Somewhere along the line, I seem to have garnered a reputation of not being a Street Fair fan. Not sure why, but each year, as August becomes September, a number of friends and others seem to enjoy reminding me of the upcoming invasion.
It might have had something to do with spending my week as a parking lot attendant as opposed to running a newspaper. Virtually every day found at least one miscreant that needed to get moved or towed. And Friday nights were a special challenge. My attitude might have been enhanced by having a row of carnival-workers’ residential trailers next to our parking lot, in which we often found the prior night’s remnants of used condoms and human feces. Other than that, fair week, I thought, was always a lot of fun.
However, in the years since I relinquished daily responsibilities for the N-B’s operations, I’ve come to appreciate what Ted Ellis often told me (in a somewhat chiding manner): “If we didn’t have the fair, we would be working hard to create something like it.”
Yes, it has its attributes. Most notably, perhaps, its history. And local historian, columnist, nature-lover and good friend Alan Daugherty is the go-to guy in that regard. And he’s not shy about reminding me of the annual inexorable arrival of his favorite week of the year.
“This is going to be an unusual Street Fair,” he mentioned in his late-August email that contained his September Angelkeep columns. Part of the Street Fair tradition includes the official change from summer to fall, but in 2024, Alan shared, “Autumn will not begin until the last Merry goes round.”
I replied, wondering how rare that might be. So of course, Alan took that as a challenge. A few days later, he sent images of a couple post cards promoting the 1900 three-day fair which also took place within the confines of calendar-summer. Not only was the fair held Sept. 18, 19 and 20 but autumn officially arrived later than normal that year on Sept. 23.
The promotional pieces are quite interesting, using a devilish, werewolf character and referring to Bluffton as “The Asphalt City”: “We have the finest drives of any city its size in the world,” it explained.
The Street Fair came up in Holly Gaskill’s weekly news meeting last Thursday, during which I learned the Mouse Game would not make its annual appearance this year. Not being a native, she didn’t quite grasp the historical significance and wondered whether that was newsworthy. While I have described myself as “an Adams County refugee,” I’ve been around long enough to realize that it is indeed big news.
While the game is an iconic piece of the annual offerings along Main and Market streets, I have long puzzled on the contradiction of a community that celebrates National Prayer Day on the courthouse steps also allows gambling there. Few people, I have found, have recognized that dichotomy. But, I know I have a strange mind.
“Interesting,” Holly said when I explained it.
“Then you’d probably be even more amazed that the Street Fair featured a strip-tease tent for many years,” I told her. She was.
Euphemistically called “the girlie show,” former N-B co-worker Connie Edington has some tales to share — a boyfriend that once took her to a performance and the “city fathers” who, as part of their “official” duties in organizing the fair, scouted out shows in other communities. They only wanted the best for Bluffton, I am sure. Daugherty, when quizzed, thinks the show made its final appearance in the mid-1960s.
It’s probably a safe bet that a girlie show will not return to the Parlor City’s pride and joy, but we understand the Mouse Game will be back next year. In keeping with my more enlightened demeanor to find the positives of the fair, I suggest we look at the Mouse Game as Bluffton’s DEI program: We welcome the diversity, equity and inclusion the roulette game brings.
All of which makes the Street Fair a fun topic to explore. Especially when I am no longer on parking lot duty.
miller@news-banner.com
Correction: Two weeks ago in this column, I questioned why the Wells County Council had to find a way to spend an excess of revenue realized by productive investments. Council president Seth Whicker shared that after determining the cost of refunding that $800,000 negated the intent, the money is being placed in the county’s “Rainy Day Fund” rather than being spent.
