R.I.P.
“PERRI THE HOBO”
1951 – 2003
French Quarter clown found
dead in Boston apartment
|
This article was based on a lengthy videotaped interview with Perry Rickman on May 31, 2000. Upon his death in 2003, it was learned that Rickman was a habitual liar. Most everything written in this article was discovered to be false. |
Rebel
Without A Clue
Perri the Hobo was born Perry Rlickman in Bluefield, West Virginia in 1951. He was the son of Annabell Belton and Frederick Marshall Rlickman, and the second youngest of four boys and three girls. His parents were Jewish, and fled Stuttgart, Germany in 1938 during World War II. His mother was a doctor, and his father, a musician. In America, Frederick signed up with the military and went into duty during the Korean War in order to obtain his citizenship, but died in battle. He left Annabell to raise seven children alone. “I loved my mom, but I didn’t like her as a human being,” Perri told me from the back patio of La Marquise Pastry Shop. Perri refused to be photographed or interviewed without his clown make-up on, which makes him look as if he’s smiling. “Some of the things she did to us would probably have been considered child abuse these days. If one of us did something wrong and nobody admitted to it, we’d all start getting whippings ‘til one of us would cop to it. I remember I copped a couple of times to something I didn’t even do to keep from seeing my sister getting a whipping.”
The Rlickman’s lived on a
20-acre farm. Perri remembers his
mother taking pride in making sure all her children were well dressed. They were also well fed.
When Annabel made house calls to deliver babies, she was often paid in
food. One day, Perri might notice a
new cow in the yard, or a sack of potatoes left at the door.
In the early 60s, one of Perri’s favorite television shows was “First Lieutenant.” The excitement and adventure of the Marines seemed to be a good way to get out of his depressing small town. “I think a lot of people up in West Virginia, they graduate from high school, and they go straight to the coal mines. And they work there for forty years and then they die.” Perri, who was always a little rebellious, didn’t want that kind of life, so after high school, he joined the Marine Corps and found himself serving in the Vietnam War as a guard. He did four years in the Marines, and then went to Wayne State University in Michigan on the G.I. Bill to become a machinist/engineer.
Perri got married in 1971and had two boys, and a daughter who died at birth. His oldest boy is now an oil hand, and his youngest is a college student in Gainesville.
Perri always wanted to entertain, but never found a way to make a living at it. He even did a stint at Disney World as “Chip” from Chip ‘N Dale. But the job didn’t pan out. So Perri went to work for Bosch in South Carolina, and then Texas Instruments in Houston. “I was a machinist/engineer on the floor and then they promoted me to senior engineer and told me I had to stay in the office. And paperwork, I couldn’t handle the paperwork. It drove me bonkers.”
In
June of ’79, Perri and his family decided to drive to New Orleans for
vacation, and stay with a friend living in the Pontalba apartments on Jackson
Square. Over the weekend, they took in the French Quarter sites. Perri enjoyed
seeing the musicians and clowns performing on the streets.
“I’ve always played with the balloons and clownin’ since I was a
kid.” Perri often carried balloons and a costume with him on travels.
On the following Monday morning, he tried his hand at clowning on the
streets, and made $70 in four hours. He
returned to Houston seriously thinking about making a career move.
On
Halloween night of 1979, Perri dressed up as a clown for a costume contest held
at a local bar called The Name Drop in Houston, Texas.
To his surprise, he won the $400 bar tab.
“I got drunk a couple of nights off of it—That’s where the
‘hobo’ came in.” On that Halloween night, PERRI THE HOBO was born!
Perri was ready to make the move to New Orleans.
He was going to be a street clown in the French Quarter.
Although he’d make less money, he knew he’d be much happier. His wife
refused to move to New Orleans, but that didn’t stop Perri.
He moved anyway, and divorced her in 1980. “Society tells us we get one job, we work for the same
company for 40 years, and get a gold watch and a pension – that’s it.”
Perri
arrived in New Orleans and joined the odd family of street performers and
characters. He became acquainted
with Ruthie the Duck Lady, Pops, Chicken Man, David and Roselyn, and many
others. “My youngest son gave me
a name one day. He said, ‘Dad,
you’re a rebel without a clue.’ Instead
of without a cause, he said I was a rebel without a clue—It’s a
non-conformist type lifestyle. I
don’t have to punch in no clock. I
don’t have to be at work at no certain time."
