Reminiscences of a Showman

With the present article Mr. Louis E. Cooke bids adieu to The Star readers who have been delightedly following his reminiscences from week to week for many months.

The editor seizes the opportunity to assure the veteran showman of the appreciation of the entire staff. The articles have been not only illuminating but interesting. They have covered the very wide fields of circus history and circus administration with an authority that is not to be questioned. They have added to the world's knowledge of the inside of the show business and given intimate glimpses of the personalities of the makers of show history. The Star feels honored that Mr. Cooke elected to write these stories for its columns after several influential newspapers, east and west, had asked in vain to give them to the world.

As was to have been expected, there is an insistent demand that the information contained in these articles be crystallized in a form more permanent than is possible to the columns of a newspaper. Mr. Cooke has yielded to this demand and is already incorporating "The Reminiscences of a Showman" into a book whose title is to be "Circus Life and History from Caesar Up to Date, or, The Reminiscences of a Showman." If, therefore, he now bids adieu to the readers of The Star, they are able to assure him that it is only to find an audience nation-wide and one that will be interested in his exposition of life under the white tops long after he has joined "the innumerable caravan."

In a lighter vein. On circus day. The day of rejoicing and good cheer. Come with me, "dear reader," as they say in novels, and I will take you with me through the realms of Recreation City. Confidentially, I have been there. I know the chief and the mayor - I mean the manager - and all of its people. Accept my invitation. Follow the man from Cook's, or Cooke himself, if you will, and just imagine you are one of the party of friends on pleasure bent. You have seen circuses before, often perhaps, but not the way I would like to have you see it. So come with me; we will cast aside all conventionalities and take in the sights of the principal city in Joyland.

Recreation City, the "city of White tops," is situated almost anywhere. It has no geographical location, and, though populated with a daily average of fifteen or twenty thousand souls, the streets are irregular and run in any direction the crowd happens to go. It has no mayor or aldermen, but a gentleman with high authority manages to run the city with a degree of perfection that would put the president of the United States to blush.

The Twenty-four-Hour Man.

Let me tell you. Before you were up the "twenty-four hour man," Tom Kelly, one of the men who precedes the show by just that number of hours, first appeared on the scene drove to the lot, looked it over, wired back to the show in its last stand and notified the manager that everything was all right. He also told in his telegram just where the show would unload, at the precise railway crossing, and whether the wagons should be loaded on the train with their poles towards the engine or otherwise, as it makes a great deal of difference when it comes to unloading, if there happens to be any obstacles In the way of letting the wagons down off the runs to clear the crossing.

The forage for the horses, animals and people has been ordered from the dealers, and that too has been delivered on the grounds so that no delay may occur in getting breakfast for a thousand or more hungry mouths. And they will be hungry, because none of them have had anything to eat since their early supper last night, before the cook tents were taken down, and they, with all the horse tents and other available material were loaded on the train so it would be out of the way when the "big top" and all the rest of the show property came down later.

At an early hour in the morning, perhaps about four o'clock, you might, have seen that same 24-hour-man at the crossing, where the show unloaded, to spot the train - that is, designate just where the cars were to stand, to facilitate the unloading thereof, and then to call the bosses and escort the boss canvasman and his crew to the show grounds. When there you might have seen this bunch of husky workmen, worn and weary from taking down the show last night, and who retired to their berths some time after midnight, up and at it so early in the morning. The lot surveyor - the boss canvasman, looks the situation over with a practiced eye, gives one of his assistants the end of a long tape line, then walks to the center of the field or open common, sticks an iron pin in the ground as a marker and starting point, and then commences to describe circles, or instructs the assistant to lead off in a given direction to stick another pin a certain number of feet away, and so on until the main tent is laid out. Then the group of men are distributed in different directions, with a foreman with each crew, who fully understands where each different tent should go, to best conform to the grounds after the front door and place for the side-show and refreshment stands have been located by the chief or superintendent, who has now, probably, arrived on the grounds.

The cook tent was the first thing loaded last night and it was the first thing off the runs this morning, and if you will watch the proceedings you will note that the ranges have been fired up while on the way to the lot, so that no time may be lost in preparing breakfast, as it will be necessary to feed from 600 to 700 persons within the next two hours, and sometimes this is accomplished within an hour from the time the cook wagon arrives on the ground.

