Column: Make sure to not miss Montana's state fair

“Our state fair is a great state fair, don’t miss it, don’t even be late!”

For me, in the 1940s, the Montana State Fair was the single most exciting event of summer. That excitement lasted until the gates of the fairgrounds closed and the back-to-school advertisements proclaimed the end was near.

Mother loved the fair, and the two of us went every day from the time the gates opened until the fireworks display each night. One year Gene Autry, on his horse, Champion, led the parade in town and then opened the fairground gates. With dozens of other kids, I ran the same route, getting as close to the famous singing cowboy as possible.

According to Mother, there were certain ways to attend the fair. First, I had to endure a walk through all the exhibits. There were pumpkins and tomatoes, jams and quilts, lambs and pigs, and demonstrations of new vacuums and slicers and dicers. One year my cousins got a job demonstrating a new bathtub. At the end of the day, they looked like prunes, but happy prunes, as they raced to the midway with their money.

After the exhibits, we went to the cottonwood park and Mother put out our lunch on a blanket. We ate bologna or tuna sandwiches and I thought of pronto pups and corn-on-the-cob for sale on the midway.

Mother rested in the shade and I fidgeted until it was time for the horse races and the rodeo. While Mother studied the racing program, I collected empty beer bottles under the grandstand. At 2 cents each, I could earn enough for a few carnival rides.

The rodeo began with cowgirls in dazzling outfits of white fringes and sequins, racing around the track on their horses with flags. Then cowboys roped calves, rode bucking horses and even wild bulls, while colorful clowns jumped in and out of a big barrel.

The next stop was the bingo tent. I had to play too, to increase the odds of mother completing a set of goblets. 

Then it was dinner time! Burgers and chicken, pronto pups, fries and onion rings, corn-on-the-cob and ice cream rolled in chocolate and nuts. And cotton candy! Pure sugar, spun into heavenly globs of fluff that melted in your mouth.

The food concessions were on the edge of the midway. I could hear the merry-go-round kaleidoscope and the hawkers in their game booths. Teenagers screamed with terror from the top of a ride called the Hammer. My anticipation could hardly be contained any longer, but Mother had one more rule.

First, I had to ride the giant Ferris wheel with her. It was the only ride Mother would go on, and the only one I did not want to go on. I climbed onto the wooden bench and let the operator lock the safety bar across our lap. I sat far back on the bench. The seat rocked as we began our climb into the sky and each time the wheel stopped to let other riders on we were a little higher until we were at the very top. Mother leaned forward as she excitedly pointed out things we could see. I held my breath. The promise of more cotton candy, live pony rides, and bumper cars kept me from dying in that tilting seat.

Finally, we arrived at what all children call the fair, the carnival! After two hours and, according to Mother, a sheer waste of money, we left the midway and scrambled up the grandstand to find the perfect seat for the night show.

The fireworks finished with a ground display of the American flag and everyone stood to sing the national anthem. Then it was all over. But for me, lucky kid that I was, we would be back the next day.

Many years later, I coerced my husband into taking our brood to the fair. Following Mother’s rules, we drug our babies through all the exhibits, lunch, horse races and the rodeo before hitting the midway. It was as I had remembered, flashing lights, music and smells of cotton candy. My parental good sense drifted away in the excitement.

After the fireworks, we gathered our sleeping children and their prizes; stuffed animals, bowls of gold fish, balloons, monkey puppets, etc. and tried to find our car. In the morning we went to our bank to borrow enough money to see us through August and the back-to-school sales.

While our state fair is no longer the state fair, and maybe not even a great fair, I won’t miss it and I won’t even be late, on senior citizen day.

(Carol Holoboff is a former Libby resident who now writes her column from Great Falls).