100 Years of the Los Angeles County Fair, 25 Years of Stories

By David Allen

100 Years of the Los Angeles County Fair, 25 Years of Stories contains virtually everything David Allen has penned about the fair from 1998 to 2021. Columns, feature stories, concert reviews, previews of the fair, short items, a blog post, even a news story about a lawsuit. It's all here.
You'll find a lot of fun stories, some silliness, a few changes noted as they were happening, moments that may bring back memories, elegies for elements now lost.
Also, a lot of jokes about foods on a stick.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pelekinesis
• Release date: Apr 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781949790658

David Allen

David Allen is an international author, lecturer, and founder and Chairman of the David Allen Company, a management consulting, coaching, and training company. His two books, Getting Things Done and Ready for Anything were both bestsellers. He is a popular keynote speaker on the topics of personal and organizational effectiveness.

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100 Years of the Los Angeles County Fair, 25 Years of Stories

•

David Allen

Inland Valley Daily Bulletin

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LOS ANGELES   †   NEW YORK   †   LONDON   †   MELBOURNE

100 Years of the Los Angeles County Fair, 25 Years of Stories by David Allen

ISBN: 978-1-949790-64-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022935026

The columns in this book first appeared in the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin 1998 to 2021 and are used with permission of the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin. All rights are retained by the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin.

Book design by Mark Givens

Cover photograph of David Allen and then-Fairplex CEO Miguel Santana on the Sky Ride, 2019, by Renee Hernandez

First Pelekinesis Printing 2022

For information:

Pelekinesis

112 Harvard Ave #65,

Claremont, CA 91711 USA

This book is dedicated, with affection and respect, to the grape sno cone.

One-fourth of the fair: an introduction

As a relative latecomer to Southern California, my attendance at the Los Angeles County Fair started at the ripe age of 33. That’s how old I was when I was hired by the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin , the newspaper for Pomona, and for which the fair is local news.

By then, the fair, which debuted in 1922, had been an annual fixture for about 75 years, minus a few years off during World War II. A few locals had attended all of them, starting with when they were children, and many more had been going for decades. But I had no misty childhood memories of the fair. When I went as an adult, I was there as a working professional and part-time wiseacre, looking for stories for the newspaper.

I’m no longer sure if I attended in 1997, my first year here – more on that in a moment. My first writing from the fair came in 1998: a few paragraphs of color written to accompany a layout of night photography in our Features section and a review of a Smokey Robinson concert.

The next few years, though, I really cut loose. Let me explain how that came about.

First off, I hail from a rural part of Illinois, where our county fair was a big deal and a spark of interest in a very small town. Even if Pomona’s fair is a vastly more complex enterprise that takes place almost entirely on asphalt and under smoggy skies, something in my DNA makes me susceptible to its charms.

In the late 1990s, our fair coverage was in a rut, at least as far as I was concerned. Our editors would meet with the fair’s public relations staff to get an overview, then come up with a list of stories. Half were about new elements or attractions and the other half were perennials, like is the fair safe? and what work goes on at the fair after hours?

These stories, scheduled one per day, were put on a sign-up sheet. Reporters could write their name by one they were willing to cover. In other words, our fair coverage was predetermined before the fair even opened, and by editors who never actually left the office to attend.

The coverage was predictable in both senses of the word: Stories would appear like clockwork, but they weren’t always that interesting. While the reporters were happy to get out of the office and some reveled in the change of pace, not all of them had a feel for the fair, and the ideas they were given felt canned.

Where was the spontaneity? It’s the Los Angeles County Fair, and somehow we made it seem boring. You wouldn’t think that was possible, but we managed it.

To digress to 1997, I remember the sign-up sheet had only one idea that interested me, an exhibit about aliens and Area 51. The reporter who got to the clipboard moments ahead of me had the good sense to pick that story. She handed me the clipboard, chortling at having taken the sole fun idea. I looked at what was left and, disheartened, took a pass on them all.

There was evidence that fair coverage could be done better. Other than a perfunctory preview story, the Los Angeles Times never covered the fair – except in 1997.

That year, a young reporter named Mayrav Saar wrote a daily feature, often about people around the fairgrounds such as performers or longtime vendors. Her lively stories were clearly the product of someone with a sense of humor who relished the human element.

Many of these stories I clipped for future reference as I sought to grasp the possibilities. My favorite was her interview with a mime, who did not speak but rather pantomimed his answers. One reply was a mimed tear trickling down his cheek in response to some hurt that had led him to this career. Almost 25 years later, this detail and this story are lodged in my memory.