The magical growth of this tremendous city, the street parade, the trend of the curious people who come and go, the glittering show itself, the tearing down at night and the hurried departure for the next town - all form a picture once seen never to be effaced from the memory. It you have not seen it, you have yet another interesting experience in store before you become quite blase. Come with me and I will show you the picture from the other side of the canvas, in all of its numerous and multi-colored phases, in all its lights and shadows. The curtain is up, the scene is set and Recreation City is all dressed in its holiday attire.

The Parade.

Hundreds of men are hurrying to and fro. Beautiful ladies and lovely children appear dressed in costly apparel. Handsome horses are hitched to gaudily painted wagons and chariots, proud, prancing stallions champ their bits and toss the foam of impatience upon their flowing manes. Huge elephants loaded down with heavy tapestry and bespangled coverings are hitched to massive tableau cars. Meek-eyed camels are placed in harness and mounted by real Bedouin Arabs from the Soudan. A shrill whistle resounds throughout the air and the inhabitants of Recreation City begin to move in perfect military order. Clash! bang! go the drums and cymbals, mammoth chariots suddenly transform themselves into musical temples, and a grand "concord of sweet sounds" burst upon the ear. Men, women and children rush into the streets, swarm the housetops and crowd the sidewalks. Glad shouts fill the air, for a day of rejoicing is at hand. The circus has come to town.

You may get on the door-sills or City Hall steps, or in the photographer's window, and see the procession pass. First comes the man who leads the parade - but he is not the man who owns the show, as most people suppose. Then comes the big band wagon with its great team of splendid horses. Following this sways a long line of mounted knights and ladies, armor-bearers, heralds, pages, etc., all plumed and regaled from top to toe. Cages, vans, loose-lead wild beasts, open dens, gigantic tableau cars, steam orchestrions, whose melodious symphonies thunder forth the music of twenty ordinary bands, pass in rapid succession. Herds of elephants, grotesque groupings, hippodrome chariots - with four horses abreast - such as the Romans used and Ben Hur drove to win his glory, the car of the Juggernaut, and various untold wonders lengthen out the column. Proud and haughty steeds, whose hoofs spurn the dust, go prancing by; strong and sinewy draft horses draw heavy gondolas lumberingly along. A pageant of gold and glitter, surpassing any Oriental spectacle, moves grandly through the crowded thoroughfares and back to Recreation City, which has now become a perfect sea of surging humanity, for while you were looking at the parade - the grand caravan of the conqueror, every highway leading to the magic city has been thronged with people, afoot and horse; in wagons and cart, and in these modern days, trolley, jitney and auto, who have traveled many miles to see this more than wondrous show, and many excursionists will curse the railways because they did not get their human freight in on time to see the great street parade.

At Lunch.

And now the fun begins.

While the performers are changing their wardrobe and the workmen are putting things to rights in the menagerie tent and under the big top, we will go over to the dining tent for lunch. It will be like a picnic for you. There, under the long, waving billows of canvas, in the shade, we will sit down to a repast to satisfy the most voracious appetite. You note the long rows of tables arranged in different sections of the cook tent. Each table for different rank and file, but all partaking of the same class of food and in the same order; no limit to the quantity and the quality is of the best that can be purchased in the local market.

We are seated and the waiter at our table has our order, therefore we can chat and watch the various members of the company file in. There they come. The brawny workman over to the right. The officers and heads of departments up at the end of our table. The performers, the ladies and gentlemen with their wives, daughters and sisters next in line, and the male members, the band and others over at the next rows of tables. There is no confusion, no hurry; everyone has his or her alloted place at each meal and they know that they will get all they can possibly eat. That is some satisfaction.

Having finished our luncheon, which you have already declared was equal it not superior to that of a first-class restaurant, without any of the frills of a tango tea, we will now inspect the "Camp," as the commissary department is known. As you arise from your seat you note that the plank or board upon which you have be en sitting rests upon wooden horses extending through under the table, which also rests on the same horses, at a higher elevation, and all of this weight, when the people are seated, serves to steady the tables and hold them firm. Looking around, you also observe that the "freaks" or side show attractions have a table all by themselves, over in one corner, as they consider their company quite exclusive, and prefer to be by themselves.

