A fascinating insider's view of the carnival underworld—the cons, the double-dealing, the quick banter, and, of course, the easy money. The story of a shy middle-class kid turned first-class huckster, Peter Fenton's coming-of-age memoir is highly unorthodox, and utterly compelling. The year is 1963, the setting is small-town Michigan. At age fifteen, Peter Fenton is a gawky math whiz schoolboy with a dissatisfied mother, a father who drinks himself to foolishness, and no chance whatsoever with girls. That's when he meets Jackie Barron. Jackie is the unlikely progeny of Double-O and Vera, professional grifters running a third-rate traveling carnival, and he's been part of the family business since he started earning his keep as the World's Youngest Elephant Trainer. Jackie is a smooth-talking teenage carnie with his own Thunderbird, and with wisdom beyond his years. Jackie shares Pete's way with numbers, and he has a proposition. They'll start a rigged casino in Jackie's basement and take their classmates for thousands of dollars. Pete hesitates, but not for very long. Two years later, he's working joints for the Barrons' Party Time Shows, wearing sharkskin suits and alligator shoes, and relieving the public of its hard-earned cash. He learns to hold his own with veteran con men who have nicknames like the Ghost, Horserace Harry, and Talking Tony, and colorful personalities to match. This is the world of the Alibi and the Hanky Pank, of Flatties and the mark. Amazingly, Pete Fenton has never been more at home. But in this strange new world with its topsy-turvy code of ethics, where leaving a mark without a dollar for gas is outlawed while cheating a best friend is par for the course, the tension between teacher and student grows until Pete finds himself attempting the ultimate challenge: to out-con his mentor. "Eyeing the Flash is shot through with rue and amazement. Welcome, in brief, to adulthood, like the midway itself...[a world] of flashing lights, pounding music, cheap thrills and even cheaper suits, not to mention deceit, perishable pleasures and no curfews." -- Lee K. Abbott, The News & Observer (Raleigh, NC) "A contemporary carnival classic in the vein of Nell Stroud's Josser and Howard Bone's Side Show: My Life with Geeks, Freaks & Vagabonds in the Carny Trade." -- Library Journal "Mr. Fenton describes his transformation from high school nerd to midway con artist with great comic gusto, in the tart, cynical tone one might expect of someone who made a living taking nickels and dimes from small children at the duck-pond game. A cross between Ferris Bueller and William S. Burroughs, he regards with a cold, delighted eye the weakness, greed and duplicity of the carnival world, where human beings come in only two varieties: 'marks,' or suckers, and the wise guys who divest them of their cash.... The elite flatties could pick the pockets of their marks and still leave them laughing in wonderment. Mr. Fenton just might have shown them a new trick in this hilarious, twisted coming-of-age story." -- William Grimes, The New York Times "An engrossing read...In depicting his eccentric family, the author's wit crackles." -- People Peter Fenton served for fifteen years as a tabloid reporter for the National Enquirer and is the author of two humor books, Truth or Tabloid? and I Forgot to Wear Underwear on a Glass-Bottom Boat. He lives in Eugene, Oregon. Chapter One: Why You Should Always Leave the Mark a Dollar for Gas 1967 I had my back turned to Jackie when he said, "You'll never get rich with your hands in your pants." I whirled around. "Where'd you read that one, a fortune cookie?" It was hard to breathe, let alone come up with a decent retort. I had twisted away to adjust the sweat-soaked roll of cash in my black silk briefs and Jackie was no more than three feet from me, watching my every move. I couldn't let him spot the mysterious lump on my right hip -- because, after all, it was his money I'd stolen. "No, I saw it in a friggin' Oreo. Anyway, who cares? I've got to have lunch with the county sheriff in ten minutes. Can I just show you how to work the Swinger?" My throat felt like it was being constricted by kielbasa-size fingers. I had struggled to convince Jackie that I deserved a shot working one of the best money-vacuums on the Party Time Shows midway, and now I couldn't get a word out except "Sure." I was anxious about the money slipping down my pant leg. I was sick from the cold corn dogs, pizza crust, and flat Coke I had for breakfast after waking up, fully dressed in my new blue sharkskin pants and white satin shirt with western-style fringe, under a Party Time Shows semitrailer. I couldn't safely sleep in a room, because spending the night in a Motel 6 might have tipped Jackie off that I had a source of income beyond my official cut of the action. Jackie, on the other hand, was clean and calm, his auburn hair smelling of Vitalis. He was