Earl Weaver’s grandson, 44-year-old Mike Leahy, aka Clownvis, is coming to Baltimore. He’ll perform Wednesday, November 12, at the GROTTO at Dangerously Delicious, at 810, W. 36th Street, in Hampden. Doors open at 7pm.
I’ve gotten to know Clownvis in reporting and writing my NYT bestselling book about Earl Weaver, The Last Manager, which was published this year in March.
Like his grandpa, Clownvis is a blend of wit and showmanship, punk rock attitude, humor, and skill. An American treasure. The kind that, in the 20th century, used to tour the vaudeville circuit, and towns like Moundsville.
There’s more to Clownvis’ act than half-clown, half-Elvis. It’s something more unique and idiosyncratic, more stand-up comedy with musical jokes, a rockabilly Victor Borge.
Clownvis is the son of Terry Leahy, Earl’s younger daughter with Jane Johnston, who he married at age 18 in 1948. Earl was on the road for much of Terry’s youth, but as a grandfather, Earl regularly traveled to St. Louis to spend time with the family.
Terry’s son, Mike, the future Clownvis, was particularly drawn to grandpa Earl because he also aspired to a career in show business. In his early twenties, Mike made up his face in white paint and a clown nose, and adorned his head with a ducktail wig.
Of all of Earl Weaver’s descendants, it’s Clownvis who has best incarnated Earl Weaver’s show business spirit, sense of humor and dedication to the craft.
Little Earl apprenticed with the 1930s Cardinals, the so-called Gas House Gang. His dad, Earl, Sr., did laundry for the team, and Earl, Jr. got to see the gang’s blend of showmanship, baseball and craziness up close. The Cardinals had their own cowboy band, and toured vaudeville in the offseason.
After Earl died in 2013, Clownvis got an orange “4” tattooed across his entire back, the actual size it is on an Orioles uniform. “Don’t ruin your body with that stupid tattoo crap,” Earl told him. “Unless it’ll help you sell records.”
When Mike first showed Earl his singing, Earl told Mike to get a haircut and learn something else than that “damn Apple Pie song”. He’d been covering Don McLean’s American Pie. “You think you’re James Dean, but you’re not,” said Earl. But eventually, as he always did, Earl stopped teasing Mike and supported him and his music.
In 2010, Clownvis scored an invitation to America’s Got Talent. He sang Old McDonald Had A Farm.
Clownvis stared down Piers Morgan.
“Let’s have it,” said Clownvis, staring down one of the judges, international television star Piers Morgan. “You got anything for me?”
“What do you expect me to say? You come on as an Elvis impersonator. You’re dressed as a clown. And you’re singing Old MacDonald Has a Farm. It is without any doubt the worst act I have probably ever seen.”
“I’m proud. I’m proud of that, Pierre.”
“My name is Piers.”
“Piers.”
“Piers Morgan.”
And who are you?”
“I’m your worst nightmare.”
Clownvis walked off.
After Earl died, Mike wrote about his reaction to the America’s Got Talent episode: “He wasn’t too happy with Clownvis on America’s Got Talent, one of his favorite shows. But when I talked to him about it, I explained that when I was up there arguing with those judges, I was evoking HIM! I could tell he got it, although I also realized old people don’t necessarily understand a punk rock attitude. He ended that conversation by saying, “Well if you’re happy with it, I trust ya.”
Mike added: “My family and I will all miss him so much. He was truly amazing. It is nice to see all the great things being said about him in the media today. I am his biggest fan, and feel truly blessed to call him Grandpa Earl.”
In early 2023, I bought tickets and joined Terry and her husband Pat for a Clownvis show inside a boxy theater in downtown St. Louis, near where Earl grew up. The family lives outside the city, but they still drive in to eat, attend Cardinals games and see Clownvis. The crowd of 200 sang along to Elvis standards and some of Clownvis’ own compositions, such as “Don’t Be a Bitch Or You Won’t Get Stuff for Christmas”, “Chili Dog Song”, and “So Woke”.
Wake up, it’s time to get woke
This is not a drill, it’s not a joke
All set, I got everything I need
I gotta a cup of coffee and a little bit of weed
Watch the clock it changes all the time
2020 vision and I feel just fine
And if you fall asleep you get woke
Wake your ass up, it’s time get woke
Toward the end of the evening, Mike, still dressed in a fake Elvis wig and wearing a clown nose, belted out Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”.
Up in a booth above the dance floor, Terry Leahy, Earl Weaver’s daughter, turned to me and mimed a tear. This was Earl’s favorite song, she said. Terry got serious for a second. “You know, I’ve been asking myself: What would my dad make of what you’re trying to do?”
I steeled myself for the ghost of Earl Weaver to lash out at me.
“I think that what he would say is this: If you need that this is something that you have to do, well you go ahead and do it, but you make sure it’s good.”
“Make sure it doesn’t suck?” I said, reframing the question.
“Yes, that’s exactly what he would say,” she said. “Make sure it doesn’t suck.”
A few days later, Clownvis texted me a reflection on his grandfather’s legacy: “As I enter my 17 th year as Clownvis after not reaching the goal of rockstar I planned in my post-high school band days, I’m proud of traveling around the country the hard way, playing small (minor league) clubs. Still hoping to make the bigs in some capacity, but like my grandpa always told me he was happy to just make a living and get a pension. What will be will be.”
I saw Clownvis again Monday night in Pittsburgh. His act was fresh and funny. He performed a magic trick where he was meant to fold a bandana and folded a banana instead. He then tossed a giant banana into the crowd. He got the people moving and dancing.
After the show, as he always does, Clownvis hung out with his fans, and then left to hit the road again, just like his grandpa after a ballgame.
John W. Miller
I love this, John, and it’s good to know that there are still people, like Earl’s grandson, who are taking chances, traveling around the country, hitting small clubs, and just trying to make it–if they might not make it big. Even the fact that people are turning out for live shows seems like a miracle, with everybody hidden most days behind their phone screens watching memes and memes of memes. I just recently took my teens to their first show, a pop concert, and not particularly good–but live. Nothing is live anymore, so that fact alone, I think, made them love it.