Lynchburg Living

Editor's Letter

By Johanna Calfee

This is not a proud moment for me, but I’m ready to confess something: For as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of clowns. And mascots. And pretty much anything in a head-to-toe costume. As a kid, Halloween was a source of slight anxiety for me, made better only by the fact that I could dress up like a ballerina/cat/cowgirl and eat copious amounts of candy.

For years, I did the only mature thing I could think to do in order to deal with the fear–I blamed my parents. After all, they did dress me up as a clown for Halloween at the tender age of two. That same year, they took me to the circus for the first time, where I encountered an adult-sized clown. The photos from both are hysterical. One has me making the weepiest clown face you’ve ever seen and the other involves me clinging to my parents like I was a game show contestant about to lose a challenge if I let go.

Later in life, I became a cheerleader, which meant instant and constant exposure to mascots. My excitement over being tossed high into the air (no fear of height here, folks!) was soon overshadowed by my paranoia that I would have to do a routine with, or even near, our school mascot. He was a Confederate soldier, after all, and known for riding a horse onto our football field and “firing the cannon” via a CD recording during our halftime show. True story. You can understand why I was nervous around him.

When it came time to take my first job at the tender age of 15, I decided to face my fear head-on and took a summer gig escorting “characters” around Kings Dominion. That meant that for 40 hours a week, I was stuck with Scooby Doo, George Jetson and the rest of the Hanna-Barbera gang. Knowing who was behind the mask helped calm my knee-jerk reaction every time one of my co-workers suited up, which was, of course, to sprint in the opposite direction. I was so proud of myself for dealing with my anxiety, until the night that one of them decided to hide in the backseat of my car after work and “pop” up at me as I drove out of the parking lot. I won’t embarrass myself by telling you what happened next, but it wasn’t pretty. As a result, my fear was not quite resolved that summer.

Fast forward to last year. My friend, Brenda Edson at Randolph College, sent me an email suggesting that we do a feature in Lynchburg Living about our area’s mascots. I played it cool–”Brenda, what a GREAT idea!” I wrote her back. Inside though, I was panicked. How would I face not just one mascot, but a group of them to get the cover shot we needed? I did the only thing I could think to do–I Googled “fear of mascots.”

Turns out, there’s a name for my “condition:” Masklophobia–the fear of mascots, or people in costume. Never heard of it? Neither had I. I’m just glad that the fear is common enough to have a name. Doesn’t it make you feel better when you realize that other people are as crazy as you are?

Knowing this, I somehow felt better–empowered even–to march into our cover shoot with my head held high and look those mascots straight in their huge, painted on eyeballs. What also helped tremendously was learning all about each mascot leading up to the shoot. The history behind each school’s character enticed me to want to get up close and personal with each Bee, Ram and WildCat. And by up close and personal, I mean about 50 years away–a safe but healthy distance. Small victories here, people.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the end product!