‘Let’s not choke out our golden goose’

Security and alcohol issues at the Lassen County Fair recently raised concern from law enforcement. While I don’t know exactly what made them uncomfortable and caused them to insist upon increased security measures, I would certainly take their advice with more than a grain of salt. I just hope whatever changes are made for security’s sake don’t squeeze all the fun out of the events at the fair.

Sure — the 1970s were a much different time, but allow me to share a story about a music festival with absolutely no security of any kind. As in none, nada, zip.

Fresno Folk Festival, summer 1973
A cool, refreshing breeze wafted down from the nearby Sierra foothills across the Kings River and the large grassy field at Pierce’s Park the final evening of the 1973 Fresno Folk Festival in Centerville (sometimes referred to as Sanger, but Sanger is a few miles away).

Otis Pierce owned the place as well as the bar and dance hall next door up a little hill. The rustic bar was famous for the body hanging in effigy out in front and for Otis’ no-nonsense approach to dealing with even the rowdiest customers. The Hell’s Angels hung out there, and  the KKK allegedly held meetings in the bar. Back in the 1950s, hillbilly music icons such as the Maddox Brothers and Rose and Spade Cooley appeared there. Despite being a singer and songwriter (and a performer at the festival, too), he was stronger than any two oxen — a tough old coot you really didn’t want to mess with if you knew what was good for you. He had a justly earned reputation for stepping up and abruptly ending any confrontation.

I was the sound man, and I’d set everything up for the evening’s performers including Fresno folk royalty Kenny Hall and Frank Hicks, bluesman the Reverend Tom Shaw and two blokes from England, Martin Gazzard and Andy Seagroatt. Gazzard played a wicked Irish-influenced guitar style with these great hanging bass lines while Seagroatt played both mandolin and fiddle on a variety of mostly traditional tunes from the British Isles. Seagroatt remains one of my favorite mandolin players of all time, and I had the pleasure of telling him so more than 45 years later after I chased him down in Newcastle, England, thanks to Facebook. He said he remembered me and my wife — “a redhead with fringe” (bangs).

I’d been recording music for years, and sure enough, I had my first mono cassette recorder wired to the sound system, hoping I might capture some folk music gems to perform myself. I monitored the music from the stage through headphones plugged into the PA system.

Suddenly I heard this rumble I could not explain. I looked up to the flatbed tractor-trailer stage to see if I could determine the noise’s origin, but I didn’t see anything. All the unused microphones were tuned off at the mixer. None of the mics seemed to be feeding back. The rumble kept getting louder and louder. What could it be?

Finally, when a side-by-side progression of old Harleys advanced along the roadway past the stage, I discovered the source —a dozen or so motorcycles putting up the hill to Otis’ bar.

Harry, the president of the Fresno Folk Club and the event’s promoter, came over to the stage in a huff. He said was sure after those bikers gulped down a few beers they’d stumble down the hill and try to crash the festival.

“What should I do?” Harry asked desperately.

 “I’d save the hassle and let them in,” I said.

“I don’t want to do that,” Harry said. “It wouldn’t be fair to the people who paid to get in.”

“Well, I guess you’re going to have to fight them then,” I said just before I broke out in hysterical laughter at the absolute absurdity of that eventuality. I mean, we had no security at all. Just soft-spoken Harry. He wasn’t a big, powerful man, and he couldn’t intimidate anyone.

“Let’s try this,” I said. “When the bikers come in, put Andy and Martin on. They play those funny English bawdy songs and those old fiddle tunes. It’s happy music. Have them do a short set, say goodnight and then we’ll just shut the whole shebang down.”

Harry walked away grumbling.

Sure enough, about 45 minutes later the bikers made their way into the festival. Harry tried to stop them at the gate, but they pushed past him.

Andy and Martin took the stage, and they delivered a blistering performance (I still have it on tape).

“We’ll finish up with a few fiddle tunes and send you off to sleep,” Martin said.

Andy laughed.

“We’re waiting for someone to come dance in front, actually, if anyone feels in a dancing and prancing mood,” Martin said.

Their final number was a collection of fiddle tunes that increased in velocity with each new verse. These boys cranked that thing so hard the audience couldn’t even keep up and clap in time.

And accepting their challenge, a biker who had lost both legs above the knee hobbled right up to the front of the stage. As the music started, he  whooped and hollered and pounded his leather-bound stumps up and down into the grass without missing a beat, seemingly soaring higher and higher into the air with each contact with the ground. It’s a sight I will never forget. Andy and Martin left the stage, as the crowd cried for more and more until they came back for an encore.

As soon as the final applause faded, we pulled the plug. Sound went off. Lights went off. The park fell into an almost silent eerie darkness under the stars. Most of the festival goers headed back to their campsites, but some of the younger folks headed out to the river for another all night session of banging river rocks and old pots and beer bottles together, chanting like they were caught in the rainstorm at Woodstock. The bikers climbed the hill and returned to the bar.

But just imagine what might have happened had they harbored an evil intent. What if they decided to rape, pillage and plunder? There was no one there to stop them, although I’m pretty sure Otis would have come to our aid. Would that have been enough?

I don’t believe rouge bikers like these were the problem that attracted the attention of local law enforcement at the fair, but the need for security and public safety at the fair should be obvious to everyone. These are, after all, public events. One thing’s clear — when you need security, you really need security. I believe law enforcement clearly saw a need that called for correction.

Changes aside, we both need and expect adequate security at public events at the fairgrounds, even if that increased security makes these events look a little bit different than they have in the past. Things change over time. The security practices we followed in the past may need a little updating, especially as the fair adds exciting new events to its lineup.

All that’s great and necessary, but sometimes security can go too far. As David Teeter advised during a recent board of supervisors meeting when the subject came up for discussion, “Let’s not choke out our golden goose.”