Corn Dogs, Critters & Clowns, oh my!!!

Last week was the Iowa State Fair. As in the 'our state fair is a great state fair' fair. We win the fair competition, hands down. Nobody does it better. I love the fair. So much so that I set my second Tressa Jayne Turner mystery, Calamity Jayne Rides Again, at the state fair.

I have a long term relationship with fairs. As a child I used to spend time (and my meager allowance) at the fair watching the horse shows, eating taffy and caramel apples and funnel cakes, and getting sick on rides like the octopus and the tea cups and the tilt-a-whirl--or the tilt-a-hurl as it was known once I vacated the ride. I can handle the roller coasters, but put me in a tight, fast spinning object and I'm guaranteed to do the 'ralph' routine. But did that stop me? What do you think?

I was also a big fan of the midway games. I don't think I ever won anything other than a goldfish--which was floating on the top of the water and already stinky by the time I got home--and a lame plastic booby prize despite the amount of moolah I invested. When my cousin won the great big purple snake I had lusted after for years I was devastated. (Picture me fantasizing about wrapping said snake around her neck and tightening.) I take my carney games very seriously.

My attachment to the fair carried on into adulthood. My very first year as a state trooper I was assigned fair duty for the two week run of the fair. Never a fan of clowns it was at the state fair as a 'green' brown shirt that I had a run-in with a dunk tank clown with a death wish that was inspiration for a memorable moment in my book.

As a rookie trooper you are assigned a field training officer for the first several months. My FTO always worked the fair so my second month on the patrol found me patroling the fairgrounds in golf carts and on foot. It was during one of the foot patrols on the midway that the infamous clown caper took place. I was walking with my partner down through the various games when we walked by The Great Bobo. Sitting behind the traditional chain-link enclosure in his garish makeup, propped on the seat above a tank of water, the caustic clown hurled insults at fair goers as they walked by courtesy of microphone and speakers that broadcast his hurtful comments in surround sound.

I shook my head as he inquired of one stout fair goer if he was going to enter the biggest boar contest that year, dismissing the bozo as I strolled on by, yet thankful that I wasn't fodder for his Bobo barbs. After all, I was a peace officer. A state trooper. I was in uniform. I was protecting and serving the public. I was off limits to the verbal abuse. Or so I thought. Rookie.

"Hey, lady trooper! You look like someone trooped over your face!" Blared out over the loudspeakers on either side of the clown cage. "Hey lady trooper! You got your bullet in your pocket?"

I stopped and stared at the made up maniac. He couldn't be talking to me.

"Is he talking to me?" I asked my FTO who nodded. "Is he nuts?" I asked. He shrugged.

He must be. He had to be. Because the insults continued. I won't recite them all here. It's too painful. But with each insult I got madder and madder.

Didn't he realize I was packing a 357 Magnum (with six rounds and two speed loaders on my gunbelt) and knew how to use it? Didn't he see the gold badge on my shirt? The handcuffs on my belt? The mace? I pulled my sunglasses off my face and gave him my best, 'back off, bozo' stare. He didn't miss a beat. And the crowd was loving it.

I took several 'I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore' steps towards The Great Bobo when out of the corner of my eye I saw a rather large group of brown shirted troopers assembled. And they were all laughing their asses off and pointing at me.

"Gotcha!" My training officer announced. "Call it your state fair initiation."

You know, I really think he saved a clown's life in that moment. I wish I could say the same about Trooper 88 here saving face. Still I must confess I rather enjoyed conspiring to spring the same clown caper on the newest state fair 'virgin' the following summer.

This year's fair was tame in comparison but it wasn't without its memorable moments. There was Big Red, the Big Boar, weighing in at 1203 pounds and Lazer, the Big Bull, hitting the scales at a whopping 3300 pounds. And the butter sculpture of Harry Potter (that's Harry on the right at the top of the page) was really cool--no pun intended.

And there was the food. Can't forget that. Tressa would never forgive me. From beef sundaes to gargantuan turkey legs, deep fried Oreos and Snicker bars, and meatballs on a stick to the traditional cotton candy, caramel apples, and lemonade. Fair fare is worth the extra time on the treadmill once you get home.

So, do any of you have clown encounters to share? Embarrassing moments to confess? Fair stories to impart? I've got a million of 'em. Uh, did I mention I competed in demolition derbies???

That's so another story...!

'Til next time,

~Kathy a/k/a 'Bullet Hole' Bacus~