State Fair, installment #1 [Assignment #3]

This is a story of pride and passion, of blueberry pie and lots and lots of butter. Like all stories worth telling, there is a beautiful woman involved. And I can assure you that every word of it is true, because, you see, the main character is my great-great-great-grandfather Luke, and though he was a lot of things, he was most of all a Man of His Word.

The "Great Minnesota Get-Together" wasn't always so amiable. In fact, at the time our story begins, it was anything but.

After years as a traveling fair, the Minnesota State Fair had settled into a welcoming home in St. Paul, where my great-great-great-grandfather Luke was its chief organizer. This was 1875, when Minnesotans were taking a deep collective breath between the recent unpleasantness of an Indian war and the upcoming industrial boom. Minnesota was full of pleasant people looking to have a pleasant time at a good old-fashioned fair, and Luke was the man for the job.

Luke Helms was competent, nonthreatening, and generically handsome. He was the kind of man who would always step aside when he and another man were interested in the same girl, which led to two things: an army of loyal friends and a near-constant state of singlehood. He ran a successful general store where nice people came for modest goods and polite conversation. Things he enjoyed: the horizontals and verticals of his ledger book, the sound of dry beans pouring into barrels, and the happy claustrophobia of a crowded bar.

But I promised you drama and beauty. And pie! I'd better return to the fairgrounds. The rainy spring of 1875 finds Luke traipsing through the muddy roads of the St. Paul fairground, marking certain buildings for repair or repainting. The smile that teases the corners of his mouth is due to the satisfaction one feels in seeing a great idea coming to life. You see, Luke had designed the first ride. It may be hard to fathom in this age of Vomitron 3000s and ConcussionCoasters, but building a ride at what until then was an agricultural fair was a pretty unusual idea.

During the slower winter months, Luke had sat behind the counter at his store with a stack of clean paper and a line of sharpened pencils. Gear by gear, he drew up the plans for a family-friendly ride called Ye Olde Mill. The fact that this ride would almost instantly become a steamy Tunnel of Love for the fair's teenage patrons had not yet made itself clear, and Luke could simply relish the feeling of nail sinking into wood and iron bars clanking into place.

Luke was engaged in these very activities when a member of his crew approached with the reluctantly determined gait of an elected messenger.

"Look, boss, there's something we found out this morning that we thought you should know right away. It seems, well, there's some people in Minneapolis, and it appears, from what we hear at least, that... Boss, they're settin' up a fair in Minneapolis."

"What do you mean? What kind of fair?"

"A State Fair."

"But this is the State Fair!"

"I know, boss. It seems they're wantin' to... well, compete I guess."

OK, so now I've finally gotten the the drama. I guess it's time for the beauty. Beauty enters the story (as it so often does) in a blaze of trouble. This trouble's name was Mary Brooks and she just happened to be the organizer of this Minneapolis fair. Such a simple name for such a wonderfully infuriating woman. Although Mary would have been beautiful no matter what she looked like, I suppose I can tell you that she had wild black hair, wide-set eyes, and was quite tall - just the right height to look Luke directly in the eyes and turn his guts to jelly.

Now, even though I wasn't there for that first meeting between Luke and Mary, I always imagine them meeting toe to toe at the border between the cities, the ground beginning to shake as they march toward each other, their frightening chemistry causing lightning to shoot out of a cloudless sky.

In reality, the meeting took place over coffee, with no paranormal events reported. I was right about the chemistry though. It was epic.

Without breaking eye contact once during the thirty-minute meeting, they argued their cases. Luke's genuine good manners caught Mary unaware, and made their way across the table to settle warmly on the nape of her neck. In turn, Mary's raucous laugh and air of mischief lodged like stones in Luke's chest.

The night after their first meeting, he slept in sweaty fits, clutching his stomach where she burned inside. She worked her way into his intestines, causing cramps that bent him double. But she hadn't broken him, not yet. After all, it's not the falling that kills you; it's the landing.

[Stay tuned for the next installment, which may or may not contain a pie eating content, cross-gender arm wrestling, and a newspaper tycoon.]