2003 New York State Fair Diary

[BlumLaw1]

I have been asked about my participation and work at the NYS Fair. Last year, after the Fair ended, plus about 3 hours ... my muse sat on my shoulder and together we unloaded 12 days of observations about my Fair experience. The target of my writing was Jeff Kramer, the guy who kidnapped Santa Claus and who now writes weekly for that local daily newspaper .... (the newspaper that refuses to print anything I write)

so, for those of you who missed it, here it is again in all its splendor ...

RAT TALES

Life of a Fair Rat at the 2003 New York State Fair

or

How I learned to hate Jeff Kramer

by

Mark David Blum

Big deal. He relocated from Southern California. So did I. He can write. Your newspaper has published many of my scribblings. Jeff protests. Me too.

But while he sailed and flew with his Santa held dear, as the Ferris wheel closed loop after loop, his Berkeley-esque protest falling upon midway-deafened ears, my fingers grew knotted in frustration. I could not respond, I could not jab, I was stapled to a booth at the Fair without a laptop or Internet access for the entire duration. While the new boy wonder scribed his way into Syracuse hearts, my mind was bombarded with opinions of thousands of people who are very angry and distressed about our nation’s drug policy. Jeff was given front-page attention. The media largely ignored us.

Dear Jeff: Your expose` of the Santa-bashing was quite charming. I have ached in frustration to respond. While you rescued the Jolly Old Man from certain deflation, I was across from the sheep barn gathering signatures to end the drug war. I could almost feel your passion ignite when you figured out the internal workings of the butter sculpture. Did you feel my angst every time a citizen of this great country penned in their signature on our petition to end the drug war?

I grew up on the beaches of Southern California. My early home was in West Hollywood – when it was straight. (Not that there is anything wrong with that). I arrived in the Syracuse area in 1988 subsequent to doing time at U.C. Berkeley. My love of the law brought me here and the practice thereof has held me here ever since. (As everybody knows, there was a brief hiatus in my career path. That is now over).

Jeff, from one transplanted Californian to another, let me welcome you home. You had better get used to the idea of calling it home. Whatever may be its joys and faults; there is something about Upstate New York that will not let you leave. My family and I learned this lesson the hard way two years ago. If you try to leave and return to the Golden State, that giant sucking sound you will hear will not be coming from Mexico, as predicted by Ross Perot. It will be the Buffalo wings, Syracuse basketball, and the GREAT NEW YORK STATE FAIR.

From the first time I walked through its gates back in 1989 until 1:00 a.m. this morning, September 2, 2003, I have loved the Fair. Every year I go as often as I can. Most years, I have gone nearly every day. I keep parking stubs for the past several years proudly on display of my dashboard all year round as proof of my devotion to the Fair.

I have become a “fair rat”. But, I am not alone. There are hundreds of fair rats crawling about the grounds. Templeton is our hero. Of course, I am unworthy of note in the press because I lack the longevity of the 30, 40, or 50 year fair fats who warrant honorable mention every year. Thirteen years clearly makes me a newbie. But I bet I know where all the best food and fun is at the Fair. I even know where you can sit in the shade and get a real drink.

The past two years, I had the incredible luck of being able to get a job at the Fair. Last year, I was a roving supervisor for garbage clean up crews. Don’t be so quick to upturn your nose. You might break your neck. Can you imagine the luck? This company actually paid me an hourly rate and gave me an infield-parking pass to drive around the Fair all day in a golf cart. How many times during your protest march to the Ferris wheel did you wish to have four wheels and a vinyl covered seat underneath your sausage-laden posterior? Yes Sir, the work was dirty but not unreasonable. But after work, I had the rest of the day and night to enjoy the Fair; every day of its entire run. There was no parking hassle for me. No shuttles. No lines. Nothing but non-stop people watching. I got to hang around backstage and in the pits during race day.

