“I learned a long time ago that reality was much weirder
than anyone’s imagination.”
-Hunter S. Thompson
If only Hunter S. Thompson could have been alive to produce
an apt commentary on the Kentucky spectacle that is Fancy Farm. The Map Dot
name sits unassuming on a sign fronting an exit on the future Interstate 69
dream. For 364 days a year, it points to nothing more than a couple stores, a
new Dollar General, and a church. But that Church. In 1880 St. Jerome Catholic
Church put on a picnic same as the others. But theirs seemed to stick. And
became the once yearly political circus that everyone coast to coast still
realizes today.
It was my first trip to the Farm. Named Fancy at one time in
its early history by a visitor. On this day, many more visitors and Fancy was
perhaps in name only. The politics started eight miles out beside cornfields.
Instead of the usual Dekalb and Sanders signage, Alison and Mitch rowed the
crops. Hundreds of signs, big and small. Pictures of the candidates for United
States Senate, along with the locals running for office come November. A countdown
per mile to “Mitch’s Retirement Party.” Traffic got thicker behind a State
Trooper around "Mile 4 To Go."
The same two lane of Kentucky Highway 80 had been traveled
that morning by former and current Governors, Senators, Representatives, Court
Justices, Hundreds of Troopers, Hundreds of Journalists, and Thousands of the
Hungry.
Hobb’s Store had the first parking about a half mile from
the grounds. Sun Drop soft drink signage was stapled everywhere. A Sauce smell
filled the air. We walked into a throng.
Sweaty women in tank tops and visors. Educated and lack
thereof swarming for free stickers and T shirts and signs with pictures of
Obama and Alison on either end. Men dressed as pirates with bullhorns. Uncle
Sam was spotted. A European model in a coal miner’s hat. A fake Senator named
Honest. Bingo numbers being hollered in southern tones.
Nobody was talking politics directly before as much as how
large the crowd was and how long the wait was for a mutton sandwich. Fifteen
lines of the gathered stood forty deep to wait at least thirty minutes to place
an order. The “chop, chop, chop” of the cooked shoulders by sweaty cooks heard
over the upbeat classic rock playing to get the crowd riled up.
Kids were tossing carnival rings for stuffed bears beneath
more Sun Drop sponsorship. Photographers were slung with several cameras,
catching every moment of everything. There was no signal for a phone. But
everybody was looking for one.
Sandwich eaten, we approached stage right, but still four or
five people deep from under the new platform itself. All of the faces were up
there. KET was rolling. The New York Times scribbled notes. Several Priests
introduced in church picnic style. National Anthem Sung. My Old Kentucky Home
sung, even as several officers attended to someone near us passed out in the
Old Kentucky Heat. Then the mud was slung by those trying to be elected or
elected again. The Governor took a selfie with Senator McConnell. Another speaker
said his name was spelled close to “Hatchett” associating with Washington and a
cherry tree. Alison spoke about Cloverlick, Kentucky in the shadow of hand writ
Iron Dome signs. She thanked the local church at St. Jerome for throwing a
great retirement party for her rival. Mitch had his yellow sleeves rolled up
warning of electing someone without experience. Rand Paul read poetry.
We left about the time James Comer got up to tell everyone
he wanted to be Governor, too. Got back to Hobb’s store and bought a couple Sun
Drops. Headed out 80 back to the parkway a couple of mutton sandwiches the
fuller while others spoke on at the picnic behind us. Fancy Farm Indeed.
Nothing like it in the world. Proud that it's part of Kentucky.
