Phillip Gomez / PVT A big fan of best-selling author Rick Warren and the "purpose-driven life," Fred the Clown's purpose is lifting spirits. Advertisement

The first seven days of August have been set aside for the annual recognition of International Clown Week, proclaimed by President Richard Nixon and a joint resolution of Congress in 1971 to call public attention to the charitable activities of clowns and the wholesome entertainment they provide.

Even the Pahrump Town Board recently paid clowns their due, officially designating the week in honor of those who "lift the spirits and boost the morale of our people," as Nixon said in his proclamation.

Near the corner of Vicki Ann and Manse roads in Pahrump, you can't miss Fred the Clown's house. It's the one with all the American flags flying in the breeze like pennants on a Big Top circus tent.

Even Fred's front yard, with its unpaved, circular driveway, looks like a sawdust circus arena. Hand-painted Biblical messages adorn posted signs everywhere, murals of circus scenes grace the walls of outbuildings, and inside the house a riot of trinkets, posters, stuffed toy animals, toy clowns, clown books, clown paraphernalia and clown costumes greets the eye.

Everything proclaims the place as the opposite of run-of-the-mill and the humdrum. The circus has come to town -- "the splendidest sight that ever was," according to the view expressed by Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn.

"I fly flags all the time, since the war," says Fred, who is 83. A daring young man, Fred was a World War II paratrooper with the 101st Airborne "Screaming Eagles" Division, seeing combat at Bastogne, Belgium, during the 1944-45 Battle of the Bulge.

But his business card today reads humbly, "Fred Schmitt, Evangelist." On the reverse side it says not so humbly, "Von Frederick Enterprises" and "Circus of the Universe -- with the vision of the grace of God, starring Fred the Clown & Lady Kitty Kitty."

Just the night before he was interviewed, he had gone to the Saddle West Casino to see the free weekend show and dance to old tunes of the 1950s and 60s. Even in his wheelchair, Fred said he danced with four ladies at once.

"You'd have to see it to believe it," he says excitedly. Referring to the troupe that performed, he adds, "This tour here knows how to dance."

Dancing and clowning -- both of which require a nimble mind -- are in Fred's blood. "I've been dancing from the time I was this high," he says, holding up his hand to wheelchair height. "I became very, very good. I danced halfway 'round the world. I've done it."

Fred lost his right leg a couple of years ago, ironically due to poor blood circulation from a lifetime of smoking cigarettes. Before that, however, he led an active life in a number of risky occupations: paratrooper in the war; large tree trimmer hanging off limbs; and rock driller and dynamiter, perilously hanging from the face of canyon walls during the construction of Glen Canyon Dam in the 1960s.

"In other words, I've always been up in the air," he says nonchalantly.

Fred's real self-identity, however, is as a professional circus clown, a career that has preoccupied him off and on throughout his life.

"When I was a young kid, with two other brothers we made miniature circuses, with the bleacher seats and all," he says. "The kids would come for one-cent admission to see our show. The whole backyard would be full of circus wagons made out of wooden fruit boxes. That was the start."

Fred was born and grew up in Cairo, Ill., where the Ohio and the Mississippi rivers meet. He well remembers when the circus would come to town. "The big shows would come there," he says. Movie-star cowboy Tom Mix brought his own circus once. "He was big," says Fred. "He had a horse called Tony, and the horse was famous. That was a three-ring circus. He would ride his horse around the arena sideways."

Circus was a 19th-century, essentially American entertainment for the masses that always included horses and trick riders and elephants. The ringmaster, the horse rider and the clown made up the triumvirate that was the core of any traveling circus.

Fred remembers his mother taking him at a young age across the railroad tracks to watch the circus tents being set up. They would spend hours watching workmen unload canvas tents from the train cars and erect them on the show grounds. "There were a lot of flags," he says, fondly remembering the times.

The parade was the signal event of the arrival of the circus, says Fred. "They would have a big street parade. It was part of the circus. They would have a show in the morning, a show in the afternoon and one in the evening."

Fred went to the show with his mother and brothers, he says. It cost a nickel or 10 cents to get in, depending on the seat location.

"I probably know more and have seen more circuses than most people have," Fred says. "I ran off with one when I was a kid."

(Fred's story continues Friday.)