Or how two brothers from Kent get paid to cruise the world
By Mark Watt
Photos by Tanya Ackerman

In the wilderness of Brazil, the comforts of the industrialized and relatively tame world of America recede to dim memory. A dense mist hangs over the dark green foliage of a steep mountain, concealing the rising sun on the horizon. Down below, beyond an endless stretch of jungles, the muddy Amazon River slithers its way deeper into the heart of darkness.

Slowly a huge white ship floats into view with a flock of curious birds following behind. Passengers from around the world stand on the deck, watching the scenery unfold. Standing among the passengers, two brothers look in awe at the foreign environment, a place so far from home.

Mark and Charlie Peachock of Kent are heading deep into South America as entertainers on a cruise ship. Moving into the heart of darkness, the brothers are reminded of who they are and the odds that have been stacked against them.

They are jugglers, forging ahead in the brutal and demanding world of entertainment.

The Peachock brothers, otherwise known by their team name of Free Fall, are world-champion jugglers. Last year at the International Jugglers Association’s annual competition in Pittsburgh, 24-year-old Mark and 22-year-old Charlie took home first prize in the Team Competition category. They juggled 11 rings between them, tying the world record.

“We just went in there, ready to perform and win, and then we did just that,” Charlie says. “I would guess that we are probably one of the best three juggling teams in the history of the IJA.”

The IJA, an organization founded 51 years ago, comprises about 3,000 jugglers from around the world. Mark and Charlie have won five gold medals at the IJA competitions during the past three years.

Since last year’s performance at the IJA’s 50th Anniversary Festival, the Peachocks have toured the world on cruise ships with their act. These cruises have taken them to faraway places such as Italy, Greece, the Caribbean, the Panama Canal and Egypt — not to mention their two-week stint on the Amazon River earlier this year. All the world travel has had its effect on the brothers, too.

“Traveling dispels the sense of insulation that most people get by staying in one spot, not coming into contact with the different ways people live in the world,” he says. “It allows us to see so much in a short period of time, and that allows for a lot of variety.”

Before they tied the world record for ring juggling, before they won their gold medals, and before they began their treks to the corners of the world, Mark and Charlie were just ordinary kids with a hobby.

Mark credits his friends in his hometown of Kent for pushing him into the juggling world. Ben Secaur and Brandon Moss, classmates at Kent Roosevelt High School, were freshmen when they decided to throw together a group of young jugglers just for the fun of it. Mark joined the Tree City Jugglers shortly after the group was formed.

“Mark was quick to jump into it,” Secaur recalls with a smile. “Back then I was a better juggler than he was, but not for too long.”

Slowly, more and more schoolmates joined the Tree City Jugglers, usually after checking out the group as they practiced during lunch periods and after school. Charlie was one of these latecomers, and at its peak, the juggling troupe included nearly 20 teen-agers.

“Charlie was one of the last to join up, but he learned really fast,” Secaur says.

As time progressed, the Tree City Jugglers became its own subculture. Evenings for the teen-agers were spent with their juggling friends, and they began to improve out of a sense of competition. Almost every Saturday throughout high school, some incarnation of the group made its way up to the Kent State University campus.

“We’d break into an auditorium up there to practice,” Secaur explains. “We’d get some lunch, and then we’d go back up to campus and climb onto some fountains and juggle some more. It was a weekly event.”

Eventually, the Tree City Jugglers landed their first paying gig as entertainment to follow a potluck dinner at Kent’s First Christian Church. The eight jugglers were paid $20 to split among them. For his first show in front of an audience, Mark was able to try out the onstage comedy he continues to fuse into shows. Whenever he dropped one of the bean-bag rabbits he was juggling, he ad-libbed, scolding the fallen bunnies with one-liners, such as, “No carrot cake for you tonight.”

By Charlie’s senior year in 1994, he had surpassed many of his juggling peers in technical ability. Performing at the school’s annual Keeth Stewart Talent Show, he won first place in the Miscellaneous Act category and third place overall, earning a prize of $100.

