Bozo The Clown Is Back In Action In Chicago

This weekend brings a memorabilia-packed Bozo’s Circus jamboree at Billy Corgan’s Highland Park tea shop Madame Zuzu’s. Ahead of the event, WBEZ asked Chicagoans about their most memorable Bozo the Clown moments — and our inboxes and voicemails were flooded. We shared some of our favorite responses below.

Bozo now ranks among the people and things Chicagoans of a certain vintage speak of with fondness — Frango Mints, Mike Royko, Marshall Field’s, Riverview, ChicagoFest and Harry Caray — because the show represents a time when the city itself felt simpler and more local.

Many of us grew up during prime Bozo years. Due to the dominant reach of WGN, which broadcast the show nationwide, Bozo’s Circus (later renamed The Bozo Show) was must-see noontime television. For decades, actors played Bozo and his cohorts, like Cooky the Cook, Wizzo the Wizard, Ringmaster Ned and later, Circus Manager Frazier Thomas.

The actors (Bob Bell, Roy Brown and Marshall Brodien, among others) all came from early television, a time when local stations created original programming, many shows were broadcast live and production values were intentionally simple.

A spirit of controlled chaos ruled the Bozo stage, and slapstick humor was the norm. Their makeup, exaggerated clothing and wigs made Bozo and his buddies seem not unlike the clowns you’d find under the big top at any touring circus.

But unlike a real circus, Bozo’s Circus was largely a scripted show, and the clowns’ comedy sketches felt familiar to anyone schooled in the early film comedy of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin or the Marx Brothers. Back then, film clowns like Keaton or Chaplin deceptively used their physicality and storylines to comment on societal problems or to lampoon the powerful elite.

Bozo’s Circus didn’t have such lofty goals, but its humor was just as raw, urbane — and hilarious. Broadcast on a soundstage before a live audience, the show demanded that viewers take leaps with their imagination. It wasn’t just Bozo and his co-stars engaging in creative play; the people watching were right there along with them — which is why children in the audience always felt free to scream, laugh or gasp at whatever twist or turn the story might take.

By comparison, today’s children’s fare feels more bubble-wrapped, more message-driven. Live actors have largely been replaced with animated ones. Appointment television is also a thing of the past; now, children stream content in isolation on tablets whenever they feel like it. In its prime, Bozo’s Circus was so popular, families had to wait up to 10 years for tickets. It would sound like an urban legend if it weren’t true.

Chicago Sun-Times/ST-17102861-0002, Chicago Sun-Times collection, Chicago History Museum

In the post-COVID world, the idea of being part of a large studio audience feels quaint. Thanks to streaming, entertainment is becoming less communal and more individually curated. And thanks to movies like IT, clowns can be scary too.

From the outside, the involvement of Billy Corgan in a public celebration of Bozo the Clown might seem unusual. He’s one of the pioneering figures from the alternative rock era of the 1990s; his band the Smashing Pumpkins is best known for its sheets of psychedelic guitars, complex rhythms and brooding lyrical themes.

But his — and our — nostalgia for Bozo’s Circus also makes sense, in the same way we’ve rekindled interest in vinyl records and other trademarks of the pre-digital age.

The clown always made it clear his only objective was spreading joy. With just minutes to go, each show ended with the Grand March. Children streamed out of their seats to follow Bozo up and down the floor as he waved his baton, moved his arms with comical bravado and stepped high in his oversized red shoes: a daily parade that left viewers with a spring in their step for years to follow.

In the 1960s and ‘70s, Bozo’s Circus was on the air at noon on Channel 9. Like so many of my friends, I would rush home from school at lunchtime to watch Bozo on the little TV in our kitchen.

Now, if you were lucky to have a friend or know anyone personally who got the chance to actually GO to Bozo, that was A-list celebrity status. We would crowd around the next day to ask everything: What happened? What was Bozo like? Did you meet Cooky? Did you get to play the Grand Prize Game? Did anyone get a pie in the face?

I was fortunate. My father worked for the Chicago Tribune — it owned WGN and Bozo’s Circus — so he could get tickets with a bit of advance notice.

I took my older brother Jeff and four friends, Amy, Laurie, Katie and Peter, to see Bozo for my 5th birthday in 1971. We had to postpone the party twice. Bozo was on vacation on my actual birthday in January, and my brother and I were sick in February. I finally got my chance on March 1.

I sat with my friends, my brother Jeff and my mom, Elaine, in the bleachers among what Ringmaster Ned called a “cast of thousands!” I loved seeing everything in the studio that I couldn’t see from home — all the lights and electrical cords and TV cameras moving around. The studio was so small compared to what I had imagined.

Ringmaster Ned finally blew his whistle and announced, “Bozo’s Circus is on the air!” to start the show. Mr. Bob started up the band, and everyone cheered and clapped.

