I HAVE FOND MEMORIES OF CLARK'S TRAINED BEARS

I hate to say it, but the notices that the state’s tourist attractions have to post because of COVID-19, can be a little scary at times. Take for example, this online note from Clark’s Bears/Trading Post in Lincoln, NH...

Kind of takes some of the excitement out of going, doesn't it?

I remember visiting Clark’s when I was kid – when the place featured a gift shop and an outdoor pen with bears in it, and that was about all.  The pen was near the road and contained tall platforms on which two bears often perched, serving as live advertisements to attract the cars full of tourists driving by.  And three or four times each day, the bears would perform circus-style acts for the public. It really enjoyed my visit there and talked about it endlessly afterwards because let’s face it, growing up in New Hampshire’s largest city hadn’t given me too many opportunities to see an actual bear before then.

About 15 years ago, in an effort to recapture my youth, I convinced my husband to take me to Clark’s. He fondly remembered it from his youth also, so he thought it sounded like a fun day-trip.

The information online said the bears performed daily at noon, two o’clock and four o’clock, so my husband and I left our house at 10:30 on a Friday morning and headed up to Lincoln, about an 80-minute ride from where we were living at the time. We figured we’d have plenty of time to make the two o’clock show.  Just outside of Laconia, however, we hit a five-mile backup of traffic due to an accident.  As we sat there, moving barely an inch every five minutes, I became increasingly impatient.

“We’re not going to make it in time for the bear show!” I complained for the tenth time in about as many minutes. “By the time we get there, they’ll all be in hibernation for the winter!”

“Just relax,” my husband said. “We still have plenty of time.”

We arrived at 1:45.  As I climbed out of our van, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The simple, rustic place I’d remembered from my childhood had transformed into a modern, miniature theme-park with train rides, bumper boats, a quaint Main Street, museums, funhouses and more. 

We paid our $12 admission and rushed over to the metal bleachers that surrounded a caged-in arena where the bears would be performing in a few minutes, and took our seats. 

I honestly had fun watching the bears.  They sat on big wooden swings and allowed their trainers, Murray and Maureen Clark to push them.  They gave bear hugs to the trainers, balanced on a huge rolling ball, waved their massive paws at the spectators, drank out of “bear” cans and even stood on a scale so they could be weighed.  During the act, the bears constantly were fed treats of soft-serve vanilla ice cream. The more I watched them, especially since I was sitting in the blazing sun, the more I wanted some of that ice cream.

Murray Clark explained to the crowd that bears enjoy most fruits and vegetables, and can turn a bushel of apples into applesauce in only a few minutes. He added, however, that bears will not eat bananas, onions or peppers. I could understand the onions and peppers, but the bananas surprised me. They just seemed like something a bear would enjoy. Or an ape.

For some reason, about 90-percent of the kids there that day were carrying old-fashioned popguns – the kind that popped out a cork on a string and made a loud popping noise when shot.  I heard so much popping and felt so many corks whack against me as we walked around the grounds, I was ready to start collecting the guns and feeding them to the bears.  Also, every two seconds, I could hear mothers shouting things like, “Stop shooting your brother in the back of the head!” or, “Now you apologize to this gentleman for shooting him in the butt!”

One woman mentioned to another that the guns were being sold in the gift shop for $8 each.  I’ll bet popgun sales reached about $10,000 there on that day alone.

Little did I know I was about to find out why so many kids were carrying toy weapons.

My husband, who loved trains, couldn’t wait to ride on the real steam-locomotive at Clark’s, so we headed over to the train station to claim our seats.  We were told to beware of “Wolfman.” We had no idea who or what Wolfman was, but we figured if it was anything like the famous monster from the old classic Lon Chaney movies, we wouldn’t have to worry about anything unless there was a full moon.

The train ride was really relaxing. The cars were the open-air type with canopies overhead, so we could feel a nice breeze as we rode along.  All was peaceful until the train passed through a covered bridge and emerged in a less-than-attractive area.  An old-fashioned still (for making moonshine) and several “keep out” signs flanked the woods.  There also was a rocky cave with a wooden door on it.  Up ahead, there were remnants of an old mine, complete with badly rusted mining cars.

Unbeknownst to us, we had entered Wolfman’s territory.

Wolfman suddenly appeared from the forest.  He was big and hairy and wearing furs and an eye patch.  When he opened his mouth, there were gaps where his teeth should have been.  He was riding in his Wolfmobile, an old, battered, noisy, stripped-down hot rod with miniature skulls mounted on the front.  He shook his fists and shouted at the passengers on the train, telling us to get off his property. He even pulled out a shotgun and blasted a few rounds into the air.

The kids on the train loved every minute of it.  Giggling, they shouted things like “You can’t shoot us! We’re gonna shoot YOU!” back at Wolfman. Then they all took aim at him with their popguns and let the corks fly.  Wolfman finally zoomed off, but reappeared several more times throughout the ride. At one point, he even brought a missile launcher with him and aimed it at the train.  Again, he was the target of about 100 popguns.  

The train’s announcer explained that Wolfman’s hostile temperament was due to too many years of mining for a precious metal called “unobtanium” and he was afraid someone might try to jump his claim.  He then instructed everyone to shout, “Scram, you old goat!” the next time we spotted Wolfman, just to get him “riled up.”

The little boy next to me turned to his mother and asked, “Mommy!  Are we going to see old goats, too?”

I hate to admit it, but I enjoyed the train ride even more than the bear show. In fact, I’d really like to go back there someday to ride on it again.

I have the feeling, though, that anything having to do with guns might have been eliminated from the park since I last was there over 15 years ago.

 If that’s true, I honestly can say I won’t miss those pop-guns!

#   #   #

Sally Breslin is an award-winning humor columnist and the author of “There’s a Tick in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor” and “The Common-Sense Approach to Dream Interpretation." Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.