I may have been the only journalist who was paying attention, but to me, Saar laid out a template for how the fair could be covered with intelligence and imagination. (I just looked up her LinkedIn page, and here’s how she describes her Times period: Specialized in the kind of witty stories people stuck to their refrigerators.)

Two years later, I got my chance. I was a general assignment reporter at the Bulletin (as well as a twice-a-week humor columnist), and I made a pitch: Let me cover the fair daily. I’ll go there with a photographer and find stories.

City editor Christia Gibbons, who was already in my corner, was sold immediately by my enthusiasm. She had to fend off the editors at one of our sister papers who would have felt a lot more comfortable if we’d planned every story before the fair opened. To placate them, we had to, with a wink, invent some placeholder ideas each week that we could scrap if I came up with better ones – which I did.

Finding fun feature stories at a county fair, it must be said, was not exactly hard labor. I mean, stories were everywhere, from absurd daily contests to performers roaming the grounds, from a sheep shearer to the kiddie rides.

Sometimes identifying story subjects simply required seeing the fair with fresh eyes – which I had. The fair was all new to me.

From 1999 to 2002 I wrote a lot of stories and a few columns about the fair. Then my column was elevated to three times per week and became my full-time job – no more general assignment reporting.

Still, I attended the fair every year anyway to look for column material. The columns tended to be a little snarkier or have more attitude than my stories had. But I hope my genuine affection for the fair still came through. And over time, the attitude lessened and the affection became more pronounced. My column on the simple pleasure of a grape sno cone was an example of the latter.

Over time, I did become a little jaundiced. The fair changes from year to year, but not that much. And all the permanent food stands and many of the permanent features, even the beloved Clock Tower, were gradually razed to make the grounds more flexible year-round. Eventually a lot of the homey, hokey flavor seemed to be slipping away.

In May 2022, a few weeks away as I write these words, the fair will celebrate the centennial of its humble 1922 start. And I will have attended for 25 years. I was a little surprised myself when I did the math, but 25 years out of 100, one-quarter of all the fairs, that’s beginning to sound respectable.

And that brings us to this book.

In recent years Pelekinesis publisher Mark Givens and I have put together three books of my columns, with Pomona A to Z collecting a 26-part alphabetical look at the city, and Getting Started and On Track presenting my best from 1997 to 2000 and from 2001 to 2005, respectively.

This book is a little different. Rather than a best of, it contains virtually everything I’ve penned about the fair from 1998 to 2021. Columns, feature stories, concert reviews, previews of the fair (complete with prices for entry and parking), short items, a blog post, even a news story about a lawsuit. It’s all here.

You see, figuring out what pieces were the best began to seem foolish. How would I measure those? Because virtually all of these pieces, which after all chronicle an annual event, are out of date. Very little of what I’ve written can serve as a guide to whatever the 2022 fair will consist of.

Yet isn’t the fair worth remembering? With that in mind, we decided to go all in. This book takes the approach that the Los Angeles County Fair – via these stories of people, attractions, concert lineups, pricing, sights, sounds and smells – is worth documenting. Because even if nearly all of the particulars have come and gone, the last quarter-century of the fair is worth setting down in detail.

Only a very few redundant pieces were left out, as well as a column on the now-defunct Dr. Bob’s ice cream operation, which appears in Pomona A to Z.

The contents are heavily weighted to the 1999 to 2002 period in which I covered the fair in some depth. In some years of the 2010s, I wrote only one column from the fair. But there hasn’t been a year in which I didn’t write at least one – even in 2020 and 2021, when the fair didn’t take place due to the coronavirus. Because even the lack of a fair was worth writing about. Every year, therefore, is represented.

Not every important development is covered in these pages. We had news and feature reporters writing about the fair. The loss of 4-H involvement, the departure under fire of the fair’s longtime CEO and the end of horse racing got plenty of ink in our news or sports sections and, to avoid overlap, I wrote about other things. So you’ll find those topics mentioned only glancingly.

But you’ll find a lot of fun stories, some silliness, a few changes noted as they were happening, moments that may bring back memories, elegies for elements now lost. Also, a lot of jokes about foods on a stick.

Incidentally, in the mid-2000s at a journalism conference in Orange County, a woman walked past me whose name tag read, in big letters, Mayrav Saar. I stopped her, introduced myself, gushed about how great her fair coverage had been a few years earlier and told her it had inspired me. Then with the Orange County Register, she was appropriately startled but accepted the compliment.