This year, I took it to a whole new level. I am a vehement anti-Prohibitionist. In my opinion, our nation’s current drug policy is causing so great a harm, yielding no appreciable results, and is fiscally breaking the back of my government, that its immediate abolition is required. An organization called ReconsiDer: A Forum on Drug Policy rented booth space this year at the Fair. (It was their fourth try; having been previously told by the Fair that, “there was no space”). As a long time silent member, I begged to work their booth. They agreed, and I got to live out another Fair fantasy. I got to spend 24/7 at the Fair its entire run. I got to do so in a controversial booth. I had the joy of not having to do anything but sit on a comfortable chair and watch the world go by sixteen hours a day from the Wednesday before until the wee hours of this morning.

I should note for the record, that I do not recall seeing you. There is no doubt I would remember some California dude dragging a St. Nick down toward the Ferris wheel. It is true that at the Fair, you see everything. Some, however do stand out. I know you would have. Maybe you remember me? I was the guy in the shark shirt; the cute one with the California tan. If you ask nicely, I can provide you with a picture taken by the Fair Press Office. I hope you came by and chatted. Perhaps you remember signing our petition to end prohibition. More than 2,100 other fairgoers took the time to do so. Mine is the first signature.


END PART I

Days and Nights



I hope you saw the Spray Paint Lady. Her name is Lady Galaxy and you can learn more at www.ladygalaxy.org. Much of my youth was spent at Santa Monica and Venice beaches and never once did I come upon an artist of her caliber. The quality of her art, the uniqueness of her media, and the heart-pounding grandeur of her showmanship put her right at the top of the Fair’s offerings. She paints amazing landscape and planetary scenery but does not do people or animals. By the way, I am the proud owner of a signed self-portrait by her – a true one-of-a-kind.

If you missed her, your first fair experience earned a C- grade. I give you that because it means you were too tired to finish seeing the entire grounds. You are out of shape. Next time, you should consume vast quantities of cheese steak sandwiches and buy a sangria slushie in the wine court. Use those footsie-wootsie thingies. I know they look goofy and feel worse but they surely do work. The editors of the Syracuse newspapers got it right in their editorial when they said ”quitcherbitchin” at the Fair and enjoy the experience. I know you come from a culture where you drive from point A to point B, but here at the Fair; we walk and walk and walk.

When ReconsiDer said I could run their booth all day it also meant that there was an enclosed tented structure in the heart of the fairgrounds that I could use as a sleeping shelter at night which meant that I was able to spend the night at the fair. Note to self: The fairgrounds do not sleep at night.

If you can imagine what it would be like to set up a tent in the middle of a freeway, close the flaps and lay there trying to sleep, this would best describe trying to sleep at the fairgrounds. Our tent was set up 3 feet from the curb across a narrow street from the sheep barn. Unlike humans, sheep love to talk all night long. I guess that makes sheep the original ‘party animals’ since they chatted and blabbered until the wee hours of the morning. At the stroke of midnight, the street sweepers hit the road followed by the garbage trucks, the broom sweepers, the leaf blowers, more street sweepers, the water truck, more leaf blowers, beer delivery trucks, bakery delivery trucks, and the occasional group of chattering people walking by. Security was never a problem because of the glaring street and other lights shining down on the soft white material of the tent. Now you know why I slept about two hours total time that first night, the Wednesday night before the fair.

I did better the second night, probably because I had been awake 22 straight hours when we finally closed and I crawled into bed. Did I say “bed”? I meant to say “WWII era army cot”. It was Thursday, I think. That day’s temperature was in the mid to upper 80’s with matching humidity. As you will learn in time, on hot sticky steamy sweaty nights two things happen. The first is that you have to sleep on top of your blankets and wear nothing at all if you even hope to stay cool. The second thing you will learn is that the wind picks up.

