The Writer's Pen

What a lucky childhood! The South Dakota State Fair was the star attraction of my hometown, Huron. Each visit was a sensory overload to grade school and junior high kids who weren’t at all excited about the beginning of school. (These were the days before adult supervision and oversight were deemed necessary.)

My younger brother was an expert at locating “free stuff” at seed corn dealers, political tents and hearing aid sales tables. These treasures were stashed in large shopping bags brightened with advertising slogans. Our loot consisted of free yardsticks, political pens of upcoming candidates, pencils, bumper stickers, handy little note pads, calendars and Life Savers mini-rolls.

My sister scouted out the candy and carmel apple stands for the gooiest topping and the firmest apples before we spent our precious dimes on such treats. Church lunch counters offered full dinners like Mom cooked, but we concentrated on the Midway overload of sweets.

I secretly envied the judges who sampled all the pies, brownies and cakes at the Women’s Building (how did you get those jobs anyway?). However, I settled for the rush of smells from the cotton candy, carmel popcorn, funnel cakes and hot dog vendors which overwhelmed the fumes coming from the hog barns.

The new travel trailers entertained us for hours as we would try to decide which were our favorites. Of course, convincing Mom and Dad that we needed such a luxury was even more difficult, but they probably had a few dreams of escaping to some quiet camping spot too.

The shiny farm equipment displays were imposing, huge and expensive. In contrast, my uncle’s putt-putt tractor seemed like a child’s ride.

The 4-H section was a small town of kids washing, currying and walking their varied species of pets who were squealing, bellowing, neighing, crowing and quacking. The 4-H fashion shows were impressive to beginning seamstresses like my sister and me. We understood how challenging zippers were to install and how difficult plaids were to match. The winners modeled outfits, which looked exactly like the patterns of “Simplicity,” a misnomer to deceive the gullible.

Midway and its rides, ablaze in neon at night, were transformed by raucous sideshow barkers, screams from the terrorized on the Rock-O-Plane, flirting couples holding hands, and the sound of roaring engines in the grandstand races.

Of course, there were huge cords and hoses to trip over, carnies who strapped you into rides from which you might never return, and those kids who had taken one too many rides on the Bullet and were losing their cotton candy.

But what a place to have your age or weight guessed, to throw all your nickels toward slick plates, to pitch baseballs at leaded milk bottles, to wonder about the bearded lady in the sideshow, or to wear an outrageous hat with your name embroidered on it.

The state fair was not only an orgy of excess, but also a delightful memory for the rest of my life. It’s no wonder that there are “Senior Days” at the local fair.

Cheryl Stanley and her husband, John, are retired teachers who live in Everly.