Clownin’ on Jackson Square
Perri’s
act consists of horns, beeps, and whistles.
He grabs your attention, often by being very loud, and blows balloons
into different shaped animals or objects. Perri carries his trademark rubber
chicken on his waist, a prop inspired by the Marx Brothers.
At his side is a clown box decorated with his name, Perri the Hobo, in
big red letters. The box is filled
with his balloons and props. He
takes pride in his black pop-up top hat, which he buys new every year or so and
scuffs up for a little “character.” “An
old hat will make you more money than a new hat will,” he says.
He plays up to the kids and makes them laugh, but also can be a bit
risque with the adults. One
store-bought trick he has is the allusion of pulling a ladies bra off from under
her blouse. Before producing his
rubber chicken, he sometimes will ask a young lady, “would you like to see
George, my pet cock?”
Perri
claimed his turf at St. Peter and Chartres in Jackson Square.
“I’ve been known to fight over it.” He even wrote his name in a
patch of wet pavement on the corner years ago.
It is still there. How does
he feel when new clowns enter the street scene?
“If a person is new at it, I probably will encourage them.
I might also encourage them to try another town. But I would encourage
them, ‘cause the world needs more clowns. The only bad part about New Orleans
is it’s an oven out here in the summer. Most
performers try to leave in the summertime because of the heat.
The older you get, the earlier you want to leave.” Perri
spent several months this year traveling and performing in Provincetown, Cape
Cod, Cambridge, and around the Boston area.
He was even nominated for “Entertainer of the Year” in
Provincetown for the Crown
& Anchor Inn’s 23rd
Annual Golden Plunger Awards. Although
Perri lost out to someone named “Popeye,” he was in good company.
Also nominated in his category was N.Y. drag sensation, Varla Jean
Merman, who also got her start right here in New Orleans.
Perri incorporated in 1983 for tax purposes. He formed Perri the Hobo, Inc. The occupation on his tax return is listed as “professional klown.” “I spelled it the European spelling for a little pizzazz.” One of the highlights of his career was meeting Red Skelton in 1984 during the World’s Fair. Perri considers him the master. “I stole one of his lines. A lot of times I tell people ‘God Bless You’ after they put money in my hat.”
Perri would not reveal his level of income, “now we’re gettin’ personal.” But he did admit that $10 an hour was a good low average. He heads out early to get to Jackson Square for 9am, while most of the other street performers, he says, arrive near the noon hour. He makes a decent wage when he works hard. “The average tourist is basically a pretty nice person,” he says. Perri caters to families and couples on vacation. He notes that during a recent medical convention, the doctors were “a little bit too high and mighty” to take in a clown act on the street, preferring to spend their time fine-dining and maybe taking in a show at the Saenger Theatre. “Every now and then you get the Southern Baptists convention in town. They come here with the Ten Commandments and a ten dollar bill and they ain’t gonna break either one of them.”
The Perils of Perri
Being
a street-level clown does have its rough days.
Perri recalls the sweeps the police made on the street performers in the
early ‘80s. Perri, and other
performers, were routinely arrested on charges such as obstruction of a sidewalk
or obstruction of a fire lane. Perri
explains, “It gives NOPD an upper hand.”
A clown must also learn how not to piss off business owners by performing
too close to their doorways, thus distracting customers.
And then there’s the 8pm curfew. One
night on Bourbon Street, Perri made a swan balloon for a young lady from Texas.
She went over to her redneck boyfriend to show him the balloon and ask
for a dollar to put in Perri’s hat. Instead
of reaching in his wallet, he put his lit cigarette to the balloon and popped
it. Moments later, the couple approached Perri, but it was after
8pm. The man told Perri to make
another balloon for his woman. Perri
refused to do it citing the 8 p.m. curfew.
“The next thing I know, I’m looking down the barrel of a piece!”
The man pulled the trigger, and Perri heard a click.
The gun was not loaded. “Before
the police got there, I was trying to make that gun turn into a candy bar.
