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Eight years ago, I opened a new chapter in my life when I made up my mind to become a clown. I had been inspired by a performer with Ringling Bros., whose work I greatly admired. His makeup and outfit were simple and reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin and Harpo Marx, two childhood heroes of mine. Over the next several years, I never missed his show when the circus came to Boston, and he would meet with me and my wife and our two boys after the performances.
His clowning was warm and human, and his smallest facial expressions and slightest body movements would evoke laughter from people of all generations. He brought families together in laughter, and I envied him for that ability.
My wife was reluctant to accept my decision at first, and she earnestly hoped that this was a phase I would grow out of. I was a busy pediatric neurologist with a burgeoning private practice, and was also helping raise two children of my own. But my interest was piqued, and I wanted to find out more about the ancient art of making people laugh.
As a neurologist, I recommend stress reduction as part of the treatment plan for many health problems. Many of us in the medical field know intrinsically that humor and laughter play an important role in reducing stress and coping with illness. But how often do we purposefully integrate humor into our professional life? I was intent on incorporating clowning into my life as a doctor.
Before embarking on clowning, I reviewed all the available medical literature; there is much written on the role of humor and clowning in medical care. Studies have shown that humans exhibit beneficial physiologic responses to laughter, including a reduction in the level of stress hormones, pain and blood pressure, as well as better immunity. Psychological improvements have been shown in mood and creativity. Humor is also extremely valuable in the workplace, and the medical literature confirmed my suspicions: People tend to be more productive, cooperative and flexible when they have fun at work.
To learn the trade, I hunkered down with biographies of famous theatrical clowns, watched tons of old clown movies and studied the performers. When I first started clowning for children with neurologic disorders. I worried I’d totally bomb—or worse—just look like a complete dork. But of course, the kids received me with open arms. After I evoked the first belly laugh from a kid, I was hooked.
Most of what I do is simple stuff—a funny face, a silly walk. I do what I call grandpa jokes—the “got your nose” stuff your grandfather used to do to make you laugh. And I make sure to always have an impressive magic trick on hand. Most of all, I try to look physically funny. My clown shoes are handmade by a local family that makes the shoes for most of the professional American circus clowns; they’re the most expensive shoes I own! And kids love them because they’re big and fun to step on.
In 2005, I joined Children’s Hospital Boston at Peabody as a staff pediatric neurologist, and found myself in the company of some very talented clowns. Relatively few clown doctors are actually physicians. Most are professional clowns, like ours at Children’s, who’ve had special training to work with seriously ill patients and families. These clowns bring a needed dose of humanity and art to the hospital environment, which is usually so serious and science-oriented. They help transform the feeling inside the hospital from one of sterility and strangeness to one of fun and wonder.
The Children’s clowns don’t have to worry about me as competition. In addition to being nowhere near as talented as they are, I also don’t formally clown with patients at Children’s. Instead, it’s in my spare time when I don the light makeup, red nose and ill-fitting clothes to make children and their families laugh.
As both a doctor and a clown, I’m a bit of a rarity, but I’ve found the two career choices complement each other perfectly. My medical training helps my clowning, as I’m armed with a deep understanding of the ailments my audience may be suffering from. And my clowning informs my medical care giving: I often use my sense of humor to ease patients’ tension when they visit me as a physician.
I feel lucky to be able to use both my talents to help patients. As a clown, even though I don’t hold the power to cure, my work is healing. By providing distraction, evoking laughter and catharsis and giving psychological support, I help boost patients’ moods and motivation. The kids I see are the most wonderful audience. My hope is, always, to transport them away from their situation, if only briefly. If I can get a child to laugh, it makes her situation less frightening. And hearing a sick child laugh at my antics is music to this clown’s ears.
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