For carnival workers, a chance to make extra cash selling fireworks

EVAN WILLIAMS/FLORIDA WEEKLY Dave Evans and Barbara Bowers Hanging light bulbs glowed from under a fireworks tent in the Bealls Outlet parking lot on U.S. 41, just south of Colonial Boulevard. Two struggling carnival workers, Dave Evans and Barbara Bowers, were waiting, hoping to make some sales.

They work for a Tampa-based supplier, Universal Novelty & Fireworks, so the couple is responsible for thousands of dollars of product.

"You sleep here, you eat here, you shower here," Mr. Evans said. "You have to protect all your fireworks from theft."

They arrived on Dec. 12 and live in a well-worn, 16-foot long trailer by the tent, along with Ms. Bowers' "children," five happy-go-lucky Chihuahuas.

The couple has sold fireworks for New Year's Eve before, near Tampa. But this is their first time in Fort Myers.

"This is one of the nicest places we've been," Mr. Evans said.

They hope to make at least $2,000 before leaving on Jan. 3, so they can pay bills and the rent on a space at a campground near Tampa. They were living in a tent there until a few months ago, when they bought the trailer.

Prior to selling fireworks in Fort Myers, they'd been traveling with a large carnival outfit called Amusements of America, up and down the East Coast. Both have been in and out of work in the last few years, and scrambling to find any job they can get.

A few years ago, construction work dried up in North Carolina for Mr. Evans, 51, who made small repairs on homes. Ms. Bowers, 47, was a house cleaner there, but her income wasn't sufficient to live on, so they joined the carnival.

Mr. Evans thought it might be a chance to see the countryside and enjoy big-city attractions, but as it turned out, there wasn't time for sightseeing.

"We thought it would be fun at first, but it really is strictly 100 percent work," he said. "We saw the Statue of Liberty crossing the bridge. We saw the White House when we drove by it."

As "carnies," the couple worked at fairs in March and April in North Carolina. Mostly, they ran the games in which people throw darts for prizes. By the summer, they were in New York. Then they traveled back south again after finishing the New Jersey State Fair. By October, they were at the Coastal Carolina Fair in Charleston, S.C.

On a jam-packed day at the fairgrounds, Mr. Evans or Ms. Bowers can made upwards of $250 apiece. At the New Jersey State Fair, Mr. Evans made nearly $5,000 in a week. But on slow days he could worked 10 hours and make $25.

"The problem is when you get that rinkedy dink little spot where nobody comes," he said.

At one smaller festival outside of Washington, D.C., he only made $30 for an entire week's work. (Minimum wage laws apparently don't apply to many carnival workers.) When this happens, his bosses usually lend him money "for food and cigarettes," but he's still required to pay it back.

It's not a way of life he was unfamiliar with. Mr. Evans was working the dart-throwing games at the fair in Charleston four years ago, when he met Ms. Bowers. She had lost her job selling leather jackets and biker supplies at a flea-market, and showed up at the fair seeking work.

"She came through the gate looking for a job and I was unloading a truck load of teddy bears," Mr. Evans remembered.

They've decided to wait to get married: Mr. Evans explained the reluctance.

"She's been divorced four times," he said. "I've been divorced three times. Barbara has this thing that her relationships don't last more than five years. So if we last five years, maybe we'll get married."

Meanwhile, Mr. Evans has become tired of this rough, rambling life, but says he has learned to laugh in the face of misfortune.

"We're nomads," he said, smiling, as headlights drifted across his face. "It's hard times."

As the night wore on with few customers, Ms. Bowers dealt herself another game of solitaire so as not to worry over their accounting books, which show little profit so far.

Mr. Evans isn't worried though.

"You really don't do much business until New Year's Eve or the day before," he said. "That's when we get 90 percent of our business."

Two of the Chihuahuas, kept near the trailer by a wire fence, were enviably free of any financial anxiety. They scampered down the steps and shook themselves off in the balmy December night.