Now, sleeping in an enclosed tent, naked as the day you were born, is not embarrassing. But when a gust of wind blows down the front flap of your Velcro enclosed tent, it becomes a whole new experience in shame. At least the guy passing with the leaf blower was kind enough to say “good morning” as I was scrambling to cover the tent and myself. When that fire drill ended, I walked two blocks to the bathroom and returned to my cot to sleep. Two hours later, I woke up by my head landing hard on the wooden structure of the cot because the aging material gave way under my shoulders while I was asleep. The sheep across the street thought it was funny but did not stop their chatter.

I finally got the hang of sleeping 5-6 hours at night mostly due to exhaustion. Even the explosion of air brakes of trucks idling in front of the tent stopped waking me. In fact, except for the night they changed over the sheep barn, I was managing to get some rest. Of course, though I was “at the fair” at night, I never got to enjoy it because I was so sleepy at the end of the day.

American interrogators at Guantanomo could have learned a trick or two in sleep deprivation the night they changed over the sheep barn. I know I would have confessed my sins. At about 9:30 that night, 3 bobcat tractors entered the barn and started scraping out the dirty hay and sheep bits into the street in front of my tent. There are dozens of stalls and the mound of sheep scraps grew to several hundred yards. It was about 5 feet high, the width of the street and the length of the barn. All of this is going on less than ten feet in front of my tent. Then the tractors came to take away the dirty hay. After that came the tractors and laborers to bring in the fresh bales and scatter them about. Next came the wire rake people to clean up the scraps from the street. Have you ever heard the song of the metal leaf rake on asphalt when you are trying to sleep? After the mess was cleaned, the trucks came to take out one group of sheep and another convoy of trucks delivered other. I was getting very maaaaaaaaaaaaaad. From now on, when I try to sleep at night, I am going to count lamb chops.

I guess the sheep weren’t that bad. Their all night chatter was nowhere near as annoying as the day long shearing that they underwent. Maybe you saw some of it? There were these metal stands out front of the barn where they stood each animal as its wool was trimmed. Fortunately for those of us parked across the street from this event, we spent our 12 days staring at the wrong end of each well-manicured beast.

It was not until the second Friday night of the Fair when I finally was sufficiently rested to plan on heading out to the midway and enjoying some of the sights and sounds of the fair. Friday was a great day. The weather was holding, the place was crowded, and there was energy in the air. What I did not expect was for that energy to convert to rain that cleansed not only the day’s grime from my skin, but also washed out the entire midway. By midnight, it was locked up tight and deserted. So, I went back to my tent and dreamt of sheep. Note to garbage cleanup crews: Leaf blowers will not move wet paper from wet ground no matter how long you stand there blowing next to a tent with a person sleeping in it.


END PART II

Ironies

Though it may have escaped your attention, the irony of your protest and the presence of Santa Claus at the State Fair boiled up through me these past days. You surely must have noticed that few if any people actually cared about your protest and fewer still joined in your cause. This is one of the clear distinctions between upstate New York and your former home in ‘Reagan Country’. Protesting in California is not only a constitutionally guaranteed right, but is a requirement for citizenship in that state. I am proud of your zeal and hope you never give up the dream. Query though where did it get you? Did you find supporters out there? Were people willing to stand with you? Did the State Troopers stand watch over you? How many folks stood in line to ride on the Ferris wheel?

I too sat in a controversial setting for the 12 days of the Fair. I too fought the laws and tried to bring education and enlightenment to the crowd. Though I did not get to ride the Ferris wheel to voice my cause, I was able to talk to tens of thousands of folks about ending prohibition. In addition to those who stopped and chatted, the army of thumbs that passed by the tent overwhelmed me. Dozens and dozens of folks walked by and with a smile, gave a thumb’s-up to our cause but were too (insert favorite adverb here) to stop.

But, what most impressed me was the darling middle-aged woman, blonde and beautiful, who staggered over to the tent one evening with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and proclaimed defiantly in a gruff smoker’s voice that she doesn’t do drugs. Well of course she did drugs. We all do drugs of one nature or another. Just like another woman who proudly proclaimed how she would drug-test her daughter before allowing the child in the house. That poor woman said her child’s marijuana use had so stressed her out that she could not deal with the child unless loaded on Valium.

