Roller Coaster
The Source
Springfield’s Channel Twenty fired its opening salvo of Illinois State Fair promo pieces with a feature on the safety of carnival rides. They assured all mamas and papas in the viewing audience that the rollercoasters and tilt-a-stomachs are thoroughly tested and as safe as riding in grandma’s lap. I suppose I believe the thrill-testers, but ‘twas not always so. I was once an official ride-tester. Back in the late sixties my dad belonged to the right political party to get his son employed at the Illinois State Fair. They told me to show up on the first day of the fair, no training required or given, to get my assignment. So a short line of political appointments lined up at the appointed administration building where they handed me a slip of paper simply saying, “Happy Hollow.” Cool. I was a carney! I hurried down into the Hollow to find the head carney who directed me to the rollercoaster. I think it was called “Big Bend.” Clever. I walked up to a group of cigarette-smoking, heavily tattooed fellows who didn’t look Presbyterian at all. I told them I’d been assigned to their ride. They said, “Cool. Hop in.” Hop in? Wait a minute! I was supposed to work at the roller coaster, not ride it. I’m not into thrill rides. I’ve ridden school busses with myopic drivers, I’ve taken 4-H hayrack rides, I’ve ridden with my father…I’ve had enough thrill rides. But I need the job and I hopped in. “So…I mean…What are we doing?” I asked. These ex-cons were sitting behind me, lounging in the cars, cigarettes still going strong and their legs lazily draped over the side of their cubicles as we took off. “We’re testin’ the ride, kid. Seein’ if it’s gonna work.” Testing? You’re testing the rollercoaster? You’re using me to test the rollercoaster? Don’t you have sandbags or lead weights or something to test out the ride? “Are you kidding?” I squeaked as the ride took off for the first incline. They weren’t kidding. I was riding this tube of death with four unwashed denizens of the underworld….men who obviously cared nothing about their own lives, but I was a 4-H member! I wore clean socks every day! I flossed! Somewhere around the “Dip of Death” I lost the John Deere pen out of my front pocket and by the time the ride had coasted to an ugly-sounding halt, the change in my pocket was in my shoes and my stomach had taken up residence in my throat. The head carney muttered, “Guess it works.” And that was the test. That was the official OSHA, State of Illinois, Surgeon General, AMA, Federal Aeronautics Administration test. If a portly little Presbyterian from Pike could withstand the G-forces then it was deemed safe for the rest of the civilized world. I spent the day taking tickets at “Big Bend,” and the next day I was transferred to “Las Vegas A-Go-Go,” the carnival’s burlesque girly show. They thought I looked 21 so they asked to have me back again and for the remaining eight days of the fair. The gals taking it off should have kept it on. I was a farm boy familiar with soil erosion, so I’d seen their act before. Several had some serious tillage and run-off problems. They should have settled for No-Till. They gave me one additional job at the strip show: Whenever an audience member came in wearing a State of Illinois badge, I was to hustle backstage and tell the stage manager. They had two shows…one for the perverts and one for the politicians. Back then they were different breeds. And the ticket-sellers had five different prices of admission, depending upon the traffic on the midway. It was an education. …lots of things that I hadn’t learned in FFA. How you don’t need much of a salary if you know how to shortchange people. ….how people are more likely to enter a burlesque show if you keep the outside lights low….how really dull a stripper could be. To tell you the truth, the rollercoaster was more exciting. And I learned that when Channel Twenty announces, “The rides at the State Fair are being thoroughly tested for safety!” I’m inclined to think…uh sure.