This story is going to seem a little random but please just bear with me. A while back I was stumped for something to write about and remembered hearing about an International Clown Hall of Fame in the basement of Grand Avenue Mall. It sounded intriguing enough to me, so one day my friend, Andrew, and I decided to check it out. Its hours indicated that it should be open, but when we got there the hall of fame was dark and locked. Even though Andrew professed disappointment, I knew he found clowns creepy and was glad to see we couldn't go in.

Not one to let an idea die, I convinced him to go back with me more recently. We got there a little earlier this time but, alas, the clown hall of fame had closed down. All that remained when we looked through the glass doors were the red, green and yellow walls. Gone were what I imagined to be snapshots of clowns throughout history and colorful costumes on display. I felt let down. I had spent the last four years of my life blocks away from the hall of fame and now I would never be able to experience it (what you must think of my social life by this point). Since it was lunch time and food is always such a healthy way to cope with bad news, we decided to grab a bite to eat. I suggested a sandwich place near the mall but Andrew wanted to go back toward campus to a diner.

We started walking down West Wisconsin Avenue and just as we were getting to an intersection, who should we see approaching from a side street, but two grown men in full clown regalia. I nearly stopped dead in my tracks. Now, I'm not talking some amateurs with cheesy red rubber noses and oversized shoes. These guys had the makeup, the wigs, the costumes and most importantly, the confident strut of two clowns who knew they looked good. What were the odds? If we had never tried to go to the hall of fame, if it hadn't been closed, if we'd gone to the sandwich place instead of the diner, we never would have seen them.

It got me thinking about the bizarre nature of coincidence, and the larger question of fate. Things happen that can't be rationally explained. You're thinking of a song and a minute later it's on the radio or you and your friend say the exact same thing at the exact same time. It's this invisible connection that makes life so interesting and unpredictable. Well, it's either that or a whipped cream pie to the face.

This article appeared in The Marquette Tribune on Mar. 1 2005.