I agree with you Jeff. The ban on linking Santa Claus with alcohol is a ridiculous rule. But, New York’s laws are rife with such rules. Heck, we don’t even have a medical marijuana law. California and 7 other states do. New York has had a bill pending for about 10 years but the pharmaceutical control over the Health Committee is so strong that no such bill will ever become law. Every election season, candidates promise us they will fight to give us the power of referendum and every one of those campaign promises are broken. Puritans control this state and all the rides at the Midway will not change that.

Jeff, when you were hauling your entourage down to the Ferris wheel, did you see the game booths where your skills could be tested for prizes? I know my 11-year-old daughter spent $27.00 to finally prove her capability to win a 50 cent stuffed animal. I hope you did get to see the midway games because you might have noticed that among the prizes given to children were t-shirts glorifying drug use. You never saw a kid wearing a Bud or Coors shirt, but I saw plenty that portrayed the Canadian Flag with the word “CANNIBUS” printed below it. This is what happens when we let Carnies control our nation’s drug policies. Maybe you should have draped Santa in a Marijuana Leaf to make him more socially acceptable to the Fair’s management.

You could have also introduced your inflatable pal to the other great inflated attraction at the Fair --- the Charmin Bear that stood atop the bathrooms behind our tent. I was elated when I saw our tent so close to a bathroom believing that relief was but a few steps away. By the end of the Fair, I was ready to squeeze the life out of that Charmin bear. In its brilliant efforts to raise funds, the Fair allowed the toilet paper company to sponsor a bathroom. They promised to keep it clean and to offer up to its guests, the comforts of the “cloth-like” feel of their paper products. “The Ultimate Bathroom” was their slogan and they ran an endless loop of video and audio in the bathrooms to remind fairgoers of their commitment to comfort.

Their version of the ‘ultimate bathroom’ would have popped your inflated Santa’s belief in our future. What ultimate bathroom does not have mirrors? These didn’t. Charmin employees removed all mirrors from the bathrooms the night before the Fair. When asked “why”, I was enlightened to the company’s paranoia that someone might break one and use it to commit suicide. The ultimate insult from the “ultimate bathroom”, however, came every night at 10:00 p.m. when the Charmin employees locked up the bathroom tight until 10:00 a.m. the next morning. I got to watch thousands of fair-goers march up the bathroom and walk into a closed and locked door. The nearest other bathroom was 2 city blocks away. Imagine my joy every morning when I woke up and had to hail a cab to find relief. Personally, I hope next year, Mr. Cappacelli squeezes Charmin out of the Fair.

People complain about the chintzyness of the Fair; about its poor quality products, lousy rides, and expense. They are so wrong. The fair holds so much magic and fascination. You see people at the Fair who never ever see the light of day the rest of the year. I have friends who meander about the grounds during the fair snapping polaroids and holding “The Biggest Butt at the Fair” contest. Personally, I thought I had the coolest t-shirt at the Fair … the one that said “Trust me, I’m a lawyer”. The guy who wore the “Shoot Informants, Not Drugs” t-shirt warrants an honorable mention.

Jeff, you are now a citizen of upstate New York. Learn to love the Fair. It is part of your life and your culture and it’s the one thing that many many of us live for year after year. Being a Fair Rat is a thing of pride and joy. Disneyland and Venice Beach cannot even compare.

Let me also add that from everything I could tell, the public is very angry and restless over our current drug policies. I have visions of you capturing John Waters or Asa Hutchinson or even John “I cant beat a dead guy in an election” Ashcroft and hauling them down to the midway and stuffing them into the Himalaya until the centrifugal forces stir up their gray matter and enlightenment follows. Perhaps your California solution is the best one. We can all grab our favorite prohibitionist and send them to an amusement park in hopes people will see them for the carnival hawkers they are and the load of sheep manure they are trying to sell us.

