Don’t call them carnies: meet The Easter Show’s modern showmen

The O’Neill family are fourth generation show entertainers — hardworking, well-groomed businessmen and women who spend their lives creating fun.

There’s something special in Garry O’Neill’s blood. He has that energiser bunny spirit, bouncing around Sydney Olympic Park, smiling at guests.

He is 73 but has the energy of an 11-year-old kid begging his parents for tickets for just one more ride. That’s what happens when you’re a fourth-generation showman.

“We live in a house, though – that will probably mess you’re whole story up,” he says, crouched on a small chair, a twinkle in his eye.

Quite the opposite – the O’Neill’s are the face of the modern showman. Not carneys. Showmen.

The hardworking, well-groomed businessmen and women who spend their lives creating fun.

These days, the modern showman is about as different as possible to a past of transient gypsy nomads offering bearded ladies and freaks.

Siblings Karyn and Garry O’Neill, whose family has been involved with the Sydney Royal Easter Show for more than four decades, in the kids’ ride area. Picture: Sam Ruttyn

Not that Garry doesn’t remember those days. The sprightly grandfather spent his youth travelling to shows with his contortionist mother and showman father, wandering carnival fields, nibbling on lollies.

“In those days it was all tent shows, strip tease shows, boxing shows, midgets, pygmies,” he says. “There was a lot of colour.”

Three generations of the O’Neill family, (from left) Rowan, Bailey, Oscar on Garry’s shoulders, Dylan with wife Sandra holding Zac. Picture: Sam Ruttyn

These days, that colour comes in the form of neon lights, sugar-coated hotdogs, plastic showbags.

They lived their life on the road. In those days, you didn’t choose to be a showie, you were born into it. Not anymore.

Of Garry and Robyn’s five children, only one has committed to the showie life, Dylan, and only does it part-time.

Their other four children are an Olympian, a scientist and two teachers.

John Roberts at one of his gaming stands. Picture: Sam Ruttyn

There are some exceptions though – The Royal Easter Show.

When it comes to the show, everyone helps out, including Garry’s sister Karyn who flies from England to carry on the family legacy.

“It’s the best show in the world,” says Garry.

It’s a big call, made by someone who has spent his life travelling the world visiting shows. But he stands by it.

“Hard work though.”

Garry O’Neill remembers old shows like this one, in which his sister Karyn posed with chimpanzees.

An old-style “freak show”.

A photo from Garry O’Neill’s childhood photo albums.

The main ring entertainment in “old” Royal Easter Show.

And it is hard yakka, as hard as the work any plumber or daycare teacher will do. You see it in the lines in these people’s faces, carved from years spent in the sun. Fun comes at a price.

At the end of the day this is a business. These aren’t the carneys of America, toothless, sleazy, peddlers out to take your dollar. These are business people.

“This equipment isn’t cheap. Purchasing a ride, with maintenance, you’re looking at a couple of million dollars,” explains his son Dylan.

Gary’s mother, contortionist and performer Joy O’Neill.

Joy O’Neill relaxing at a show.

Gary spend his childhood travelling with the show and his family, including his performer mother Joy O’Neill.

You don’t get here sleazing. This is the output of hard work.

It’s something fellow veteran showman John Roberts agrees with. The soft-spoken carnival man has built a life out of bringing joy to Australia’s fairgrounds. Call him what you want, but don’t call him a carny.

“The people in our industry are clean, intelligent, smart people who run a smart business, and you only got to look around at any show at the presentation and the effort that goes into their business,” he says.

The “old” Royal Easter shows that Garry O’Neill remembers.

The “old” Royal Easter shows that Garry O’Neill remembers.

“They say that we’re untrustworthy we are toothless, tattooed, untidy, uncouth, unkept people. And that’s why we take offence to it. None of our people are like that at all,”

He pauses, and trots over to his staff, two bright-faced boys testing the sideshow: “Get that mic as loud as you can with no feedback!”

“Righto boss!”

As for the games itself, John runs a fair deal. He walks over to his favourite game, a classic throw-the-ball-in-the-hole option. $1 dollar a ball. Try your luck. He throws, and misses. Misses again. And again. It takes him 20 throws to get the ball in.

He shrugs his shoulders, “$20 to win a $50 prize – that’s not bad.”

He offers us a ball, we lob it in on the third try. Maybe the games aren’t rigged after all.

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