Remembering Bill Kay – and Brian Wilson

  The circus is in back in  town. And no, that’s not a reference to the legislature.

  The El Korah Shrine Circus is finishing up its three-day run at Idaho Expo today, continuing a tradition dating back more than a century. The first El Korah Shrine Circus reportedly was in 1916. 

  For me the circus’s annual arrival comes with a touch of sadness. The reason is that, for all its many attractions, what was once the main attraction for those fortunate enough to have known him is no longer part of the circus he loved.

  Bill Kay brought the Shrine Circus to Boise for what seemed like forever. He was its producer, ringmaster and colorful character extraordinaire. He lived in Sarasota, Fla., unofficially known as “circus town” because so many circuses are headquartered there, but he spent so much time in Boise that it was like a second home to him.

  He arrived in town each year weeks before the circus opened, doing advance work and hanging out with the locals. He probably had more friends in the Boise area than some of the locals did. I never heard of him having any enemies. To know him was to like him instantly.

  His annual visits to the newsroom of The Idaho Statesman, where I worked in those days, had an effect similar to that of a power outage.  Everything stopped. Regardless of what they were working on or how close it was to deadline, reporters and editors gathered round to be regaled with his wit and stories.

  His friends included Jack Haley, who played the tin man in The Wizard of Oz, and Spike Jones, a band leader famous for his spoofs and satires of popular songs and classical music. Both, like Kay himself, were first-rate characters.

  Whether in the circus ring, a newsroom or on the streets, he was instantly recognizable. A hefty man who loved to eat and knew all the best restaurants in every city where the circus played, he invariably was attired in a gray or blue suit and his ever present Shriner’s fez. No one else looked remotely like Bill Kay.

  He was a master of practical jokes. I’d been attending the circus since childhood and thought I’d seen it all, but when he invited me to attend the show at the Snake River Stampede grounds one year there was no choice but to go. No one could refuse an invitation from Bill. Little did I know what was coming when he asked me to join him during the intermission.

  “You can stand over there by the chutes when the show’s getting ready to start again,” he said.

  He began the second half of the show with an announcement:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we’re fortunate to have a guest artist with us tonight. In chute number three, Tim Woodward!”

  He’d planned it perfectly. Directly over my head was a huge number three. Every eye in the arena was focused on me. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Embarrassed isn’t a big enough word.

  The circus may not have been his life, but it wasn’t far from it. How dedicated was he? During one of his visits to Boise, word came that he’d been gored by an elephant. St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center was just across the street so I walked over to see him and find  out how he was doing.

  He wasn’t there. He’d left against medical advice. That evening, he was back in the ring, announcing the acts.

  The most famous of them was Karl Wallenda, elder statesman of the famous high-wire act, The Flying Wallendas. When the paper needed a photo to run with a story about the circus, he had Karl pose for a photograph, balanced atop a log fence. Other circuses had publicity packets with photos. He had Karl Wallenda.

  He brought the circus to Boise for 29 years. He loved the city and spent more time in it than anyplace other than his home in Florida. It was a blow when the shrine replaced him. His health deteriorated; he died not long afterwards.

  I still miss him. He was one of those unforgettable characters you miss long after they’re gone. The shrine circus has been coming here for 109 years and may well come for that many more. But there will never be another Bill Kay.

                                                   ***

  He was 82, but will forever be associated with youth, summer and California beaches. The death of Beach Boys founder and songwriter Brian Wilson on June 11 touched all of us who loved his groundbreaking music.

  He played in Boise three times. I first saw him with the Beach Boys at the Boise High School auditorium in 1964. The auditorium was packed even though it was the height of Beatlemania. The British Invasion may have displaced the Beach Boys as the country’s number-one band, but they hadn’t lost their ability to draw big crowds.

  Two things amazed me about that concert, both of them involving Wilson. One was his ability to sing the high falsetto parts that were so much a part of the Beach Boys’ sound. He sang them effortlessly, never straining or grimacing. The other thing was the way he made playing the bass guitar seem effortless. I don’t recall him looking at it even once while he played.

  It was a long time before he came back. The second concert was 49 years later, in 2023 at the Morrison Center. 

  He was an old man by then, the hair gone gray, the voice not what it had been. Perfectionist that he was (he was famous for it), he compensated by having backup singers sing the high parts he could’t reach any more. The five-piece Beach Boys had given way to a ten-piece group. They sounded great.

  Tributes following his death came in from all over the world. Everyone from Carole King  to Keith Richards to Bob Dylan had good things to say about him.

  My favorite tribute was Paul McCartney’s:

  “Brian had that mysterious sense of musical genius that made his songs so achingly special. … I loved him and was privileged to be around his bright shining light for a little while. How we will continue without Brian Wilson ‘God Only Knows.’”

Tim Woodward’s column appears every other Sunday in The Idaho Press and is posted on woodwardblog.com the following Mondays. Contact him at woodwardcolumn@gmail.com.