What is “Coulrophobia”?
It is the irrational fear of Clowns.
Since it is not an old phobia, but one that has increased in recent decades, little is known about coulrophobia.
Scientists and doctors now agree that it is a result of not knowing who lies behind the excessive makeup, red nose and hair color.
Some researchers believe that coulrophobia cases increased after the 1990s, when Steven Spielberg classic horror film “IT” depicting a murderous clown was released.
The phobia can cause a state of panic, difficulty in breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea and feelings of fear.
Coulrphobia may seem absurd for some, however, many people suffer so much, that it prevents them from eating a hamburger in that famous fast food chain.
It is not a trivial matter either and coulrophobia shouldn’t be treated lightly.
Although the fear of clowns develops most of the time during childhood, when children are very sensitive to an unfamiliar face, it is also prevalent amongst adults.
My Pathetic Story:
I have had Coulrophobia since being a child when my Dad took me to a small Aussie circus behind the Maid of Auckland Hotel on South Road, Edwardstown in South Australia.
It would have been in the mid 1950s.
Apart from falling down between those horrid walk boards while I was trying to find my seat I was terrorised by an evil looking Clown with a stick and a rubber horn. He scared me shitless.
He barked like a dog and I was so terrified that I screamed like a little girlie and ran away and have been mortified by Clowns ever since.
Being shoved out the front of the crowd at John Martin’s Christmas Pageant and having poorly made up clowns blowing trumpets and poking balloons in my face didn’t help either.
At least they could have offered some hard boiled sweets.
People thought I was joking when I couldn’t bear to watch “Bozo” or was it “Bobo” the Clown on Channel 9 Kid’s Television in the late 1950s in Adelaide?
It’s all true you know and strangely enough my nine year old grandson Seamus is now a sufferer.
Am I responsible for that?
Take a close look at this picture. Who does it remind you of?
It’s supposed to be Wayne Riley, cousin to our Alex ‘The Toff’ Riley. Wayne is from Darwin.
I wonder if that picture is ‘fair dinkum’. It looks suspiciously like Riley wearing a wig from his doll collection.
If it is Alex he joins the immortals like Joe Goebbels, Trump, Morrison and beautiful Boris, all specialists in the art of deception and Fake News.
As a young hot metal apprentice Kym never believed the stories about Alex that he was ‘tight as a fishes ass hole’.
He thought, ‘Why are people so cruel about Alex’?
Why do they say that he will not spend any money and that he will never open his wallet and buy his wife dinner?
Well, Kym left Adelaide and went to live in Western Australia never knowing the truth about Alex.
He returns 30 years later to attend a function in his honour.
Thinking Alex will finally buy him that beer he promised he waits at the Bar with Alex. And waits…
And waits, and waits… Alex leaves in his Jaguar without a goodbye.
Finally, nice guy Kym realises the awful truth…
Alex Riley is a bloody ‘tightarse’ who can’t remember people’s names.
This photo is of the late Harry Kinder (an excellent English Compositor).
Note: Harry who was ‘old school’ always wore a tie to work.
The other person in the photo is a quite young Alex (The Toff) Riley.
Apparently Alex was a nice person with hair in those days. However, he was later to become a selfish and cruel person.
This rather suggestive photo was taken by the late John Hunkin (Monotype Operator) many, many years ago…
Location: Could possibly be Jolly’s Boatshed, River Torrens, Adelaide.
I had a near death experience some 40 years ago when I lived with my Mum and Dad and slept out the back of the house in a “sleep out”.
It was one warm Adelaide night that I rolled over in bed and displaced a testicle.
Where did it go? I don’t know, but all of a sudden I had a golf ball and a basketball where normally two snooker balls should have been !
Oh! The agony and searing pain. I staggered into the house and wailed for my dear old Dad.
My father had been a Sar Major in the Aussie Army and not unused to grief. “It will be fixed,” he announced. “Now go back to bed my boy and I will be out in a flash”.
I laid back on the bed groaning and throbbing. The door flew open and in walked Dad a can of Johnson’s Baby Powder in one hand and a Philips Heat Lamp in the other.
He proceeded to powder the painful area profusely with baby powder and then taking the heat lamp he concentrated its red intense ray on those poor unfortunate testicles.
Did it help you may ask?
No Bloody Way! After an hour of this torture I screamed “Help Me”!”
“Perhaps, I had better ring the Doctor,” Dad murmured.
Some time later he came back and said, “Not Good News I’m afraid son.” “There’s a possibility you may die if we don’t get you to the Royal Adelaide Hospital quick smart”.
We made it to the Emergency Ward in Dad’s old FC Holden.
There. a group of Doctors were excitedly calling to each other. “Hey! Come and have a look at this.” “I’ve never seen one of these before!”
They herded me into a small room and turned off the lights. I was hysterical. Then the flashlights started popping on as they strained to get a better view.
All I could see was eyes, doctor eyes!
Then the manipulation began as they tried to move the offending testicle back into its rightful pocket.
It worked, the relief was instantly wonderful as they congratulated themselves for saving yet another set of testicles.
I staggered out into the corridor to live yet another day. Dad was waiting and hugged me.
Under his breath I think I heard him say, “Next time I think I’ll use the bloody Savlon cream instead.”