I grew up in a pretty functional family in the rural Midwest. My parents loved me and provided for me. I have a nice home and family of my own, now. My wife and kids love me. Even my cat seems to tolerate me.

So why, at the age of 51, did I suddenly decide to make a habit of lying on a bed of nails? Well, it isn’t exactly about “Reason”. It just seemed like fun!

The Bed of Nails effect has been around for ages. Probably since there have been boards, nails and and some guy with an overactive imagination. It has been used for meditation, for healing, for entertainment and for bilking people out of their money. This ancient act still inspires awe and wonder in even our present day, post-modern world. In my performances, both kids and corporate executives squeal with a mixture of delight and horror as I seemingly impale myself on the 400 or so spikes jutting out of a piece of 3/4 inch plywood.

I can tell you about the physics of it: basically, the more nails you have, the more comfortable the bed will be. I can tell you that putting the nails closer together also helps ease the pain. I could tell you all of the reasons it is relatively safe. None of that matters. What matters is that your eyes see me lie down on the 4-inch spikes and your brain shouts, “Somebody stop that man!”

The first time I ever performed it, my volunteer chickened out. You see, the culmination of the effect is when I have a member of the audience stand on my chest while I lie on the nails. There I was, lying on the bed for the first time, trying to convince the pre-teen kid that it was perfectly fine for him to step on top of me. Truth is, I wasn’t exactly sure it really was fine, but there was an audience. And when there is an audience, sometimes Reason is the first casualty.

Out from the wings came my rescuer. A fellow performer decided that he needed to help me out and make one small step for mankind on my chest. He was 6’2″ and weighed 200 lbs. I was even more uncertain about THIS step, but in for a penny, in for 200 pounds.

And….it was….fine. 200 lbs turned out to be just fine. Reason somehow endured AND triumphed.

In the few years since that day, I’ve had a lot of people stand on me. Little kids are astonished when I can take their 40-50 lbs in stride. Executives at corporate events go slack-jawed when full-grown adults make the climb. It never fails to gain attention.

Check out the nervous brother in the background!

So far, the record (for me) is 300 lbs on my chest. I’m not looking to break that, but if the opportunity arises – and there is an audience – well, Reason be damned, I’m going for it!

Then, unannounced, Jay Leno darts into our room. “Hey, guys!” he greets us, shaking our hands. In his best jovial Jay Leno voice, he says, “Welcome to the show. We’re gonna do some goofy, fun stuff. Just goofy stuff!”

We smile idiotically. Just as quickly as he arrived, he is gone.

Kobi and I stare at each other. We are slack-jawed and slowly shaking our heads. “How did we get here?” we ask each other at the same time.

My wife, Kobi Shaw, and I are entertainers. Most of the time we are jugglers, but we have lots of tricks up our sleeves, so to speak. Our 2006 appearance with Jay Leno featured a novelty piece in which we whack each other’s heads with colorful plastic tubes, creating a tune that resembles Rossini’s “William Tell Overture.” This is our claim to fame. Go figure!

We had a 25-year plan for getting on the show. It went something like this:

1981 — Start thinking and wishing.
April 13, 2006 — Send the tape.
April 18, 2006 — Answer the phone and say “yes” when the Tonight Show calls.

I was home alone with our two young sons when the phone call came. Frankly, the boys were driving me nuts, so I just sat them down to watch “Arthur” on PBS. The phone rang, so I moved away from the TV a little.

The voice on the phone said, “Hello. This is Steve Ridgeway. I am a producer from the Tonight Show.”

I moved farther away from the TV.

What was said next? I’m not exactly sure. I do not remember.

Eventually, there was something like, “We are very interested in having you two on the show,” from Ridgeway. And there was some nonsense such as, “Would you be interested in flying out to L.A.?”

Ridgeway gives me his e-mail address and phone number. I reach for some paper and a handy writing implement. Now I have the Tonight Show contact information written in crayon on a piece of construction paper.

