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Every summer I went with my family to the Skowhegan State Fair in Maine, which was founded in 1819 and claims to be the oldest fair in the nation.
That fair, like the Maryland State Fair, which dates from 1878, was a timeless ritual, celebrating all that was good in America. There were Granges, Knights of Pythias, Patrons of Husbandry, the Daughters of Rebekah and Odd Fellows. You could watch sheep shearing and racing pigs!
There were projects for the betterment of all mankind. A scale model of the State O’ Maine made out of sugar cubes! A replica of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s home hand-hewn from Popsicle sticks! Oil paintings of the Last Supper, Bambi and The Praying Hands. The Jolly Christians proudly displayed the mittens they’d knitted for the boys in Vietnam next to a display of unusual vegetables. I once saw a tomato that its owner believed resembled the comedian Buddy Hackett. Other gardeners touted produce emblazoned with the face of the Nazarene.
We thrilled to Duane’s Hell Cars, the demo derby! And we walked the midway, where there were games of chance (fat chance!) and sleight of hand— and shills, too! “A fool and his money are soon parted,” and all that. You might win a giant stuffed panda that glowed in the dark or a metal Palomino hood ornament that would look pretty nifty on a Buick LeSabre! Or you might not. Everything was fixed.
And there were girlie shows, too, although it had been a few fair seasons since any of these damsels in peignoirs had actually been girls. The pitchman, sweating profusely under the arc lights, would entice the citizens to step inside a tent, where three weary Salome— Stallion, Stormy and Tina— chewed gum and stared blankly.
But mostly there were freaks: fat ladies and bearded ladies and ladies who weren’t ladies and midgets and giants and fire-eating geeks and people who drove hatpins and sharpened objects into themselves or swallowed swords. I once saw an ancient, toothless carny exhibiting a “drug-crazed hippie”— this was in 1974. The signs advised, Banned From Society Forever. Presented In The Public Interest. Heart patients, small children, expectant mothers and persons of nervous disposition were cautioned against further exposure.
Lately I’ve been wondering: Whither the freak show? Do you think we might be the last generation to have experienced the edifying effects of this sort of entertainment? Well, think again.
We waited all year for such frivolity once, but today you don’t need to go to a carnival midway to get cheated. Brokers will do that for you, and they have shills, too. Motorists now driving on the JFX would put poor Duane and his Hell Cars to shame. And what of the old carnival midway rides— The Zipper, The Cobra, The Rampage, The Flying Bobsled— assembled in the dark and operated by drunkards and jailbirds? You can get this sort of thing at Six Flags.
As for the freak shows, television and the Internet provide streaming video 24/7 with hundreds of freaks to choose from. Why go to a freak show when you can watch “Cops”? What freak show could top “When Animals Attack: The Mother of all Animal Shockumentaries”? How can Zomo the Deranged compete with Nancy Grace or Hulk Hogan? What two-headed calf could best Glenn Beck?
I actually saw Zomo at the Ohio State Fair once. He was hired to replace Big Billy Pork Chop, a fat man who died in the line of duty, the line of duty being just being fat. (They had a hell of a time getting the body out of his trailer. But that’s show biz!) People paid to see Big Billy. You could talk to him. Ask him stupid questions. I think you could have your photograph taken with the poor fellow.
But why would the sophisticated American pay to see a fat person these days? Half the country is clinically obese. Just hit the mall.
What freak show could rival “Dog the Bounty Hunter” and his family? Or Sarah Palin and her family? How can the humble freak show of yore hope to challenge the delights offered by Maury Povich or Judge Judy or the late Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter?
Even P.T. Barnum, the prince of hucksters, would delight in today’s divertissements. Barnum reveled in the national appetite at its rawest. Rubes and boobs and farmhands and corner boys would pay a day’s wages in the 19th century to see Zip the Pinhead or Chang and Eng, the original Siamese Twins, the Wild Man of Borneo or Jo-Jo the Dog Faced Boy.
The Fourth of July is upon us and people will naturally be musing on the greatest Americans. Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington.
But to my mind time has proven that P.T. Barnum was the greatest American, for whether in war or in peace he always understood perfectly the hearts of his countrymen. His truths go marching on.
(The Maryland State Fair runs this year from Aug. 28 to Sept. 7. http://www.marylandstatefair.com )