Mark and Charlie spent the next few years refining their craft, traveling to competitions whenever they could get away from their jobs at Spin-More Records, a store their parents own and run. Because of sibling rivalry, if nothing else, the two opted to perform as solo acts. Charlie studied with Benji Hill, a coach from West Virginia, while Mark took classes at Kent State.

As chance would have it, Benji and a juggling partner were working on cruise ships between lessons with Charlie. When Benji and his performance companion parted ways during their contract for a cruise ship company, Benji asked his apprentice to join up.

“I jumped at the chance,” Charlie says.

The 19-year-old spent the end of 1995 and the first few months of 1996 performing on cruises in the Bahamas, Alaska and the Panama Canal.

After the contract ran out, Charlie came home and began working with Mark for a two-man act.

“We are brothers, after all,” Charlie says. “We already knew we worked well together.” The first time the Peachocks competed together as a team was at the IJA’s 50th Anniversary Competition. After winning first place, they signed with a talent agent in New York City and landed a dream job — performing on cruises around the world.

Mark is sitting on a couch in his parents’ living room. His dark brown hair is a bit disheveled as he sits half-curled, a blanket wrapped around him. He recently woke up, but he speaks with the energy and intensity of a child on a sugar high.

“Want a popsicle? Yeah, of course you do,” he says, before I can answer. Moments later, we’re eating orange popsicles as he tells me where he gets his ideas for the comedy aspect of the brothers’ show.

“I started putting together a notebook of jokes to get ideas for our act,” he says. “Everybody’s got a joke, so I ask everybody I meet if they’ve got one to put in my book.”

As he hurriedly finishes his popsicle, he reads me the joke written on the remaining wooden stick.

“What did the dollar bill name his daughter?” he asks. After a pause he tells me, “Penny.” Mark fake laughs and rolls his eyes upward.

“Well this one’s not going in my book. It’s going in the trash,” he says, tossing the stick into a wastebasket several feet away.

When I ask him how long he went to college, he pauses to think.

“I guess from about 7 a.m. until about 3 in the afternoon,” he answers straight-faced. After I frown and reword the question, he laughs.

“That’s the difference between Charlie and me,” he says. “I’ve got more of the over-the-top humor, and he’s more understated. That’s how it is onstage, too.”

On a cruise ship halfway around the planet, Charlie and Mark wait backstage for their cue to go onstage. An announcer in a pink sports jacket warms up the crowd in the cruise ship’s theater, then announces the brothers. Charlie and Mark jog onto the stage, and Mark instantly tells the audience, “Well, we thought this would be a good time to announce that we just signed our first contract with HBO.” As the crowd’s cheers die away, he continues.

“Yeah, we get the comedy show, the movies, the original shows ... all for one low price.”

The audience breaks into laughter, and the brothers kick into their show at a dizzying pace. Mark juggles three, four and finally five balls by himself, tossing them in varying patterns, catching a ball on the back of his neck and pausing before propelling it into the air. Then Charlie comes out, and Mark shoots a Ping-Pong ball out of his mouth at his brother, who swats it back with a paddle. Suddenly, there are two ping pong balls bouncing between them. More cheers.

The brothers continue with more routines, using clubs [lighter versions of bowling pins] and a Chinese trick instrument called a durango. As the house lights go down, glow-in-the-dark balls begin weaving around each other in the darkness. Next, it’s time for a volunteer. An older man comes up and stands center stage as six clubs fly in front and in back of him. The routine ends with Charlie knocking a cigarette out of the man’s mouth with a pin. For the show’s finale, the brothers juggle eight rings between them. And so one more show ends.

Charlie says the performances are what make their efforts worthwhile.

“I’d say that a good performance validates all the work we put into our shows,” he says. “It’s about being appreciated. Plus, the money’s good.”

To pull off the tricks for a good show, Mark says they have to keep a certain mind set.

“The trick about performing is that you have to keep yourself in the moment,” he explains. “If you get ahead of yourself, that’s when you’ll drop.”

Back home, Charlie’s hanging out at a local beer and pizza joint called Europe Gyro. A friend’s band just finished playing a show, and Charlie makes his way outside to show off some of his tricks. He tosses five balls into the air and juggles them as if it’s second nature. After a number of cycles, he leans his head back and closes his eyes as the balls continue their confusing route of criss-crossing arcs above his head. He opens his eyes, tossing them higher, and spins his body around, still juggling effortlessly.