Just outside of the dining-tent are the cooking ranges, steam tables, steam boilers, great caldrons, swung over open fires and filled with soups, hot water and boiling meats or vegetables of various kinds to keep up the supply until the last hungry mouth is fed. The scene is quite novel and interesting. But we will now pass on to the front door. What a mass of humanity is there. The day is pleasant (if it don't rain) and everybody is assured of a good time, as every preparation for the comfort of visitors has been made, and the gates of Recreation City are always open to those who have a circus ticket in their hand.

The great Annex (vulgarly called a side show), is ready for inspection. Everybody should visit the side show or Annex. The price is small and the wonders to be seen are many - as you will see from the paintings on the outside; and in this connection the writer would suggest that each individual provide himself with enough extra change to see them through and not experience the confusing conditions that I have witnessed in my time. For instance, I recall an incident that occurred down in the Indian Territory, many years ago, which was both unpleasant and painful. All the Indians for hundreds of miles around came to Recreation City to see the sights, and, having had about two months' notice in which to prepare for the event of their lives, they all came with just the price of admission ($1), nicely tied up in the corner of their shirt.

The Annex opened and Lo, the poor Indian, opened his bank. The Annex did a thriving business, but when the reception was held in the main hall, or big show, Mr. Lo had just 75 cents left with which he negotiated at the ticket wagon for a card of admission. Our otherwise obliging treasurer spurned the proposition. Soon a dusky cloud gathered at the main entrance. Admittance was refused and the cloud grew still darker; in fact it began to look like a thunder-storm. Finally a half-breed got an audience with the manager and gave him to understand that every son of the forest - I was about to say every son-of-a-gun - had exactly 75 cents cash on hand, and that the other 25 cents had been taken at the Annex. The interpreter further stated that unless the "untutored children" were admitted there would be a high old time. A special ticket vender was sent to wait upon the dusky gathering without delay. Later on they were all seated around the ring banks on their haunches, smoking the pipe of peace and watching the circus. This is worth remembering if you are short of change.

As to Tickets.

The gates of the city are now open. Pass inside if you nave a ticket. "Everybody must have a ticket," says the man at the door. We will pass through the shoots and I will give the man the high sign as we step one side to converse with the manager and get some coupons for the reserved seats, so that we can take our time in looking through the menagerie, but before doing so let us wait a minute at the entrance to see how they handle the crowd and deal with some of the problems as they arise.

There are four entrances and as many ticket takers, and behind them stand as many helpers. What for, do you ask? Watch and see. There comes a whole family, from father and mother down to the youngest of the lot, and as you will notice father is carrying the youngest, who is a boy big enough to be plowing corn, and probably does when he is at home, but here at the circus he is their "baby," with legs so long his feet are dragging on the ground while his arms are wrapped around his dad's neck.

"Five whole and one half," cries the ticket taker, and passes the tickets along to the helper, who takes the party to one side and explains that he will have to collect for that boy - 25 cents, please. What for? Why he is over age. The whole durned family becomes indignant. "What on 'arth are you talking about? Why that boy is only four years old going on five. I never paid for him before, and when your durned show was here last year you tried to collect for him just as you are doing now. I won't stand for it, b'gosh!"

Oh, yes you will, says the body snatcher, as the kidnapper is sometimes called, and if you say anything more about it I will charge you for getting away with it last season; so take your tickets and get your money back at the ticket wagon, or settle for the boy and go right in." This usually settles the argument in that case, but if you will watch the proceedings a little further you will see some hard-fought battles on this point.

It is surprising to see what men and women - and women are the worst - will do to get into a show for nothing. The falsehoods told on show day in this respect are appalling and well worth the attention of Billy Sunday. How parents can teach their children to lie in the face of a multitude is past all understanding, and if you will listen you will hear some of the most solemn oaths taken that a child is several years younger than it really is, or that a daughter old enough to marry is still under the circus limit of nine years of age. But that is a momentary occurrence. Let us pass on into the big top.

Inside at last! Bewildering land of wonders! A mighty union of all that is marvelous! Look about you. There stands the long line of open dens of wild and carnivorous animals that it would not be safe to allow in the open, all arranged around the side walls of the canvas, with heavy guard ropes to protect or rather prevent the audience from getting too close. Down through the center more docile and bigger animals are lined up in the most attractive manner and carefully guarded by their keepers. It is here that you may well hesitate in spell-bound delight and look around upon the vast gathering in happy reunion. Old-time friends will clasp hands, exchange greetings and say, "Howd'y?" Well, for land's sakes, what do you think of this? Well, this just beats all, etc., etc., and so-forth, and so-on."

