He’s a Globe of Death motorcycle rider. Luckily he has a circus priest

Folsom, Calif. — 

It’s almost 11 a.m. on a Sunday in early September, and it’s already 103 degrees here. Around 20 jugglers, trapeze artists and concession stand workers are filtering into the big top that the majestic Circus Vargas uses to perform across 25 California cities 11 months out of the year.

Seated in red chairs arranged in neat rows inside the ring, these members of the circus community have gathered to attend Mass, an optional circus tradition that happens at least once a year. In the space under the tent, you can see popcorn spilled from the previous day’s slate of three shows.

In the front row sits Daniel Eguino, 36, a daredevil who rides the Globe of Steel, or, as it’s also known in the circus world, the Globe of Death. For the act, Eguino and three other motorcyclists swoop about inside an 18-foot-high locked steel cage at speeds of up to 60 miles an hour, thrilling the watching crowds.

On his lap is his wide-eyed 1-year-old daughter, Natasha, and next to him is his wife of eight years, Thatiana Fischer, 35. The two, who have been with Vargas for three years, met when they were with Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey. She’s a jazz dancer working as a “line manager” — someone who helps performers retain choreography — for Vargas, and appears in three acts, along with ushering.

Earlier that morning, Father Frank Cancro, 74, the National Circus Chaplain, laid out water, wine, communion wafers and a cross on a folding table adorned with a black tablecloth. Cancro is a former-clown-turned-retired priest-turned-chaplain appointed by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops Circus and Traveling Shows Ministry, which dates back 100 years and serves more than 50 circuses around the world. For the past 15 years, he’s been going on the road with circuses to preside over Mass, perform sacraments and provide pastoral care. He doesn’t earn a salary and lives off his diocese retirement and special collections.

Serving what he calls the “most unique congregation on Earth,” he caters to the “spiritual and personal needs of all those who travel down the road without a ZIP Code.”

With his priest stole decorated with embroidered clowns, Cancro is part minister, part grandparent, part therapist and part human resource professional for a population that research shows can struggle with their mental health. (He sees two to three suicides per year in his work as circus chaplain, he says.)

Eguino, Fischer and Cancro have been friends for years. In 2017, the priest assisted with the couple’s Holy Communion and confirmation; when he’s not traveling with them, he stays in touch via the Meta platform Messenger. For Eguino and Fischer, his presence brings comfort. “Sometimes it’s only 20 minutes, but the words he says during the Mass, sometimes it’s all we need to hear in that moment,” said Fischer.

Back under the tent, small fans around the ring blow cool air on the intimate group. Flying trapeze artist Mariella Arata-Quiroga, daughter of Vargas owners and longtime friends of Cancro, Nelson Quiroga and Katya Arata-Quiroga, turns to smile at her grandfather, Victor Arata, a retired high-wire performer. The Faltyny family from the Czech Republic, who perform as jugglers and unicyclists, looks on contently.

Cancro preaches embracing wholeness — in other words, health, happiness and belonging — while on the road. He teaches from the book of Mark, telling the story of Jesus’ journey to Decapolis, where he restored a deaf man’s hearing and ability to speak, a physical healing signaling awe. When circus-goers witness acts like a triple somersault on the trapeze or spinning in a human hamster wheel without a harness, they see a fleeting moment that is said to have divine impact. “There’s an opportunity for people to see the reality of God’s presence and God’s face in you,” Cancro tells the group.

Eguino, who says he was “born in the circus,” with five generations of his family performing, has worked in the Globe for the last 21 years — first in the Argentinian circuses where he grew up, then in America starting in 2007. The son of a contortionist mother and Globe of Steel rider father, Eguino has a tattoo of the steel cage on his left forearm along with a $100 bill, representing the act as his livelihood.

The Globe of Steel is also informally considered one of the 10 most dangerous circus acts, along with fire breathing and sword swallowing. Eguino knows of riders from Brazil and Colombia who have died or faced near-death experiences. Globe accidents were also reported in Russia and the U.S. in 2015 and in the U.K. in 2018.

“My act is very dangerous,” Eguino says. He doesn’t like to talk about the accidents for fear people will judge him for continuing in his line of work. Instead, he emphasizes safety, practice, equipment maintenance, trust between riders and focus. And he relies on his faith to ground him: “After the Mass, I feel like I am protected. I feel more comfortable to do everything.”

Nearly 10 years ago, Cancro performed the anointing of the sick — laying hands on a person who is ill, spreading oil on their forehead and praying — on Eguino. The sacrament is often associated with end-of-life care, but in the circus, it can also occur in the context of accidents. Eguino was in the hospital awaiting surgery after breaking his jaw during practice at the Bradenton, Fla., winter quarters of Feld Entertainment, the company that owns Ringling. As Eguino recovered, no other rider would enter the Globe for fear of getting hurt. Cancro blessed it, sprinkling holy water both inside and out.

