Comments & Curiosities

PETER BUFFA

Eighteen ninety three. A long time ago. Even for me.

Grover Cleveland was president. Walt Whitman died at the age of 73. In

New York, the first issue of Vogue hit the newsstands. In Chicago, the

World’s Fair celebrated the 400th anniversary of the landing of Columbus.

The star of the show was a 200-foot high rotating wheel with enclosed

benches dangling from it -- the brainchild of a man named George Ferris.

And in California, in a rural county south of Los Angeles, the first

Orange County Fair was underway.

One hundred seven years later, it’s still going strong.

What was that first Orange County Fair like? It’s hard to imagine. It

was a different time and a different world in Orange County in 1893.

There were no toll roads. Dots were still called periods. Impact was

still a noun. People wore those goofy outfits at the beach. There were

only three channels on cable. One of them was the farm report.

Speaking of farms, that’s how the whole fair thing got started. Fair

comes from the Latin, o7 feriaef7 , which means “to park really far

away.” No it doesn’t. I made that up. o7 Feriaef7 means “feast.”

Originally, a fair meant a “market day,” when farmers and purveyors of

whatever people purveyed in those days got together to sell their stuff.

In this country, there have been references to “going to the fair” since

1638. What was Orange County like in 1638? Forget it. We did that

already.

You didn’t laugh then, either.

By 1800, a fair meant a periodic market and exhibition, with much the

same meaning as today. The first annual fair in the U.S. was the

Berkshire Cattle Show, which began in Pittsfield, Mass., in 1810. People

came from all over. They looked at the cows. The cows looked at them. It

was a simpler time.

By the 1840s, there were fairgrounds, state fairs and county fairs all

over the place. The first state fair was held in Syracuse, N.Y., in 1841.

It didn’t take long for fairs to take a quantum leap forward and become

World’s Fairs and Expositions. The first was the 1853 New York World’s

Fair, held in what is now Bryant’s Park, next to the main library on 5th

Avenue and 42nd.

It cost $640,000. It’s hard for us to appreciate what a staggering sum

that was at the time. To put it in context, you could get something nice

on Newport Coast in 1853 for $35,000 -- with a view.

Over the years, the World’s Fair grew like topsy and amazed young and

old alike. Like Philadelphia’s Centennial Exposition in 1876, which

introduced Mr. Bell’s telephone, a thing called the “typewriter” and an

exotic fruit called the “banana,” which was an instant hit, but pricey,

at 10 cents each. The long lines at Chicago’s Columbian Exposition in

1893 were for Mr. Westinghouse’s electric engine and Tom Edison’s new and

improved electric light bulb.

The less technologically-minded visitors could see an exotic dancer

called Little Egypt do her “coochee-coochee” dance. And this was 70 years

before Charo.

And so it went, including the World’s Fairs in New York in 1939 and

1964, the first of which I did not attend, the second of which I did.

The 1939 World’s Fair, dubbed the World of Tomorrow, was arguably the

most important of all. It really was opening day in the great game of

modern technology, including television, “Robby” the robot and synthetic

fibers like nylon and rayon. Without polyester, life would be impossible.

But setting the awe-inspiring World’s Fair aside, for most people, the

annual state or county fair was the social and civic event of the year.

Keep in mind, until the late 19th century, this was very much a farming

society.

Farming is hard. I know. When I was growing up, I saw many pictures of

farms. First, you have to get up at oh-dark-thirty. Then, you get a

choice of milking or feeding (“slopping,” in farmer talk) or plowing a

big field of dirt -- all of which are really hard. Plus, the field of

dirt has all kinds of bugs and rodents and big grooves that make it

really hard to walk.

Water is always an issue. There’s not enough, there’s too much, yada,

yada, yada. And then you got your plague, your pestilence, so forth and

so on. It’s a nightmare.

Anyway, whenever something like a big, bright, bustling county fair

came along, it was boots off, shoes on, dust off the kids and go.

A century or so later, that same air of excitement remains remarkably

intact. From the moment you step through the gate, there is an amazing

continuity to the experience, whether it’s Costa Mesa in 2000 or Des

Moines in 1850.

Some of the trappings change, of course, but one thing never does --

the look on the little kids’ faces. Whether it’s the midway or the

elephant rides or the candy, the look of amazement on a 5-year-old’s face

is the same, no matter what century they’re from. Even the sounds and the

smells never change. Music, carnies, rides and the occasional distant

scream. Something sweet, something fried, grilled corn and the aroma de

resistance -- cinnamon rolls.

It’s goofy, it’s kitsch, it’s hopelessly passe, and we just can’t get

enough of it.

If you think this is a high-tech world? Wait until you see 2099. I

can’t tell you a thing about it, except for this. The Orange County Fair

will still be there, complete with pig races, the bodacious bull, the

humongous horse and the foot massagers, which will be about $100 a

minute.

So get out there, bring the kids and the grand kids, and consume as

much sugar and fat as you possibly can. Just make sure you include one

food from the churro group, and one from the cinnamon roll group to make

sure you’re getting enough fiber.

I gotta go.