by Marco Etheridge
Murray Greene, better known to the children and parents of our fair city as Frownie the Clown, sits at his dressing room table. His persona awaits, each item placed just so atop the narrow table. The familiar battered bowler, an oversized floral necktie, and Frownie’s signature squirting boutonnière.
He unscrews the lid from a tub of clown white, the first step in his transformation. As his fingers hover above the creamy goo, a knock at the dressing room door interrupts his ritual. Before Murray can answer, the door opens and a man rushes in.
“Hey, Murray. Sorry to barge in, but I sent a message for you to come upstairs before the taping.”
Murray swivels his chair to face this intruder. Brad Blakely, the new production manager for ClearSignal, the corporation that has just swallowed local station WGY in a less than friendly takeover. Brad the shark, sporting a hundred-dollar haircut and a thousand-dollar suit. Murray Greene knows a predator when he sees one, but his face remains calm as a monk’s.
“Good morning, Brad. I didn’t receive your message. Perhaps we could meet after the taping. The crew is waiting, as I’m sure you saw on your way in.”
“Right, about that. Look, Murray, ClearSignal is looking for a new direction. You know, a younger demographic, stronger viewing potential. Lots of competition out there. Anyway, the decision has been made. Today is the last show. We’ll air this week’s tapes next week, just like always.”
Murray smiles and interlaces his fingers across his makeup bib. He does not utter a word, most certainly not voicing the thoughts in his head.
Twenty-seven years, gone in a moment, erased by this sad little buffoon half our age. A clown in a suit who uses words like potential and demographics. Ah well, on with the show.
“If I understand correctly, you’re firing me, yes?”
Brad throws out a perfect smile and spreads his hands wide to distract his prey.
“No, Murray, of course not. Retired, not fired. Look, you’ve had an amazing run, right? I mean, twenty-five years. That’s something to be proud of.”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Right, right, whatever. Look, this decision comes straight from the top. I’m just the messenger. You’ve been an incredible asset to this network, really incredible. But ClearSignal needs to move with the times.”
“I see. Straight from the top. Well then, thank you for delivering the message so succinctly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to do.”
Murray studies the confusion blossoming across the shark’s face. For a heartbeat, Brad’s façade crumbles. Facial muscles twitch, eyes dart. Then the corporate smile reappears.
“Right, okay. You do the show, and we’ll talk later, mesh out the final details. Thanks for taking this so well, Murray. But hey, think of all the things you can do now. Fishing, golf, whatever.”
“Of course. Thank you, Brad.”
Murray spins the chair to face the mirror and dips his fingers into the clown white. He applies a dab to each cheek. With the skill of long practice, the stark white mask of Frownie the Clown takes form. Behind him, a long moment of silence, a movement in the mirror, expensive leather footsteps, then the door opening and closing.
Alone once more, his fingertips trace the furrows and wrinkles acquired over almost three decades. Murray doesn’t mind the marks of the passing years. They lend character to the face of a clown who has grown and learned with each new season of Frownie and Friends.
He smooths the last of the white face and looks around his dressing room. The walls are barely visible behind a kaleidoscope of framed photographs. To follow the images is to travel back in time.
Murray can also travel into the future, but that gift is known only to a few.
As his eyes roam the walls, the headshots of Frownie the Clown get younger. Smiling kids crowd around their favorite clown. Changing fashions marking the passing decades. And among the happy smiles, photos of hospital visits, the hardest appearances of all. Frownie never wavers, but Murray Greene weeps private tears after every visit to a children’s ward.
All of this will need to be packed up. His eyes stray to the rows of cardboard file boxes tucked onto a set of shelves. Letters, so many letters, from children long grown to adults, from parents of children. Murray replies to every message, granted with the help of his amazing team. It will be so hard to break the news to them.
And in two special boxes, his favorite mail, the worries and fears of small boys and girls, written in block letters on lined school paper. These he reads aloud on the show.
Murray enters the studio as he does for every taping. He does not mention a word about this being the last episode. The crew is ready and eager. Barry the producer is standing by clipboard at the ready. Everyone takes their places, and the show begins to take form.
Frownie the Clown rolls through the takes with veteran skill, each line delivered with the somber face and jolly voice that are Frownie’s trademark. He greets the kids in television land and reminds his young viewers that it is going to be a rainy week here in our fair city. They should remember to wear their slickers. Then an explanation that slicker is an old word for raincoat.
The schticks follow a time-tested formula. After a break to introduce a cartoon, Frownie demonstrates a fun craft trick that kids can do at home. Remember to have an adult help with the scissors. As the crew nears the end of the show, it is time to read a letter.
This week’s letter, the last that Frownie will ever read on the air, is from Sara, who is six years old. Sara writes that she is frightened of the monster who lives in her bedroom closet. Her mom closes the door every night, but Sara thinks the monster might squeeze through the crack at the bottom of the door. What should she do?
