Professional clowning is serious business

If slathering on face paint, dressing up in a wacky costume and venturing out into the public eye to construct balloon animals doesn’t seem like an ideal way of living, than you probably wouldn’t make a very successful clown.

Professional clowning is all about letting your hair down (or pinning on a wig) and getting in touch with your inner child. Shy, introverted types don’t really fit the mold. Anyone who fears what other might people think doesn’t stand a chance either.

Photo by Ryan Morrill
Sari Mcgovern helps SandPaper writer
Kelley Anne Essinger put her clown face on.

Though clowning isn’t normally a profession (or a journalistic assignment) many people undertake, it’s certainly a fun way to spend a day of work. Having an artistic background usually helps the cause: No one wants to walk away from a face painting looking like a clown themselves, and you probably wouldn’t score many more gigs after everyone sees your “talent.”

But Sari Mcgovern of Manahawkin, better known as Sprinkles the Clown, believes practice makes perfect. Although she grew up in an artistic family, she didn’t exactly know how to create balloon animals five years ago when she decided to start working as a clown.

“I suggested she do a trial run in a different town,” joked Mcgovern’s husband, Sean. “I didn’t know what to expect or what exactly she was diving into. My own recollection of past clowns popped into my head, and I wasn’t really crazy about clowns as a kid. But I know she’s awesome with kids, so it was a natural thing for her to suggest,” he added.

Mcgovern isn’t the type to feel embarrassed about acting silly in front of strangers – a prerequisite for clowning. As a former preschool owner, and now a mother of two, she said taking on clowning gigs has made perfect sense for her.

“I just thought, ‘Maybe I’ll be a clown.’ Don’t you ever just have those thoughts?” she said, chuckling. “I love kids. I love seeing their faces and forming relationships with them and making them smile. I love when they see their faces, after I’ve painted them, and the look of amazement they get. I live for that,” she added.

Although Mcgovern sometimes loses herself in the moment, getting silly with the children or adults she’s entertaining, she said she sometimes has to take it down a notch when others get too frightened.

Photo by Ryan Morrill
is that a mini me?

“A lot of people are afraid of clowns, especially little kids,” said Mcgovern. “If a little girl or a little boy is feeling apprehensive, I try to get down on my knees so I’m on their level. I try to show them that I’m a real person, too. I tell them that I’m a mommy and that I like kittens. At the end of the day, they’re usually the ones with the most paint on their faces. They usually end up really enjoying themselves,” she added.

Unlike Sprinkles, the clown name Mcgovern took after entertaining at Sweet Scoops, an ice cream shop in Beach Haven Crest on Long Beach Island, I don’t really have too much experience working with children. Fortunately, I have plenty experience acting a fool, which often saved me from sheer mortification on Saturday evening at Beyond Ice Cream in Beach Haven West, when I dressed up as Sprinkles’ sidekick, Buttercup – a nickname my parents had given me as a young girl.

“They knew exactly what your clown name would be,” Mcgovern said, giggling.

Using professional-grade face paint, a palette that consisted of the usual colors, such as blue and green, and multicolored swatches, Mcgovern dolled herself up with rainbow eyebrows, a cute pink nose, big red freckles and cherry red lips. After slipping blue and red pom-poms into her hair and sanitizing her just-used brushes, she helped me put my face on.

“You have to be careful with face painting because many parents don’t care if their kids are sick or have an open wound,” Mcgovern said. “If they have a blemish or something, you try to get creative and paint around it. But I can’t paint your kid if they have the chicken pox,” she added.

Though I wasn’t sick, I sure hoped Mcgovern would paint over my blemishes.

For my look, I wanted to mimic a more traditional clown. I felt the exaggerated lines gliding across my face as Mcgovern dabbed on big rosy, pink cheeks, white bushy eyebrows, a luscious red pout and a sprinkle of glitter to my nose while I sat without a mirror, wondering what the heck I looked like. When I finally saw my reflection, I immediately busted out laughing. She nailed it!

Naturally, we also needed funky costumes. Mcgovern let me borrow one of hers – a bright green and orange, polka dot hoop-dress with green-checkered sleeves and furry green trim. I also slipped on a pair of bright orange bloomers and giant rainbow clown shoes.

Photo by Ryan Morrill
Sprinkles the Clown helps Samantha
Sabatiel, 6, of Beach Haven West create
a sand art treasure to take home.

