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Chester County Press

Carnival!

08/22/2022 03:49PM ● By Steven Hoffman

This is a reminiscence of the ‘salad years’ of the Oxford Firemen’s Carnival, which in its day was undoubtedly the social high point of the year for our little burg. This seemed especially true for the scores of area farm families who didn't get into town much in the summer. 

When I was a little boy, more than 70 years ago, living on N. Third Street, I remember at dusk one summer evening, lying in bed, listening to the crickets, and hearing the faint sound of drumming off in the distance. Before my mother turned off the light I asked her about that noise, and she told me, “Just wait. That’s the firemen's drum and bugle corps, and they’re practicing for the big parade later this summer, and the start of the big carnival. You’re going to love it.” The hook had just been set. 

Over the course of the next several weeks, the drumming got better, and the night of the big parade finally arrived. And what a humongous parade it was. Back in those days it attracted as many as 100 companies with marchers and scores of visiting fire engines. I remember standing at the curb, in awe of those shiny red trucks. With encouragement from bystanders they would hit the siren. And to my astonishment there was the occasional white fire truck! Who knew there was such a thing? The marching contingent from each fire company was always in a celebratory mood, getting away from their small town for an afternoon and night out with the boys. 

In my later pre-teen years, I came to see more of that exuberance after the parade, when the carnival officially began. Many of the visiting firemen retreated to the John Hays Room and the main bar of the venerable Oxford Hotel, where pride mixed with boastfulness, and rival fire companies would get into disagreements about whose truck was newer or bigger (Cochranville versus Atglen?). This would spill out into the street, in front of the fire hall. But it rarely went beyond pushing and shoving, and the same guys who were about to square off would be seen later, arms across each other’s shoulders, toasting one another. 

Now in those early carnival days, say the 1950s, the Union Fire Company (UFC) would move their three or four trucks out of the firehouse and turn the “engine room” into a popular dance hall. They would scrub the shiny floors clean as a whistle, and sprinkle shuffle-board wax to improve the slipperiness. I think they had live bands, and the dances were popular, but some of the churchwomen were appalled at couples doing the new dance, the jitterbug. That plus the increasing presence of rowdy sailors from nearby Bainbridge NTC in Port Deposit sounded the death knell for dancing. But the Union Fire Company was ready with a less frenetic substitute, the serving of chicken corn soup at long tables. The soup became famous in southern Chester County and the fire department made good money from its sale. 

It’s important to remember that the fire company’s grounds in those days were very spacious, acres it seemed. And the carnival filled every inch with games of chance, raffle booths, amusement rides, and food concessions. I remember each as though it were yesterday. When one strolled the carnival grounds, there was an unofficial pattern of mostly one-way traffic. It was clockwise as I recall. Let’s go on a walking tour, starting to the left of the fire house doors, with U.S. Route 1 at our backs. 

The first thing you would see was a “High Striker” with its distinctive bell that would ring if you swung the heavy mallet hard enough to send a hockey puck up the rail to hit the school bell. This was often manned by a guy of small-to-average build who could ring the bell every time as an example. So a big, strong farmhand who has been pitching hay all afternoon felt pretty sure he could win his girlfriend a Kewpie Doll by taking a swing. What few of us knew was that the game attendant could control the tension on the wire the puck rode on, and no matter how hard the mallet was swung it wouldn’t go all the way up. It usually took three or four progressively closer shots to ring the bell, and that paid for a lot of Kewpie Dolls! 

Next door were two other skill games involving a baseball: knocking down stacked wooden “milk bottles” or knocking down at least three dolls from a shelf. The key advantage for the “house” was that the milk bottles had to be knocked completely off their table, and the dolls had lots of fringe around their edges and required a direct hit. Pesky little devils. 

Next up were one or two kiddie rides, but the main attraction for most of us was always the Ferris Wheel. Our wheel was pretty tall for a small town, and at its apex you could see a great way across town (or so it seemed!). There was always a line waiting to ride, which gave the first timers a chance to opt out. I doubt there’s a kid anywhere who doesn’t remember his or her first ride. Perhaps with an older brother who would rock the seat when it would stop aloft. If you took a date to the carnival, a ride on the big wheel was a given! And what a thrill when the Ferris Wheel would occasionally go backwards at full speed! This was pretty exotic for sleepy little Oxford. 

Below the Ferris Wheel and along Fourth Street there was a string of booths where you could buy a raffle ticket on a refrigerator, or a washer and dryer, or a speedboat, or a heifer, or a beautiful Shetland pony, a white miniature horse complete with matching red saddle, bridle, reins and breastplate. These prizes would all be raffled off on the last night of carnival, always a Saturday. 

