Sights, Sounds and Smells of Fair Leave Senses Spinning

I went over to the fair about 7:30 Friday to watch it slip into its night clothes.

Whatever it wears during the day, a county fair doesn’t really become enchanting until the evening approaches. The magic of a fair is in transforming real life into something a little bit mysterious, a little bit sinister, a little bit dangerous . . . and yet all the while sending out sweet echoes of safer, happier times.

What an illusion. And what better time to practice sleight of hand than as light gives way to darkness? Now you see it, now you don’t.

“The next song we’re going to do for you was made famous by Mr. Johnny Mathis--’Misty,’ ” the balladeer in the black dress said from the bandstand. The Armando Blais Orchestra began to play behind her, and the songstress purred, “Look at me. I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree. . . . “

If you tried, you could easily pretend it was the late ‘50s.

I set off on my meanderings, buffeted by the smell of hamburger competing with the smell of fish. The wind direction favored the fish, perhaps explaining why the line was longer at that stand. I wondered if it was just a coincidence that the pigs and cows are kept far, far away from signs offering “Hot Dog on a Stick.”

A banner announced “The Magical World of Dancing Horses,” but the show had been at 6 and I missed it. Even so, I fixed on the image of dancing horses, and it evoked memories of bygone days, tempered only slightly by the presence of a bank of automated teller machines next to the barn.

I wasn’t especially hungry but went into an old-style building with a buffet line. I got some chicken, corn on the cob, a roll and lemonade for $3.95. From my seat next to a screened window, I could look out onto the midway and see the essence of the fair: a Ferris wheel, a sign that said “Fresh Roasted Corn” and another that said “Shoot a Basket, Win a Bear.”

If you were quiet, you could hear in the distance the pop of balloons, either by darts or by the water pistols that filled them to the bursting point. You could hear the bark of the carnival workers--that ageless sound of them enticing youngsters and old-timers into their lairs. At the same time, a soft breeze blew in through the window screen, and it struck me how much a sensory barrage a fair is: It bombards your eyes, your nose and your ears in seemingly equal measure.

I hit the midway, walking the pitchmen’s gauntlet. “Excuse me, can I show you?” one said, explaining his game. “No obligation.”

Another was luring people to win a prize by tossing a dime and making it land on any of the rows of plates clustered in the booth.

“How many people win on a typical night?” I asked.

“About 30,” he said. The prizes are either Pink Panther, Bugs Bunny or Tasmanian Devil stuffed animals. I asked how many dimes he collects every night, but he said he didn’t know. I asked where he’d be next week, and he said Turlock, in Northern California. Before Orange County, he said, it was Del Mar.

The people working the booths are the soul of the fair. They persuade us that knocking over three bottles with a baseball will bring us fulfillment. “Need a ballplayer here!” they cry, and once and future ballplayers reach for their wallets. For only two bucks, why not take a shot at gratification? Gimme your money, I’ll give you happiness.

I wonder, did Jerry Falwell start this way?

Screams came from the far end of the midway, so I headed in that direction. A ride called “Top Spin” created a great visual against the night sky. The ride is set up with what looks like two rows of theater seats, so once it starts turning riders upside down and up and down, it looks like those newsreel shots of people watching a horror movie.

A thumbs up to whoever devised it.

I stopped to watch men and boys try to ring the bell with the sledgehammer in the age-old test of strength. Few contestants were up to the task. Because I was there by myself with no one to impress, I saw no reason to prove that I was, indeed, the strongest man at the fair.

I’m kind of disappointed that things like the Fat Lady and the Bearded Lady aren’t around anymore. I love the image of turning the corner in a secret chamber and seeing the World’s Ugliest Man.

Instead, I plunked down 50 cents each for a look at the World’s Largest Horse and the World’s Biggest Steer. Only later did I notice that they put a question mark after Horse, so maybe he isn’t the largest after all. In the steer’s pen, a man leaned against the railing staring at the steer, seemingly transfixed. I didn’t have the courage to ask about his ruminations on a 3,250-pound steer.

By 10:30, my feet were sore, so I headed for my car. I imagined the carnival workers packing up their traveling show of scary rides and barking carnies and stuffed animals and moving on to create their illusions all over again somewhere else.

I hope the carnival stays a bit ragged around the edges. We need more throwbacks like this, not fewer. Maybe by next year, they’ll find a Bearded Lady.

Some people think fairs are passe. All I know is that when I finally got to my car some three blocks away, I was glad I could still see the Ferris wheel churning in the distance.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.