They offer to pay all of our expenses for the trip: airfare, meals, hotel stay and limo. We accept.

We were both zonked out on the flight. The past weeks of preparations, photo sessions and media interviews have exhausted us. Oh, the curse of celebrity!

Our limo brings us to the Sheraton Universal Hotel. As we check in, I turn to Kobi and say, “OK, I have to tell you. I made all of this up. I had someone call and pretend to be from the Tonight Show…”

She tells me to stop talking.

If not for the sheer exhaustion of the 12-hour trip, we wouldn’t have been able to sleep that night. We both collapse into a deep sleep.

At 12:30 p.m. on May 18, our limo drives us through the gates of NBC Studios and parks at the Artist’s Entrance. Apparently, we are artists now. As we exit our limo, we are met by 4 or 5 young ladies who are just stepping off the outdoor concert stage. Even though we are now, in some strange way, peers, the Pussycat Dolls pay us no mind.

The staff and crew of the Tonight Show are wonderful to us. They really make us feel comfortable and at home on the set. At home! This assumes that 6 million people watch our home every night. Luckily, the studio theater is smaller than it seems on TV. It has a friendly, familiar feel.

We go through our routine a couple of times so the wifi camera, light and sound crews can see what we are planning to do. Then, there is nothing to do but wait for the show to begin.

At 4:30 p.m., our new best friend, Jay, starts his monologue. The audience is made up entirely of military personnel. They are a lively crowd.

The jokes end and the commercials begin. This is our cue to get ready.

We are appearing as part of a bit called “Does this Impress Ed Asner?” Three “acts” have been invited on the show. There is a teenager from Texas who plays “Yankee Doodle” on his armpit and a Canadian government worker who juggles machetes on a moving platform. We are slated to be the last act performing.

Suddenly, we are on the set of the Tonight Show! Jay Leno and Ed Asner are asking us questions! It feels a bit odd to have our backs to some of the studio audience, but the director wants us to perform for the two celebrities and not the people in the seats. When it comes to shows, some of the audience may be interested to how much does a soap opera star make.

We do our thing. It is a bit surreal, but a lot of fun.

The piece ends with a bang. Ed Asner gives a little shout of approval. The audience applauds wildly. It seems to have gone well. Just one burning question: Did it impress Ed Asner? In his words, “I am very impressed!”

As the camera sweeps back to go to the commercial, you can see Jay and Ed walking over to us. There were handshakes and compliments all around. They both pick up our tubes and start trying them out.

I pull out a marker from my pocket and ask Jay for his autograph. My hands are shaking too badly to put the cap back on. Jay and Ed both sign the hardhats we use in the routine.

We manage to get Ed to pose for a picture before he is whisked away.

After the taping, we are told that Jay will not be able to pose for pictures, due to the fact that he had to hurry to get to his show in Las Vegas. We are a little disappointed.

Then, word comes down that he is still in the building and is making his way back to the studio for the photos. What a nice guy!

Later that night the two of us watch ourselves on a hotel television. It still doesn’t seem real. Only when we get home on Saturday evening and watch the tape from our own VCR on our own TV does it start to sink in. We were on the Tonight Show!

And we loved every minute of it.

What does this mean? It means bragging rights, a tidy cash prize and the chance to win the Grand Prize – $20,000 and a lifetime supply of gum.

As In Capable Hands, my wife Kobi and I travel around the country performing for fairs, festivals and corporate events. The show is a mix of comedy, juggling, magic, music and downright fun. In addition to our appearance on the Regis and Kelly show, we were featured on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.

To vote for us in the next round, click on www.liveregisandkelly.com  Voting will begin on Friday, September 10 and will conclude on Sunday, September 12. The grand prize winner will be announced on the air on Monday, Sept. 13th.

Thanks to all who voted for us and got us to this point. We hope you will help us out this weekend, as well!

