ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Thursday, August 15, 1996 TAG: 9608150085
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Beth Macy
DATELINE: NEWPORT
SERIES: A tale of two fairs
SOURCE: BETH MACY
In hushed tones usually reserved for libraries and funeral homes, the two women lead Frank Conforti down row after row of sugary delights, spooning out a taste of raspberry pie for him one minute, breaking off a peanut butter cookie morsel for him the next.
They are Assistants to the Head Taster of the Baked Goods Contest portion of the Newport Agricultural Fair. Also, they are bossy.
``Don't bother with this one - it's tough,'' one says.
``This one, you can tell, it's a mix,'' adds the other.
The coconut cake made from scratch with seven-minute icing? Blue-ribbon quality, perfect.
The flat, but flavorful, oatmeal cookie? Ditto.
But the prettier ones that are fluffy? ``Not bad, but Crisco,'' the first woman says, handing over a white, third-place ribbon.
It's a behind-the-scenes lesson in food science. Also, a behind-the-scenes glance at rural, small-town life:
Conforti, the judge, is a Virginia Tech professor of foods. An outsider.
The ladies who bake, boss and bask in the competition of the area's 65 best cooks are home-grown. Locals.
``Do NOT use our names,'' one says, leveling a steely-eyed stare. ``This is serious.
``There are ladies who have won blue ribbons all their lives, and when they don't win one ...''
Let's just say it doesn't make for pleasant small talk on Sunday afternoons after church.
Let's just say that anonymity among the home-grown assistants is a must. For safety's sake.
Talk to a handful of people at the Newport fair and you'll hear this said a handful of times: It's a homecoming.
For the people who come just to jaw and catch up, the wall by the loading dock of the old school is the place to sit a spell and talk about how much things have changed - and how much they've stayed the same.
The old school, which houses the homemaking exhibits and the Miss Newport competition, is now the Newport Recreation Center and the fair's home base. On one side is the rescue squad building, which houses the flowers and vegetables.
And on the other lies the 3-acre spread of grass that is the heart - but not the midway - of the fair.
``We've stayed away from the carnival aspects,'' says Bill Vincel, the unofficial grandfather of the fair. He's sitting in a chair next to the Pet Show, a camera strapped around his neck, a cowboy hat on his head.
Everyone says he's the only one who's attended all 61 years' worth of the Newport fair, which lays claim to being the oldest, continuous agricultural fair in the state. But Vincel, a Giles County cattle farmer, says he missed the first three years: ``I didn't come to VPI till '37,'' he says. A Canadian transplant, he was assigned a student teacher's spot here in '39 - and he's been roped into helping organize the weekend-long fair ever since.
His wife, Caroline, has been to all 61 fairs, he points out. So have old-timers Doak Lucas and Claude Williams. Get it right.
While many other fairs have turned to ferris wheels and freak shows to keep up attendance, the Newport fair has remained true to its homemade, blue-ribbon flavor. The fried apple pies, for instance, are made by folks down the road at Misty Mountain Farm.
``Used to have more exhibits inside, but they're working on building it up again,'' says Rennie Givens, rolling the biscuit dough into a fried-pie shell.
Her husband, Fred, who mans the cash register under the tent, spits into a tin can - all the while boasting that the lady from the health department dared him to do it.
``You better believe she's gone now,'' he says. ``I'm scared to death of her.''
Next door at the J&J Pork Rinds & More booth, John Smith points to the fair's closest thing to celebrity entertainment: an autographed picture of Barney Fife - only it's not even Don Knotts, it's an impersonator.
``I don't know if Barney liked pork rinds or not, but this guy really likes them,'' Smith says. ``With root beer to wash it down.''
The fair's 70-page program is chock full of local advertisements, from the Newport Woman's Club to Ron's Stop-N-Shop in nearby Pembroke. The group opposing the AEP power line has a booth, as does the Giles County Chamber of Commerce - manned by a Giles-touting native ... of Baltimore.
Despite the disappearance of livestock, because of lack of interest, the fair remains a celebration of agriculture. And one of the last. Crafts such as basket-weaving and handmade gourd utensils have filled in where the cows and sheep trailed off.
``We've had a few people try to come in selling oddball stuff,'' Vincel groans.
Such as?
``T-shirts.''
They weren't invited back the next year.
``Agriculture's changing, but somehow this fair has hung on,'' he adds, mainly because it's made a policy of embracing the next generation.
``If you get the kid in it, then Mom and Dad are also gonna come,'' Vincel says. ``That's the key.''
Here at Pet Central, Vincel's kid theory holds true.
Emma Ann Steele, retired from teaching school next door for 36 years, invites her daughter, Susan Steele-Ward, home from Harrisonburg every year for the fair. She in turn brings her daughters.
