Balance Page 7

  Erendira can’t help but smile.

  “I know that sounds boastful,” I say, “and I don’t mean to brag. I respect all my relatives’ talents. They’re great. But they haven’t been great businessmen. I’ve been trained by amazing businessmen like John Carson and Chris Ripo, guys who have taught me the importance of entrepreneurial invention.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you have doubts about anything, Nik.”

  “I have lots of doubts. But I’m not going to let any of them get in my way. I’m going to do what I know Karl Wallenda would want me to do. I’m going to do things no one else has ever done.”

  “Well, I know what you should do right now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eat your enchiladas.”

  During the movie, I reach over and hold Erendira’s hand. She allows me. The touch of her soft skin is heaven.

  During the ride home, she takes my hand.

  When I walk her to the door of her parents’ home, I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. She turns and lets me kiss her on the lips. We embrace.

  I am dizzy with the excitement of being absolutely in love with this woman.

  December 19, 1999, five weeks away from my twenty-first birthday.

  My family is performing the seven-person pyramid at the Molson Center in Montreal, Canada. The Vazquez family is also on the bill. Early in the morning, I make it a point to seek out Erendira.

  “Will you come to see us tonight?” I ask.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I see that you and your brother-in-law aren’t getting along.”

  Tony, my sister’s husband, and I have some issues.

  “When it comes to the act itself, that won’t make any difference,” I say.

  “I’ll be nervous watching,” says Erendira.

  “When we get up there, we put all differences aside. Same as your family does.”

  “But still…”

  “You have to come, Erendira. You have to watch us. I’ll be miserable if you don’t.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  That evening when we seven climb up to the platform I look down to make sure Erendira is watching. She is. My heart is racing.

  We execute the pyramid flawlessly. The crowd rewards us with a standing ovation. The other six climb down from the platform but I remain. To the audience’s surprise, I walk back out on the wire.

  At the same time, my uncle Giovanni asks Erendira to walk to the center of the ring below. She doesn’t understand why—and refuses. It’s circus tradition that no one who is not performing steps into the center ring. But Uncle Giovanni is insistent. He gently but firmly pushes Erendira into the ring.

  That’s when I walk to the center of the wire and go down on one knee, my eyes fixed on Erendira.

  I speak into a wireless mic so every last member of the huge audience can hear. My voice rings out with conviction.

  “Erendira,” I say, “I love you very much and I want to know if you’ll be my wife.”

  I can see shock in Erendira’s eyes. She’s flabbergasted, totally taken by surprise. No sound comes out of her mouth.

  My mother comes up behind her and whispers in her ear. “This is the part when you’re supposed to say ‘yes,’ my dear.”

  “Yes!” she says.

  The crowd explodes with thunderous applause.

  I run off the wire, scramble down the rope, and run into the arms of sweet Erendira.

  We embrace.

  It’s against my principles to live together without being married, so a week later, lacking the funds to rent a hall and throw a splashy party, we have a simple courthouse ceremony.

  God is present. He is always present. The God of undying love is present when we take our vows. Before God, we commit our lives to each other. Before God, I feel a happiness, a glow of boundless joy.

  I thank God for Erendira. I thank Him for changing my life in a new and wholly positive direction.

  Huge challenges await us as a couple. There will be valleys to cross and mountains to climb. We will stumble and, at key points, we will fall. Our relationship will be challenged in critical and near-fatal ways. But on January 3, 2000, the day of our wedding, I can see only a future filled with bliss.

  I’ve married the woman of my dreams.

  9

  New Family First

  Six months after the birth of our first son, Yanni—another one of God’s miraculous blessings—Erendira is ready to return to performing. Because of financial constraints, we’re living with my parents. These same constraints have kept me working at the First Watch restaurant forty hours a week in addition to whatever occasional bookings we can get. As usual, money is tight and tensions high.

  I love my wife, I love my son, I love my new family, yet this love only makes me want me to do bigger and greater things.

  “I’m with you,” says Erendira. “I want us to perform as husband and wife.”

  There’s nothing I want more.

  “Be careful,” says my father. “The market is dwindling. I don’t see it getting any better. Plus other Wallendas are out there pushing their brands.”

  “They can be more than simply competitive,” adds Mom. “They can be vicious. I hate to say this about my own relatives, but I know them well. They’re my blood. And in our family history, there’s bad blood everywhere you look.”

  I know the history. Karl Wallenda still makes periodic appearances in my dreams. He still urges me on, leading me through jungles and forests to where waterfalls converge and voices urge me to cross over valleys of fire. But I also know that 1 John 4:18 says that a perfect love casts out fear. I’m looking to perfect that love—love of God, my wife, my son, and yes, even those members of my extended family who might wish me well.

  My spiritual mission is simple—stay focused on the positive. Avoid the toxic energy field of negativity.

  My professional goal is equally simple—hone my craft so that I can provide for my family doing what both my wife and I love best.

  Through my work with John Carson and Chris Ripo, I’ve been an entrepreneur in training—hungry to build my own brand.

