All’s fA ir

Tradition is the gravity that pulls us to the State Fair

If you’ve ever attended the State Fair of Texas, even once in the event’s 126-year history, you know the talking points.

There’s the landmark spectre of Big Tex calling out “HOW-dee” to passersby while talking up fair activities and, in general, just being a super-huge mascot.

There’s the acreage-eating car show, which doesn’t feature every car and truck made for passengers, but it certainly feels like it walking through the two auto buildings.

There’s the livestock, which city folks treat as curiosities even as the people who know animals marvel at the specimens in their stalls and cages.

There’s the Midway, with row after row after row of fun-looking games that can be tough to win and scream-inducing rides that can be tough to stomach.

And there’s the fried food, which by reputation spreads Texas’ name farther and wider each fall as vendors scramble over each other to come up with new things to fry that are even more over-the-top than cactus, Coke, beer and cookies.

But when you talk with people about the fair, all of that stuff isn’t really what they remember, particularly if they’re longtime attendees who make the trek annually to the country’s most attended fair.

Sure, they talk about the fried food they ate or the stuff they heard Big Tex say, but that’s not what brings them back. Instead, they’re wandering the fairgrounds year after year because it’s a tradition, one maybe that was started by a grandparent or a parent, maybe begun in high school or college, or maybe kicked off themselves when they were married or had kids of their own.

Most people don’t attend the State Fair of Texas because it’s the sexiest, coolest thing going. They show up at the fair because it’s a part of their lives, something they can’t miss any more than they can miss birthdays or anniversaries or first days of school.

Our story in this month’s magazines chronicles some of our neighborhood’s biggest fair-lovers, people who spend the fair’s entire off-season thinking of ways to cook or sew or build their way to glory in Creative Arts contests. But it’s the rare person who sits in a darkened room working on his or her fair plans alone; most of these people, as you’ll note from the story, make this a family affair, with daughters joining mothers and sons helping fathers, and

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It doesn’t really make any difference to these people if the weather is hot, if the grease has been around awhile, if the corny dog line is too long, or even if they win a coveted ribbon for their efforts.

They’re not coming to the fair for something to do; they’re coming to the fair because it’s what they do.

And I’ll be there, too.

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A teacher who moves students

Thank you for profiling this exemplary teacher who also coaches all three cheerleading teams (“Q&A: Hilary Rinella,” September Advocate). In addition to providing choreography support for the fall musical, where almost 300 vocal and dance students perform, she also choreographs Dance Explosion in the spring, which includes more than two dozen performances. She sets high expectations, doesn’t accept excuses and has incredible stamina. Hilary is having a positive influence in the lives of hundreds of W. T. White students, and the school is fortunate to have her on staff. — l ouisa m eyer

Around the world in 80 marathons

Clive Miskin wears Winston Churchill’s words, “Never, never, never give up,” on his bracelet when he races — whether on flat pavement in the Dallas heat or up steep glaciers in frigid Antarctica. During the past 20 years, the 53-year-old Preston Hollow resident has run 87 marathons and ultramarathons combined. In October, he will take on 62.1 miles at the Sovev-Emek ultramarathon in Israel. Originally from England, Miskin says he began running to stay fit and, “basically, to allow me to drink beer without looking too ridiculous,” he jokes. He ran his fastest time at the Austin Motorola Marathon, finishing in 3 hours and 12 minutes. In 2003, he became a proud member of the Seven Continents Club after running The Last Race marathon on St. George’s Island off the northern peninsula of Antarctica. On the course, he saw penguins, sea lions and killer whales. “We were guaranteed that none of us would remember the marathon because we’d be blown away by the things we’d see. We got to run up real glaciers. That’s not something you can train for. It was one of the most phenomenal places, basically, completely untouched by man. And the race itself was a blast.” Although Miskin has raced in Paris, Rio de Janiero, Venice and Athens, just to name a few, he’s still a true Dallasite and never misses a chance to run the Dallas Marathon. “A lot of people I know race with me, so it always feels like home,” he says. The sport relies heavily on volunteers. During one of his favorite races, he didn’t race at all. He served as a pacer for his friend during the last 40 miles of the 100-mile Rocky Raccoon Ultramarathon in Huntsville. “In a race that long, your mind starts wandering. Especially after 24 hours, every little thing takes energy.” But, when he decides to tackle his first 100-mile trail run, he’ll have his running buddies by his side. “It’s not the time you run,” he says, “it’s the time you have running.” —Jessica

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