No Fair
Several decades ago, my wife, nephew and I were on our way to Sears in Uniontown by way of Route 119. We were talking and laughing in the July twilight when I realized a state trooper was directing the left lane into the parking lot of the Fayette County Fair.
When I got to the front of the line, I stopped, put my right turn signal on and waited. I didn’t wait long. After a few enthusiastic waves of his flashlight, the trooper came to my window and told me I needed to go left.
“But I’m not going to the fair,” I said, trying to sound authoritative.
He asked why I was in the left lane.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
When he told me he could cite me for not having my headlights on, I felt a bit uncomfortable and told him no one had them on.
At this point, there was a cacophony of horns from the lineup behind me.
Headlights, he told me, were required to be on from dusk until dawn.
In ensuing years I would become wiser and probably more diplomatic, but at that age, in that situation, I became stupidly stubborn.
“I’m not going to the fair,” I shouted.
With that the trooper began a conversation on his radio, which I interpreted as calling for back up. Instead, he walked over to the right lane, stopped traffic and waved me to the right. As I went past him, I said thanks, and he reminded me to put my lights on.
I looked in the rear view mirror and did not see my nephew Butch. He had abandoned the back seat and was lying on the floor.
“All clear, Butch” I announced, “You can come out now.”
“I thought we were going to jail,” he confessed.
Seven years younger than me, Butch is my brother’s only child, and was (and still is) like my little brother. While he had friends his own age, anywhere my wife and I went, he was usually with us – but never to the fair.
It took me a few hundred trips to Pechins, passing the entrance to the fair parking lot before I forgot my unwelcome, six-celled invitation to the event. Butch, a now-retired professor of engineering studies, gently reminded me recently that I nearly made career scofflaws of him, my wife and myself by defying the orders of a uniformed officer.
Note: As redemption (hopefully) for the actions of my impetuous youth, I did work with the state Department of Transportation and state police as an instructor for the State Vehicle Inspection program for 30 years. And, my band High Ryder opened the Fayette County Fair in 2023.
Roy Hess Sr. is a retired teacher and businessman from Dawson.