It was just one of those “oh, why not?” moments that got us to send in our video. Our friend Steve Renfree told us about the contest and thought we would fit right in. We went to the video camera and shot the 30 second spot of us playing the William Tell Overture with Boomwhackers. We sent it off that night and got a call from Live with Regis and Kelly the very next day. They said that our video “caught their eye” and they needed us to sign a release form in order for the video to be played on the show. There was no guarantee that it would air. They said that they would let us know if the video was chosen.

Well, we didn’t get a call, so we figured it wasn’t to be.

But on last Friday, we got a call from Steve Renfree’s wife Tami Weiss. She congratulated us on our appearance. “What appearance?”, we said.

So what was supposed to be a relaxing Friday in the Summer became a marketing frenzy. We were on the phone, writing email, updating Facebook…all to get people to vote for us by midnight on Friday.

Now we are waiting. What are our chances of winning something? On the face of it, about 20%. There were 5 contestants. But, we think that perhaps we were slightly wilder and wackier than most of the others.

What will happen? Stay tuned……

UPDATE!!!!

Our category will probably be featured on the Wednesday, Sept 8th show. Tune in to see if we are crowned “Masters of Music”!

(You can read the first two installments of this story – Chapter One and Chapter Two)

Canio and Tonio are two male clowns. Silvio is the local townsman. They are all in love with Nedda, the female clown (married to Canio). A jealous rage ensues. By the end of the short opera, Nedda and Silvio are killed onstage by the hot-headed Canio (urged on by the crafty and evil Tonio) during a performance of their traveling show. The onstage audience applauds the realism of the “acting” as the curtain falls, unaware that they have just seen an actual murder.

There may be clowns, but this is no comedy.

Early in the show, my task is to follow evil Tonio and spew fire in the general region of the seat of his pants. One long blast will send him howling to center stage before I turn back toward the wings and give a final spout of flames. I’ve got to get close to Tonio, but not too close. I’m not really supposed to burn him – nor the orchestra members, who are in the pit just beyond Tonio. But, I AM supposed to get as close I can to setting the clown on fire.

Because I am the understudy, I never set foot on the stage nor had a full rehearsal before my performance. If the company knew how little I knew of what I was doing, they would never have let me near the stage. And because I am the understudy, I am virtually “plugged in” to the show. Later (when the production is in full swing) the rest of the cast turns to watch me juggle, there is a moment of “who are you?!” on their faces.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. It is Show Night. I am beyond terrified. To top it off, my in-laws are in the audience. Pressure squared.

The opera opens and I am on stage in a 1950-style travel trailer. The cast greets me and is remarkably casual in their conversation (see Part One). Don’t they know there is an opera on? Don’t they realize this is a Big Deal? As the music changes, I step out of the trailer with the acting troupe.

It is all stylized movement and colorful flourishes as I make my entrance. I spin, toss a fireball with my hands and then head stage left.

Off in the wings is the prop master with a bottle of Everclear, a torch, fire extinguisher, a bottle of water and a bucket.

I take a swig of the 190 proof alcohol and hold it in my mouth. Someone lights my torch and I am ready for my big debut. With an exaggerated tip-toe sneak, I come up behind Tonio and spew the liquid over the torch, right on cue with the music. I turn with a brief smile to the audience and spout once more before going into the wings. My mouth is puckered with the taste of alcohol. I take a long gulp of water and spit it into the bucket. Someone hands me juggling clubs and I am back out on stage.

The hard part was over. From this point on, I am just a juggler amidst the townsfolk. Townsfolk who don’t recognize me, cause there has always been another guy in the costume.

But, oh, there is the little dance that everyone does. I never completely get those steps, but I fool myself into accepting that my “character” does a clownish version of the dance on purpose. I fool nobody else, I’m afraid.