After reading the letter aloud, Frownie looks into the camera and speaks directly to little Sara.
“Thank you so much for your letter, Sara. Monsters are a very real part of growing up. I bet if you asked your friends, they would tell you about their monsters. One way to deal with monsters, especially closet and under-bed monsters, is to make friends with them. When we make friends with people, even monsters, they’re not so scary. My closet monster likes cookies. His favorites are oatmeal-raisin. Try leaving cookies out for your monster and see what happens.”
Frownie the Clown closes his last show with the same words he has used for many years.
“That’s our show, kids. Make today a wonderful day. And remember, be kind to the people you meet. Each small bit of kindness makes our world a better place. Bye-bye.”
Barry the producer announces a cut and a wrap. The very last episode of Frownie and Friends is in the can, ready for broadcast the following week.
Murray Greene smiles at the closing bustle of the studio.
That’s all, folks.
Then he walks over to Barry and takes him aside. As Murray shares the news, Barry’s face seems to crumple in on itself. The younger man is on the verge of tears. Murray slips an arm around Barry’s shoulders and pulls him close.
“It’s going to be fine, Barry. We’ve had a great run, and you’re an amazing producer. It has been an honor and a privilege working with you. Now you’ve got to break it to the crew. I’m going across the street to Sid’s.”
Beneath his arm, he feels Barry square his shoulders.
“Damn. Okay, Murray, I’ve got this. Man, oh man, the crew is going to be pissed.”
“Life is change, Barry. It’s how we deal with change that counts. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Murray?”
“Yes, Barry?”
“The honor and privilege were all mine, and the crew feels the same.”
“Thank you, my friend. That means a lot to me.”
* * *
Murray’s progress to the studio exit is predictably slow. He exchanges greetings, asks after family members, and chats with the security officer. Everyone knows Murray, and he, in turn, greets them by name.
Once out the front doors, Murray jaywalks mid-block. He charts a beeline for a set of stairs descending from the far sidewalk. A weathered pub sign hangs above an oak door, marking the entrance to Sid’s Place.
The basement barroom is cool, dark, and quiet. A lone regular perches at the far end of the bar, and another gentleman in the middle. Murray slides onto a barstool a few places down.
A big man moves behind the bar. He wears a crisp white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up over thick forearms.
“Good morning, Murray. A little early for you.”
A statement, not a question.
“It is indeed, Sid. A special day. Scotch rocks, please. Something good.”
“You got it.”
Sid swings away behind the bar. Murray senses a presence and turns. The patron three stools down is eyeballing him. Murray meets the man’s gaze and smiles. The man fidgets and raises an apologetic hand.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare. It’s just my kids grew up watching your show.”
“That’s wonderful. How old are your children?”
“Oh, grown and gone, both of them. Tom is, um, twenty-four now. Lisa graduates from State this year.”
“And you are?”
“Oh, Bill, Bill Collins.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Bill. Please give my greetings to Tom and Lisa.”
“I will, Mister Greene, I sure will. But you’re off duty now. Sorry to interrupt.”
Sid reappears, flips a coaster onto the bar, and lands a whisky on the target. Murray waves to Bill Collins, turns away, and raises the glass.
“L’chayim.”
“Mud in your eye. Excuse a nosy barkeep, my friend, but you are nothing if not a creature of habit. I make it four hours early by the trusty bar clock. No post-production today?”
Murray savors the sharp tang of peat, then eases the heavy tumbler to the bartop.
“No post-production ever again. The show’s been canceled.”
Sid’s eyes lock on Murray’s.
“Say what?”
“Don’t say what me. You could hear a mouse fart in a hurricane.”
Sid spends thirty seconds polishing a very clean bar.
“It’s those new corporate bastards, right?”
“Got it in one, Sid.”
“What are you going to do, Murray?”
Murray sips his whisky again before answering.
“The young gentleman who fired me suggested golf or fishing.”
“You don’t golf, do you?”
“No. I never saw the point. And I hold no malice against our fishy friends.”
“So, when’s the last show?”
“I just finished the last show, Sid.”
Sid looks to the ceiling, one meaty thumb dancing over his fingertips.
“I count twenty-seven years, Murray. I remember because I’d just bought this place the year before. That makes you my oldest surviving customer except Jake, but I inherited him.”
Sid throws a thumb at the regular holding down the far end.
“Good years, Sid.”
“Tell me these corporate shits are planning a farewell episode.”
Murray shakes his head.
“No. Today’s show will air next Friday. And that’s that.”
“Dammit, Murray, that isn’t right. You’ve got two generations of loyal fans. They deserve a goodbye.”
“Yes, they do, did, and they will get one, never fear.”
