Now & Then — Our big state fair adventure didn’t pan out

Sometimes our best laid plans in life just don’t quite work out right. I have seen a few things work out better than expected, and sometimes much worse.

Then there are those other plans that don’t exactly fail but they just don’t happen the way you wanted.

In the Summer of 1948, our family worked up plans for a big adventure at the Arkansas State Fair in Little Rock. Although we always attended the Benton County Fair at Bentonville, going to a state fair was a new thing for us. We were not exhibitors, although I guess with livestock and garden goods we could have entered some things.

We were just fair-goers.

This year we had a new car, and we wanted to go somewhere new and bigger and different.

A year earlier, in 1947, we had taken an extended vacation trip out west, to visit relatives in California, Oregon and Washington, and to see other far westsites. We had taken that trip in a 10-year-old 1937 Chevy car. Since we were always having overheating problems with it, I became the designated back-watcher for the trip. The car usually overheated when we were laboring up the mountains, so I would watch out the back, and if I saw a trail of water behind us I would tell Dad that we were boiling over again. We would have to stop and let the car cool off, and add water to the radiator when it was cool enough.

But, in 1948 we had a new 1947 Fleetline model Chevrolet car, all black and shiny. It wasn’t supposed to have any of those overheating problems, so we felt good about going on a big trip with it. Dad came upwith the plan for us to drive to Little Rock, attend the State Fair, then loop down to Hot Springs, stay overnight there and then make the drive home by heading west to Y-City and Fort Smith, making it a good two-day family outing.

We got up really early on the day we were going to the State Fair, and started out about 4 a.m. One of my acquaintances a few years ago told me that he didn’t think even God was up at an hour like that. But we were pretty sure that God was up, and that we needed to get started early to get to the state fair. Those were the days before I-540 and I-40, and about the only paved road anywhere in northwest Arkansas was Hwy. 71. So we headed south on 71 through the Boston Mountains and down to Alma, where we turned onto Hwy. 64 and headed east for Conway, Arkansas. At some stretches of highway, the straight paved road in front of you and the new car under you and Dad being a young man of 34 almost requires that you should “open ‘er up and see what she’ll do.” I was in my usual seat where I could stand up over Dad’s shoulder to watch him drive, so I watched the speedometer start moving up - 60 miles an hour, 65, 70. The Chevy’s 6-cylinder engine was really humming a high-pitched tune.

My mom’s voice was also getting higher, “Russell, your gonna put us all in the ditch!” Seventy-five miles an hour! The fence posts were flashing by. I hadn’t ever seen a car go so fast.

On our chug-hole-filled dirt roads we usually drove 30. Dad said I believe it would do 80, easy. But he didn’t push it any faster.

We were lost for awhile in Little Rock, but we finally got some directions that took us into the south side of the city. I think we were on Roosevelt Avenue, and we began seeing signs saying the state fair was justahead. We kids were ready for an ice-cream cone. Now came the project of finding a place to park the car. People had signs in their lawns, saying “Park for $1.” Dad wasn’t about to pay a whole dollar just to park the car.

So we drove and drove, looking for the free parking. We finally paid the $1.

I don’t remember much about the fair itself. I know we did some rides, saw the livestock, ate some hot dogs and ate some ice cream. That was about the best part. By mid-afternoon it was time to head for Hot Springs. It was another seemingly long drive, but we got to Malvern and over to Hot Springs. Then came the hunt for a motel, and things started really notworking out. “No Vacancy” signs were everywhere.

When I would spot a vacancy, Mom would say we’re not staying in that dump.

It finally became obvious that we would not be staying in Hot Springs thatnight. Although dark was coming on, Dad put the Chevy on the road west.

We were heading for home.

I must have slept from YCity to Fort Smith. We were able to find a place open there and we got something to eat and drink, and it was north to Pea Ridge.

I took my place over Dad’s shoulder and planned to watch him drive the rest of the way.

I woke up the next morning in my own bed at home, with no idea how I got there. I guess the folks carried us kids into the house. I guess we learned from that trip that Mom didn’t much take to strange places. To Mom, home was the place to be at night.

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Editor’s note: Jerry Nichols, a native of Pea Ridge, is a retired Methodist minister with a passion for history.

He is vice president of the Pea Ridge Historical Society. He can be contacted by e-mail at [email protected], or call 621-1621.

Community, Pages 5 on 05/04/2011