There was something else I wasn’t expecting to have to do. I think they call it “acting”. I was ready for the fire (sort of) and I was confident I could juggle. What I forgot was that I was on stage for the next 20 minutes while some rather extreme things were happening. How was I to react to the murder? I hadn’t even considered that! Suddenly, there I was, doing improv at Lincoln Center in the middle of my first production, quite by accident.

So, I worked up something I call “Acting with a Hat”. When something shocking happens on stage, I take off my hat quickly and hold it in front of my waist. When the danger subsides, I put it back on my head, slowly. Sorrow? Take the hat off slowly. Need for action? Put the hat back on quickly. There is a hat move for every emotion, it turns out. It is acting – with a hat!

On the second night of my run, I got a little ahead of myself. I thought, “I can do this again, no problem.” I step off stage to load up on the fire-juice. Soon, I realize that I am WAY early. My musical cue is a long way off and I have a mouthful of noxious liquid tearing up the insides of my cheeks.

Do I spit it out and start over? Do I have enough time to do that? I don’t know what to do, so I do nothing. My lips start to numb. The Everclear trickles down the back of my throat. I have to cough, but that would be bad – I have a live torch in my hand!

The cue finally comes. I step forward (again, in that sneaky way I do it) and spew the fire towards Tonio. Trouble is, the numbness has ruined my embrasure. I can’t get a good spray! What should be a fountain of fire becomes a brief burst of unimpressive dribble. I turn toward the wings for my follow-up blow. A bit of liquid flows over my swollen lips. No spray, no burst, no nothin’! The crew looks at me quizzically. I swish water, spit and grab my clubs and juggle. I move on.

But here is the best part of the whole experience: As the darkness fell on the stage at the end of the opera, someone said, “Follow me!” and took me by the hand. I was whisked back into the bright lights, this time facing the cheering, real live audience. A tenor was on one side of me and an acrobat on the other. I realized that I was in the front line of the curtain call! That is where the stars stand!

We even did that thing where we step forward to receive the ovation, step back and then come forward again for an even stronger up-swell of applause. It was so much fun, we did it 4 or 5 times before a standing, ecstatic crowd.

There I was, alternately feeling like a star and a fraud. I pulled it off. I was taking my bows.

There. That about sums up my New York City Opera debut. I wasn’t fired (there’s an ironic term, considering). I didn’t blow up the building. I didn’t immolate any clowns. The show ends with everyone and everything intact. And I am always grateful that I never once did the job I was hired to do. I never once set fire to the clown.

www.steverusselljuggles.com

From the time I got the call to join New York City Opera’s production of Pagliacci to the time I had to actually become an expert at fire-breathing was about 24 hours. Luckily, I had worked with fire before. I’ve eaten fire for years (I learned inside my parent’s wooden A-frame house – much to their joy!). I’ve juggled torches before. But fire-breathing is a different animal. It was never a skill that interested me much. I have several friends who do it. Several friends who, not incidentally, have set their faces on fire. That interested me even less.

But, as I say, when Lincoln Center asks if you breathe fire, you say yes.

After a bit of online research and a quick call to a friend for support, fire balls lit up the Colfax sky for one night. Then it was time to pack my fuel can and head off to the Big Apple.

Technically, I am being hired as an understudy for the Fire-breather/Juggler. I’m guaranteed to go on stage twice during the run. Twice is a great number when you don’t really know what you are doing.

When I got to NY, there is some talk with the Fire Marshall about what fuel we will be using in the show. Most fire workers use camping fuel or lantern oil. The regular Fire-breather in this production wants to use 190-proof alcohol. It is less toxic than the other stuff, but it has its drawbacks.

To breathe fire, I have to take the fuel into my mouth and then spray it out quickly. After a couple of rounds of this with the grain alcohol, a couple of things happen:

1). I begin to feel a bit light-headed. The 95% pure alcohol is absorbed into my tongue and gums. Because I don’t drink alcohol in real life, I feel the dizzying effects immediately.

