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Ugly Dovey

 
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When? This feed was archived on July 01, 2018 02:22 (5+ y ago). Last successful fetch was on May 23, 2018 01:29 (6y ago)

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Manage episode 179423013 series 1443277
Content provided by Seth Johnson, Ryan Tippets, and Cory Mendenhall. All podcast content including episodes, graphics, and podcast descriptions are uploaded and provided directly by Seth Johnson, Ryan Tippets, and Cory Mendenhall or their podcast platform partner. If you believe someone is using your copyrighted work without your permission, you can follow the process outlined here https://player.fm/legal.

Story by Seth Johnson
Illustration by Cory Mendenhall

My name is Dovey Miller and I’m pretty ugly I guess, but that’s my Ma’s fault, not mine.

I’ll tell you about my background, but you probably shouldn’t believe me about it. Even I can’t believe me. That’s the problem. I can’t trust anything I have in my head because of Menzorzo the Mentalist.

So my background – or what I think my background is, is about as ugly as I am. My Ma was a drunk and a town floozy. My Pa was a bull for the Union Pacific who used to carry around this knotty black cudgel with a tooth that got stuck in a nook after he beat up some tramp. He split on us one night after he slit Tom Bashedere’s throat outside of a bar and then turned into a tramp himself. Might still be floating around out there.

My brother Sandor used to say I came outta my Ma lookin’ so ugly my face tried to run in two different directions, which accounts for why my eyes are set so far apart, why my lips are crooked and the peg teeth. Town Pastor told my Ma that I was the sum of my folks’ sins, and he seemed to be an expert considering how often he was pulled out of the whorehouse roaring drunk by my uncle Ennis, who was the local sherriff. But you know, you can’t let that stuff keep you down, ya know? You start lettin’ other folks’ opinions bother you, you ain’t gonna get far, my friend. You’re living it on their conditions, not your own.

When I went to school, well, I guess it goes without saying I was a pretty easy target. I’ll spare you all the fat lips and shiner stories, but out of that whole time there’s something that stuck with me. I come home one afternoon after getting my licks one day and my Ma was wiping some dirt out of the cuts on my face and she says to me she says “ Dovey, it ain’t no secret for me to tell you that you’re ugly, but I love you. Some boys born strong, some boys born fast runners. They find their strengths apparent. You, Dovey, you’re like your Pa’s knotty club. That twisted look what give you your strength. You’re gonna go through life seeing folks for who they are.”

She was right.

When I was fourteen a circus came by the next town over. I was rough looking kid and all them carney’s was a rough lot themselves. That was the first time I felt like I was around people who knew what it was like to be outside. At the circus, it was all the normal folks who were the odd ones. The sideshow was run by a fella named Clive. He was a nice enough man who took care of his folks. He was covered in tattoos and had an ivory leg he got after he lost his in the Spanish American War. He took me on and billed me as the Ugliest Boy in the World which got stale fast, so then we concocted this character called the Frog-Faced Bayou Boy. I’d come out wearing gator skin and buffalo teeth necklaces and the like. I’d hop around and pretend to be, as Clive used to say, “The horrible hybrid of Bayou Voodoo. The love child of a swamp witch and her frog familiar.”

Somewhere along the line Menzorzo joined the show. That’s that mentalist I was talking about.

Menzorzo was from Jersey. Tall skinny guy with a long neck and one of them Adam’s Apples that seemed to disappear into his chest when he swallowed. No one really seemed to remember when or how he joined, he just sort of started being there at some point. I think it was after Nashville in thirty-eight. He made this sort of Swami get-up with the turbin and feather and all that. He’d get on stage and hypnotize the audience and, truth be told, it was a pretty great show. I think.

The thing with Menzorzo was that those tricks that he did really weren’t tricks at all. The ones that so many other mentalists claimed they could do? Menzo could do all that with nothing but his mind. He could look at something and change or affect it with nothing but a thought. It took me a while to realize it, because I always thought he was just really good at what he did. I’d watch the crowd go wild and throw their money at him on stage, night after night. It used to look like green confetti when he’d take his final bow. It took me a bit to realize that for some reason, Menzorzo’s trick didn’t work on me.

The night I found out I wasn’t affected, we were drinking rye whiskey and smoking cigarettes next to an old Ford truck at night, watching the stars. Menzo liked liquor a good deal and it would put him in a pretty good mood. He turns to me and he says to me, he says “Dovey, how do you do it?”