The barman cocks his head and grins.
“Anything you can tell me?”
“I believe I’ll keep it a surprise. But you might keep the TV on this afternoon.”
Murray has a second drink before heading back to the studio. The man named Bill Collins calls for another beer. Sid pours a fresh schooner and places it on the bar.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help hearing. Did he say they’re canceling Frownie and Friends?”
Sid nods his head and knuckles the bar.
“That’s what the man said.”
“Damn, my kids grew up watching him.”
“Like every other kid in this city.”
“Weird to see him without his makeup. Just a regular guy.”
Sid stares at the oak door and then stirs.
“There’s nothing regular about Murray Greene. He’s broken, if you get what I mean.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Maybe, but not in the same way. Murray’s broken on a fundamental level. Kids and dogs pick up on it right away. It’s what makes him such a great clown.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Murray connects with kids on their own terms. He sort of sees the world through their eyes. But it’s not an act. He’s like that all the time.”
“Okay, but I don’t know if I’d call that broken exactly.”
“Maybe not, but don’t ever let him tell you your future.”
“Frownie can see the future? Like, what do they call it, a clairvoyant?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But Murray never lies. I mean never, not even a little fib. So, when he tells someone something, it carries weight, if that makes sense. Completely believable. Whether he gets your future right or not doesn’t matter. You’re going to believe what he says, one hundred percent, and that can be scary as hell. You can take that as gospel.”
Sid reaches under the bar and grabs a remote control. He points the device at the television above the backbar and presses the power button.
* * *
Murray contemplates his face in the dressing room mirror. He glances at a digital clock and nods at his reflection.
One last time, we bring Frownie to life, then the clown disappears forever. Let’s make it a goodbye they won’t forget, shall we?
He reaches for the tub of clown white, and the transformation begins.
Frownie walks down the corridor that leads to studio three. His costume and makeup are perfect; bowler hat tilted just so, floral necktie hanging over the shabby suitcoat, squirting boutonnière fully primed. Above the studio door, a sign glows a bright red warning. ON THE AIR. The clown disappears through the door, silent as a ghost.
The backstage lights are dimmed. Two grips stand in the half shadows. They smile as Frownie walks past. The clown gives them a nod and a wave. A few steps further on, the passageway ends at a dark archway. The arch frames the bright lights and stage set of LIVE with Carol & Don, the WGY after-lunch talk show.
The set is a raised platform decorated to resemble a cozy living room. Two couches form an ell. The hosts, Carol and Don, are poised on one couch. Their guest, a prim young woman, sits opposite. Carol, sporting her perfect smile, holds up a children’s picture book.
Frownie steps through the portal and into the dazzling lights. A ripple of surprise rolls through the studio audience, followed by a wave of applause. The beloved clown throws the crowd a friendly wave and steps up onto the set.
Carol hesitates for a heartbeat, her smile still in place. Her eyes dart past Murray Greene to the glassed-in production booth. A quick hand signal from the producer. Roll with it.
“Well, this is a surprise, Don.”
Carol swivels her smile to the audience.
“It’s Murray Greene, WGY’s very own star of Frownie and Friends, the longest-running morning show ever. Good afternoon, Murray, welcome.”
A sound boom appears in the air above Frownie.
“Hello, Carol. Hi, Don. Sorry to barge in like this.”
Don takes his cue and spreads his hands wide.
“You’re always welcome, Murray.”
Then to the studio audience.
“Isn’t that right, folks? Let’s give Murray a round of applause.”
The crowd responds with genuine appreciation. The only person left out of the ad-lib is the baffled guest. Carol spots the young woman and leaps to the rescue.
“Murray, this is Jenny Williams. Jenny is the author of How Becky Saves the Day.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Williams. Allow me to say I think very highly of your work. Very empathetic. Most excellent.”
The young author basks in Murray’s praise.
“Thank you so much, Mister Green. That means a lot coming from you.”
“You are very welcome. And if I’m not mistaken, I see a string of wonderful books in your future.”
Carol interjects, waving a manicured hand at the guest sofa.
“Have a seat, Murray.”
Frownie sits on the sofa’s edge, his hands folded in his lap and the huge necktie dangling toward the floor. A moment of quiet expectation follows, which the clown savors, then fills.
Here we go, folks.
“I apologize to the audience and our viewers out there in television land for interrupting Carol and Don’s wonderful show. Recently, a corporation called ClearSignal bought station WGY. Today, ClearSignal informed me that Frownie and Friends is no longer needed here at WGY. The last episode will air one week from today.”
A gasp ripples through the audience. Carol’s smile wavers and fades.
“I don’t know what to say, Murray. I’m at a loss… Don?”
Don is not smiling, nor is he at a loss for words.
