Big Orange, Blue Ribbons and Red Ink

I’m a sucker for county fairs. I like it all--the endless parade of people shuffling by in Bermuda shorts and Madras shirts and floppy sandals . . . the smart-mouth hustle of midway barkers . . . the overcooked corn dogs and watery lemonade . . . the bucolic sights and smells back in the barns, where 4-H children come to show off their pigs and goats . . . the goofball gadgetry hawked at exhibit booths, from remarkable ladder “systems” to amazing, unbreakable chinaware, and none of it available in stores.

In times of civic strain, a fair can provide perspective. Three years ago--when Los Angeles appeared determined to tear itself apart, block by burning block, body by bleeding body--I attended the fair in Pomona and was taken by its banality. It had seemed the whole city was consumed with riot, racial injustice and economic collapse, but there, at the fair, was evidence of a large, unheard portion of the populace that had spent the previous year perfecting blue-ribbon recipes for home-canned jellies and jams.

There were adults willing to spend a quarter for a turn on a foot massage contraption, laughing at themselves as they wiggled their toes and waited for bliss. There were teen-aged farm kids from the far fringes of the metropolis flirting with one another behind the sheep pens. There, in short, was the vast rest of the city, the part that never sees its name in the newspapers. It was a comforting discovery, and it seemed more real than any of the horrors then dominating public discourse.

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With this in mind, I made my way Monday night to the Orange County Fair. This, as everyone knows, has been the Big Orange’s year to twist in the news. The county government is bankrupt, broke, insolvent, out of moola. The treasurer who led the county--and scores of other government entities--into a poisoned investment pool has pleaded guilty to his crimes. The “powers that be,” a phrase now frequently expressed here with a tone of sneering derision, asked the voters to tax themselves some more in order to bail out the county. The voters declined.

This latest development--the election was held two weeks ago--has unleashed a fresh round of ridicule at Orange County. It is now commonly depicted by outsiders as a colony of wealthy deadbeats, too dumb to hold on to their fortune, too stubborn to tax themselves back to solvency, too arrogant to pay the piper. To read about this place in these times is to imagine an entire county hiding behind gilded doors, refusing to acknowledge the knocks of visitors from Wall Street:

“Nobody home.”

“Come back next year.”

“No se habla ‘full and timely payment.’ ”

It all looked different, of course, at the fair. The crowd appeared peaceful, free-spending and utterly clear of conscience. In fact, the only overt reference to the ongoing travails occurred in the ticket line. A family had brought a sack of canned food, with the mistaken understanding that a donation would lead to a ticket discount. The ticket seller set these people straight: no discounts tonight. “Oh well,” the father said loudly, playing to the crowd, “I guess the COUNTY needs the MONEY.” And everybody hooted.

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Ah yes, the COUNTY. The bombs started falling last December, but still no one has yet made a compelling argument that the county government’s misfortune has much of anything to do with the county at large. The prevailing view down here is that this crisis largely is a government thing--as opposed to a real thing like, say, a firestorm. And thus, the rejection of the tax increase was not about stiffing Wall Street. It was about stiffing county government.

“The powers that be,” said Jeannie O’Brien-Bender, working an exhibit hall booth, “wanted an easy way out. Now that the taxpayers aren’t going to pay, maybe the powers that be will get to work and find another way to take care of their problem.”

Her booth was marked “Democrats of Orange County,” which in this Republican stronghold seemed as freakish an attraction as White Mountain the Giant Steer (“10,000 Pounds of Hamburger on the Hoof”) on display down the lane. O’Brien-Bender said, however, that reaction to the bankruptcy crossed party lines.

She herself is leading a recall drive against Irvine council members who invested city money in the county pool. It’s amazing, she said. As she circulates petitions, “every other voter says to me: ‘If this is to get rid of the county supervisors, I’ll sign it!’ ” Which illustrates another lesson in the sales tax vote--many people down here believe, quite simply, that more heads must roll before voters will be psychologically ready to help bail out the county. Fairs traditionally are celebrations of harvests. In Orange County, the harvest of politicians tainted by the investment pool does not yet appear complete.