Each summer growing up, I looked forward to the annual Simsbury Volunteer Fire Company's carnival the way a drunk joneses for his next bottle of booze. The carnival was held the same week in July. The festivities opened on a Wednesday (or maybe Thursday) and went through the weekend, with a parade on Saturday night. I got almost as excited for the parade, with its scores of area fire departments, marching bands, trucks, police cars, clowns throwing candy, etc., as I did for the rides and games of skill at the carnival.
I loved the Ferris wheel, the Rotor, the Spider, the Goolamajig -- OK, I don't remember the names of all the rides, but I loved everything about the whole event.
I would go to the carnival on one or two of the early nights. It was held at Weatogue Park, where I sometimes played softball, or knocked around golf balls or just ran around or rode my bike. I loved the games, from tossing a ping pong ball into a fish bowl (I'm glad I never won; I didn't actually want the fish), to pitching nickels in order to win all sorts of glassware: Miller beer mugs, parfait glasses, ashtrays (it was the '70s), banana split dishes -- you name it, I won it and stashed it in my closet for years and never used any of the stuff for anything other than storing loose change.
On Saturday evening, my family and I would walk down to the corner where our road, Mountain View, met with the parade route, Latimer Lane. We'd hang out with my friends the Keegan boys and bounce around until the parade started. We could see up the hill to where the parade started. There was always a police car at the head of the line, and when we saw it moving down, we'd yell out, "It's starting! It's starting!"
Fire trucks from all around Connecticut and parts of Massachusetts (and perhaps Rhode Island and New York) streamed by, honking horns, blaring sirens, flashing lights. There were bands made up of firemen (there may have been a few women, but it was mostly men back then), a high school band or two, with baton twirlers. Old fashioned fire trucks, ambulances and other public safety vehicles filled things out.
My high school's theater group even rode by in a truck, promoting whatever show they were putting on that summer ("Guys 'n' Dolls," "The Fantasticks," etc.). It was quite the community event.
The parade wound about another mile or so to the carnival grounds. My friends and family, of course, made our way to the park, usually taking the train tracks as a shortcut. The firemen had a special section near the back of the grounds, near the brick tower where they performed rescue and fire drills, where they caroused with their wives and families. I used to think it would be so cool to hang out in that roped-off area.
After more rides and games and food (cotton candy, popcorn) I went home, my carnival and parade needs sated for another year.
The next morning my friends and I walked back down to the park to look for money, discarded prizes and anything else of value. One time, I found a $5 bill, and being the goody-goody that I am, I turned it in to some people breaking down the event, just in case someone came back looking for it.
The fire department canceled the event in 2000, after nearly 50 years, after realizing that the amount of work that went into the event wasn't worth the meager tally of dollars flowing in. For more, see this article.
In 1979, when I was 14, a local church, St. Mary's, started a competing carnival, which still runs in June after 32 years. While that carnival doesn't have an attendant parade, and never seemed quite as glamorous as the firemen's carnival, I'm glad my hometown still has an event like it.
I was reminded of carnivals and parades after recently taking some pictures at the St. Mary of Carmen Society festival in my adopted hometown of Newton, MA. Known as "the festa," the event is put on by an Italian-American group associated with a local Catholic church.
The carnival, which I've attended with Owen in years past (although not this year), runs from Wednesday to Sunday in the middle of July. At 10:00 on the final night, there is a candlelight procession from the parade grounds to the church. Parishioners and residents of The Lake, as the section of town is affectionately known, follow behind a statue of Mary, singing songs in Italian and holding candles. Along the route, people launched numerous fireworks, which add to the festive atmosphere, but, in my opinion, take away some of the solemnity.
I walked right in the procession, alongside many older Italian-American men and women, and although I had no idea what they were singing, or had any sense of the tradition, I was moved. I have no ethnic customs in my family, so whenever I get a chance to soak up somebody's else's, I enjoy it.
The procession ends at the church, where a local girl dressed as an angel is hoisted up above the faithful, and tosses flowers.
Afterwards, most people filed into the church. I, of course, didn't.
I vowed to return next year, however, to get better pictures, and to witness the Sunday afternoon procession, during which parishioners attach dollar bills to the statue of Mary.
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