  “Do you think we can do it?” asks Erendira, whose family history of financial failure is nothing she can ever forget.

  “I know we can,” I say.

  “Where do we start?”

  “Kinko’s.”

  Like thousands of would-be small business people before us, we run over to Kinko’s, where I make my first brochure touting this new husband-and-wife team—the Wallenda Family.

  The brochure is awful. My graphics are hokey, my wording is awkward, and the advertisement is hardly representative of what I consider a class act.

  “This won’t attract anyone,” says my father. “It looks amateurish.”

  He’s right, but given my limited skill as a designer of promotional materials, it’s the best I can do.

  I mail it out to key agents and venues where I’ve worked as a kid. After a week, no response. Two weeks go by and still no action. By the end of the fourth week, I’m starting to think that Dad’s right. This new venture featuring me and Erendira is a lost cause.

  And then comes a call.

  I remember an old lady in church saying that you may not think God is there when you want Him, but He’s always right on time.

  This call is right on time.

  “There’s a Japanese promoter looking for something spectacular,” says my father-in-law. “You’re always thinking spectacular. Maybe you should call him.”

  “I will.”

  I do.

  “We’re looking for something spectacular,” says the man, who books Tivoli amusement park in Kurashiki, Japan.

  “I’ve got something spectacular,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  “My wife and I have an amazing act on sway poles.”

  “Not spectacular enough.”

  “I ride a motorcycle across t
he wire.”

  “Not spectacular enough.”

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Something that will make news. News will draw crowds.”

  “Like doing something that’s never been done before?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  I think for a few seconds. Then the idea pops into my mind.

  “How about if I set a world record?”

  “That can work. What do you have in mind?”

  “The Wallendas are famous for the seven-person pyramid, but no one has ever mounted a four-layer eight-person pyramid before a live audience.”

  “And you can do that?”

  “I can,” I say, “and I will.”

  “I’ve very interested in this idea. We can promote it heavily. For the first time anywhere in the world, a four-layer eight-person pyramid—exclusively at Tivoli in Kurashiki! But you’re certain you can do this?”

  “Positive.”

  “Then it’s only a question of working out the financial details. Should I contact your agent or manager?”

  “You’re talking to my agent and my manager.”

  “I’d want to book for at least six weeks.”

  “Six weeks would be great.”

  “I wouldn’t want the eight-person pyramid to be executed until the beginning of the fourth week. I’d want to build up the excitement—and then set the record. Would the Guinness Book recognize this feat?”

  “They’d have to.”

  “All that would have to be arranged in advance—or else no deal. What kind of fee are we talking about?” he asks.

  I didn’t expect things to go this quickly, so I ask if I can back get to him.

  “No later than tomorrow,” he says.

  I discuss the matter with my father.

  “I’d be careful, Nik,” he says. “I’m not sure these people will pay you what you want.”

  “Well, all I can do is ask.”

  “You’re going to have to bring your crew,” says Dad. “You’re going to need at least a dozen people to go over there with you.”

  “I figure I’ll need at least fourteen.”

  “That will cost you a fortune.”

  “I’m going to ask a big fee.”

  “How big?”

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  “You’re dreaming, son. Tivoli won’t pay that.”

  “Can’t hurt to ask.”

  “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  The next day I call the booking manager.

  “How much?” he wants to know.

  I take a deep breath and begin to say the words. Those words won’t come out. So I take an even deeper breath and finally say, “Two hundred thousand dollars for six weeks.”

  “And how much would you require up front?”

  “Half.”

  “I’ll go with your fee but can’t pay more than a third up front. What do you say?”

  “I say you have a deal.”

  When I tell Dad, he’s still skeptical. “And what if you never see the remaining two-thirds of your money, Nik? What will you do then?”

  I have no answer for my dad. I’m too excited to argue. After all, this is the first deal I’ve made on my own. I’m not thinking that the promoter would ever cheat me. I’m just thinking of setting my first world record.

  When the contract arrives, I’m still in a state of semishock. I’ve cut my first deal. I’m about to execute my first contract as an independent artist. When I sign my name on the bottom line, I realize that nothing will ever be the same again.

  There’s no going back. Just like that, at age twenty-one, I’m in charge of a troupe training to break my own family’s world record.

  My mother is an intense trainer who trained my dad, who became even more intense than his teacher/wife. Rigorous training is my birthright and I probably take it further than both my parents put together. I am unrelenting. Because this is the first step into the big time out on my own, there can be no mistakes. I realize that not everyone will be rooting for me. What I’m doing, especially at so young an age, is unprecedented and audacious. If I trip up, my brand will be tarnished—perhaps permanently.

  To help boost my confidence even further, I ask my parents to join me. I’d like Mom to stand atop the pyramid. I’d like Dad to be there for training and support. My request catches them by surprise. This represents a reversal of roles. Now they’ll be working for me. Are they willing?