“How do I do what,” I says.

“How do you go through life like that? You ain’t easy on the eyes. Probably hard to get a woman to like you.”

I took a pull off my smoke and had another swig and sort of shrugged.

“It ain’t so bad,” I says. “I get to see the world for what it is, and you know what? It’s a whole lot uglier than I am.”

Menzo opened up and told me his name was Kerry Johnston and he was from Jersey City. Said he learned to change people’s minds when his father locked him in a coal cellar for a week when he was young as a punishment. He thought hard enough and eventually the old man opened him up and let him out. He called it Blinking someone. He said he kept working on Blinking people until he could do it without concentrating. He said at first he thought he was blessed and eventually he began to see that it was more like a poison. Can you imagine being able to do anything you wanted? Making anyone think whatever you’d like? Something like that would change most people, and Menzo was no exception. He spent years getting whatever he wanted in New York and eventually people caught on to this fella that bank cashiers were just handing money to, so after convincing the police he wasn’t the guy they were looking for, he took to the road. Eventually the whiskey caught up with him and he fell asleep.

Menzo killed some gal one night. Got drunk like was fond of doing and came on to her. Maybe the booze prevented him from Blinking her. Who knows? Point is, he was used to getting what he wanted and he choked here there in the street. I put this all together after the fact, by the way.

That same night, after he got done strangulating that girl, he poked his head into my tent and tells me he needs to see me in Clive’s big tent and it’s urgent. I get up and follow him over to Clive’s place. Everyone is piled inside and Menzo is talkin’ to everyone – telling them that he’s going to miss all of us. I was going to ask him where he was going, but circus folks are fickle. They leave, most often because of trouble, and most often it’s best you don’t know. Then Menzo starts talking some strange stuff and this is when I know it’s trouble.

“You all know me, but you now forget me. The name Menzorzo means nothing to you. This is the most comfortable you’ve ever been,” Menzo says. “It’s so hot outside, don’t you think?” Everyone nods and he says. “In fact, if you went outside you’d be liable to get sick and burn up from the heat, so no matter what, you should stay inside, don’t you think?” I look around and everyone starts nodding their heads like they was entranced. I guess he didn’t notice the fact I wasn’t going along with it.

“Whatever you do, you must stay inside.”

I looked down and saw a pistol tucked into Menzo’s trousers and instead of raising any alarm, I nodded my head like I was mesmerized too.

So maybe by now you’re starting to guess what happens next. If any of you are old enough, maybe you’ve put two and two together and you know about the big fire that burned down the C.E. Garrison circus in 1943. Whole damn thing burned to the ground. Nothing left but cinders and ash.

Old Menzo walked out and doused the tent with kerosene and set it on fire, then he ran off into the night. The flames engulfed everything pretty quickly. It had been a drought summer and we were surrounded by dried grass.

While flames started licking up the tent walls, I look around and I see all the folks just standing there with these stupid grins on their faces, talking about how nice it was inside and that’s when I snapped into action. I start slapping everyone in the faces and shouting for them to wake up. Turns out a couple good slaps can make the Blink go away. People start shouting at me saying “Dovey, what you doin’? Why you slappin’ at me?” and I’m yelling “Fire! Fire! Fire!” until my throat felt like quitting. I got everyone out of their stupors just in time and we ran to the tree-line while we watched the circus burn the animals alive. I remember at one point a zebra broke free and charged out of its crate covered in flames. The poor thing ran zig-zagged trying to find shelter or water before it fell over.

As far as I can figure, Menzo’s blink didn’t work on me the way it worked on others. Never did. I think it was because what my Ma told me when I was young. Ain’t no sort of sorcery like that going to work on a man who can people for who they are. Seems my ugliness was my strength and let me save all them folk’s live. Ugliness always been my strength. Always was.

At least I think.

Could be all these memories are Menzo’s doing.

Sometimes I wondered if it was me who killed that girl in the street one night for yelling how ugly I was. Might have been me who went back and set fire to that tent for turning a profit on how ugly I was. Ideas have a funny way of creeping into your head, even if you didn’t do them.

Could be. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. All the other folks who knew him have no idea who he is.


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9 episodes

Artwork

Ugly Dovey

American Grimoire

published

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Archived series ("Inactive feed" status)

When? This feed was archived on July 01, 2018 02:22 (5+ y ago). Last successful fetch was on May 23, 2018 01:29 (6y ago)

Why? Inactive feed status. Our servers were unable to retrieve a valid podcast feed for a sustained period.

