Now Hear This: Unforgettable sights, sounds of fair
Some things you never forget.
Till I die I won’t ever forget the smell of mama’s cooking. Especially Saturday dinner.
Now, dinner in South Georgia was what you ate at noon. Supper was anything after 5 p.m. Every Saturday, from the time I can remember, dinner at the Hines house consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green peas, onions and tomatoes, corn on the cob, homemade rolls, and sweet tea. That menu never varied.
Daddy’s favorite was the short thigh. Mama’s the chicken neck. Mine was the drumstick. My brother, Morris, liked only white meat. My youngest brother, Tom didn’t care.
I can still hear mama’s voice as I let the kitchen screen door slam like a rifle shot as I ran outside.
“Hope Hines, you get back here this very minute,” was her command.
Already, 50 yards away, I would turn around, and there she stood, holding the door partially open, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, with that eyebrow raised, as only she could. I would go all the way back, and gently close the door, then tell her I was sorry. I guess I was sorry about a million times.
No, you don’t forget the smells and sounds of childhood.
All of which brings me to the county fair. I read the other day the Wilson County Fair, was on pace to beat last years attendance record, and I began to remember those glorious days of my youth attending the county fair. It ranked right up there with Christmas, and a week in Panama City Beach, Fla.
The county fair was always in October, but I began thinking about it during the summer months. To make money for the fair, I sold boiled peanuts in June, July and August. I picked up pecans (the correct South Georgia pronunciation was pea-cans), and sold them in the fall. I sold peanuts for 10 cents a bag, and depending on the market each week, I could sell “pea-cans” for between 12 and 18 cents a pound. If you do the math you can see I had to sell a ton of peanuts, and all the pea-cans I could pickup to have enough money for the fair, which lasted a whole week.
You never forget the sounds of the county fair. Girls screaming as the roller-coaster reached its peak, and started down. While next door the thinly clad ladies bounced around on the stage while the slick-talking barker invited anyone, over 18, inside for a closer look at the lovelies. Back then it was called a “girlie-show.” That too was legal at the county fair, because you could usually find the “high-sheriff” sitting on the front row. Of course, he was there just to make sure everything was legal.
And, who can forget the taste and smells of the county fair? Hamburgers, popcorn, cotton candy, snow balls, candy apples, and corn dogs. And where ever you went on the midway, there was the distinctive aroma of the animals in the show barn. And, for one week in October, the scent of cows, sawdust, and hamburgers were one and the same.
Did I tell you I took my first date to the county fair? What a great night I was having. I knocked down three dolls in a row with baseballs, and won a pink Teddy Bear.
As the evening of my first date at the county fair, which couldn’t have gone any better, came to a close we found ourselves strapped in to everybody’s favorite ride. There we were, just the two of us, high above the midway and crowd, on a beautiful starry night ? and it happened!
Ever been on a Ferris wheel, when all of a sudden, you got splattered with what somebody above you just ate?
(Hope Hines is a television sports reporter and a Nashville personality.)