The Main Performance.

Careful observation will show that everybody within reasonable distance of Recreation City is here today, You will meet scores of people whom you have not seen for ages. You may have lost sight of some of your old friends and thought them dead or moved away, but you will find them at the circus. Whole schools of happy children will be seen grouped about some special object; old men with their wives or daughters, young men and their sweethearts, mothers and their children, are all hurrying hither and thither. Now and then you will see some fair young lady leading a sweet-faced child from place to place - but she is not its mother. The lady never had a child of her own, in fact, she never was married, but she deliberately borrowed that lovely little fellow to take to the circus. It is a fact. Such schemes are often put in practice in Recreation City.

But time is precious. The band has already played three overtures. The great tent is crowded to suffocation. Let us go in. What a sea of up-turned faces. "Ting-a-ling" goes the director's bell. The curtain is thrown aside and wonderland itself laid bare. All dreams of the Orient pale before this vision. The whole arena is full of wonderful sights. The rings, the stages, the great concourse is ablaze with a perfect panoply of glittering splendor. No crowned conquerer ever beheld a more beautiful sight. Tons of gold and silver lace and spangles flash forth a perfect blaze of scintillating fire. But all things must have an end, and so does this outburst of glory.

To follow everything in detail is to rob you of a thousand anticipated pleasures. The performance has begun, and one novelty follows the other in rapid succession. To make your visit all the more interesting I will take you back to the dressing rooms, to the saddling paddock, the greenroom of the circus, where all the artists congregate, where the performers assemble and make up for their various acts.

The Saddling Paddock.

Here we are at the stage entrance, as it were, where the artists make their entrances and their exits. One set of performers are all dressed and ready for the next number on the program, standing in line waiting for the signal to go on or in, and many of them who must reach the extreme end of the great canvas are well on their way to their allotted location, so that no wait or delay may occur. Others are chatting at the entrance and they greet us pleasantly. The fair equestrienne greets us with a pleasant word and a smile. A grotesque clown passes a word of recognition and we wander on to the dressing rooms, where we may not enter except by permission, to look in and see the long rows of trunks, wardrobe baskets, dressing stools and improvised tables on the tops of trunks and suspended from ropes strung from poles, and to which the discarded clothes or wardrobe are hung. It is a busy scene and one to which but few are ever admitted. Therefore we will retrace our steps.

Perhaps you would prefer to sit here on a wardrobe box just outside the dressing room and in full view of all performers, ladies and gentlemen; also the mettlesome horses, as they make their exits and entrances to and from the arena?

Look out! There comes a string of race horses on a dead run! Get over here in the corner, out of the way, and see a groom catch each horse by the bit and in a jiffy unhitch, cast off the reins and lead the fractious steeds away, while another set of performers rush into the rings for the next number.

As you have been told in a previous chapter, all the male and female performers must pass through this portion of the dressing-room or saddling paddock. We see here a happy, contented, polite family of all nations, yet affable to each other, and quite different from the show folks of tradition. Only a piece of canvas separates us from the dressing-rooms and a similar strip forms a partition between the men and women, still no word is ever uttered that could not, with propriety, be spoken in the presence of each other.

There stands a group of aerial artists all clad in silk fleshings that fit like their skin, to display every nerve and sinew, with knotted muscles, veins and ligaments standing out like whipcords, or in graceful curves like marble statues. They are a family of husbands, wives, brothers and sisters or cousins and have been trained to the business since childhood. They are waiting for their turn on the trapeze and this is your opportunity to see them at close range in repose, as they really are. When they return from their act, beaded with perspiration, heaving breasts, panting sides and quivering flesh, you will then understand the strenuous lives they must lead to withstand these tests of strength and endurance twice every day.

While the aerialists are doing their act I will introduce you to Ernest, the clown, a fellow of whom Shakespeare said came from a class "wise enough to play the fool," and when it is known that this particular jester was born of circus parents, cradled in a wardrobe basket, educated between acts, and has traveled all over the world, playing with every circus of note in London, Paris, Berlin, Rome, Moscow, St. Petersburg and in all other cities on the Eastern Hemisphere, as a dancer, somersault rider, gymnast, acrobat, leaper and clown, and while doing so became a noted artist in paints and oil whose works now hang in many prominent homes and galleries, it will be easy to see that even clowns are quite busy at something besides playing the fool.

