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'Carnies' say stereotypes aren't fair (http://www.journalstandard.com/articles/2005/08/29/local_news/news02.txt)
By Amee Bohrer

The Journal-Standard

FREEPORT - The Webster.com definition of a 'carny' is simple: "a person who works with a carnival." But many view carnies as mysterious and sometimes sinister. We all know the stereotypes.

And carnies know that some people don't trust them and are even a little afraid. They're not oblivious to the snickers behind their back, the stares and the speculation about their unconventional jobs.

They work long shifts, sometimes not sleeping for days when it's time to pack up and move on, only to drive 12 hours to the next destination. They deal with all kinds of weather and all kinds personalities - sometimes belligerent.

But carnies smile anyway and make their pitch to entice people to play the games or "joints" they run. If they weren't good at it, they'd never make a living.

Being a carny is the only life Lynn Hennemann, 62, of Naperville has ever known. Although she prefers the title of "showman."

"(People) think (carnies) are bad," she said. "But (most carnies) pay all their bills on time, love animals and children. Most of them are really good people," she said Friday at the Stephenson County Fair.

Her fondness for carnies began with her father, who was an architect who worked as a show painter for relaxation, painting game booths, concession stands and rides. In the summers, she and her mother would go on the road with him.

She's only been with All Star Amusements for a couple of months, working a simple basketball game. Hennemann estimates she's worked for 200-300 "shows," or carnivals, in her lifetime. She even married a fellow carny, Marc. They were both working concessions and started selling their own independent leather items, jewelry, blow-up toys and specialty foods in 1980. They were married in 1984, and he died in 1999.

Now, Hennemann shares a trailer with a co-worker, as most carnies do, and sees her 42-year-old daughter and grandson once a month. In the winter months, during the off-season, she stays with them. But Bugsy Malone, her bunny rabbit, is Hennemann's constant companion on the road.

She has had her share of medical problems, and the carnival life does not include a pension. It hasn't been easy, and at times she yearns for a more stable occupation.

"I would like to (quit the carnival life) sometimes because I'm getting older. But probably, I'm not going to do much else. Most people are in the business till the day they die."

Charles Ford, 87, will probably be one of those people. And like Hennemann, he has no pension. Each day, he tallies every sale on a small notepad.

"You just make your money and save what you can," he said Friday at the fair.

Ford literally ran away from his life in East St. Louis to join the carnival at age 15.

The only hiatus in his life as a carny was from 1941 to 1951, when he joined the Marine Corps during World War II.

"I've looked back many a time," he said. He's worked for 15 different shows over the years, and was a "ride jockey," or operator, for 35 years.

He's only been with Kelly Concessions for five weeks, but knows everything about the joint he runs, a gun-shooting game. He knows how to handle the guns and doesn't appreciate it when ornery teens try to shoot them without paying. He shoos away a red-headed teenage boy who tries to sneak a free shot.

"You couldn't shoot the pin out of a barn door!" Ford jeers to the boy's back.

For the past year, Ford has been renting a motel in each city the carnival stops in. He used to rent trailers, but never owned one, he said.

He doesn't feel the negative label of being a carny is justified, especially because the carnival business has changed for the better in his lifetime, he said. The odds are more fair now so that players can win prizes.

And it's not like anyone is forced to spend their money at the joints.

"We don't grab 'em by the arm and pull them into our games," he said.

He's tried other careers as delivery and truck drivers, and working the free market.

But the carny life is the consistent thread throughout his nomadic life. And besides, he loves the freedom of being somewhere new every two weeks and meeting new friends.

"I guess I'm the last of the Mohicans," he said. "This is my life. I just love the work."

Janette McCoy, 55, has only been a carny for five years. But she has found her calling.

She works a joint where customers have to pop balloons with darts to win a prize, and actively helps the players to win.

"Too hard," she says on Wednesday to a small boy who misses again on his second try. On the third try, he scores. She gently hands him a plush red rose toy, and he beams.

But the smile on McCoy's face is even brighter than the boy's yellow shirt.

"I call them angels," McCoy said of the children who play her joint. "They happy, loving, pure."

She immigrated to the United States from Jerusalem in 1979, and her accent still peeks through. She loves working as a carny because she said it is an avenue for ministry. She has talked about Jesus with customers for hours, she said, and once even prayed with a group of four girls.

"It makes them feel good and it makes you feel good," she said of working a joint and interacting with customers. "They go home and they remember in the future about this."

"This is the story of my life; serving the Lord and serving the carnival."