2). It burns! Oh, how it burns. My lips curl and start to shed a layer of skin. The roof of my mouth likewise begins to peel away much as it would if it were a burn from a hot pizza. As the liquid trickles down my throat, it feels remarkably like the bad case of strep I used to get in high school.

The Fire Marshall approves and we are on our way.

Privately, the regular fire breather pulls me aside. “Would you like to switch positions?” he asks. “You can be the regular fire breather and I will be your sub.”

“But why?”, I ask.

“Well, to be honest, I’ve never really breathed fire before. I learned how to do it for this production and I’m not sure I can do it well enough.”

So, I wasn’t the only one making it by faking it.

I convinced him to keep the gig. He would be fine, I told him. I had confidence in him, I said. Truth is, I just was more comfortable with him in the literal hot seat.

With the preliminaries over and the stage (literally) set, it was time to get to the business at hand. It was time to set fire to the clown.

(Continue to Part Three)

I don’t buy it because I like it. I buy it because I need it…for my show.

You see, years ago, I got this BRIGHT idea that juggling Spam would be funny. Well, not just juggling it, but juggling it and eating it. You know, like the juggling/apple eating trick, but more disgusting – therefore funnier.

So, that was 15 years ago. I have no idea how many cans of the potted meat product I have gone through. Frankly, I don’t want to know. Even the thought of thinking of counting makes me slightly queasy. How do I go through with the routine each time? I’m a professional!

The main trouble is not actually eating it. The trouble I have is buying the stuff. I buy cartons at a time. Dozens of cans. Like a teenager visiting a pharmacy, I get a bit embarrassed about my purchase. I mean, who buys 24 cans of Spam in one visit? For a while, I used to try to pretend that Spam wasn’t my only reason for visiting the store. I’d look around for other stuff (you know, to throw the cashier off the scent). Crackers? No that only makes it worse. Bread? It was useless. I now just suck it up and drop the cash.

What amazes me is that so few people own up to eating Spam. I guarantee that it is in every grocery store in the U.S. I’ve never been NOT able to find it. Someone must actually eat the stuff. I can’t be keeping the company going all by myself. Please tell me I’m not the only one!

I usually get comments from people like “I used to eat it when I was a kid”. They then start to relate their mother’s culinary expertise with the spicy treat. I’ll just tell you now, I’m not looking for new ways to dress it up! I eat Spam because I have to – it’s my JOB.

There is a Spam Museum in Austin, MN, the home of Hormel, the maker of Spam. I have heard that it is a fun place and that they have a good sense of humor about their product. You won’t find me taking in the exhibits.  I want entertainment that takes me out of my daily life.

Today, I bought 20 cans and “Saved Big Money” at the same time (a midwest reference for you). Nothing else in the cart. As I was walking out the door with my bounty, I heard the cashier singing a vaguely familiar Monty Python tune. I let her have her fun. I figure that really I’m just an entertainer and sometimes the show begins long before the curtain goes up.

I love words. I enjoy reading about word origins. In fact, I have a section of my bookshelf devoted just to words, wordplay and etymology.

So, what about the “juggling” words?

The word Juggle has a long story. At its root, the word starts in Latin as iocus, meaning “joke”. Ioculus means “little joke”. Ioculus came into Old French as joculare, meaning “to jest”. Joculare became Jongleur. Just a few short steps more to become the word Juggler. Find the best dad, police, Chef jokes and more on internet and make your friends and family laugh and have fun.

Jugglers didn’t always juggle. Juggler or the middle and old French “Jongleur” referred, for many years, to what we would call a Jester. The jester would have many “tricks up his sleeve”, including acrobatics, magic, juggling, music and jokes. Basically, a Jongleur was a person who could use most any means to entertain. Yes, they could juggle (as we would call it), but they were always capable of a little bit more. It wasn’t until the age of specialization that juggler became someone who threw things in the air.