Under the tent, Cancro asks the crowd, “Is there anything or anyone someone wants to pray for? Just shout it out.”

At first, silence follows. In a middle row, Ringmaster Johnathan Lee Iverson, who has known Cancro for two decades, and his wife, Priscilla Iverson, a dancer turned show liaison, hold hands.

One by one, people stand to offer requests.

“I want to pray for Larry, a visitor to the circus every year in Escondido, who I would chat with often. He knew many performer’s names. He passed away in April, and I just found out,” says juggler and unicyclist Emil Faltyny.

“I pray for a member of the circus community who is in the hospital,” Fischer adds.

Following the 40-minute service, a sense of jubilation fills the tent.

“Today I feel very happy,” Eguino says. “It was the first Mass with my child.” During the service, Natasha had been seated on her father’s lap without a peep until the very end, when she spotted Arata’s dog and had to say hello. Afterward, she waddles through the ring-side seating in her white and pink sparkly sneakers.

By the time the doors open at 2 p.m. for the show, Fischer is in her polyester usher uniform, helping audience members to their seats.

By 2:15 p.m., she is dressed in a green gown with a fruit headdress on her head, representing her home country of Brazil for the opening act: a roll call in which costumed performers greet the audience with song and dance introducing the 13 countries — from Italy to Bulgaria — they collectively represent.

By 3:30 p.m., the Globe riders are warming up, stretching and playing a quick game of ping-pong at a table behind the tent.

At 3:40 p.m., the four motorcyclists head to their truck to claim their bikes and don chest protectors, heavy-duty knee-high boots, knee pads and bedazzled helmets. In selecting their matching white-and-gold outfits, Eguino, who is in charge of costumes, was inspired by Tommy from the Power Rangers franchise.

Backstage, Eguino leans his body against his motorcycle and closes his eyes for a quick prayer. Growing up in Argentina, faith was always a part of his life, he says, but it’s deepened as he’s grown closer to Cancro.

Fischer whispers “good luck” in her husband’s ear, and they kiss.

“Are you ready?” the ringmaster roars from inside the tent.

On his bike backstage, Eguino steps on the gas twice.

Techno music plays as the riders enter the stage. Sweat is visible on their faces. Some 900 attendees stare, rapt, as the daredevils loop and arc on their bikes, the wheels illuminated. The tent is immersed in a deafening motorcycle hum. A mere arm’s length away from one another, the riders stay steady, thanks to centripetal force and prayers.

After five minutes, the riders come to a halt. A crew member opens the Globe’s gate, and Fischer enters the ring, handing a flag to each rider — Bulgarian for Lyubo Karamitrev, leader of the act; Colombian for Neker Mesa; Mexican for Tony Vetty; and Argentinian for her husband. The riders circle the ring on their bikes, waving their flags and beaming with pride as the audience roars.

As the stage crew rolls the Globe out of the tent, the riders exit the ring, lingering by the large fan set up backstage. They’ll appear in the last act, when the whole cast sings “We are One.” Then there’s a short break before the next show starts at 5:30 p.m.

Around intermission of the second show of the day, about a half hour until the Globe of Death act, the sun sets over the lot in Folsom. Dressed in sweat-shorts and a T-shirt, with a calmness incongruous with his upcoming performance, Eguino sits on his patio. The air has cooled to below 100 degrees for the first time all week.

Fischer steps out of the trailer in a sundress, holding a baby monitor showing a sleeping Natasha. Cancro joins her and Eguino in their outdoor living room, where they talk about the next sacrament the family wants to tackle. Fellow Globe rider Mesa has a five-month-old baby, and the families are considering a joint baptism. In 2019, Circus Vargas hosted six baptisms and six confirmations in one ceremony. Cancro tells the couple he’ll come back anytime to do it.

Eguino and Fischer express contentment with life but have had some struggles with finances. Working as independent contractors who aren’t reimbursed for travel expenses, making enough for groceries, clothing, the dogs (the couple have a Yorkie, a Maltese and a husky), the truck and the costs involved with having a baby can be a challenge. Fuel for the trailer, which they live in throughout the year — sometimes taking it on the road during their month off in December — can be particularly burdensome. They’re also navigating the constant transformation that comes with a new baby.

All three of them stare into the baby monitor as Natasha stirs but doesn’t wake.

“Father, can you give us a prayer before I go?” Eguino asks.

The three hold hands as Cancro prays for protection for the family. Fischer tears up at the mention of her daughter’s name, explaining she’s often emotional, whether it’s a sad movie or a visit with the circus priest. Eguino smiles and stands to go suit up for his last ride of the day.

Without really knowing it, every circus attendee shows up to see if the juggler will keep the balls in the air, if the flying trapeze artist will catch their partner, if the rider will survive the Globe. Today, with a little faith, Eguino emerges unscathed and ready for his next high-stakes ride.

This story was supported by a grant from the Chaplaincy Innovation Lab at Brandeis University in partnership with Templeton Religion Trust.