What now? You might be able to find a more up-to-date version using the search function. This series will no longer be checked for updates. If you believe this to be in error, please check if the publisher's feed link below is valid and contact support to request the feed be restored or if you have any other concerns about this.

Manage episode 179423013 series 1443277
Content provided by Seth Johnson, Ryan Tippets, and Cory Mendenhall. All podcast content including episodes, graphics, and podcast descriptions are uploaded and provided directly by Seth Johnson, Ryan Tippets, and Cory Mendenhall or their podcast platform partner. If you believe someone is using your copyrighted work without your permission, you can follow the process outlined here https://player.fm/legal.

Story by Seth Johnson
Illustration by Cory Mendenhall

My name is Dovey Miller and I’m pretty ugly I guess, but that’s my Ma’s fault, not mine.

I’ll tell you about my background, but you probably shouldn’t believe me about it. Even I can’t believe me. That’s the problem. I can’t trust anything I have in my head because of Menzorzo the Mentalist.

So my background – or what I think my background is, is about as ugly as I am. My Ma was a drunk and a town floozy. My Pa was a bull for the Union Pacific who used to carry around this knotty black cudgel with a tooth that got stuck in a nook after he beat up some tramp. He split on us one night after he slit Tom Bashedere’s throat outside of a bar and then turned into a tramp himself. Might still be floating around out there.

My brother Sandor used to say I came outta my Ma lookin’ so ugly my face tried to run in two different directions, which accounts for why my eyes are set so far apart, why my lips are crooked and the peg teeth. Town Pastor told my Ma that I was the sum of my folks’ sins, and he seemed to be an expert considering how often he was pulled out of the whorehouse roaring drunk by my uncle Ennis, who was the local sherriff. But you know, you can’t let that stuff keep you down, ya know? You start lettin’ other folks’ opinions bother you, you ain’t gonna get far, my friend. You’re living it on their conditions, not your own.

When I went to school, well, I guess it goes without saying I was a pretty easy target. I’ll spare you all the fat lips and shiner stories, but out of that whole time there’s something that stuck with me. I come home one afternoon after getting my licks one day and my Ma was wiping some dirt out of the cuts on my face and she says to me she says “ Dovey, it ain’t no secret for me to tell you that you’re ugly, but I love you. Some boys born strong, some boys born fast runners. They find their strengths apparent. You, Dovey, you’re like your Pa’s knotty club. That twisted look what give you your strength. You’re gonna go through life seeing folks for who they are.”

She was right.

When I was fourteen a circus came by the next town over. I was rough looking kid and all them carney’s was a rough lot themselves. That was the first time I felt like I was around people who knew what it was like to be outside. At the circus, it was all the normal folks who were the odd ones. The sideshow was run by a fella named Clive. He was a nice enough man who took care of his folks. He was covered in tattoos and had an ivory leg he got after he lost his in the Spanish American War. He took me on and billed me as the Ugliest Boy in the World which got stale fast, so then we concocted this character called the Frog-Faced Bayou Boy. I’d come out wearing gator skin and buffalo teeth necklaces and the like. I’d hop around and pretend to be, as Clive used to say, “The horrible hybrid of Bayou Voodoo. The love child of a swamp witch and her frog familiar.”

Somewhere along the line Menzorzo joined the show. That’s that mentalist I was talking about.

Menzorzo was from Jersey. Tall skinny guy with a long neck and one of them Adam’s Apples that seemed to disappear into his chest when he swallowed. No one really seemed to remember when or how he joined, he just sort of started being there at some point. I think it was after Nashville in thirty-eight. He made this sort of Swami get-up with the turbin and feather and all that. He’d get on stage and hypnotize the audience and, truth be told, it was a pretty great show. I think.

The thing with Menzorzo was that those tricks that he did really weren’t tricks at all. The ones that so many other mentalists claimed they could do? Menzo could do all that with nothing but his mind. He could look at something and change or affect it with nothing but a thought. It took me a while to realize it, because I always thought he was just really good at what he did. I’d watch the crowd go wild and throw their money at him on stage, night after night. It used to look like green confetti when he’d take his final bow. It took me a bit to realize that for some reason, Menzorzo’s trick didn’t work on me.

