Gary's StoryStack

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We are just a few days away from the start of the annual Minnesota State Fair. Big stuff in these parts.

I’ve mentioned before that my father worked on carnival midways during the Depression. He was born in 1899 and died in 1979. When I moved from Los Angeles to Minneapolis in 1981, I arrived a few days before the Minnesota State Fair began; the TV station where I started working sat right across the street from the fairgrounds.

I couldn’t wait to head over to the midway – the Royal American Shows – to ask the boss if he or anyone on the lot had known my father.

The boss, I learned, was Pete Andrews, a stocky fellow in his 50s, who came from Chicago; I’m guessing his Greek family's real name was Andropoulos. When I told him my father’s name, he said, “Sorry, pal, I never heard of him.”

That disappointed me, but I hung in there with Pete, wanting to learn all I could about how midway games operated – ring toss, balloon darts, shooting gallery.

Pete explained that the public misunderstands what midway games are all about: “These games are not about gambling. What we’re doing here is selling stuffed animal toys at exorbitant prices.”

He delivered that line with a wry smile.

As we kept talking, I happened to refer to my father by his nickname – Skee.

“SKEE!” Pete erupted. “Why didn’t you say your father was Skee? During the winter, when lots of carnies hang out in Florida, I used to play bridge with him every day. Helluva bridge player. I loved the guy.”

Then Pete got serious: “You went to college, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And Skee was proud of you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.”

“When I was a teenager,” Pete said, “I worked at an amusement park in Chicago. A carnival came through town, and I went over there to check it out. I never went back to the amusement park. For me, the carnival was it. You know, if I had to do it all over again, I would have gone to college, and I would have graduated. Then I would have joined the carnival.”

* * *

Pete Andrews

Many years have passed since that moment, and I have tried many times to find Pete and talk with him more about his life. Royal American went out of business, but I remembered that Pete was living in Miami. I kept digging for information and finally tried a phone number that might be his. The phone rang three times before someone picked it up and said hello.

I said, “Pete Andrews?”

The man shot back: “Guilty, as charged.”

I knew right then I had the right guy.

* * *

Pete’s answer made me think of the story my father told me about when he and his carny partner played the shell game with customers – known as marks, in carny lingo – on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, New Jersey.

In the shell game, the operator places a pea under one of three walnut shells on a tabletop, then moves the shells around very fast for a few seconds and quickly stops, having accepted a bet that the mark can identify which shell hides the pea. This frantic movement, combined with a gush of words from the operator, practically guarantees that the average bettor cannot accurately track the right shell.

The partners alternated playing — an hour on, an hour off. My father was watching from the sidelines as his partner, Bosco, was about to make a big score against a mark who was on the brink of placing a big bet.

Carnies lived by this principle: Words coax cash out of a mark’s pocket. Once the cash comes out, it never finds its way back.

Important fact: My father told me that Bosco was the ugliest man he’d ever met.

Bosco allowed the mark to win small bets a few times, to snooker him into betting more and more. When the moment came for the big bet, the mark hesitated . . . and hesitated . . . and hesitated. Bosco, ugly and menacing, screamed at him:

“Are you in or out???”

The mark blurted, “I’m in!”

His wife, who had been standing next to him, fainted to the boardwalk. When they revived her, my father asked her what had come over her.

“My husband hasn’t been able to utter a word in almost 20 years. This man scared the words right out of him.”

* * *

Wherever your state or county fair may be happening, go, have fun, and come home with arms filled with stuffed animal toys.

* * *

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Gary