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Mr. Gravitron… you rule the Fall Festival

THE MOST EXCITING TIME OF THE YEAR IS UPON US (next to Christmas and your birthday, which is debatable). Thousands of people gather for this time of year, coming in droves from every neighborhood, every muddy gutter and every galaxy known to man (perhaps not every galaxy, but that is debatable as well) to turn Franklin Street into a chaotic spectacle of smells and sounds. Millionaires mingle with dirtbags and everyone in between for one of the larger street festivals in the United States, the West Side Nut Club’s Fall Festival.

Enjoy the West Side Nut Club Fall Festival from October 6-11. Let's hope
the weather is like last year, balmy and inviting!

            Turning 87 this year, the Fall Fest keeps plugging along like Lance in France. Your mind will be boggled and your appetite satisfied with the delights (parades, rides, games, amateur hour, a king and queen contest and a hell of a lot of food) this behemoth street festival has to offer. Booths stretch as far as the eye can see, offering up spicy treats, delicious deserts and candy, bugs, alligator, shark, brains, buffalo, walking tacos, TKE strombolis (my favorite) and just about everything one can possibly imagine to eat. You can usually find everything deep fried or dipped in chocolate as well. Literally, there’s something for everyone.

            As a young scamp, one of my fondest memories of the Fall Fest is the Gravitron. A giant saucer with galactic lights, menacing in size and appearance, it beckoned all challengers to come for a super-sonic spin from hell. A carnie resembling an acid-tripping roadie for a Rob Zombie freak show turned knobs and pushed buttons at the space-age console, sending the passengers whirring into TOTAL RECALL. Pantera assaulted ears at deafening levels from the speakers and that mechanical monster spun like a top, plastering backs to the panels and scrambling guts. Pretty bitchin’.

            Another attraction that sticks out is that seahorse/dragon/Viking ship thing. Big enough for two of every species, it would swing back and forth, swishing through the air in violent swoops. Being a lanky, skinny fellow, I had a tendency to slide around loosely under the locking mechanism that was in place to prevent me from being throttled from the seahorse/dragon/Viking ship thing and having my noodles distributed across Franklin Street. Just a little scary… But it was nothing compared to The Zipper. I don’t know what it’s called now, or if it’s even still around, but that was like playing a game of Russian Roulette. Every one in six times there was a good chance something terrible was going to happen to someone. That mechanical freak emptied pockets and stomachs, raining change and puke upon onlookers craning their necks for a peek, waiting for the calamity to unfurl. I wouldn’t touch that twisting monolith of terror and uncertainty then, and it’s doubtful I would today. But don’t let my feelings stop you, kids!

            There were far tamer, yet still enjoyable diversions such as bumper cars, Ferris wheels and game booths with terrible prizes run by eccentric carnies who followed in the footsteps of “Uncle Mark” instead of listening to their parents about “getting an education.”

            I used to win various stuffed items that reeked of a unique funk like the carnie that handed them out. My parents’ dollars usually fell to the poster booths though. You know, throw a dart and hit the poster you want, and that’s the one you’re stuck with. I’d almost certainly aim for and acquire one featuring a big-breasted woman/women or some skank/skanks leaning on a car, because those coincided better with the decor of my adolescent room (my mom had a difference of opinion). One tragic throw found not the scantily clad bleach-bunny I was aiming for, but an awful, extraterrestrial Janet Jackson poster. What an absolute waste.

            The food wasn’t near as important as dwelling in the park all night when I was younger. Waiting for my accompanying adult to fill his or her belly while I anticipated the excitement that was held in the park was excruciating. Today, now that I’m old (boring), it’s the exact opposite. I make the trip Franklin Street for the food and that’s where I spend my time. The park no longer holds the same enjoyment that it did many moons ago, and quite frankly, I care to chance getting knifed by some dirtbag in a nine-year-old FUBU jersey that’s had one to many swigs of Sailor Jerry. No sir, you won’t find me by whatever new mechanical attraction (unless it’s the Gravitron) is anchored in the park; instead I’ll be standing by the TKE booth shelling out five or more bones for a strom, devouring exotic reptile/animal meat, chugging cider and repeating said equation with different variables until my wallet is empty and/or I feel the urge to vomit.

            The Fall Festival is an experience for all ages, so come out and see something you wouldn’t have expected. Excite your taste buds (don’t be lame and eat at Hardees), revel in the entertainment and try to win a stuffed dinosaur for a child/spouse. Rejoice in the fact this celebration takes place in your community and don’t let it pass you by.