“Folks, some of you may remember that this is only my second season with Carol. When I started here at the station, I was a wide-eyed beginner. And you know what? Murray Greene took me under his wing. This man helped me survive that first hard year. On any other day, I would be proud to say I’m a member of the WGY family. But not today. Murray, I just want to say…”
Whatever Don wants to say is cut off by a torrent of angry shouts. Brad Blakely leaps out of the shadows, one hand slashing across his throat and the other pointed at the stage.
“Stop it, kill it right now!”
The audience is rapt, craning their heads to see this new intruder. Up in the booth, a shadowy figure nods and speaks into a headset. Number two camera hisses to the lead.
“We’re live, boss! What do we do?”
The lead cameraman holds up his hand, listening to the voice in his ear.
“The booth says we roll. Camera three on the suit. Now!”
“You got it. Three on the suit. Damn, I love my job.”
Brad the suit gives up on the booth and dashes in front of the set. Camera three swivels like a turret gunner tracking a bogie. The audience sees a running figure silhouetted by the stage lights. Then the house lights come up and no one can hide.
The frantic corporate shark hops back and forth in front of two uniformed security guards. He’s shouting and pointing, so he does not see the sound boom appear above his head. The bigger of the two security guys eyes the microphone like it’s the arm of doom. He folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head.
Sound suddenly floods the studio monitors.
“…get that sonofabitch off the set, right now, you hear me? Right now. What are you waiting for? Do it!”
Both security guys take a step back. No way they’re going to manhandle Frownie the Clown on a live broadcast. No way in hell.
Brad turns his back on the guards, faces the stage, and sets off at a march step. A sound man scuttles along in the shadows and the boom mic hovers. Ignoring everyone and everything, Brad Blakely rushes onto the stage and into the homes of thousands of viewers.
He’s leaning over the seated clown, waving an angry finger at that famous painted-on frown.
“You are screwed, Greene. Screwed, you hear me? ClearSignal will sue you for every penny you’ve got, and that’s just for starters. I will personally see that you…”
A rising chorus of boos and catcalls rolls over the stage. The audience is on their feet, shaking fists and pointing fingers. Brad spins to face them, wide-eyed, as if just waking from a dream. His head swivels left and right, searching for an escape route.
Frownie the Clown rises from the sofa, straightens his oversized necktie, and lays a hand on the frantic man’s shoulder. Brad spins to face the clown. His eyes meet Frownie’s, and he freezes in place, the hand still on his shoulder. The crowd goes quiet.
“Brad, let’s calm things down, shall we? Our viewers want to be entertained. They don’t tune in to see anger and shouting. Isn’t that right, folks?”
The audience cheers. Frownie holds up a hand and the applause dies away. Meanwhile, Brad sags like a marionette whose strings have been severed.
“I know what we can do. I’ll tell you your fortune. Would you like that?”
Brad shakes his head, eyes on the floor. Then, as if pulled by a magnet, his face rises until he is looking into the clown’s eyes.
A long moment of silence follows. The audience is rapt. Carol, Don, and Jenny Williams sit frozen on their couches. Then Frownie the Clown shakes his head.
“Oh, that is a shame, Brad. Not a nice future, I’m afraid. I see you dying alone and despised, and not at a ripe old age. Not a good ending for such a bright young man. There is some good news, though. Your future is not carved in stone. You can change it, but I recommend you begin soon. Very soon.”
Brad’s response is a soft whimper that is magnified and projected across the studio and over the airwaves. Frownie the Clown squeezes the man’s shoulder, leans in closer. One hand slips unseen into a coat pocket.
“Brad, do you like my flower?”
Camera three zooms in for a closeup. Brad blinks, looks at the clown, looks into the camera, then looks down at Frownie’s lapel. Two jets of water leap from the lily, catching Brad full in the face. He lets out a low moan, clutches his head, and rushes from the stage. He’s still running when he hits the studio door.
The audience doesn’t need a cue card. The applause is deafening.
Frownie grins wide through his painted-on frown and takes a bow.
“Yes, folks, the old squirting lily trick. Gets them every time.”
Murray Greene smiles at Carol, cups his hands at his waist, and raises them up and out.
“Time to take our bows, my friends.”
Carol pops from the couch and takes Murray’s right hand. Don tags onto Carol’s. Jenny grabs Murray’s left hand, beaming up at him and then out at the audience.
“Well, folks, it has been an honor and a privilege to be your clown. I have watched so many wonderful children grow into wonderful adults. No one could ask for more. I am truly blessed, and I pass that blessing on to each and every one of you out there.”
The four actors take their bows to thunderous applause. Murray Greene raises his voice above the cheers.
“That’s our show, kids. Make today a wonderful day. And remember, be kind to the people you meet. Each small bit of kindness makes our world a better place. Bye-bye.”
© 2025 Marco Etheridge All rights reserved.
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