The Delaware State Fair was in my hometown, and
while growing up in the fifties, it was a highlight of many of my summers.
School let out during the middle of June and the hot lonesome days of an only
child dragged by until the last week of July, fair time.
My clearest memory of a particular fair is when I
had an actual job and earned my own money to spend on whatever I wanted. Local
businesses set up shop in special sections of the fair, usually near the
agricultural and farm displays. A mobile home company parked a couple models in
one of these areas and enticed fair-goers with signs and smiling salesmen to
wander through the shiny, new homes on wheels.
Each morning until lunchtime, my
job was to keep these brand new trailers clean by sweeping and dusting and
sometimes mopping up tracks from a surprise rainstorm. The showers cooled
things off and left the air rich with an earthiness, but afterwards the sun
shone down with a vengeance and soon returned the mud to dust.
I can’t remember exactly how much I received for my
stunning service, but I do remember thinking it was a fortune. It was my very
first job. Being a fair employee, I didn’t have to waste money on an entrance
fee; I could stroll right in proudly displaying my employee pass.
Receiving payment for my labor each day, I couldn’t
wait to spend it on rides, sweets, and those win-a-prize for your prowess
thieves, um games. I tried my hand at the ring toss to win a stuffed monkey,
attempted to pitch a nickel in a plate for a real live goldfish, aimed a very
small ball at some stacked milk bottles for a huge panda bear, and targeted a
moving duck in a watery canal for a prize of my choice. However, hauling
around prizes was not a problem since my athletic abilities were practically
nil.
I paid to gawk at the bearded lady exhibit and
stared in open-mouthed amazement at the eardrum-shattering motorcycles roaring
around inside a wire globe. I
bought walking sundaes that melted down my arm in ninety-plus degree heat,
pulled off gobs of cotton candy with that sweet, over-toasted smell, burnt my
mouth on juicy hotdogs that had rolled round and round on metal warmers for
hours, and gobbled vinegar fries, my very favorite of all. My mouth waters now
as I imagine the crispy, salty, sour crunch of those hot fries lying on my tongue
and squishing between my teeth.
Small fans on counters blew the smells and made
non-hungry customers search for their origins. Food smells permeated the air
like watercolor on wet paper. Nobody strolled the circle of the midway without
food and drink at some point. Even the diesel smell of some of the engines used
to power rides did not dampen cravings for fair food.
Other parts of the fair had fans, not to
circulate the smells, but to get rid of them. In the heat of late July, farm
animals are not dainty critters. The cattle, horse, hog, sheep and fowl barns
housed nature with all its good and bad odors, but a kid my age hardly noticed
anything bad about the fair, even the pesky abundant flies. Cowpies were just
another scent, no better and no worse than the nose-tingling sweet tartness of
warm cherry pies in the 4-H barn.
Sometimes I would meet up with schoolmates, and
then I would have enough courage to go on rides like the whip, the octopus, the
tilt-a-whirl, and a very tame roller coaster. I was more of an eater than an
adventurer, and once I remember the two being too close together with a not
very happy result. Hot dogs and being spun in a circle through the air do not
agree with each other, but I won’t go into specifics on that one.
No matter what happened, nothing dampened my childhood
romance with the fair, and I never stopped looking forward to a daily new
adventure during the last week of July. And it continues to make others happy, one thing from my childhood that hasn't changed.