Readers, I hope you’ll find plenty in these pages to delight you, just like at the actual Los Angeles County Fair. As Neil Young once sang about his favorite cars, I’ll say to the fair: Long may you run.

David Allen

March 2022

1998

September 16, 1998

Got sports? Milking news from the fair

Seeking relief from the murky news out of Washington, a weary nation has turned to the world of sports, specifically, to a high-profile contest with a refreshingly clear-cut outcome.

I’m speaking, naturally, of the Senior Citizens Milk Drinking Contest, which captivated a couple dozen spectators Tuesday in a livestock barn at the Los Angeles County Fair.

The showdown began at high noon in the sawdust-covered ring, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence, presumably to keep the crowds at bay.

Over the public address system, the announcer put out the call as the moment of truth approached:

Milk drinking contest for senior citizens! ... Age 50 and over! ... It’s not how MUCH you can drink, it’s how FAST you can drink a half-pint of milk!

This put Al Gysegem of Arcadia in a tough spot. Moments before, he had polished off a half-pint of milk – for fun. Now someone was asking him to drink ANOTHER half-pint. Should he try it?

Heck, why not? the 73-year-old told me recklessly before entering the ring, which by the way was square.

Excitement built as the announcer recited the list of prizes:

We have a cow cutting board! A glass that changes color when milk is in it! And a cow towel!

Eight men and three women eagerly lined up. Each chose a container of milk, either white or chocolate.

Meanwhile, in the bleachers, excitement had reached a fever pitch.

Go, Grandma! one fan yelled.

The judge explained the rules: Place the straw so that it touches the bottom of the container. Hold the container at arm’s length until told to begin.

He counted down: One ... two ... three!

In a blur, the seniors began slurping. Within 10 seconds, it was all over.

Third place was captured by Regent Burulle, 63, of San Dimas, who told this reporter that no, he had not practiced, although once, a few years back, he had drunk from a bottle of milk with a nipple as a gag.

Thanks for sharing, Regent.

Al Gysegem took second, his earlier half-pint apparently not throwing him off his game.

I got a large capacity, he bragged.

But what of the champ? Why, it’s polo-shirt-and-shorts-clad Richard Land, 57, of Upland. What do you do for a living, Richard?

I almost don’t want to tell you, he said sheepishly.

Aw, cmon.

OK, he said. I’m the fire chief.

Right. And I’m the governor.

No, really, Richard Land is the fire chief. Of Pomona. He had the day off and was enjoying the fair with his wife, Shirley, when she nudged him into the ring.

In an exclusive post-contest interview, Richard said he trains continually, drinking everything through a straw – sodas, you name it.

The dizzying number of rules had complicated matters, he told me gravely, especially having to start from an arm’s-length position.

I had had a plan on how I was going to win it, he confided, but I had to alter my strategy.

One final question if I may, champ. Could you sum up your feat for the folks at home?

With concentration, skill and determination, Richard told me firmly, I sucked my way to victory.

Maybe I can sell this to Sports Illustrated.

Richard, by the way, retires effective today after 33 years in the Los Angeles County Fire Department, where he’s served as chief in Claremont, Glendora and San Dimas before Pomona.

Maybe he’ll kick back today with a tall, cold one. And a straw, natch.

September 20, 1998

Carnival rides light up the night at the LA County Fair

It’s not Paris, or even Las Vegas, but the Los Angeles County Fair lights up beautifully at night.

As the sun sets and natural light fades, the task of illuminating the fairgrounds falls to the fair’s attractions. At night, after biding their time during the day, the neon tubes and fluorescent bulbs adorning the carnival rides and refreshment stands burst into luminous life.

Strings of colored lights blaze, flash and ripple in waves. Rides like the Zipper, the Tornado, the Spinout and the Yo-Yo gain glamour, mystery and, seemingly, speed as they whirl against the night sky. Funnel cakes and cotton candy seem exotic, yet oddly comforting, when bought from glowing stands and consumed in the dreamlike half-darkness.

You haven’t seen the fair until nighttime – when, if it weren’t for the magic of the manmade lights, you couldn’t see it at all.

September 24, 1998

Tracks of his cheers

Going to see a 1960s-era singer at a (gulp) county fair, you expect a mechanical performance, even when the singer is as beloved as William Smokey Robinson.

But Robinson’s concert Tuesday at the Los Angeles County Fair was inventive and soulful, joyful and sincere. He had the audience singing along en masse, on its feet, roaring its approval, totally captivated.