Now and then you will see a man or woman come limping, bruised or bleeding into the dressing-tent, to be examined by the staff physician, they having slipped or missed their calculation by a hair's breadth, or been trampled upon by a spirited horse in one of the acts. The wounds are quickly dressed. Eager groups looking on, all anxious to render assistance or first aid to the injured. Perhaps the limping artist essays another act before the performance is over. It takes pluck and courage to undertake such dangerous feats at best, and something akin to heroism to face danger in a disabled condition. But the best riders and greatest gymnasts, most expert acrobats, often meet with mishaps and it is not unusual to see a star performer carried from the ring into the dressing-room, a mangled, limp or lifeless body, while the performance goes on to the end without the audience knowing anything of the fatality.

"All over!" we hear the master of ceremonies cry, and while the performers are changing themselves back to just common people in plain clothes, we will walk over to the horse tents or great stables, where we will find a genuine horse fair, greater than Rosa Bonheur ever painted, and all of the world’s best breeds, of all styles and form. Under the stable tents, arranged in classified order as to size, color and usefulness - that is the ring stock in one tent and the heavy baggage stock in another all in alignment, with the blacks, the greys, whites and bays, in a row, facing towards the side wall on the outer line all the way around the canvas, and two rows facing to the center so that wide promenades or space to handle the stock, is left down both sides. Here the grooms take particular pride in keeping their charges in the best condition, and there is always a great deal of rivalry as to who shall get the largest or best rations or softest bedding for their stock, and then they vie with each other to see which horse shall be groomed the best or come into the ring with mane and tail nicely done up with ribbons and waving curls like a young lady's coiffure to best suit the garb of the fair rider, These are the ethics of the horse tent.

Wending our way back through the grounds we see groups of performers of all classes hurrying to and from the cook tent, for dinner is now being served, as you will note from the red flag that is flying from the topmost center pole of that resort, with the announcement of "now open" thereon. Having partaken of a substantial meal they then have a few hours for rest and recreation, between matinee and night, and the most of them will improve this opportunity by writing letters home or to distant friends, others by sewing, reading or little social gatherings, some simple sports or other pastimes to fill the interval, and should a waterway be at hand, boating, fishing or bathing is a favorite recreation.

Packing Up.

As soon as dinner is over the act of taking down and packing up the outfit commences, and with the same mechanical precision every stake, pole chain and what not is gathered or laid in line so that nothing may be missed, just as it was laid out on the grounds in the morning, and when the great wagons are loaded nothing is left behind but the holes where the stakes were driven.

The systematic manner in which the great show is handled and the high discipline form one of the most interesting features of the combination. Before the night performance begins preparations are made to pack up and busy men may be seen pulling stakes winding up loose ropes, putting cage doors in place, turning the front wheels of the cages outwards so that the poles to which the teams are to be hitched can be easily inserted and made fast when wanted. When the performance commences the front door or "marquee" is taken down and in the meantime a doorkeeper has been established at the fly or entrance to the big top, and the balance of the tickets are taken there, while the canvasmen proceed to take out all the poles that can be spared from the menagerie top until just enough remains to hold it in place.

When the side walls of canvas fall you will see a four, six or eight-horse team hitched to each of the cages or heavy vans standing in the menagerie and at a word from the boss to "Go ahead" wagon No. 1 will move off with each consecutive number following in regular rotation and order. The loose or lead animals, such as the elephants, camels and all of the beasts that can be handled in leash, are taken away, leaving a clear field. As the last wagon leaves the tent all lights are put out all a husky voice cries, "Lower away!"

Down comes the top of the canvas, sinking slowly, to relieve the strain on the remaining poles, until they, too, are taken out of their sockets. Then comes the command of "Let her go" as the great balloon-like canvas floats upon the imprisoned air, causing it to rise and fall like a billowy sea, with huge sighs and bated breath, growing more and more feeble with each expiring effort, like some awful monster in the last throes of dissolution, then to lie flat and still. With one bound the bronzed riggers, lacers and canvasmen leap upon the fallen monster, divide it into sections, roll it up into so many shapeless bundles, which are placed in the wagons for that purpose, as the tall center poles are lowered away and the last remnants of the menagerie top disappears.

