AMUSEMENTS: Big-Top Business

George W. Smith could tell most war producers a thing or two about a business man’s problems in wartime. As general manager of Ringling Bros, and Barnum & Bailey Circus, he has to feed, house, trans port, costume and otherwise provide for “the greatest show on earth” — without benefit of any priorities whatsoever. But last week as the Big Show boomed into its second jampacked week at Manhattan’s Madison Square Garden (prospective gross for the 36-day run: almost $2,000,000), George Smith was calm & collected in the midst of his bedlam. He knows that the circus was always a crazy business.

The first problem facing the Big Show this year was whether the Office of Defense Transportation would let it go on at all. Its pressmen, trained in superlative promotion, flooded the country with quotes on the morale value of circuses ranging from Greek literature to an account of the circus in Moscow (by Leland Stowe). They even talked about fighting inflation (the circus would sop up purchasing power), promised the Treasury that they would exchange war bonds for seats at every performance (total circus war-bond sales in Manhattan: $10,000,000).

ODT crumpled, said the Big Top could use the railroads if there were any locomotives left after all other train movements, freight, passengers or mixed. The next problem was how to break just about every wartime bottleneck in the book.

Transportation. The railroads’ war boom now may also be Ringling’s boom: they cut their itinerary to 8.000 miles (v. a previous peak of 20,000), decided to play longer runs in big towns east of the Mississippi (thus raising the gross and cutting expenses) and to plug such money-heavy war communities as Detroit. All the “bloomers” (towns with speculative box-office possibilities) were scratched. Excess baggage went overboard: the whole show now fits into 70 cars, moves in three trains (v. go in four trains last year).

Materials. The 1943 circus economics are well in hand. Its foresighted buyers had a year’s supply of canvas for the 77,000-yard big top and 40 smaller tents. They anticipated the loss of Manila by laying away 73 miles of rope—also a year’s supply. The animal market is fine: the Big Show always has a backlog anyway. The clowns (who buy their own makeup) use hundreds of pounds of strategic zinc oxide and glycerine, but they hoarded enough for the season, too. There is a real shortage of silk tights and stockings—but a barelegged circus girl does no lasting damage at the box office. One glamor-girl act is especially well fixed: golden girl Betty Nitsch and her elephant rely upon a metal of which the U.S. has plenty.

Manpower. Ringling’s manpower problem breaks into two parts, one good, one terrible. On performers they are doing well: a lot of hopefuls from smaller shows are getting a crack at the Big Show now. An added, unexpected source has been the refugees from abroad. But the turnover among the men who move the show, care for the animals, etc., is terrific: 600 have already gone into uniform. Where formerly Ringling could count on 300 year-round men plus 500 “floating”‘ workers, the whole nonperforming staff is now floating.

Food. One thing that pleases the managers is that Thelma Williams, the 350-lb. fat girl, owes her box-office appeal more to her glands than to her appetite: the 63-lb. living skeleton is a bigger eater. In Manhattan the whole staff gets extra spending money to pay for restaurant meals, but elsewhere they turn in their ration tickets just like ordinary U.S. citizens. The animals have no ration books, but starvation is stoutly staved off. The biggest ones (elephants, camels, horses) fortunately live on hay, straw and oats; and so far the meat-eating bears, lions and tigers have had the 1,150 lb. a day it. takes to keep them happy. Reason: they all love horse meat, not yet under OPA control. Only “glamorous” M’Toto, “wife in name only” to gorilla Gargantua the Great, had to go to the Government for her favorite food: her former owner, Mrs. E. Kenneth Hoyt of Havana, has special permission to ship her raw sugar by air freight.

Money. Next year, only God and the Government know what will happen to the Big Show, but this year, despite all its headaches, it ought to clean up—provided it does not have to sit through too many on some rural railroad siding. Barring such unpredictable bad luck—and bad weather —the net for the season should run around $3,000,000.