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It was in January 1962 that Barnsley P. Wentworth III told his father that he was not going to be a doctor: he was going to be a clown. Without hesitation, his father replied, “Then you’ll never amount to anything. Consider yourself a failure.” That was the moment Barnsley P. Wentworth III fell from his father’s grace, he changed his name to Juggles and became a clown. It was his greatest joy. It was his greatest passion. And he never made more than $50 per job.
It was a hot afternoon in July, and Juggles was driving back to his hotel after working all day at a county fair, when he took a wrong turn into a trailer park and saw the mailbox covered in balloons: Juggles’s business card. a child’s birthday party. . He sat there for a moment, looked at his watch, shook his head, sighed and grinned as he put his rubber nose back on and jumped out of the car. He saw a small red head peeking through the curtain of flowery sheets followed by piercing screeches as the door was flung open and children ran toward him like excited puppies looking for food. He would never forget that sound or the shocked look on the mother’s face as he whispered thanks and began to believe again. Or the pure adoration on the birthday boy’s face as Juggles signed his cast and solemnly swore never to wash his arm again as he hugged Juggles’s scratched leg and that moment was etched into his memory as he whispered thanks and began to believe again.
Juggling never stopped being a clown. Every day. He kept his dream and continued to be his passion. Even when his hair fell out and he was too weak to touch his nose, even from bed, when the little remaining fans had to come to him. It was March 1998 when Juggles died, sporting a large red nose and a smirk. He never made more than $50 per job.
How do you measure success?
