Soaking up the fair
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It's country fair time, which means I have to go to the ATM.
I have to take out a home equity loan every year to spend an afternoon at the Marshfield Fair. The carnies bleed money out of my kids.
I'm fond of Topsfield, too, where as a boy I saw a pumpkin the size of a
But I'm a big fan of compare and contrast, and in my never-ending quest for truth, justice, and the American Way, I went to the Delaware State Fair recently with my friend Kate Maguire.
Kate went to Wellesley, lives in Society Hill in Philadelphia, and has built a successful company from scratch, but to describe her as smart and accomplished overlooks her most endearing trait: She's nuts. Kate is, as my dad used to say, soft as a sneaker full of fudge.
Kate once spent an entire week in character, as a synchronized swimmer. Another week she was Ethel Merman. When asked a question, she would answer in Mermanesque song. It was awesome.
Some would say Kate is eccentric, but so is Delaware. It was part of the Confederacy. They have good barbecue. Housing is cheap, taxes are low. Most of the women have tattoos.
I love the place.
That said, I was crushed when, soon after entering the fairgrounds in beautiful downtown Harrington, I was accosted by some carny saying he had, on showcase, Tiny Tim, The Smallest Horse In The World. Now, I have on many occasions paid 50 cents to see Tiny Tim, The Smallest Horse In The World, at the Marshfield Fair. When I spoke to the fine gentleman in Delaware who was flogging a live horse, he more or less admitted there is more than one Tiny Tim, The Smallest Horse In The World. So it appears the carny at Marshfield who said there is only one Tiny Tim, The Smallest Horse In The World, was not being completely truthful.
Now, I expect used car salesmen to lie. I expect editors to lie. I even expect the president of the United States to lie. But, honestly, to have a carny lie like that? Right to my face? The country's going to heck in a handbasket, if you ask me.
Kate insisted we go to the Monster Truck Show. It was like sitting around a four-way intersection in New Hampshire.
Doug Danger was the encore to the Monster Truck Show. Doug Danger is a motorcycle jumper, and he dedicated his act to the memory of the recently deceased Evel Knievel. Doug Danger spoke to the crowd at length, and we sat in rapt attention, hanging on every word.
"Evel told me only losers do drugs," Doug Danger said, and everybody nodded solemnly.
Well, everybody except Kate.
"Shut your trap and do the jump!" Kate shouted.
Doug Danger ignored her.
"I remember losing my best friend who took a different path, and I called him one night and his brother told me that he got some bad drugs," Doug Danger said.
"Shut your trap," Kate yelled, even louder this time, "and do the flippin' jump."
The announcer took the mike back and said, "We are so proud to have Doug Danger here, a real American hero."
The announcer said Doug Danger, Real American Hero, would jump over a tractor trailer. But actually, when all was said and done, Doug Danger, Real American Hero, just jumped next to the tractor trailer.
On the way home, Kate said she regretted her outburst and now believes Doug Danger is probably the greatest American ever born. She has started a campaign to get the US Postal Service to create a Doug Danger, Real American Hero, stamp.
"I'm serious about this," Kate said, looking out the window as we approached South Bowers Beach. "We need more heroes."
Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com.