For a time, juggling had a decidedly bad reputation. It was synonymous with the bad sort of trickery. It still survives in the phrase “juggle the books”.

One of the skills jugglers acquired was the ability to separate people from their wallets. Sometimes, jugglers and pickpockets would work together – the performer gathering the crowd and the thief working the pockets. This caused St. Bernard (no, not the dog – the saint) to remark, “The man who delights in the tricks of the juggler will soon have a wife whose name is poverty.”

Well, I delight in the tricks of the juggler. And like the Jongleurs of old, I try to do shows with a varied mix of entertainments – some juggling, some jokes, some magic, some fire and a bed of nails.

My wife’s name is not poverty. Her name is Kobi.

Kobi Shaw

I was told to get into the trailer. It was a vintage 1959 Dalton. Bright pink. Squeezed inside the 12-foot space were 5 of us. 4 men and one woman. One of us would be dead within the hour – at the hands of one of the others.

Garish light came though the small square of window in the door. Strange, lilting music wafted in from outside. Suddenly, the full pane was filled with the faces of the locals – trying to figure out who we were and what we were doing there. They demanded that we show ourselves. The Big Guy stuck his head out the window and shouted at them. The villagers responded by pushing against the side of the trailer, making it shake and tilt. We held on to keep our balance. Outside the door, the locals sang an excited song in a language I didn’t understand.

The Big Guy turned to me, “You got an agent? Cause I’ve got this friend who’s a juggler and he’s really hoping to get an agent.”

Was this really the time to talk shop? I wasn’t in the mood. Preoccupied. I knew that in just a few minutes, I had to try to set fire to a clown.

Without warning, the lithe, acrobatic man next to me flung open the door. There was no turning back. I nervously lit my torch. The woman smiled sweetly, touched my hand and said, “Have fun!”  I stepped out into blinding lights – on to the stage of the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center. The villagers and the trailer?  All part of the production. I was appearing in Pagliacci, and my big scene was coming up.

It wasn’t a dream. It was opera.

When I first heard about New York City Opera’s need for a juggler/fire-breather, I figured it was already too late. My wife Kobi had found the notice posted in an online forum for circus performers. She brought it to my attention a full day after it had gone out. Chances were good that somebody on the East Coast would be on that right away. I mean, as specialized as it is to be a juggler/fire-eater, there are thousands of us out there.

Chances were slim, I knew, but the chances would be even slimmer if I did nothing.

I called.

Nobody there.

I left a message saying, “I hear that you are looking for a juggler/fire-eater. That’s what I do.” There, I cast the die. It was pretty exciting to be able to make the call. But, it was time to get my kid to school, so off I went – even while allowing myself to daydream about the impossible possibility -  that I could suddenly (and quite unexpectedly) be performing in an opera at Lincoln Center.

Duty done. Child delivered to school. Home again.

My wife met me at the door. “He CALLED! You have to call this guy back! I think you might have the job!”

The phone call had me breathless. I fumbled for the calendar. I scurried for a pen. My heart pounded in my ears. Questions asked and answered. Was it actually going to work out?

Then came the question I had to ask: “Did you want fire-eating or fire-breathing?”

Perhaps an explanation is in order: Fire-eating is a process by which the performer takes a lit torch and carefully lowers it into his mouth. Upon closing of the mouth, the available oxygen is used up and the flame goes out quickly.

Fire-breathing involves a torch, as well. But this time, it is held at arm’s length. A small amount of combustible liquid is put in the performer’s mouth. With a sudden and explosive aspiration, the liquid travels in little droplets and passes over the exposed flame. A fireball!

Do I eat fire? Yes. Do I breathe fire? NO.

I always thought it was too dangerous and not really worth the risk. But when Lincoln Center calls and asks if you can breathe fire, you say “Yes!”

This was going to be a quick and steep learning curve. I had 24 hours.

(To Be Continued….click to Part Two)

www.steverusselljuggles.com