State Fair Page #5

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Say, I thought you were going

to bed early last night.

Oh. Well, I was going to,

but I changed my mind.

I went for a ride

on the roller coaster.

- It's much better than it was last year.

- Oh, okay.

I tell you, he's raring to go.

When I left him just now, he was

strutting around prouder than a peacock.

- You'd think he owned the place.

- Thank goodness.

Maybe now you'll

give me a little time.

Yes, sir, he's all right.

Wait till you see him.

There ain't a hog ever was or

ever will be that can touch him.

For what we're about to receive,

O Lord, make us duly thankful. Amen.

- You said grace before, Daddy.

- Yeah.

I did? Well, I'm going to

keep on saying it all day.

I just hope he stays like he

is till the judges see him!

Why, they hardly tasted them!

And I like my sweet pickles best.

They don't have to taste much.

They're experts.

Don't be so jittery, Mother.

- There's that Mrs. Metcalfe.

- Hmm?

- Behind the lady in the red hat.

- Oh, yes, I see her.

So biggety. Why, she was

just lucky last year.

Her pies weren't

half as good as yours.

- Why, hello, Mrs. Metcalfe. Pardon me.

- Hello.

Going to win all the

prizes again this year?

I don't know about all, but I have high

hopes for my pickles and mincemeat.

Same as you.

Look. They like your sour pickles.

This is the last year I'm

ever gonna enter anything.

- It isn't worth it.

- Oh, Mother, you say that every year.

Please.

Thank you.

Well, aren't they going

to announce their decision?

Not until they finish

with the mincemeat.

Thank you.

I don't remember telling you to

cover this part of the fair.

Hello, boss.

Thought you were specializing in human

interest stories on the midway.

What's wrong with putting in a plug

for the housewives of our state?

That, my friend, is Mrs. America.

Do tell. And what dainty

putter-upper

of what delicious preserve is the

cause of your presence here?

Look, forget you're the managing editor of

a newspaper and try to act intelligent.

Have you ever seen me with

the type who's a good cook?

No, but I've seen you

with every other kind.

You had to get around

to these sometime.

Shove off. Let me finish this

story. It's for your paper.

Sure. Only I hope it's better than

the one you turned in last night,

"Fun on a Roller Coaster." Ouch.

Boy, you'd better hope

the old man misses that one

or he'll never give you a

shot at that job in Chicago.

That's yours, isn't it?

Mmm.

Do you think they liked it?

They must have. They

certainly ate enough.

Your attention, please.

Silence, please.

ladies and gentlemen.

Quiet, please!

We are now ready to announce

the awards. Sweet pickles.

First prize to Mrs. Edwin

Metcalfe of Pottsville.

Second prize to...

To Mrs. Agnes Field

of Arcadia.

Sour pickles.

First prize to

Mrs. Melissa Frake of Brunswick.

Oh, Mother.

Second prize to

Mrs. Edwin Metcalfe.

And now, ladies and gentlemen...

Quiet, please. As you know,

we occasionally give a plaque

for distinguished achievement.

As you are doubtlessly aware,

this plaque is only given

in rare cases.

And on this occasion,

my colleagues and I

have voted unanimously

that it be given to a lady who has

concocted the most delicious,

the most succulent

and spiciest mincemeat

ever entered in a state fair.

The lady who wins this distinction

is none other than Mrs.

Melissa Frake of Brunswick.

- Oh, Mother! Oh!

- Congratulations. I'm so glad.

I've got the most a woman

can get in life, Margy.

- If I think any more about it, I'll cry.

- Stand where you are, please.

Hold it. Thank you.

Thank you very much, ladies.

Your picture will appear in the

Register tomorrow morning.

Good day.

- See, Mother? You're famous.

- I'm worn out.

I'm going up to the trailer

and lie down.

I never knew what a strain it was

to get something you really wanted.

- I'll take these, dear.

- Oh, my hat too.

Now you run along

and enjoy yourself.

My horse is number 8,

Tessie In the green shirt.

Come on, Tessie! Come on!

Get up there. Come on!

Attagirl, Tessie.

Pass her! Pass her!

Attagirl, Tess!

Oh, she made it!

She won! She won!

Oh, Pat, your horse won!

it can't be much fun for you

just hanging around waiting

to catch me between songs.

Can't think of anything

I'd rather be doing.

Anyway, we can... I mean, can

we go someplace after the show?

I thought maybe we'd have

something to eat or something.

Well, I can't tonight, Wayne.

- It's Marty's birthday.

- Who's Marty?

The boy I sing with in the band. We're

giving a surprise party for him.

Wouldn't you like to come?

I was kind of counting

on being alone with you.

I know. I'd like that better too.

But this is a party

we cooked up a week ago.

We're giving it in my rooms

at the hotel

- so I can't very well back out now.

- Hey, Emily.

- They're playing the introduction.

- All right, Marty.

Now don't go away.

I'll be right back.

Okay, let's go.

Listen, kids, I got

the greatest number here...

McGee, if you ever scare me

like that again...

I got the greatest number I ever plugged,

and I'm gonna give you first crack at it.

Buzz off, McGee. We're busy.

Eh, just like all singers,

they don't like songs.

- Hi, buddy.

- Hello.

- You in the music business?

- No. I'm a farmer.

A farmer. What a night I'm having.

Well, uh, you're a friend

of Emily's, ain't ya?

That's right.

- My name's McGee.

- My name's Wayne Frake.

- You in the music business?

- Yeah, I'm a song plugger.

- I work on songs till they get popular.

- How do you mean work on 'em?

I thought songs got popular

because people like 'em.

That's naive. How can people like

a song if they don't hear it?

You got to get the big

singers to sing it first.

How do you do that?

There's all kinds of ways,

and none of them is easy.

You got no idea what a snook like me has

to do to get a song on the hit parade.

Last week I fell down in

front of Dinah Shore's taxi

just to get in

conversation with her.

Every Christmas, I got to remember

to send Sinatra a new bow tie.

When a bandleader's

wife has a baby,

I gotta stay home with it

on the nurse's night out.

It's a big question whether Mairzy

Doats would have been a hit

if I hadn't had known

how to change a "didey."

- Is that a new song you got there?

- Yeah, and it's a honey.

A natural for your friend Emily.

You wouldn't wanna help me

get it to her, would ya?

I am not at all niggardly

when it comes to payola.

- Payola?

- Ah, it's a technical term. Forget it.

The man who wrote this song is

starving in an attic in Brooklyn.

His wife ran out on him,

left him penniless with two kids.

She even took the piano with her

so now he can't write no more.

If this song ain't a hit, there's

only one thing left for this man,

the river.

On the other hand, if somebody was to

get a great artist like Emily Edwards

to introduce it with

a band on the radio,

this man's fortune would be made and

his genius preserved for posterity.

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