About the Book
In April 2017, Tim Mack—founder of Atlanta’s Imperial Opa Circus—received an unexpected phone call: Would he join the final tour of Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus? For eight weeks, he’d live on a mile-long train, work brutal 12-hour load-ins and load-outs, and be part of the end of America’s oldest entertainment institution.
He said yes.
“The Last Train” is the story of those final weeks, told from the inside by someone who understood what was being lost. From getting snarled at by lions during Baltimore load-outs to watching America roll past from train vestibules at 60 mph, from three-show days that left the crew broken to Magic: The Gathering games with international performers, Mack captures the strange beauty of giving everything to something already dying.
This is a memoir about choosing experience over security, about temporary communities that become family, and about what it means to witness the end of a 146-year tradition. It’s unvarnished but not cynical, honest about both the remarkable technical achievement and the institutional dysfunction, respectful of everyone involved while clear-eyed about the reality.
The circus is gone now. The train sits in storage. The 300 people from 30+ countries have scattered. But for eight weeks in spring 2017, they created something that can never be replicated—and this is the story of what that felt like from the inside.
About the Author
Timothy Mack is a passionate entertainer and storyteller who has always sought new paths in life. A Connecticut native, he founded and ran Imperial Opa Circus in Atlanta for 15 years, building a contemporary circus company from the ground up. His diverse creative background includes work as a concept artist for movies and video games, alongside his performing career.
When Ringling Brothers announced their closure in 2017, Mack temporarily left his established company to join the final tour as backstage crew—bringing an experienced professional’s perspective to the end of American circus history. His circus work has included working as front-of-house staff for Cirque du Soleil’s “Kooza” production, taking pictures of guests, and serving as co-ringmaster for the Smithsonian Folklife Festival’s “Circus Arts” program.
Though he’s left the circus life behind, it remains close to his heart. Today, Mack travels the world seeking unique stories to tell and undiscovered places to explore, documenting his adventures at roaminsparrow.com.
“The Last Train” is his first full-length book, combining his insider knowledge of circus operations with his experience of witnessing—and participating in—a unique moment in American cultural history. It captures the same spirit that continues to drive his travels: choosing experience over security, saying yes to things that won’t last forever, and understanding that the best stories often come with expiration dates.
Qn 1: Can you tell us more about your book What is it about?
“The Last Train” is a memoir about the eight weeks I spent as a backstage crew member on the final tour of Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus in 2017. I was already running my own circus company in Atlanta when I got a phone call offering me a spot on the Blue Unit’s closing run—a chance to be part of living history before it disappeared forever.The book captures what it’s really like to live and work on a mile-long train carrying 300 people from 30+ countries, to execute brutal 12-hour venue transformations, and to build temporary family with people you know you’ll never see again. It’s about choosing experience over security, about the end of a 146-year American institution, and about the strange beauty of giving everything to something that’s already dying.
What makes this story unique is that I came to Ringling as an experienced circus professional—I’d founded Imperial Opa Circus and run it for nearly a decade—so I could see both the remarkable technical achievement and the institutional dysfunction with clear eyes. I wasn’t a starry-eyed tourist; I was a working member of the crew who understood what we were losing.
The narrative follows the actual tour chronology from Baltimore through Charleston to the final performances at Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Uniondale, New York, capturing everything from getting snarled at by lions to playing Magic: The Gathering in train vestibules while America rolled past at 60 mph.
Qn 2: Who do you think would be interested in this book, is it directed at any particular market?
This book speaks to several distinct audiences:
Circus enthusiasts and performers will recognize the authentic details and insider perspective on an institution most books only observe from the outside. They’ll appreciate the technical accuracy about rigging systems, ice conversions, and the realities of touring life.
Readers interested in American cultural history will find a firsthand account of the end of our longest-running entertainment tradition—a moment when something that had seemed permanent simply ceased to exist.
Anyone fascinated by unique work experiences and subcultures will connect with the intense community formed by 300 people living on a train, the international mix of performers, and the strange beauty of temporary but profound relationships.
People navigating endings or transitions will relate to the themes of choosing meaningful experience over security, finding purpose in impermanence, and what it means to give everything to something you know won’t last.
Fans of behind-the-scenes narratives who loved books like “Kitchen Confidential” or “Working” will appreciate the unvarnished look at how this massive operation actually functioned, with all its beauty and dysfunction.
The book isn’t written for children despite the circus setting—it’s honest about adult realities including drinking, difficult working conditions, and the complexity of the people involved. It’s for readers who want truth over nostalgia, who can handle bittersweet endings, and who understand that the most meaningful experiences often come with expiration dates.
