THE SONIC BOOMER
I am on my way to Wisconsin to visit my 95-year-old mother and — in a happy coincidence — the Wisconsin State Fair. This fair (known as “the best fair in all the land” to Wisconsinites, just as the South Florida Fair is “the best fair in all the land” to South Floridians) has everything Wisconsinites love, and that is precisely what makes regional fairs so special. They know their audience.
Just like so many happy memories from my youth, there are things at the fair which, at the time, scared me to death. The rides that go upside-down are one (got over that). The hunting lodge with its many heads (not so much). And, most terrifying of all, Alice in Dairyland (never).
Let me explain. Back in the day, Wisconsin was known as “The Dairy State,” because of the high volume of quality milk and cheese it produced. Other states now challenge the title, but certain childhood memories have cemented themselves, such as my grandpa’s dairy farm and people having to drive to Illinois to get “oleo margarine” because anything but real butter was banned.
But looming large — and I do mean large — over all these recollections is Alice. This 12-foot-tall papier-mâché monstrosity took center stage in the fair’s dairy building, where she loomed threateningly over us small people while our parents chuckled in the back rows, unaware of our terror.
Alice wore a crown, a blue sequined gown and a sash proclaiming her title. She would rise up shakily from a huge golden throne and hover over us jerkily, trying desperately to turn her head and reaching out a tremored hand as we openly flinched. Could she walk? Please say no. Could she talk? Oh, yes.
As if a mechanized weirdo who never blinked wasn’t enough, this abomination’s jaw would move up and down as she vacantly addressed the topmost hairs of adorable little children in the audience who were trying hard not to be noticed.
“I love the little pink sunhat on that blondie in the front row,” she would croak out, in a voice that was obviously male. The blonde girl would look to each side, eventually figure out that she herself was the victim, shrink down and run frantically out of the crowd toward her proud parents’ legs.
“Did you get that blue balloon outside, Jimmy?” Alice would say to a boy who had inadvertently worn a shirt with his name on the back. Jimmy would freeze in shock, surreptitiously look around for a control booth and, not being able to spot one, pop his own balloon as he walked backward toward the exit whispering, “Show no fear. Show no fear.”
Being a rather nondescript child, I was never singled out, but Alice still comes after me in my dreams, hysterically screaming, “Why did you buy oleo?! Are you trying to kill me?!”
I also want to see the cows, pigs, bunnies and duckies. I want to see crafts made by master artisans who have perfected their crafts indoors due to Wisconsin’s nine months of winter. I want to go upside-down once or twice. And I will pay homage to our dairy queen by buying a few ears of definitely-not-oleo-dipped corn-on-the-cob at the Kiwanis booth.
If I summon up my courage, I may even venture inside the dairy building to see if the world’s most horrendous insult to animatronics still exists. If not, maybe I will again be able to sleep at night.
