There's a reason clowns have an image problem

The scariest clown movie in a generation was released last week when Stephen King's "It" hit theaters. Public response was strong. The response from the clown community wasn't funny.

The president of the World Clown Association (seriously!) said the movie, in which a monster takes a variety of forms (including a clown) and hunts down children, hurts the image of clowns. He blames the movie for the clown industry downturn.

The WCA, in fact, issued a statement that the character should be understood as a fantasy character, not "a true clown" and said "various horror clown portrayals work against our goal."

I'm sympathetic with the clown community, but they're wrong. The movie isn't what makes clowns scary. Clown makeup does that.

For me, at least.

My understanding of the horrors of clowns goes back to a time when I was about 20 and the future Mrs. Brad (then known as Brad's Girlfriend) and I were co-activity directors for a weeklong kids' camp for our church. We were at a remote campground with maybe 75 elementary-school-age kids and their counselors, directing relay races, water balloon volleyball, skits and singing.

And a clown makeup session.

Neither of us were advocates, but an influential adult loved clowns and figured the kids would love it, too. So on about the third day of camp, we got all the kids in the picnic bench area, had them pair up and paint each other's faces. It would be a hoot!

Problem 1: Kids don't know how to paint faces.

Problem 2: I don't know how to paint faces.

Problem 3: I paired up with Brad's Girlfriend, who did know how to paint faces. Or at least better than me.

As the 30-minute painting session progressed, you could feel energy being sucked out of the camp. It's nearly impossible to kill the spirit of 75 excited elementary school kids, but clown makeup did. I could almost hear the funeral dirge as the kids sat patiently (and impatiently), while friends painted their faces.

We weren't playing tag or Frisbee golf or capture the flag. We were painting each other's faces.

When Brad's Girlfriend and I finished, I didn't know how I looked, but I could see her. It was horrific. It was funny. Someone just arriving might have commended her for allowing a young, non-artistic, blind child to paint her face.

She wasn't happy. She was mad because I was laughing. And because I committed a makeup atrocity.

The kids were no different. The mood went from anticipation of another fun day to feeling like they'd been told the family dog died. We lined up for a group picture (the clown-loving adult thought it was great!) that undoubtedly revealed 75 pairs of slumped shoulders and pouting lips. Including Brad's Girlfriend.

It took a day to recover the energy. Even the campfire that night was somber. An event designed to make everyone happy created a heartbreaking experience for a group of kids – and a tortuous experience for Brad's Girlfriend, who had to wait an hour or so to remove the mess I painted on her face.

Some people love clowns. The World Clown Association says it wants to bring joy. The wider clown community seems nice.

But this much is clear: The image problem for clowns predates the current movie.

One good thing: For at least one day, decades ago, Mrs. Brad was legitimately the "It Girl."

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.