Qn 3: Out of all the books in the world, and all the authors, which are your favourite and why?
I’m drawn to writers who tell true stories with novelist’s craft and aren’t afraid of complexity.
Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air” shaped how I think about narrative nonfiction—the way he captures both the granular details of technical climbing and the deeper questions about why people risk everything for experiences they can’t quite justify. His honesty about his own role in the story, including his mistakes, gave me permission to be equally honest about mine.
Anthony Bourdain’s writing, particularly “Kitchen Confidential,” showed me that you can write about specialized work with both insider knowledge and accessibility. He never dumbed things down but also never left readers behind. His voice—sardonic but warm, cynical but wonder-filled—inspired my own approach to capturing circus life.
Rebecca Solnit’s essays, especially “A Field Guide to Getting Lost,” taught me that digression and contemplation can enhance rather than interrupt narrative. Her ability to weave personal story with cultural observation while maintaining momentum influenced how I structured the memoir.
Charles Portis, particularly “True Grit,” demonstrated that seemingly simple, direct prose can carry enormous emotional weight. His characters speak plainly but reveal deep complexity—something I tried to capture in portraying the circus crew.
Nick Flynn’s “Another Bullshit Night in Suck City” showed me that you can write about difficult, messy situations without melodrama, that understatement can be more powerful than emphasis, and that endings don’t need to be neat to be meaningful.
I’m also deeply influenced by circus writing that gets it right: Fyodor Abramov on Russian circus culture, Dominique Jando’s historical work, and particularly the unvarnished accounts in Circus Report and similar publications that document circus reality rather than circus romance.
Qn 4: What guidance would you offer to someone new, or trying to enhance their writing?
Write from specificity, not generality. Don’t tell me circus life was “hard”—tell me about the exact moment your knees gave out while moving the 64-pound IceMate panels for the third time in twelve hours, the smell of frozen horse manure, the sound of chain motors lowering the 40-foot aluminum grid. Readers connect to concrete details, not abstract concepts.
Trust your reader’s intelligence. You don’t need to explain everything or tie every theme in a bow. My early drafts over-explained; my editor kept asking “What if you just showed this?” Readers are smart—they’ll make connections you don’t have to force.
Record everything immediately. I carried a voice recorder throughout the Ringling tour and captured moments within hours of their happening. Memory is unreliable; the texture of experience fades fast. Get it down raw, edit later.
Find your actual voice, not the voice you think you should have. I wasted months trying to write “literary memoir” in a voice that wasn’t mine. When I finally wrote the way I actually think and speak—conversational but precise, unvarnished but not cynical—the book came alive.
Embrace the messy middle. First drafts are supposed to be chaotic. The process of discovering what your story is actually about happens in revision. I thought I was writing about the end of the circus; I discovered I was writing about choosing meaningful experience over security.
Read your work aloud. Every sentence in this book was read aloud multiple times. You’ll catch rhythm problems, overwriting, and unclear phrasing that you miss when reading silently.
Respect your subject and your reader equally. Don’t condescend to either. The circus people I worked with deserve accurate, respectful portrayal even when I’m honest about dysfunction. Readers deserve to be trusted with complexity and ambiguity.
Finish things. The project you complete imperfectly teaches you more than the perfect project you never finish. This is my first full-length book; I learned more in completing it than in years of starting things I didn’t finish.
Qn 5: Where can our readers find out more about you, do you have a website, or a way to be contacted?
You can follow my ongoing adventures at www.roaminsparrow.com, my travel blog where I document the stories and experiences I’ve collected while wandering the world. While I’ve left the circus life behind—though never out of my heart—I’m still chasing interesting adventures and seeking out the kinds of stories that make life worth living.
The same impulse that led me to join Ringling’s final tour—choosing experience over security, saying yes to things that won’t last forever—continues to drive my travels. “The Last Train” captures one chapter of that journey, but there are many more stories from the road.
For inquiries about the book, speaking engagements, or just to share your own circus memories, you can reach me through the contact form on my blog. I’m particularly interested in connecting with anyone who was on that final Ringling tour—former performers, crew members, or even audience members who witnessed those last shows. Every perspective adds another layer to understanding what we were all part of.
The circus may have ended, but the wandering spirit that drew me to it in the first place is alive and well. I’m still out here collecting moments, meeting remarkable people, and learning that the best stories often come with expiration dates.
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