As a child in the 50's I distinctly recall when the "King of the North American Gypsies" died at his home in the neighboring town. It was a strange looking home with sphinx models at the walk way and a neon sign saying fortunes told. Rumor said that limosines of the rich and famous pulled in through the back alley.

All hell broke loose.

I have searched on-line newspapers from the era, but there is nothing of record for that period of time.

There was a gigantic encampment in the large city park. Hundreds upon hundreds - of entire - large families - in strange long length dresses and baggy pants desended upon the community. The city was swamped for sanitary facilities. Shop owners were extra vigilent. Parents made sure their children were in before dark and children were told not to talk to strangers. But the MUSIC!!! Strange, wonderful, decadent brass and violins and drums all playing together in wild joyful abandonment.

We drove by several times to stare at them in the park and avoided them in public. I still have some plaster of paris santa faces painted by children younger than me.