BY ALEX CANTATORE
Staff reporter
A week ago today I was sitting in the conference room here at the Turlock Journal Headquarters, trapped in our long, tedious weekly story meeting, when a strangely sweet smile came across my editor’s face. In her hands she gripped stacks of bright green half-sheets of paper, each covered with hastily scribbled notes.
I felt the room collectively shiver in anticipation of what was to come.
You see, when my editor smiles, it’s probably a good sign to be very, very afraid.
“Well everybody, it’s fair time!” my editor said, her smile somehow lengthening, her voice adopting a tone akin to the one a spider might use as it addresses its prey, hopelessly trapped in its web.
“Who wants to write a story about opening day on Friday?” she asked, extending the first green slip into the air, awaiting a response.
The reporters desperately tried to avoid our editors’ gaze and the inevitable assignment that would befall whomever moved first. Eyes intently studied the wall, personal calendars, and old issues of the Turlock Journal as each person hoped, nay pleaded, that her vision would not land upon them.
It seemed like hours we sat, no one willing to take the fall.
Unable to stand the silence any longer, my voice creaked out, “I… I’ll do it.”
I realized my mistake immediately.
Most of my co-workers had been avoiding the assignment not because of a dislike for the fair, but merely because it was opening night. When you’ve got to work the fair, you obviously can’t go have fun yourself.
I mean, I’d be missing out on Clay Walker! What a travesty!
But, to be honest, I wasn’t shirking my journalistic responsibility based on my personal desires to rock out to some like totally dreamy cowboy on stage. My reluctance to take the assignment was coming from a slightly different perspective.
You see, before last week, I had not been to the Stanislaus County Fair in - at least - five years. In fact, it was probably far closer to 10 since the last time I’d walked through those gates.
It wasn’t that I was intentionally avoiding the summer celebration. I just never seemed to be around when the fair came to town.
I had left the county to go to school in Southern California, keeping me away from the fair for quite some time, and in high school I was often off at camp in the summer. Even if I had been around I’m not sure if I would have gone, given the fact that I was definitely not a member of the cool group of kids that usually went to the fair from my school.
So this year, when my duties here at the Turlock Journal brought me back to the fair, I must admit that it was a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I was a little nervous that I, someone completely unfamiliar with the fair, had to capture the entire opening day for our many readers.
Fortunately, the Stanislaus County Fair had invited the entire editorial staff of the Turlock Journal to a media lunch on Thursday before the fair opened. I made sure to secure a seat at the table, well aware that I was going to be relied upon to provide the only coverage of the fair we would have for Saturday’s paper.
After a fully-catered meal that was simply chock full o’ nuts in keeping with this year’s “Nuts are Dino-mite” theme, we hopped into an open-air tram pulled by a tractor being driven by a young man no more than 13 years old. Oh, and, words of the wise: If you are offered blue cheese walnut bread, run, don’t walk, in the opposite direction.
After a broken down tractor (apparently 13 year olds actually don’t know how to drive), a quick walk through the Jurassic Journey dinosaur exhibit (which are disappointingly not animatronic), and a sample of deep fried ice cream (which is great, if you like greasy churro ice cream), my all too brief time at the fair preview had already come to an end and I still felt entirely unprepared.
I really didn’t sleep much that evening. Dreams of disasters at the fair kept dragging me back to consciousness.
But, before I knew it, it was Friday evening at 4 p.m. and I had no choice but to journey off to the fair that I still felt like I knew nothing about.
After two failed attempts to find the media parking lot, I finally made it in to the correct driveway and hoofed my way over to the media office to check in and raid the fully stocked refrigerator for water, a frappuccino, and some delicious ice cream that melted the instant I stepped back outside.
As I made my way over to the Mocse Credit Union gate, the buzz inside the fairgrounds was building, the workers waiting for the moment that the doors would swing open and eager customers would come streaming through.
Despite the heat, I was suddenly incredibly excited to be there.
In fact, everyone was. The fun and joy were infectious as I reveled with fairgoers outside the gates.
Everyone I spoke with was eager to talk to me, unlike your average journalistic assignment.
Whereas most people will do anything to avoid giving you a straight answer when they’re being interviewed, everyone I met at the fair was falling over backward to tell me stories. I heard about past years’ fairgoing, why people had come, and what they were looking forward to the most.
And, miraculously enough, not one person I talked to had the same reason for coming as anyone else.
It was about then that I really got it. The fair isn’t about the rides, or the animals, or the concerts, or any of the great things there.
It is simply about being there. About celebrating the summer and another year with everyone in town.
Everyone is just there to have a good time.
And, with $3 beer, how could you not?
As my deadline neared and I contemplated making my exit, I found myself standing under a ride in the carnival as people shouted down, “Hey! Take our picture!”
I smiled up at them, snapped a shot, and began the long walk back to the parking lot.
As I strolled down the midway, the barkers tried to entice me to partake in their games of chance as I walked away. “Not tonight,” I laughed. “I’m working.”
The barkers looked at me questioningly. “You can’t have fun while you work?” they asked.
I smiled back at them. “I’m having more fun than you can imagine.”
To contact Alex Cantatore, e-mail acantatore@turlockjournal.com or call 634-9141 ext. 2005.
Originally published in the Turlock Journal 7/30/2008.
Retrieved from the Turlock Journal Web site.