Every summer in late July, when I was a kid, there was a county fair in the next town over from where we grew up in central Pennsylvania. It may very well have been the biggest event of the year in our part of the world. A major part of the festivities was the arrival of the James E. Strates Shows, the fourth largest carnival midway in the nation. It arrived by train in the middle of the night, on a railroad track that ran through the center of town. The coal trains that used the line were diverted until all the animals and equipment were unloaded. The empty train cars were set off onto a siding at a nearby rail yard until the end of the fair for reloading. This was huge for me. I got to go and stay with my grandmother for a week and attend the fair several times.

In 1969, at the age of 19, I got fired from my summer job with a local bricklayer because I was too outspoken about the Vietnam War and the loss of people I knew and thousands of others who were sacrificed by the leaders of our country. I suppose I deserved to be fired but I never gave up on trying to bring my friends home and stop the tragic loss of life. To this day I regret that I was unable to do more and hold deep sorrow for those lost. But, as luck would have it, the carnival was in town and I joined up! For the following six weeks, I traveled with the carnival and the”Broadway to Hollywood Review," a strip show. It beat mixing mud, but not by much.

One of the first things I learned from my boss, the veteran chief roustabout with the show, was to always look down when walking the grounds. “That’s where you find the money,” he told me. Our tent was set up next to what was then referred to as the “Freak Shows,” a term and occurrence that not longer exists. This “show” was made up of small viewing booths occupied by an assortment of creative individuals ranging from “The Anatomical Wonder,” to “The Snake Lady,” “The Sword swallower,” the smallest and largest women in the world, and other “attractions” to remain unmentioned. And there was money to be found. 

So, looking down has stayed with me. Here in Maine, over our last 50 years, we have often strolled the shores looking down. The edge of the ocean is a virtual delight of wonderful gifts spit up from the waters, rubbed together, tossed about, stacked up and distributed. It’s not like finding money at the carnival. It's much better, more fun and less likely to lead to the competitive searchings by others of questionable intent.

I’ll not likely return to carnival work any time soon, but I will happily sit at the edge of the sea and look down. Special treasures can be found there.