Who in turn bring their pets.
When the pet show announcer introduces each round of competition with the same rule: ``No horses, cows, rabbits - or husbands - allowed,'' everybody moans.
Steele-Ward's daughter, Andrea Ward, brings home the blue in the costume category. She dressed her cocker spaniel like a cow by taping a blown-up white rubber glove to his tummy for udders and holding a tin cup underneath for a bucket.
``That's good she won,'' her mom says. ``Now I won't be in trouble for forgetting the farmer outfit.''
Four-year-old Jesse Kirlan, whose grandparents also hail from Giles, wins the most unusual pet category with the ferret he hauled all the way from Colorado. The ferret is named ``Bodhi'' - for the Buddhist bodhisattva, or ``the enlightened one'' - explains his Birkenstock-clad father. The ferret also scored third-place in the Ugliest Pet competition.
Pet Show founder Judy Pierson paces between a Tupperware container and two Smucker's jelly jars to judge the entrants for the Smallest Pet category.
Three-year-old Brad Kessinger, with his hole-hammered jar containing two ants, narrowly edges out his 7-year-old brother, Cole, who brought a heftier insect, a grasshopper. Third place honors go to the turtle in the Tupperware.
At the end, Pierson announces a new category - just in case. ``If there is any child here who has not yet won a ribbon, please come forward now ...''
When the Pet Show is over, Emma Ann Steele rejoins the gang of old-timers at the wall. It's the prime spot for seeing and being seen, especially by her former students.
``Last year, one of them said, `Miss Steele, how come everybody changes and you stay the same?' I thought that was real sweet.''
Martha Stewart wanna-bes could pick up a thing or two from fair veteran Louise Stiff, who knows her way around a compost pile.
No one remembers the last time anyone one-upped Stiff or her daughter, Nancy Maxey, from the arrangements portion of the horticulture category.
``Oh no, here comes my real competition,'' says gardener Delbert Jones, a Blacksburg resident who considers Newport the most serious fair for showing.
True to form, the Stiff-Maxey contingent sweeps most of the blues. Stiff, who started working on her arrangements Wednesday - two days before the Friday night show - divulges just a few secrets behind her prize-winning bouquets: ``You've gotta be in the mood to do it.''
And, ``You've gotta cut oodles of flowers, and oodles you don't even use.''
And, ``Zinnias are hard to work with - they break their heads too quickly.''
Stiff heads home in her aromatic station wagon just as the Little Miss Newport and Miss Newport are being crowned in the nearby auditorium. Squeals seep out into the hallway and into the old classrooms, where the baked-goods judges are taking their last bites of the night.
On the other side of the room, retired Virginia Tech professor Bill Cooler has only tasted one-fourth of the canning entries. It's 9:15. He's taking his time - checking each one for appearance, vacuum, smell and finally taste.
Then he writes a note to each cook, explaining why her entry did or did not receive a ribbon. ``They want to know,'' says Sharon Myers, the canning chairwoman who hovers nearby, fetching water and crackers when needed.
``Tomorrow they'll come in here first thing, and they'll be asking.''
And Cooler?
He'll be at home, the next county over.
He scrawls on the next two tags: ``Could not taste fruit.'' And: ``Tasty, but overfilled.''
So far, just one of the dozen sampled has earned a blue ribbon.
``No way am I stepping foot here tomorrow,'' he says. ``You can bet on that.''
Newport Agricultural Fair Index
Number of hot fried apple pies sold at the two-day event: 500, at $1.50 each.
Number of pounds of pork rinds consumed: 100.
Most unusual flower display: a Queen Anne's lace bouquet, nestled inside a roll of Charmin.
Most dangerous pursuit: Judging the canned goods category. ``It's possible to get ahold of something in a can of green beans that could kill you,'' says Judge Bill Cooler.
Size of fair: takes up two buildings, 3 acres.
Friday night admission: $1.
Cost of funnel cakes: $2, $2.50 with blueberries.
Cost of cotton candy: $1.
Number of rides: one (The Spinning Saucers, a small version of a Tilt-A-Whirl - minus the tilt).
Attendance: approximately 2,000.
LENGTH: Long : 189 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: GENE DALTON/Staff. 1. Canned-foods judge Bill Coolerby CNB(above) reacts to the taste of one of the jelly entries at the
Newport fair last weekend. 2. Ten-year-old Jeanne Leonard (below)
of Simmonsville and her cat, Tigger, won a blue ribbon in the ``Pets
Who Haven't Won'' category. 3. Heather Huffman didn't make the group
of finalists in the Little Miss Newport pageant, but she gave the
thumb's-up to a friend who did. color. Graphic: Map by staff.
color.