Alive! That certainly describes the inimitable Capt. Don Leslie, even as he lies flat on his back, fighting the terrible cancer that ravages his jaw, throat and larynx. Even as I write this, the Captain fights bravely with whip and chair.

"Alive" was the single, most important word in circus sideshow jargon. It was tacked onto the huge, colorful canvas posters that trumpeted the bazarre and unusual acts that tempted crowds just off the midway. Snake charmers, two-headed cows, fat ladies, belly dancers and harem girls. "Come one, come all," cried the outside talkers.

But the public grew wary. Often, all was not as advertised. A "Devil Man," once inside and the ticket purchased, was merely a pickled fruit bat in a bottle. A "Two-Headed Baby" was some dried-up roadkill pasted together with electrical tape and chicken feathers.

In order to lure a doubtful public and free them of their pocket change, the circus tried a new tactic: they substituted the real thing and guaranteed it, of sorts, by adding the word "alive" to the posters. In other words, "alive" implied you were going to see, not a fake or shoddy imitation, but the real deal. Capt. Don Leslie is definitely the real deal.

I cherish every time I met the man. I joyfully recall dozens of colorful and unforgettable stories about him. In fact, I have an anecdote from practically every visit we shared together. One especially comes to mind.

A few years ago, my illustrator, Bruce Litz, and I were visiting a tattoo event in Nashville, Tennessee. A featured part of the entertainment was a mini-sideshow presentation featuring the one and only Capt. Don Leslie.

As was his habit, Capt. Don would do an hour or so presentation, swallowing swords, spitting out a couple of enormous fireballs and hammering several ten-penny nails into his nostrils with a hammer. All framed, of course, within his hilarious, low-key banter and anecdotes from many years with the traveling circus. It was good to see Capt. Don as part of a tattoo event. After all, the circus was a seminal birthplace for American tattooing, and Capt. Don was, unquestionably, our most precious link to that tradition.

Well, because the attending crowd wasn't very familiar with his name or didn't know what an absolutely amazing show it was, very few people had bought tickets to the curtained-off area, where Don was getting ready to perform for 40 or so empty chairs.

No one really knew what to do. Except for Bruce Litz, that is. Having been a sideshow barker in his day, Litz immediately teamed up with Capt. Don, drew up an eye-catching poster on butcher paper and positioned himself adjacent to the performance area, waving his arms dramatically and chanting the familiar call of "Come one, come all" to the passersby.

"See the world champion, Guinness Book of World Records sword swallower," he barked. "Capt. Don Leslie, on stage for your immediate viewing pleasure. See the Human Blockhead. Watch him insert razor-sharp safety pins into his body. Never before in Nashville, see the Human Volcano breathe explosive balls of incendiary fire from his mouth. Step up, ladies and gentlemen. Hurry up while tickets last. It's the one, the only Capt. Don Leslie. Live and in person!"

Within minutes, the tent was packed. And the next four shows were completely sold out.

I'll never forget the heart-stopping closeness to that thrilling and wonderful moment. It, like the one, the only Capt. Don Leslie, will live in my memory forever.

Bob Baxter
Editor in Chief

baxter@skin&ink.com
www.skinandink.com