  “You’re our son,” says Mom, “and we’ll do anything we can to help you. We’ll be there.”

  I want Mom’s brother, Uncle Tino—a man I’ve deeply admired my entire life—to join me. He agrees but then changes his mind. He doesn’t like the fact that I, and not he, have booked the engagement. Understandably, he views himself as a family patriarch. He can’t see himself answering to his upstart nephew.

  My troupe is nonetheless solid. My wife and partner, Erendira, is with me every step of the way. Her dad agrees to join us. We also have sister Lijana there along with her husband. Tim Carlson, a great performer and friend, is in. And then there’s Mike Duff, one of my best buddies.

  I’ve known Mike since kindergarten. When we played as kids, I showed him how to walk the wire in our backyard. He also studied at Sailor Circus, the same training facility where my father learned his craft. Mike’s a natural. Plus he’s all heart. His presence comforts me enormously.

  I know I’m ready to break out. But the naysayers keep asking the question—some to my face, some behind my back—“Hasn’t Nik bitten off more than he can chew?”

  My answer is short and sweet. My answer is Philippians 4:13: “All things are possible through Christ Jesus.”

  No, I don’t believe that God’s invisible hand is holding me up on the wire. And no, I don’t believe that God’s intervention will keep the eight-person pyramid from falling. But yes, I do believe that I am strengthened by the steadiness of my faith. I do believe in a God whose steady love is unshakable and eternal. That belief allows me to get beyond my apprehensions and ignore what otherwise might feel like my limitations.

  “Most people work at a fraction of their potential,” says my mentor Chris Ripo. “Even hard workers like you and I might be utilizing 20 or 30 percent of our potential. That means there’s still another 70 percent of untapped territory.”

  That idea excites me. It convinces me that, despite the negative voices, I am not taking on more than I can handle. I’m just moving into untapped territory.

  It’s not that I can eliminate all doubts. I worry that perfecting this operation—a huge one for me—might take longer than I had anticipated. But that only makes me double down on the work.

  During training, I can lose my temper—always a problem for me. I can be short with my colleagues. As a boss, I can be overly demanding. Patience is not one of my strengths. Impatience doesn’t always endear me to others. I am so single-mindedly goal-oriented that, in pursuit of that goal, I can ignore other people’s feelings and emotional needs. That includes my wife. But at this point in my young life, when I’m so close to a daring feat that will put my name on the map, psychological niceties are not my concern. I want to make it. I want the world to know—the world to see—that the Wallenda family, the Nik Wallenda family, is expanding the tradition of the great Karl Wallenda. We’re going all out to thrill audiences in new and spectacular ways.

  I put together a full spectrum of entertainment. My sister performs a slide for life—a huge incline at the end of which she hangs by her ankle. Erendira and her dad perform the revolving perch: A motorized rotating pole emerges from a twenty-foot base. As it spins, he hangs by his ankles and picks up his daughter. She initiates a series of graceful poses and bodily configurations. At one point Erendira and her dad, without the use of their hands, connect neck to neck. In another stunt, my wife climbs one enormous sway pole while I climb another. At the very top, we execute all sorts of gyrating maneuvers before she leaps to my pole as I leap to hers. The culmin
ation of our show is the seven-person pyramid. We will do it for the first three weeks. At the start of the fourth week we will—for one time only—add the eighth person and break the record.

  In our backyard in Sarasota we practice every day. We start at ten feet up, then move to fifteen, then twenty-five. We practice our moves over and over and over again. We build up to the point where we stay on the wire for fifteen minutes at a time. Then we put another member on our shoulders and, supporting that weight, remain on the wire. We support the weight for four minutes, then ten, and finally a full fifteen.

  The three-person pyramid becomes a four-person pyramid, then five, then six, then seven until we eventually reach eight. At each stage, we slowly and carefully perfect our moves. There is no rushing. Steady practice is the key.

  Just as steadily, the promoter in Japan is preparing the press. The promotional buildup parallels our training. International news outlets are alerted. Interviews are arranged. Live coverage is secured.

  The first three weeks go off without a hitch. Japanese audiences crowd the venue and love our show. The seven-person pyramid tops off each performance as the promoter saturates the market with news bits about the upcoming record-shattering spectacle.

  And then comes the day of days: For the first time in world history, the eight-person pyramid.

  We are calm, we are deliberate, we are confident because we are prepared.

  We four strong young men form the foundation.

  Above us are my sister and her husband.

  My mom is on the third tier.

  And then—the coup de grace—Vinicio Vazquez, Erendira’s dad, sits upon my mother’s shoulders.

  The eight-person pyramid is executed perfectly. The response is tremendous. A world record is set. And, to make things even sweeter, at the end of the engagement the promoter pays us in full. After paying my troupe and expenses, I’m left with very little, but that’s the least of it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s mission accomplished.

  I’m exuberant. Who wouldn’t be? I’ve booked and pulled off a news-making event of my own. I figure that from here on out it’ll be smooth sailing.

  I figure wrong.

  10