As you read this, I am at the Ephrata Fair.

OK, if you're reading this at 7 a.m., I'm not at the fair. I'm probably asleep. But I'll be at the fair later.

One of Lancaster County's finest traditions, even better than Fasnacht Day, is the local fair. So, as a lifelong Ephrata boy, for me the last full week of September is the most exciting week of the year. That's when Main Street gets shut down and it's party time for five days.

The Ephrata Fair is like an old friend who drops by once a year for a much-welcomed visit.

The rides, the food stands, the games are all familiar, and each year they can be found at exactly the same spots on the midway.

It's comforting. Boring, maybe, in that there is little surprise or variety from year to year, but comforting nonetheless.

Great days these
Wednesday each year is always my favorite, because that's parade day, but Thursdays are good, too. Thursday was, and still is, Kiddies Day.

I know it's an overly cutesy term in this day and age, but in the 1950s, we were considered kiddies.

Schools dismiss early on Kiddies Day.

As I left the hallowed halls of Fulton Street Elementary School as a youngster, I and my classmates were handed a sheet of free ride tickets, courtesy of local merchants.

That's right. All kids 13 and younger got to ride for free. Of course, rides were just 25 cents back then.

And once when we used our free tickets we could get more and keep riding until 6 p.m., or until we threw up, whichever came first.

We also got free ice cream, handed out on the midway by police Sgt. Harold "Dutch" Greenly. It was one per customer, but Dutch knew me and my friends, and we always got seconds.

"Don't let Miriam find out," he'd warn us, referring to Mayor Lloyd Gerhart's wife, who evidently was the Ice Cream Enforcement Officer.

We kids attended the fair every single day, blowing money on rides, food, cotton candy (tons of it) and games, where we'd spend a buck or two (at 25 cents a game) trying to win a "prize" worth about a nickel or a goldfish guaranteed to die the day after the fair left town.

Still charmed
As we grew older, the fair still held its charm.

When we were high school juniors, we received our school jackets. These jackets came in our class colors, with "Ephrata" and the year of our hoped-for graduation on the back.

Our class colors for 1968 were brown and camel, otherwise known as brown and tan. Sounds flashy, huh?

A visitor to the fair could always tell who the 11th-graders were, because we all wore our heavy, lined wool jackets. Who cared if the temperature was in the 80s, as it sometimes was. We still wore our jackets because we were proud. Not to mention a little stupid.

Now I'm grown up — at least in theory — and I still love the fair. Not only that, but as a journalist I get to cover the fair.

That's correct. I got paid to walk the midway and scarf down cotton candy.

Is this a great country or what?

This year is different though. I took a week's vacation, so when you see me downtown I am merely a spectator, enjoying the fair much like I used to do before I became a scumdog reporter with the pinko, liberal media.

Though I love the fair, by Saturday night I'm ready to see it go away, because even a good friend eventually wears out his welcome.

Next year, though, I will greet it again with open arms.

Meanwhile, pass the cotton candy.

lalexander@lnpnews.com