The night I found out I wasn’t affected, we were drinking rye whiskey and smoking cigarettes next to an old Ford truck at night, watching the stars. Menzo liked liquor a good deal and it would put him in a pretty good mood. He turns to me and he says to me, he says “Dovey, how do you do it?”

“How do I do what,” I says.

“How do you go through life like that? You ain’t easy on the eyes. Probably hard to get a woman to like you.”

I took a pull off my smoke and had another swig and sort of shrugged.

“It ain’t so bad,” I says. “I get to see the world for what it is, and you know what? It’s a whole lot uglier than I am.”

Menzo opened up and told me his name was Kerry Johnston and he was from Jersey City. Said he learned to change people’s minds when his father locked him in a coal cellar for a week when he was young as a punishment. He thought hard enough and eventually the old man opened him up and let him out. He called it Blinking someone. He said he kept working on Blinking people until he could do it without concentrating. He said at first he thought he was blessed and eventually he began to see that it was more like a poison. Can you imagine being able to do anything you wanted? Making anyone think whatever you’d like? Something like that would change most people, and Menzo was no exception. He spent years getting whatever he wanted in New York and eventually people caught on to this fella that bank cashiers were just handing money to, so after convincing the police he wasn’t the guy they were looking for, he took to the road. Eventually the whiskey caught up with him and he fell asleep.

Menzo killed some gal one night. Got drunk like was fond of doing and came on to her. Maybe the booze prevented him from Blinking her. Who knows? Point is, he was used to getting what he wanted and he choked here there in the street. I put this all together after the fact, by the way.

That same night, after he got done strangulating that girl, he poked his head into my tent and tells me he needs to see me in Clive’s big tent and it’s urgent. I get up and follow him over to Clive’s place. Everyone is piled inside and Menzo is talkin’ to everyone – telling them that he’s going to miss all of us. I was going to ask him where he was going, but circus folks are fickle. They leave, most often because of trouble, and most often it’s best you don’t know. Then Menzo starts talking some strange stuff and this is when I know it’s trouble.

“You all know me, but you now forget me. The name Menzorzo means nothing to you. This is the most comfortable you’ve ever been,” Menzo says. “It’s so hot outside, don’t you think?” Everyone nods and he says. “In fact, if you went outside you’d be liable to get sick and burn up from the heat, so no matter what, you should stay inside, don’t you think?” I look around and everyone starts nodding their heads like they was entranced. I guess he didn’t notice the fact I wasn’t going along with it.

“Whatever you do, you must stay inside.”

I looked down and saw a pistol tucked into Menzo’s trousers and instead of raising any alarm, I nodded my head like I was mesmerized too.

So maybe by now you’re starting to guess what happens next. If any of you are old enough, maybe you’ve put two and two together and you know about the big fire that burned down the C.E. Garrison circus in 1943. Whole damn thing burned to the ground. Nothing left but cinders and ash.

Old Menzo walked out and doused the tent with kerosene and set it on fire, then he ran off into the night. The flames engulfed everything pretty quickly. It had been a drought summer and we were surrounded by dried grass.

While flames started licking up the tent walls, I look around and I see all the folks just standing there with these stupid grins on their faces, talking about how nice it was inside and that’s when I snapped into action. I start slapping everyone in the faces and shouting for them to wake up. Turns out a couple good slaps can make the Blink go away. People start shouting at me saying “Dovey, what you doin’? Why you slappin’ at me?” and I’m yelling “Fire! Fire! Fire!” until my throat felt like quitting. I got everyone out of their stupors just in time and we ran to the tree-line while we watched the circus burn the animals alive. I remember at one point a zebra broke free and charged out of its crate covered in flames. The poor thing ran zig-zagged trying to find shelter or water before it fell over.

As far as I can figure, Menzo’s blink didn’t work on me the way it worked on others. Never did. I think it was because what my Ma told me when I was young. Ain’t no sort of sorcery like that going to work on a man who can people for who they are. Seems my ugliness was my strength and let me save all them folk’s live. Ugliness always been my strength. Always was.

At least I think.

Could be all these memories are Menzo’s doing.

Sometimes I wondered if it was me who killed that girl in the street one night for yelling how ugly I was. Might have been me who went back and set fire to that tent for turning a profit on how ugly I was. Ideas have a funny way of creeping into your head, even if you didn’t do them.

Could be. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. All the other folks who knew him have no idea who he is.


  continue reading

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