“The nice thing about juggling is that it’s self-sustained,” he says a few minutes later, sitting at a picnic table. “All we need is us.”

Charlie looks a lot like Mark, a sort of vertically stretched-out version of his brother.

“I think I’m the more serious one,” he says. “I take the business side more seriously.”

He explains that taking juggling seriously can be frustrating, pointing out that non-jugglers can’t really tell what tricks are extremely challenging — only what looks impressive.

“People expect to see the stereotypical stuff: bowling balls, knives, torches,” he says. “But you won’t see that kind of stuff at IJA competitions because everyone there knows it’s just for show.”

He insists, though, that doing tricks for show isn’t a bad thing, as long as it’s in the right environment, such as on cruises, where shows are flashy and meant to amaze and entertain.

“Right now we do a lot of stuff because it’s what audiences want to see, but I’d like to push the envelope more,” he says. “At some point, I’d like to stray away from what I’m doing now and do more artistic routines with less comedy — stuff like ‘Riverdance’ or ‘Stomp.’ It’s really moving stuff, ya know?”

Jugglers are a minority in the entertainment industry. Bill Giduz, editor of the IJA’s member-only magazine, Juggling World, guesses there are probably fewer than 500 people in the United States who juggle as a full-time job.

These jugglers are spread across a number of markets, including cruise ships, theme parks, college circuits, corporate circuits, professional sporting event half-time shows, and small-stage markets in tourist locations such as Las Vegas.

Giduz says successful jugglers, like Charlie and Mark, incorporate a combination of skills, including technical juggling skills, and an ability to entertain an audience and market an act.

“You’re dead in the water if you can’t entertain,” he says. “The other skills are vital, but entertainment is the key.”

Giduz says Mark and Charlie have what it takes to make it as professional jugglers.

“They are excellent technicians, and they really know how to work an audience,” he says. “They know how to smile in front of an audience, and they give people a chance to react.”

Luckily for Mark and Charlie, their parents have supported their dreams of success in the entertainment industry, a world in which young performers are chewed up and spit out on a daily basis. Their father was instrumental in the brothers’ early years, booking shows, talking to agents and pushing for appearances on local television stations. Their mother, Dot, also helped out, pushing them along in her own way.

“I always felt that my main purpose for raising my kids was to make sure that whatever jobs they found would leave them happy and satisfied,” she says. “I was just really glad they had enough enthusiasm to go into this — not just for the money, but to find a job that would really bring them happiness.”

Right now, Mark and Charlie are celebrating at their parents’ house. In the morning they will be leaving for a four-month cruise around the Mediterranean Sea.

Some of the brothers’ friends are gathered by their parents’ bar with mixed drinks and shots of Jagermeister. A group of guys are lounging in the living room, watching WWF wrestling on a big-screen television.

On the deck outside, some friends are chatting, hoping to get Charlie to break out the glow-in-the-dark balls.

Charlie’s sitting at the breakfast bar, laughing about one of the brothers’ most embarrassing moments. He leans toward the dining room, where Mark is engaged in a game of cards with a group of friends from the now-defunct Tree City Jugglers.

“Hey, Mark, remember when you caught on fire?” he asks between laughs.

Mark sets his cards face-down and recalls a show at a festival in a nearby town where he and Ben Secaur were juggling torches.

“Every time we made a pass, the torches brushed past my cut-off jean shorts,” he explains. “Each time a torch went by, it charred the ends of the strings dangling down.”

By now a number of party-goers are listening in, leaning on door frames or looking in from the adjoining rooms.

“I felt something, and I yelled, ‘Bee!’” Mark says. “Then I look down, and I realize I’m on fire!”

As the laughter subsides, Mark and Charlie separate again. The party will wind down after several more hours, and then the brothers will get some much-needed sleep. By tomorrow afternoon, they will be on their way to a cruise ship on the other side of the world.

“We want to keep performing for as long as it stays fun,” Mark says.

“There is no greater job than the one you enjoy.”