 508-8115.