The cook tent, horse tents and the menagerie outfit is now on the way to the show trains, or have been partly loaded by this time, and the first section, or what is known as "The Flying Squadron," will soon be on its journey to the next show stand to prepare for the next day, while the performance is still going on, and the moment the last act is finished a myriad of workmen will pounce upon the big top like mad men, and in a brief thirty minutes all will be as quiet as the grave in Recreation City.

The last visitors to depart will look about them in a dazed sort of way - first at the sky, to get their bearings; then at the place where the menagerie stood when they went in, then again into the clouds or over the dark grounds, as though they expected to find the elephants floating through the air or gone the other way and left a hole somewhere leading to the bottomless pit, into which they might also fall.

In the meantime the performers of all classes, male and female, as fast as their acts are finished, departed for the cars where they are to sleep. They are tired and weary, and then, too, they have only a few moments before the cars on which they travel will be shunted out of the way, and the rules of the show make it imperative that they must be in bed at certain hours or suffer a fine. Therefore, it may be assumed that there is no loitering by the wayside.

On the Show Train.

We, too, will take an auto and rush to the crossing where the show is being loaded. On the way we note that at each corner where the wagons are to turn there is a bright torch burning, either at the right or left, and this indicates which direction we are to turn to reach our destination - the show trains. By this system of signals these strange people in a strange city never get lost so long as the torches are trimmed and burning.

At the crossing the commissary department has spread a night lunch for those who may want some light refreshments before they retire, and as the place of loading is usually quite remote from the passenger station or any restaurants, this precaution is very essential for the comfort of the professional people, and we will line up with them at the lunch stand with its flaring naphtha lights, and get a sandwich, coffee or pie or cold meats. Here you will see the high, the low, the merry, the humble, everybody from the high-salaried to the low-waged workman, all joined in a midnight feast that means more to them than a night on Broadway.

As we lunch, taking our coffee standing, we observe the large heavy wagons being drawn up on the cars by horses and a block and fall, while a single man guides the course of the heavy vehicle by its pole, and this too, requires both skill and power, as I have seen these "polers," as they are called, thrown from their footing by a sudden swing of the pole, when one of the wheels would strike an obstacle, and hurled from the run with the velocity of a catapault to instant death. One by one we see these wagons run over the entire length of the show train, each one resting in its alloted place, until the last car is filled and the last wagon on the train.

The "razor-backs," that is the trainmen who load the trains, now pull up the runways, take in the timbers, signal to the yardmen that all is clear and the engines are coupled onto the trains.

We have a reservation in one of the cars on the workman's section, as that is the first of these trains that will pull out of the yard. It is the last train loaded, as it contains the key to the whole situation, and must be the first train unloaded, if the "flying squadron" is out of the way when it arrives in the next town. Tonight we have a compartment all to ourselves, thanks to one of the bosses who has kindly made this provision for our comfort, but you will first note that these cars are divided into different compartments, some of them three tiers high, for the workmen, and others like ours, two tiers high, with berths wide enough for two people, and fixed stationary, with drawers under each berth to keep the clothes in good shape, while at either end of the cars are lavatories, thus providing every convenience.

Watchmen accompany each train in addition to the train crew, therefore we can safely go to bed and sleep the sleep of the righteous, if we have nothing else on our mind. There goes the whistle. "Off brakes." A clash and a bang and away we go. It is a good four-hour run to the next show stand, and we have had to stop for coal and water, and perhaps for train orders, once or twice, but we were too sleepy to notice it, and the first thing we know we hear the trainmen unloading in the next town, where Recreation City will again be built.

Adieu.

You have now seen the magic city rise and fall; you have lived for a day and a night with the people who form the circus; you have eaten with them, slept with them on the trains, met the managers and the bosses, talked with the performers themselves, seen the animal trainers, acrobats, riders, ticket sellers and ticket takers in their different vocations, and been a part and parcel of the show from start to finish, everything except to endure its hardships and draw your salary. As that depends upon your ability to make good, and fall in line at the ticket wagon on salary day, sign the pay roll, and leave the holdback in the hands of the treasurer as a guarantee of good behavior, we will bid you good-bye, and farewell to Recreation City.

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