RIVER CITY JOURNAL: BEHIND EVERY SUCCESSFUL FAIR, THERE'S A GOOD STORY TO TELL

There are two fairs and one centennial celebration that hold special memories for me. Want to hear about them?

Everywhere you turn, there's a fair.

Homecomers is going full blast in downtown Jackson right now. The SEMO District Fair -- the oldest fair in Missouri -- is coming up next month. The Missouri and Illinois state fairs are choosing the best pickled corn relish and the finest ewes.

My wife's hometown in west-central Missouri has had an annual Fall Festival since who knows when. And there's probably not a living soul who remembers why the Fall Festival is held during the summer. It's better not to question some things.

There was a Fall Festival going on the first time I visited my wife's parents after we started dating. One of the big events at the Fall Festival was (maybe still is) the Crazy Hats competition. This was in the mid-1960s when women no longer were expected to wear a hat -- and gloves -- for any public excursion. So the women would all create the most outlandish head toppers they could think of, and they would wear them proudly to the Fall Festival. This spectacle was certainly worth the price of admission, which was free.

On the day of the Crazy Hats competition, my future wife and I went to the V Restaurant for lunch. As it happened, her mother was in charge of the hat show that year, and she was entertaining the president of the Missouri Federation of Women's Clubs, who had graciously consented to be a hat judge.

As we were leaving the restaurant, we stopped by my future mother-in-law's table to say hello. There were three women from town with their crazy hats and the MFWC president attired appropriately in a print dress, demur cloche and white gloves. She wasn't quite ready to give up on the '50s yet.

(To this day, it amazes my wife that I remember what this woman had on, since I can never remember what the governor's wife wears when I go for the annual newspaper lunches at the Governor's Mansion.)

My future mother-in-law started to introduce her only daughter and this fellow who was trying to steal her. She got her tongue all twisted up. She couldn't even remember her own daughter's name, much less mine. Pretty soon the crazy hats at the table were bobbing every direction as some of us tried to stifle giggles while we let the agony continue as long as possible.

The MFWC president had a frozen smile on her face, but it was easy to see she didn't quite know what to make of a town whose women would put not just peacock feathers but an entire peacock on their heads and act as if everything was hunky-dory, although I doubt the MFWC president ever said "hunky-dory" in her life.

Over the years, this was one of the stories that got told over and over at family dinners when old stories that had been heard a hundred times were told in amazingly fresh ways and always got big laughs as if we had never heard them before. And my mother-in-law's face would turn bright red every time we told about the crazy-hats lunch. And she would always wonder: "Do you think that Mrs. So-and-So thought we were really crazy?"

"Yes!" we would all shout.

Fairs are generally held every year, but centennials only come along once in a blue moon. My favorite hometown in the Ozarks had a centennial back in the '50s, and it was an extravaganza that went on for days and days with pageants, parades, airplane rides -- the works.

My best memory of the centennial, however, was the night of the fireworks. I remember most of the crowd had seats in the fairgrounds, and the fireworks were set off on a hill a few hundred yards across the highway.

After about half and hour of wonderful explosions in the sky, someone noticed the grassy hillside was ablaze, apparent ignited by sparks from the fireworks.

When you're a young lad, you have to draw your own conclusions about a lot of things. In my mind, this made good sense:

Fireworks.

Fire.

A natural combination, it seemed to me. The evening's festivities were topped off by a demonstration of the firefighting prowess of the local volunteer fire department. What a show.

Finally, there was the county fair in northern Idaho when our first son was about 2 years old. He had a blue cap with a small bill that he wore everywhere. One of the midway rides for children was a set of 2-year-old-sized airplanes on a revolving swing. We weren't sure Jason would want to ride by himself, and he didn't look to sure himself.

But on the first pass -- he was the only pilot and we were the only proud parents watching -- he kept one hand on the controls and, with his other hand, tipped his hat and gave as fine a salute as you could imagine.

Well, we were tickled he was having a good time. And he was tickled that he had pleased his parents. So he gave the same tip of his hat and salute on the next go-around.

Another couple came by on the other side of the ride, and he did the same for them, bringing laughs and smiles. Within just a few minutes, a small crowd had gathered around the ride to see the 2-year-old pilot tipping his hat and saluting. They were all smiling and laughing.

The operator of the ride saw what was going on and let the little planes soar in their circle for a long, long time. He finally brought them in for a landing. And our young pilot knew he was the center of attention.

Jason was our family pilot for a lot of years. We thought he might make a career some day in aviation. As it turns out, he has other interests.

His younger brother is a pilot.

It's funny how fair season brings back so many good memories.

That's why I like fairs.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.