Eric Tadsen
Truly Remarkable Loon retires after 47 years of spinning plates and juggling balls.
Backstage, in the little cramped nook that serves as the green room for Overture’s Kids in the Rotunda, Truly Remarkable Loon is the most somber fool alive. He takes a seat, surrounded by his purple garments hung on hooks. A little shelf overflows with what looks like lucky objects. His set list is taped to the wall. After 47 years of performances, we’re exactly 26 minutes away from the juggling icon’s final show. We know that because his 12-year-old grandson and hammy stage manager “5” sticks his blonde, pony-tailed head in to tell us.
T.R. legally changed his name in his 20s and wears purple every day of the year except April Fools’ Day, when he wears all black. At 66, he’s come a long way from throwing his first object in the air at a backyard party when he was 20 — and at the moment he looks pretty beat from the morning’s two previous shows. Soft-spoken, calm, serious. It’s kind of freaky. But his eyes are alive and dancing, and they strobe like two green sparklers.
I ask him how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. “I’m nervous,” he says. He quotes a character from one of his favorite Cormac McCarthy novels. “Life is onstage,” he says. “Everything else is waiting.” It’s an unsettling comment coming from a guy who is about to step off the stage for the last time. But he’s ready. “I’m putting this behind me now. It’s time.” He says he wants to spend more time with his grandchildren. As if on cue “5” pokes his head back into the space. “15 minutes,” he says.
Now T.R.’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m emotional about this,” he says. “I’m really fortunate. I found my calling. This is what I was meant to do. I have as much fun as the audience, you know? You show up at a library show in Clintonville and it’s like Elvis shows up. A lot of people have never seen a juggler.” I ask him why laughter is important to children. “Laughter?” he asks. “Everybody needs laughter. Not just children.” And his eyes pool up again. It strikes me that laughter and tears often go hand-in-hand.
I leave T.R. to allow him time alone before his entrance and head to the seats where I wedge my butt into a tight spot on the carpeted rows. I’m completely surrounded by families. I get emotional at the memory of bringing our own children to Loon’s shows, our grown children who now live all over the country.
The house manager takes center stage, makes some general announcements, and then says, “Please welcome, for the final performance of his long career, Truly Remarkable Loon.”
Children love a smart aleck. T.R. knows it. I’ve always thought that this has been one of T.R.’s most dependable secret weapons. Loon emerges from the black curtains, takes a few exaggerated bows and as the applause dies down, makes his way stage left to where the sign language interpreter is working. “Who are you?” he deadpans. And he’s off to the races.
He kills. Age and aches have taken some speed away from his footwork and pivots. But like any seasoned artist, he manages to work his shortcomings right into his act. The audience gets the whole enchilada. The chainsaw routine. The flying gyroscope. The killer mongoose bit. The juggling of the giant bean bag chairs. He closes with the spinning of 10 plates (and the crashing demise of at least 10 more) combined with a swarm of stuffed, flying monkeys. The audience goes nuts and rises for a loud standing ovation. His family, including daughters and partners with both grandsons and his wife, Tracy Tudor, surrounds him on stage. Loon speaks when the clapping ends.
“I can’t do what I’ve done without the people behind me and the people in front of me. Our biggest gift is time. Thank you for the time you spent with me today. Have a truly remarkable afternoon. Parents, please take your children with you.”
Favorite, go-to trick:
The flying gyroscope
Number of dinner plates broken onstage:
At least a thousand
Most number of objects successfully juggled at one time:
Toss juggling: 5 balls, Shaker cups: 6
Plate spinning: 17, Scarves: 96 (but “I did use a leaf blower”)
Approximate total number of performances in career:
47 years of juggling, average 100 dates a year
Advice to a person interested in starting juggling:
“Ask a juggler to help you learn. Juggling is more objects than hands. A beginner has to ask for help. Jugglers usually won’t offer to teach someone unless they ask for help.”
