The “humoriliating” tale
Monkey Girl
By Joan O’Connor
The Kirby family chimpanzees were well known in Midwest circus circles near the end of the millennium. The playful chimps dazzled audiences with stupendous routines promising to “Make monkeys out of people.” Sounds like a fun promise, right? That’s what I thought when I went to see them perform at the Medinah Temple’s Shrine Circus in Chicago. I was wrong.
“Joanie,” mom called, “We’re leaving in ten minutes.” Mom was taking me to Sears to buy a special circus outfit because seeing the chimpanzees up close and personal was my lifelong dream. I fell in love with monkeys the first time I saw a Curious George book. George was mischievous, clever, and lovable and I wanted to be his best friend. Since that was impossible, mom was giving me the gift of seeing his relatives perform at the circus.
“Do you think I’ll get to pet them?” I asked as we stood in the children’s clothing section. Mom smiled and replied, “Maybe if they see you.” I was three years old and considered myself a groovy dresser, so the outfit had to be just right. “What about that one?” Mom asked as she pointed to a gorgeous brown and yellow striped shirt with brown leggings.
I heard the faint sound of angels singing as my eyes beheld the electric ensemble. I shouted, “That’s it! That’s my circus outfit! The monkeys will like that.” Mom agreed.
On the morning of the circus, the dimples in my cheeks deepened with excitement as I pranced around the house in my fancy new duds. When the doorbell rang, I ran and opened the front door. Ugh, it was some of the mean neighborhood kids who loved taunting me saying I looked like a monkey. “What are you doing here?” I asked. One of the kids replied, “Duh, we’re going to the circus with you.” I screamed a chorus of naughty words inside my head, but kept my cool and shrugged, “Whatever. Come on in.”
Truth be told, the mean kids were right. My ears were too big for my head and when dancing I would raise my arched left arm over my head alternating with my right. I thought I looked like a ballerina, but video evidence shows my moves were more chimp-esque.
Like our own version of a clown car, two adults and eight kids crammed into my aunt’s station wagon and away we went.
The Medinah Temple was an enormous brick building in the heart of Chicago that had been transformed into a circus big top. Popcorn scented air, roaring lions, and juggling clowns hinted at the marvel about to unfold. My cousin Eddie, sister Mary Beth and I sat with the neighborhood kids in the front row with my mom, aunt, and her baby Jimmy directly behind us.
Within minutes exotic animals from all over the world and death-defying aerial acts dazzled the audience. After fifteen mind blowing acts, my sister nudged me and whispered, “The monkeys are next!” My eyes widened. Pulse quickened. I took a deep breath and braced myself for a magical life-changing encounter.
When the Ringmaster announced the chimpanzees, the adorned in costume performers rode into the ring on a motorcycle. But something about the scene was disturbing. My eyes darted back and forth struggling to comprehend this confusing spectacle.
One of the neighborhood kids yelled, “LOOK! She’s wearing the same exact outfit that the monkeys have on!”
Turns out she was ME!
Somehow a strange confluence of coincidence had befallen leaving me and the chimpanzees sporting the exact same Sears brown & yellow striped top with brown stretchy pants. The neighborhood kids were laughing, making monkey sounds and faces at me. My sister stood frozen in shock with eyes bulging and mouth agape.
I looked up at my mom hoping she would make sense of this, but she was lost, reveling in comedy gold. I glanced toward my aunt for support, but she was busy holding her stomach which was aching from laughing pangs.
I wanted to run but there was no escaping the spotlight that landed on me. Then, with his finger pointing at me in the spotlight, the Ringmaster delivered the death blow to my childhood innocence:
“Hey folks, you’re not going to believe this. That little girl is wearing the same exact outfit as the monkeys.” He chuckled, “I guess the Kirby chimpanzees really do make monkeys out of people.”
The sound of the crowd’s laughter was dizzying. I had just become a circus side-act and the fame was unbearable. I burst into tears.
Mom immediately enveloped me in her arms smothering my forehead with comforting kisses, but I was inconsolable. We left early.
News of the incident spread like wildfire throughout the neighborhood where I was officially branded the ‘Monkey girl’. I secretly vowed that one day I would find a way to meet my beloved chimpanzees that did not involve clowns laughing at me.
“I’m not going,” I told my mom a year later when she bought tickets to return to the scene of the crime. Mom replied, “Joanie it’s impossible for that to happen again. A coincidence like that is a once in a lifetime occurrence.”
I asked, “You swear?” and she said, “Yes, I promise.” I didn’t experience the chimpanzees at the last Shrine Circus so after several pinky swears, I caved.
There we sat in the Medinah Temple waiting for the festivities to begin. Mom kindly decided not to invite the neighborhood kids, so it was just family. Same place and same seats, but this time I was wearing a completely different outfit. After days of fashionista laboring, I had chosen the most original ensemble I owned. Even my sister gave the thumbs up to my green striped shirt and green pants. We were confident I was safe.
When it was time for the Kirby family chimpanzees to perform, my sister grabbed my hand flashing a ‘We’ve got this’ smile. I took a deep breath in and as I was about to exhale, I heard my mom, aunt, and sister scream in unison, “Noooooooooo!”
Mary Beth tried to shield my eyes, but I had already seen my nightmare. For the second year in a row, the costumed motorcycle riding chimpanzees were wearing the same exact outfit I had on. Yes, it’s true, you can’t make this stuff up.
What could this 4-year-old have done to anger the Shrine Circus Gods? I was just a monkey loving little who had never even sassed her mom, who by the way was laughing hysterically with my aunt. Apparently, coincidences are funnier the second time around.
I began to have an existential crisis questioning everything beginning with my mom’s credibility. Did she somehow know what the monkeys were going to wear? Did she call the Shriners? Why didn’t she flag that my outfit was the same brand as last year’s?
Mary Beth sensed I was about to cry and wrapped her arms around me, which is the last thing I remember.
Some people discover the underappreciated world of denial before getting sober. Others stumble into it after receiving bad news from a doctor or loved one. Me? I found denial after a community of costumed chimpanzees hijacked my dignity. Twice.
Circus outfit #2
My family never spoke of either ‘Who wore it best’ incident. We never returned to the circus. Had it not been for a college assignment during my senior year, I would’ve lived the rest of my life not knowing why I hated striped shirts and stirrup pants.
I was a Resident Assistant and our advisor thought having our parents write a story about us and then guessing who it was about would be a fun bonding activity. The first story she read was about a circus, monkeys, and matching outfits, which sounded very familiar. I guessed aloud that it was about my friend Kathy.
“Oh no,” she said, “This is from your mom. It’s about YOU.”
I could feel everyone staring at my reddening face. Hundreds of images flashed through my mind jolting me out of a sixteen year self-induced soap operatic circus amnesia. “Don’t you remember this?” she asked.
I pushed my hair behind my large ears and said, “Oh, um, yes I do now.” This was a pivotal moment beginning my quest for unapologetic authenticity. Like an unmasked superhero, I stood up, puffed out my chest, placed my hands on my hips, and proudly embraced my secret identity, “I am… the monkey girl.”
To this day my mom denies accusations of a circus conspiracy swearing she had no idea what the chimpanzees were going to wear. She also says the Ringmaster never called me out with the spotlight.
I suppose the truth might lie somewhere with the monkey - in the middle.
Circa 2000, finally getting my up close moment with a chimpanzee.