After checking our teeth for lipstick and packing the car, I suddenly felt a surge of panic: What will other people think of us when they see us driving around in the car? The anxiety having ceased, I waved furiously, with Mcgovern’s encouragement, at each person we passed. Most people waved back, but only some seemed happy to see us. Others appeared shocked and horrified. We laughed until our cheeks and our stomachs ached.

By the time we arrived at Beyond Ice Cream at 6:45 p.m., I had already started getting hot flashes. Granted, it was 80 degrees outside, and I was covered head to toe in makeup and polyester.

“If your face gets itchy, just tap it. Don’t smear your makeup,” Mcgovern reminded me.

Lugging all of the evening’s equipment – tables, chairs, buckets of seashells, sand art, face paint, brushes, tattoos and a portable balloon inflator – didn’t make things any easier. Mcgovern must work out; I don’t know how she manages to carry all of those supplies during regular gigs, without any of my help.

As the crowds came in, flocks of kids rushed over to greet Mcgovern, who has been working every week at the ice cream shop for the past five years. She called them all by first name, hugged them tightly and asked about their summers.

“Sprinkles is fantastic,” said Sharon Frangipani, owner of Beyond Ice Cream and Bagels and Beyond. “Everyone knows her and looks forward to seeing her. It’s like a summer tradition for people in Beach Haven West. She’s the kindest, sweetest clown, but her real skill is artistry.”

“She remembers everyone’s name and what they like to have painted. She’s not like a murder clown,” added Frangipani’s niece, Brooke Ingram, 10, of Manahawkin.

Still holding on to Mcgovern’s waist, the children mostly gave me a sideways glance. I tried to greet them with my best clown salutation. I really poured it on for those kids, crouching down, though not too much since many of the kids were already my size. I quickly realized that, except for a good, old-fashioned press-on tattoo, I didn’t have much else to offer. I’m no artist (you should see my stick figures), so I couldn’t offer to paint their faces, and I certainly couldn’t make any balloon animals, though it definitely looked like something I’d be interested in learning.

No one really wanted to paint a seashell unless someone else painted with them, and parents wouldn’t normally let their children play with the sand art because it wasn’t free. I tried to offer jokes, but nobody wanted to hear them, which is a probably a good thing because I couldn’t actually think of any. Needless to say, I wasn’t really turning out to be a very good clown.

I was actually feeling pretty sorry for myself (maybe I was a real clown, after all) when I decided to do the only thing I knew how – a cartwheel. I must have done 10 of them throughout the course of the night, my hoop dress coming up over my head and my big shoes flopping in midair, as I tried to secure my own feelings of failure and begged others to clap and cheer for me (maybe I was confusing “clown” with “circus monkey”). I also brushed up on my Hula-Hoop skills and tried to get others to join me in a contest.

Eventually I made a friend. Samantha Sabatiel, 6, of Beach Haven West was all decked out in pink, a glittery rainbow spreading down her left arm, when I talked her into applying two press-on tattoos to her bare right arm. After that, it was onto shell painting and even sand art. She stuck around for a while, playing jump rope with her parents, before it was time for her to leave. Waving goodbye, I asked her if she wanted to be a clown when she grew up. 

“Maybe,” she answered.

As the night went on, more and more kids showed up. They came in clusters as their parents gabbed amongst each other, eating ice cream and answering cries of “Mom!” and “Dad!”

As Mcgovern kept it cool, painting faces and creating balloon animals, I tried to manage the dirty paint water and make sure the kids playing with the sand art weren’t mixing the colors or bullying each other.

Suddenly, I realized I was babysitting. I was a funny-looking babysitter wearing a silly getup, and I couldn’t even remember any of the kids’ names. Now I was a bad babysitter.

It was hectic, but I’m happy to say that I only saw one minor tantrum. Whether or not a friendly dog tried to eat my clown costume is something you’ll have to ask my cousin who also paid me a visit.

At the end of the night, Mcgovern’s husband and their two kids, Mikaela, 10, and Kelsea, 3, joined us for ice cream and helped us pack everything back into the car. Kelsea looked at me with hesitation, probably wondering why I was trying to take over her mother’s job. She didn’t really warm up to me, even when I changed into my original outfit and washed off all my makeup. I guess you can’t win them all.

— Kelley Anne Essinger

This article was published in The SandPaper.