I was trying my best to shove it down his throat.”
The cops soon arrived, and it turned out that the man was a wanted
fugitive from Texas.
Then there was the time Perri walked up behind a tourist and started mimicking his walk. The man’s wife joined in behind Perri. The man was not amused. “I knew the guy was gonna swing, and I ducked. He caught his wife square in the nose.” The man was very upset and tried to have Perri arrested. Perri pissed off another husband on a stroll with his wife when he asked the woman, who had a little wiggle in her walk, “do fries come with that shake?” The husband had a few words with Perri and then the couple went on their way. A few hours later, Perri walked by Pat O’Brien’s and saw the man stumbling drunk out of the bar with his wife. The man spotted Perri and decided to pick a fight. He spit on the clown. “I let him push me so far, and then I let loose.” When the police came, neither one wanted to go to jail, so no charges were filed.
But with all the troubles of working as a street clown, Perri’s never quit the gig he’s had since 1979. I asked where his funny bone came from. “Probably from life. If you look at the tragedies, I mean . . . the Mardi Gras symbol is tragedy and comedy. Behind every comedy, there’s some type of tragedy that made it happen.” Perri recalls his tour in Vietnam and his life growing up in West Virginia. “Raising up without a dad is tough on any kid.” In the 1990’s the comedy stopped for Perri the Hobo as he made a downward spiral from free-spirited clown to jailhouse junkie.
Up in Smoke
Perri,
a recreational drug user, started abusing cocaine.
He grew a long white beard, something you don’t often see on clowns.
“I probably was too messed up on drugs to shave regularly.
Or, ya know, I didn’t want any razor blades next to my face while I was
high up on coke.” Gossip spread
through the French Quarter about Perri’s drug habit.
Rumors had it that his rubber chicken was stuffed with a bag full of
coke. And, at the same time he was
blowing balloons for the kiddies on Jackson Square, he was dealing marijuana out
of his clown box to pay for his $200 a day habit. Perri attributes his downfall
to being “too high and mighty.
I was showboatin’. Let too
many people know my business.”
In
1991, after performing for some tourists on Jackson Square, in the shadow of the
St. Louis Cathedral, four police officers surrounded Perri.
“Where’s the dope?” one of them asked.
Perri was startled, “What dope?”
The officers jaw tightened, “We know you got marijuana on you.
You tell us where it’s at, or we put you up against the wall.
And it ain’t gonna be nice when we put you up against the wall.”
Perri believed him, and saw no way out.
“It’s over there in my box.” The
policemen opened the clown box and found 17 pounds of marijuana. In front of the tourists and artists in the Square, Perri was
handcuffed and taken in.
Perri
was sentenced to five years for possession with intent to distribute.
He served two-and-a-half years in Orleans Parish Prison.
“It was a gravy train because I knew some people in the parish
sheriff’s department, so I ended up on what they call a work release program. And I was coming out of jail every day, and coming back every
night. He worked minimum wage jobs
at Greco’s restaurant, Louisiana Garment, and Riverboat Merchandising.
He had to pay the jailhouse for room and board, and they saved the rest
of his wages for him.
When Perri was released, he was back to old tricks - and none of them involved balloons. After 10 months of freedom, Perri was caught again. This time, he had twelve Rohipnols on him. He appeared before the the same judge and this time was sentenced to five years flat. “On the pill charge, it came to happen that a buddy of mine got busted with some pills and he told the cops where he got it. Instead of him going for a ride, he set me up.”
Perri the Jailbird
Perri
began his sentence in New Orleans at the parish prison.
But during a terrible flood that hit the city, he was sent the Louisiana
State Penitentiary in Angola where he spent six weeks.
“If I had a whole new five years to do right now, I would rather do it
in Angola than I would any other unit. Because
in Angola, you got convicts, not inmates. The difference is convicts know how to
do time. They leave you alone.” He
does add that it was not easy being white in the largely black population. “If
you put up a good enough fight, they leave you alone from then on.” Perri admits to getting his nose busted once.
But when it came to “funny games,” he wanted no part of it.
“To me, if you pitch or catch, it’s called baseball.”