Walking further along the Fourth Street side of the grounds there was a large stage that dominated the scene, and on this platform every night there would be some fairly decent Country and Western music, all of which my crowd hated because we were into Rock ‘n Roll! To our dismay, it seemed that every group sang with a southern twang and used a steel guitar. The occasional exception would be a concert by a nearby high school band. That was much more preferable, particularly if they were accompanied by cheerleaders! 

Near the stage and along the side of the fire house were booths that featured games of chance. These used a spinning wheel with 20 or so numbers. Along the counter was a corresponding grid with the same 20 numbers. You would place a dime on your favorite number (mine was 13) and if the wheel landed on your number you won 10 dimes in return. A different booth offered prizes for adults and kids, and I won a pop gun one night! It seemed there was a booth offering small kitchen appliances, too. I often wondered how those wheels of chance weren’t breaking the law, but the fire department was deeply respected, and all the proceeds went to their budget. 

Near the bottom of the Fourth Street side were concessions, and the three that are seared into my memory were the cotton candy, the bright red candied apple on a stick, and later as a teen, the delicious french fries. The fries were cooked and sold by the same woman every year, and she would wait on you with a pained smile, her hands and cheeks a rosy red from working over the hot oil all night. I thought I would catch sight of her around town during the rest of the year, but now I am pretty sure she was a carny worker. If I ever bumped into her I planned to ask her the secret for having the most delicious fries in the land—or at least in southern Chester County! Was it special salt, or a secret recipe vinegar? Lost to the ages! 

Behind this concession on lower Fourth Street the Union Fire Department would offer free firetruck rides out to Bicknell’s Pool and back. They used a pumper truck with all the hoses removed, and the kids rode in the center of the truck bed, with protective firemen across the back for safety’s sake. What a thrill! Especially if they went through your neighborhood and blew the siren! 

The big attraction by far on the Market Street side of the carnival grounds was the bingo pavilion. Certainly the largest and most popular attraction for the ladies (especially farm wives), participants sat around the perimeter of a large rectangular booth with their bingo cards on the counter. In a trough in front of them were shucked kernels of corn to be used as markers. In the middle of this rectangular pavilion were the prizes: displays of every type of kitchenware imaginable: toasters, mixers, blenders, carving knife sets, table linens, etc. The unusual aspect of this game was that you had to be the first to yell Bingo! to win—there were no shared prizes. So naturally as one filled their card with markers the tension and pressure would build. One time in a particularly close game the winning lady jumped up and yelled Bingo! and she rocked the booth so hard all the kernels were dislodged from the cards. Pandemonium! But it was common to spot a Bingo winner walking the grounds clutching her hard-won booty. They had the biggest grins of all. 

Uphill from the bingo pavilion and along the Route 1 side were situated the Grand Prizes, and always the most heavily subscribed raffle of the carnival—a brand new Chevrolet sedan, complete with radio! One year there was a sort of junior prize too—a Chevy Corvair, the radical rear engine economy car. 

Throughout my youth, it seemed I would go up to the carnival almost every night. We lived close, only a few blocks away, and come the end of the evening my family would be gathered on our screened porch. We could easily hear the announcements over the loudspeakers of raffle and prize winners. The carnival committee would take over the main stage and bring out a huge raffle drum with hundreds and maybe thousands of ticket stubs. Each had the name and address of the purchaser. A guest would rotate the huge barrel and reach in for the winner. Over 15 or so years before I outgrew this wonderful event our family did fairly well with prizes. My brother Jimmy won a speedboat, my Uncle Joe won the Corvair, and one year that darn Shetland pony came to us! A well lubricated uncle had taken a chance in Jimmy’s and my names so he could tease our Dad, who had zero interest in any horse that didn’t have a jockey. 

In my later years I left Oxford and started a career that involved quite a bit of travel. I would come across county fairs, oyster roasts, western rodeos, harvest celebrations, and all manner of community festivals. But I never saw one that matched the Oxford Firemen’s Carnival for organization, fun and excitement. And I can’t smell cotton candy at any event without immediately going back home, to our big summer-ending event. 


Postscript: Sadly, all things must come to an end, and after 77 years of great success, the Ox- ford Firemen’s Carnival was discontinued in 2001. 


Mike Heron resides in Atlanta, Georgia now, but lived in Oxford as a youth. His parents owned Heron’s Soda Shoppe.