I do not hate you Jeff. Without doubt, you are a wonderful guy. I can even accept you calling yourself a ‘humorist’ though I wonder how much humor can be found in a republican oriented newspaper originating from the same neighborhood as Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, and the home of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan. (Is Whittier in Orange County? If not, it should be).

My hostility comes from my own frustration. It should have been me writing biting commentary and doing tongue-in-cheek expose`s. I should have been called the ‘new guy in town’ and be invited to splatter my prose upon the pages of the Syracuse Newspapers. When Dick Grossman retired his column, I prayed I would be invited to fill his shoes. Then, when I read how you were the new rising star and leading protests against injustice, the envy rose up and turned my pizza fritte a nasty shade of jealous green.

Yet, it was reading your crowing about crowded rooster contests or how you slobbered your way through the whine (sic) court was the oil that fried my onion. Jeff, we love our butter sculpture. Of course we know that it has secrets hidden in all that sweet cream. But like when we swim in public swimming pools, we all lie to ourselves and pretend that it is clean and pure. If you want to take issue with a sculpture, focus your attention on the sand sculpture. Once upon a time, it was a piece of art; until the Fair sold the sponsorship to Keebler. Now the structure is nothing but a detailed 3 dimensional commercial for the wannabe elves. Yes, it is intricate but it lacks any artistic value or oomph that we have come to expect from the Fair. Had you visited the art displays you would have had a chance to see some of the spectacular creativity languishing in the minds of New Yorkers. At least admit that the butter sculpture is far classier than a California recall election.

Admittedly I was surprised at how you were so startled by the Fair. If only you could have been there the day that the ‘Plant Lady’ came to our booth. One calm clear morning, two women meandered into our tent and after voicing their support for legalizing and regulating drugs, one of them began to gush with pride about her having just won a blue ribbon for her plant. Upon further interrogation, she admitted she is not a horticulturist and does not do anything special for her plants. She just happened to have a wonderful ivy growing in her kitchen that she submitted to the Fair. Winning the blue ribbon and being placed in the Hall of Honor was a blossoming moment in her life. This is what makes the Fair grande. There is so much magic around and everybody at the Fair comes out the winner. It can take the most mundane soul and give them a reason to brag and find self worth. Having kidnapped Santa and taken him for a ride must have proven that point to you. Can you imagine how empty would have been your Fair experience had you not found something that changed you and made you feel as though you were doing something worthwhile?

One of the volunteers at the ReconsiDer booth is a PhD at Upstate Medical Center and a kind and brilliant soul he is. His British accent is very sophisticated and its presence at the Fair is clearly out of place. Personally, I thought he gave the grounds some class. But when questioned by a young fairgoer in reference to his accent, “why do you talk like that?” I was reminded how very down-to-earth and ‘real’ is the Fair. It’s the people Jeff, that make the Fair wonderful. The fact that there is actually someone who took the time to learn how to make eagles with a chainsaw or that someone actually woke up one morning and chose to deep fry a piece of cheesecake, the creativity and lack of social constraint gives the Fair its charm.

Don’t give up on the Fair, Jeff. It will be around for as long as you are alive and for many years beyond that. After spending 11 ½ months buried in snow, cold, and sunless skies, the two weeks of the Fair will be the highlight of your Central New York experience. Like me and thousands others, you will anticipate the Fair. Your children will save their allowances to spend on the midway. Your bride will drag you to the concerts and the Corning glass blowing demonstrations. The smell of sausage sandwiches will intoxicate you. The song of the sheep will call out to you. In the end, you will learn to love the Fair. Unlike Disneyland, you will find that the Great New York State Fair is indeed, the magic kingdom.

Please excuse me now because I have to go degrease my digestive tract, catch up on two weeks worth of lost sleep, and place this year’s infield parking pass on my dashboard. Let us soon get together and munch on some pico de gallo and taquitos, sip a corona, and reminisce how much we miss the Fair.