He tells of waking up one night and seeing two inmates under the next bed
with the sheets over them. “They
call it ‘covered wagon.’ And
they’re in there flip-floppin’.”
After
Angola, Perri served three weeks at Hunts Correctional, a processing station.
He was caught with a weapon on prison grounds and then sent to Phelps
Correctional Center in DeQuincy. “I
was ratted out. The guy that ratted
me out probably knew I was gonna hit him upside the head with it.”
On the weapon charge, he says, “Everybody has ‘em in prison.
When they catch you, you gotta do 90 days in a working cell block, which
is cutting trees down, staying in your cell, no TV, no nothin.’”
Perri
spent his days in the pen reading. “I
read a lot. I read almost everything of John Grisham. I read Wally
Lamb’s books, Agatha Christie, Patricia Cornwell . . . ” He took a course in welding, and also got a degree in
commercial sewing. “This shirt I
got on I made.” He had to steal
discarded cloth from the prison in order to make it.
“It cost me a carton of cigarettes to get a guard to mail it home.”
When Perri’s oldest son found out he was in prison, he commented, “Well, Dad, if I ever go to jail, you can’t fuss at me for it, can you?” His youngest son, Zack, was not as amused. “Zack kinda got mad at me for it because I didn’t give up nobody. I didn’t sing. Every Quarter Rat in this Quarter’s got information on the whole system. We see it all. Between people illegally buying a parking space on the street from one of the meter maids, to when the right Mafia man’s in town, or when the right New Yorker is in town driving around in his Bentley. You’d be surprised what the street people knows about this city.”
Perri’s oldest son in Jacksonville visited him in the pen. “My other son couldn’t come to see me at the time because he was growing up in what I would call – a reform school. There’s probably a better word for it these days, but that’s what we called it when I was a kid.” While in prison, Perri’s mother died in 1997. Since the funeral was out-of-state, he was not allowed to attend.
In 1998, Perri, who was raised Jewish, found Jesus. While in prison, a Methodist preacher helped him find Jesus as his Savior. “I asked him what denomination I should join. And he told me to join a church with a good foundation. I did my research and the Catholic church has been around for 2000 years when the other ones didn’t start ‘til around 1400. So I think I got a church with a good foundation.” He tries to attend mass once a week, and tries to say his rosary at least a couple of times a week.
He did 9 months at Winnfield Correctional, and then his last six months in a halfway house. Looking back at his arrest for marijuana he says, “I got too big for my britches. Anybody come out here with 17 pounds of pot ain’t got too much sense.” Although Perri has given up his cocaine habit, he finds no harm in smoking marijuana. He blames his troubles on Ronald Reagan. “In the ‘70s, if a cop caught you with a joint, the most they would’ve done was take it away from you, and do it themselves later. But since the Reagans came in office and they declared war on drugs . . . We got a war on drugs.” Perri looks forward to a trip to Amsterdam in a couple of years, so he can finally smoke legally.
Now, Perri has returned to his corner on Jackson Square. For the most part, he got a welcome reaction from the residents, street performers, and merchants. Perri says bar owner Cyndi Kueffer gave him a hug and bought him a drink from her bar, which he’s been thrown out of on a couple of occasions.
A
Hobo for the New Millenium
What does the future hold for the street clown? “I can’t get in no trouble. Louisiana has that three-strike law, and I’m 48 years old right now. They got a 20 to life [sentence]. And the judge is gonna give me 20, so he might just as well make it life, cause 20 years at 48 is life!” Perri has finally cleaned up his act. You can find Perri the Hobo in Jackson Square on most days. If you can’t find him, ask around. He’s also available for hire to work conventions, special events, and children’s birthday parties. His rate for birthday parties is $60 an hour or $45 for a half-hour. He recommends a half-hour. “You got twenty kids, and after a half-hour, them kids get bored. Then they want to beat up on the clown, and since mom and dad is paying, you got to let them beat you up. And they will! Ask some of the characters in Disney World [about] some of the beatings they take!”
In
Perri Rlickman’s high school yearbook, he was voted “class clown” and
“most likely to succeed.” “What
is the definition of success? I
ain’t in that mine diggin’ no coal!”
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