In the 1950’s, the Fairfield County Fair was as exciting as Christmas or the Last Day of School for me and my three brothers.
It had everything a kid could want. Fun was in, and school was out. The trees glowed maroon and gold, and Mount Pleasant whispered our names. Wednesday—students’ day—always began way before sun up for the Grubb family.
Mom worked second shift at RBM, so she would begin the day before and work through the night in order to get the chicken fried, the potato salad made and everything packed including fresh baked cookies and home-grown apples. I grieved for my father who was never able to go with us to the fair; he had to deliver milk for Deeds Dairy.
Mom, ever resourceful, knew that if we arrived before sun-up, there’d be no one manning the gate to collect admission. Up at four AM, we rumbled our old Mercury through the darkened High Street gate undetected. Creeping in like bombers under the radar, we glided to our favorite spot, a grassy low-lying area just north of the race track.
Back then the area directly across from the Grandstand was heavily wooded by majestic oaks and sprawling maples whose canopies interwove seamlessly from the old curved grandstand, past the whitewashed horse stalls and westward onto the brick horse barn. It formed a massive park-like area whose elevation has since been razed to support necessary buildings.
Mom backed the huge black Mercury into the uphill side of the bank against the race track, ensuring just the right vantage point for us to feel the wind off the sulkies as equine athletes snorted past at surprising speed later that day.
Soon our grandparents rendezvoused in their equally-stealth black Studebaker sedan and parked next to us, leaving an extra car space between us for hand-made quilts anchored by picnic baskets and sweating Thermos jugs of Kool-Aid. I was sure it was the bestest setup on the entire fairgrounds.
Finally, at mom’s go-ahead, we were free to wander—but not before we were given $1.00 for the morning and promised another $1.00 after lunch. She sternly admonished, “Now, boys, spend it carefully, ‘cause when that’s gone… it’s gone! That’s all you’ll get this morning!”
This seven year old farm kid never had a chance against the intoxicating aroma of sugar waffles, the dizzying dervish of the Tilt-a-Whirl and the promised nausea of the Scrambler. The startling crack of rifle fire that sent bullets ricocheted off rotating tin ducks left me defenseless.
Alas, between the vortexes of temptation that lurked within the sin-ridden arcades to the scintillating siren’s call of the carousel’s pipe organ, I was toast. With no shame or forethought, I washed through that dollar like a drunken sailor on leave. Only moments into the midway and the entire one hundred cents vaporized! One cotton candy, two embarrassing attempts at the firing range and one blurring ride on the Scrambler had me staggering back toward the Mercury, tipsy and vanquished.
My story takes place circa the 100th edition of the Fairfield County Fair. Now over 60 editions later, I still fight the allure of sugar waffles and cotton candy.
Yesterday while visiting the fair, I chatted with a young family. As their Dad struggled to push a double stroller and a third toddler raced around us in circles, I asked, “When did you get here today?”
Without a moment’s hesitation he answered, “About fifty-six dollars ago.”
Hmmm… some things have changed. And some haven’t.
Apostle Paul writes about temptation’s allure—
“No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond the course of what others have had to face. All you need to remember is that God will never let you down; he’ll never let you be pushed past your limit; he’ll always be there to help you come through it.” I Corinthians 10:13
Over the years the fair has taught me the value of a dollar—and the allure of temptation. This Scripture passage promises that God will walk with us as we face our toughest temptations and assures us that there’s an escape route for every temptation.
At the fair, my escape route is through the Art Hall—no one’s selling sugar waffles in there!
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.