It’s hard not to love Robinson’s songs, of course: the hits from his time with the Miracles, You Really Got a Hold on Me, Tears of a Clown and Tracks of My Tears; the solo hits Being With You and Cruisin’; and the early Temptations hits he wrote, The Way You Do the Things You Do and My Girl.

Those songs are memorable not only for the melodies but for their nuggets of truth, expressed through clever rhymes and playful turns of phrase. Whole songs are based on extended metaphors and comparisons: I’m sticking to you like a stamp to a letter, like birds of a feather we’ll stick together, he once wrote for Mary Wells.

Robinson fed on our love for the songs to express his love for performing. His own love for his songs was evident. He never condescended to words he wrote 18, 26 or 38 years ago.

He sang his heart out. And he sounded humble and happy that he had such great songs to sing, to people who appreciated them.

After a pleasant but rather stiff warm-up medley of four early hits, Robinson launched into Ooo Baby Baby: I - did - you - wrong, my heart went out to play/But in the end I lost you, what a price to pay...

With the tempo slowed in half, Robinson put maximum emphasis on the emotion, virtually reinventing the song. The song sounded so fresh you’d have thought he wrote it that morning instead of in 1965.

Whew! Robinson said when he was done, acknowledging our enthusiasm and sounding a bit startled by how he’d been swept away. We should have played that one first!

A similar sprightliness transformed One Heartbeat, a 1986 ballad that sounds anonymous in its recorded version but comes across like a Smokey Classic in live performance.

Robinson, clad in a cream-colored suit and olive shirt, was a warm and engaging presence.

Between songs, he spun anecdotes about the Motown days and his songwriting for the Tempts. He kidded his band members, most of whom have been with him for years, and said they were like his family. He complimented US on OUR singing.

Maybe, when he sang More Love, the opener, he was singing about his relationship with us: Each day I’m livin’ to, make sure I’m givin’ you, more love, and more joy, than any age or time could ever destroy.

When he sang a medley of some of his favorite songs he’d written for the Tempts, he took care to include two little-known gems, It’s Growing and Don’t Look Back.

For My Girl, he sang the first third slowly and soulfully, backed only by guitarist Marv Tarplin, the man who wrote the delicate, instantly recognizable intro and contributed to so many other classic Robinson songs.

The show’s climax was the 1975 hit Cruisin’, with an extended audience-participation bit, a feel-good contest, in which Robinson pitted half the crowd against the other half to see who could sing the phrase I love it when we’re cruising together louder.

Silly? Sure. But boy, does he know how to work an audience.

Robinson huddled with his band and then announced a tie.

We have got to settle this, Robinson said, with mock firmness. We cannot leave this unsettled. Next time we play here, I want everybody in these same seats!

Deal.

1999

August 12, 1999

Leapin’ Lizards!

With a roar, three dinosaurs swept through the streets of La Verne on Wednesday, heading for the population center of Pomona.

Well, OK, on a flatbed truck.

Sadly, the dinosaurs weren’t here from the misty dawn of time, they were here from Irvine. The remote-controlled reptiles were bound for Fairplex, where they’ll be the main event at next month’s Los Angeles County Fair.

Fifty dinosaurs will set up home in a 43,080-square-foot jungle for an attraction called DinoQuest, which fair officials say will be both edifying and terrifying.

They all move. We have one that actually pumps blood. One spits. They all breathe, said exhibits manager Kathy Wadham.

None of them are reported to eat little boys and girls, but the fair might want to review its liability coverage, just in case.

The first trio of dinosaurs – for the record, a Stegosaurus, an Amargasaurus and a Parasaurolophus – arrived Wednesday, and more will show up in the coming days, fair spokesman Sid Robinson said. The fair runs from September 9 to 26.

Dinamation, an Irvine company that specializes in animatronic dinosaurs, is supplying the dinosaurs for the $500,000 attraction.

A 28-foot truck carried the docile dinos up Highway 57 to La Verne, where, for publicity’s sake, they were propped upright for the final leg along Foothill Boulevard, D Street and Arrow Highway to Fairplex.

Topped by a blue fin, the head of the Amargasaurus hung over the truck’s side gate, leering at motorists – perhaps to show his displeasure over their use of fossil fuels.

The long neck of the Parasaurolophus leaned over the truck cab. Protecting their back, the Stegosaurus glared at drivers to the rear.

Reaction varied:

A boy skating along Foothill stared, open-mouthed.

Two pedestrians crossed D Street at their own pace, unheeding of the risk of delaying a truck loaded