Playing Fair and Being Kind

We’ve had a mix of cool, dry, warm, wet weather which has favored those with gardens. I have gardens and I have enjoyed all of it. With the changes in weather I have been doing a little more writing about my youth and this short essay is a memory from around 1952. It is true to the bone so I hope you enjoy it.

RAIN ON LEATHER

Northampton, Massachusetts in the early Fifties was a small, forgotten city half-way between Boston and upstate New York. Farm land, some industry, now families who have survived the losses of the area and the westward movement of technology and manufacturing. An economic decline began around this time that was tied to the decline in the rust belt, upstate New York, Springfield, and Holyoke. There is not much here to hold anyone so the young leave for Worcester, Hartford, Boston while the parents collect state and federal money for beer and cigarettes and macaroni and cheese. All that’s left are the buildings with fading people and habits.

The Three County fair held in Northampton, Massachusetts annually is in progress. Well, not so much in progress as existing in a state of remorse and apology. The weather has been terrible. Rain and cold have held people in their homes where they can stay reasonably dry and warm. The depressing fair grounds are a temporary home to carnies and show people from far away places. They are staying in their camper trailers, motor homes, and tents thinking the very same dark thoughts as the locals. There is nothing going on in the whole city but the steady pouring of rain and gloom.

In this atmosphere I am held prisoner. I am a traveler with the Hamid Morton Circus. I help my mother with her electric organ. She provides music for the stage show that appears twice daily on the infield across the track from the grandstand. When there is a show to perform I turn on the electronics of the organ and the large speaker systems on the stage. After the organ goes through its warm up phase and the speakers are operating I pull out a few stops and push a few keys to make sure it all works. Depending on the weather and whether or not it is a matinee or an evening performance I uncover the organ and fold the chartreuse cover and put it away near the equipment. The weather is unpredictable and covers are always handled, folded, and stored for quick use if rain starts to fall. The stage show goes on under the stars.

Another duty I have is to take the music for the show out from the bench and place it on the music rack above the keyboards. I make sure there are spring type clothespins clipped to the rack in case of windy conditions. Sometimes I am required to stay with the organ while my mother plays if conditions warrant. I have often been required to turn pages, on her nod, during performances due to wind. Sometimes the weather is a consideration for certain acts, sometimes not. Each performer has their own limits to conditions under which they can perform safely. Acts with animals have conditions specific to the animals they use and acrobats have conditions specific to safety issues unknown to others. Stage shows at fairs can be fun and demanding and stressful.

But not this week. This week is a washout that hasn’t been announced yet. We are in day three, Wednesday. The rain has been coming for three days and the temperatures have been in the fifties and sixties. The darkened skies have contained low black clouds continually. On a morning that has held onto the pattern of downpour and windless cold I go for a walk away from the infield toward the midway. I am only going looking for diversion, something to break the monotony of being cooped up in our camping tent and our panel truck. The truck is a blue 1951 Chevy windowless panel truck. It has a split windshield and fly windows. My mother named it just as she names lots of things. Its her way of giving life to her life I guess. Anyway I am dressed in a raincoat and my baseball hat for protection from the weather and I cross the racetrack into the other part of the fairgrounds occupied by the midway, the grange halls, and the livestock barns. I am thirteen years old and I enjoy being alone on jaunts regardless of weather and I am usually capable of finding something of interest.

No one else is up and about even though it is late in the morning. I hear nothing as I pass the city of tents and trailers and closed concession stands of the midway. I sense there are people holed up inside the living spaces but there are no sounds of life as I walk through the rain along the muddy roads. I walk past the tents that normally would have people standing trying to knock over three wooden milk bottles or pop balloons with hand thrown darts. My favorite was the twenty-two caliber rifles that shoot the clay pigeons.

Beyond the concession stands are the big rides. As a regular denizen of the fairs I became recognizable to many of the carnies. Some would let me ride for free during slow times. I love the big swinging boats with the sail planes in the front one could steer as if it was an airplane. Push the rudder either way caused the device to fly wide or dive toward the ground in the center of the apparatus.

I was passing the rides when I came upon a Cadillac convertible parked by a house trailer. It was a new car by the condition and how pretty it was. It was sitting in the rain with the top down. I stopped to stare, first at the car and then at the house trailer and back at the car. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. This was a very expensive car and I was watching the rain pelting the leather seats, the red leather seats. The seats were fully puddled and the floor mats were fully underwater. The car had been like that for more than a few hours from the look of things. I turned and looked at the house trailer again. I know better than to knock on a carny’s door to tell them bad news. Just the same I couldn’t let it go that easily. I figured the carny was stoned or drunk and sleeping off a hard night so I came to the conclusion that all was right in the carny’s world.

I walked on. I walked along the midway feeling a bit superior and a bit smarter. I told my mother the story when I got back to our camping tent on the infield but I don’t think she really had the same reaction that I did. A Cadillac filling up with water in Northampton was not of interest to her.

G.M. Goodwin

19 June 2015