I loved every moment. I was right there watching all the action happen: Bozo being silly, Cooky being sweet and funny. Ringmaster Ned seemed like the nicest man ever.

It all seemed like a blur — the Grand Prize Game, the funny skits with Bozo and Cooky and Sandy the clown — until the whole audience was invited to join in the Grand March to close the show

Bozo’s Circus in person was joyous and colorful, and I can’t recall being so happy. — WBEZ anchor Lisa Labuz

I went to The Bozo Show … in the mid ‘80s. I was about 3 or 4 years old. My father took me, and from what he tells me, we were sitting next to the band. As soon as the band played, it scared the hell out of me as a 3- or 4-year-old. I started crying, and some of the folks on the show said, “Hey, why don’t you take your son into this room. Once he calms down, bring him back out.”

So they take us into this room and there’s a bunch of pillowcases. [My dad] starts to realize that the pillowcases are moving. And my dad was kind of like Indiana Jones and was deathly afraid of snakes, and supposedly it was like an animal episode or a reptile episode. So they put me and my dad in this room surrounded by snakes in these knapsacks. And my dad said, “Forget this. Let’s get out of here.” And we left. So unfortunately, I never got to enjoy anything past the introduction of the show. — Joey Guillo

My dad [George] was in kindergarten in 1963, and on that Nov. 22, 1963, John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. My dad saw a bunch of people crying outside of his school, and he’s like, “What’s going on?” And his mom, who picked him up, was like, “The president’s dead.” And he said, “OK, take me home. I have to catch The Bozo Show.”

And to his surprise, every single channel — 2, 5, 7, 9, 11 — was just covering John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Needless to say, he was very angry. He was actually, I would say, p***** off. I think that’s one thing that connects my father and I, is that we’ve lived through all these historical events, and sometimes the things you enjoy most are taken away from you in those moments. And The Bozo Show in 1963 was one of those. — Jessica Rish

My parents lived by a church, and when the grand march happened during every episode of Bozo’s Circus, the bells at the nearby church would ring. Of course, being young and confused, this would also be the time I would stand up in front of the TV in the apartment of the living room and shout “Bozo’s Circus is on the air!” and start to high-step around the room as if I was holding a baton.

This created a “Pavlov’s dog” kind of thing with me, which turned out to be problematic when my mom took me to said church one day. There we were during mass, and the bells started ringing. So, of course, I had to stand up in the pews during service and yell, “Bozo’s Circus is on the air!” and start stomping and humming the theme song. I was rushed out by my mother, who was pretty much in shock.

A few years later, I did get to be there for a taping of the show.

That’s me, dead center in the striped shirt. I didn’t get to play the grand prize game, but it was a whirlwind day.

I have to admit, I never stopped watching. I was 30 when it went off the air, with a six-month-old daughter. Bozo has never not been cool to me. — Matt Massett

I was so happy to attend a live taping of The Bozo Show when I was little (maybe about 4 years old). I loved the Bozo Buckets game so much, my dad built a homegrown version with popcorn buckets in our basement. I was READY for showtime. When Bozo didn’t pick me for the grand prize game, legend has it I rose up out of my seat and started running down the stairs towards the stage yelling, “BOZ! What about me, BOZ?!”

To this day, my family still uses the “What about me, BOZ?!” expression anytime someone feels left out. — Laury Rinker

My mom called a number from WGN and won tickets to The Bozo Show. It was during a school week. I was still wearing my Catholic school uniform on the show. I remember when waiting in line with my family to get on set, they asked if any kids were interested in doing the tissue game, and I fell under that age range.

Once I was picked, the program manager told us the rules of the game: Each child would get a brand-new box of Kleenex, and whoever empties it out first, wins. I remember I was a bit bummed doing this, as I had to stay backstage the whole time and was missing the show. Also, I was a really shy kid, so it finally sunk in that I was going to be in front of everyone and on TV.

Once we were set in place and it was our turn to go on, I remember thinking how tall and large Bozo was. He asked each of us our names and then told the rules of the game, and then we were off. It was a bit of a blur. I remember the kids around me were going way faster than me. I was having a hard time picking each tissue, when suddenly, one didn’t pop up right away. Frantically, I reached down to get it, and I accidentally pulled the pack of tissue out. I finished way before everyone. I remember thinking, “Oh shoot, what should I do? Will they notice I accidentally cheated?”

I just started cleaning my area, hoping no one would notice, and then Bozo shouted out, “We have a winner over here!” and pointed at me. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard a parent say I cheated and I was embarrassed. They kept going on and gave me the grand prize, which was an air hockey table. I covered my face when [they were] presenting it. — Darrell Ansay

If you go: Bozo’s Circus runs Oct. 18–20 at Madame Zuzu’s (1876 1st St., Highland Park). The weekend will feature Bozo’s Grand Prize games, food and a special appearance by David Arquette as Bozo the Clown. Tickets are $14 for adults and $8.50 for children.