‘CARNIE’ knowledge

ADMIT IT, if you’re like most folks, you probably have little respect for people who work the carnival. You know … “carnies.” The ticket takers, ride operators, game jockeys, deep-fried food slingers you see every year at the Spokane Interstate Fair – those perceived as rude, hygienically challenged know-nothings who would like nothing more than to rob you blind or leer at your children unimpeded. But like many, you probably don’t know anything about “carnies.”

Right up there along with U.S. Postal Service workers, carnival employees remain some of society’s supposedly least reputable, most misunderstood workers. So-called “carnies” often are cast as modern day lowlifes – by reputation, they are transients with few friends, fewer family and possessing future paths that top out somewhere around whacked-out speed dealing.

But we forget that for the past 50 years, few American workers have created more sugar-coated smiles, induced more gut-busting laughs or spiked as many hairs as those who call the carnival trade their own.

Quite simply, the “carnie” trade exists because of our need to have fun – whether it’s munching an elephant ear, riding the tilt-a-whirl until we puke or winning a framed picture of Jon Bon Jovi at a game booth. Carnival employees also seem to exist because of our urge to make fun of others.

“It’s always been that way,” Sally Shaffer says and shrugs. “For as long as I can remember, people have been saying things to me like, ‘I just saw a guy on “America’s Most Wanted,” and they said he once worked the carnival. Do you know him? He had really bad teeth.’ “

Shaffer is a “carnie,” and it’s a crime to think she’s someone people would make fun of. For the better part of the past three decades, Shaffer has worked the carnival trade with a simple desire to excel at something she never imagined she would have been interested in. And this 51-year-old mother of four and soon-to-be grandmother doesn’t seem like anyone from an “America’s Most Wanted” episode. Instead, Shaffer seems … well … extremely normal.

On the last day of August, Shaffer finds a moment of serenity from the general chaos of the carnival.

Sitting on a couch in the trailer she and her husband call home, Shaffer radiates like Bette Midler turned county-fair queen. Behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, Shaffer’s mop of reddish-brown hair, slightly pale skin and warm smile emote a simple and wholesome country appeal.

Once upon a time, you figure Shaffer just might have been the cute redhead you never had the nerve to ask out. When you spend 15 minutes talking with her and get a taste of her straight-talking style, you know this was the girl you were petrified to talk to but wanted to more than anything.

” ‘Carnie,’ that’s a difficult term,” Shaffer says of the slang term that follows her and her co-workers from town to town.

“I don’t know what to compare that term to except the ‘n-word’ and black people. It’s like, if you’re one of us, the term ‘carnie’ is kind of endearing. But if you’re not one of us, well, it’s like calling us a dirty name.”

And Shaffer is quick to admit she’s been called that dirty name a million times.

“People don’t seem to understand that ‘carnies’ aren’t all that different from the rest of the world. Sure, there are some bad apples out there that run with the carnival. Sure, some ”carnies’ are really dirty or have bad teeth. But for some of us, this is the only career we’ve ever known, and that doesn’t make us all freaks.”

In the name of love

However, it was something of a freak chance that Shaffer wound up with the carnival in the first place. After graduating from high school in 1971, she was like most 18-year-olds. A little scared, somewhat overwhelmed and totally miffed about the future.

“At that point, I had no clue what I was going to do with my life,” Shaffer says. Months after graduation, however, her dad told her she had to go to school or help pay rent.

That summer, Shaffer came across the Walnut Festival, a small annual fair in her hometown of Walnut Creek, Calif.

“As bad as it sounds, that day I met a guy who worked on the rides. I fell in love with him and decided to run away with the carnival,” she says.

Shaffer spent the next seven years with her teen love interest before the relationship went sour. The carnival lifestyle, however, would never go sour for either of them. “Every year, my husband and I still get together with him and his wife,” Shaffer says. “He’s a good guy and a good friend. And to this day, he’s still in the business.”

After 30 years, Shaffer is still running with the carnival. But she’s not running away from anything, especially not bogus stigmas tagged to carnival people. “I’ve done my time,” Shaffer says. “I’ve slept under rides and in trucks. I’ve run the food wagon and worked as a ride op – I’ve done it all. And you know what? Most of it is pretty hard work.”

Details, details

Nowadays, Shaffer is one of the most respected and important employees of Butler Amusements, a company responsible for bringing the carnival to millions of people in towns across California, Oregon and Washington since the 1970s, including the Spokane Interstate Fair. As the carnival’s traveling office manager, Shaffer does the proverbial little things you don’t see at the carnival.

Her average day begins with giving out draws for employees eager to grab a few bucks against a future paycheck. Then, Shaffer counts money the food vendors bring in from the night before. After that, it’s on to counting tickets and more money, and providing change to vendors.

As the day draws to a close, she prepares for the next day by inputting serial numbers on wristbands into the computer for tracking purposes.

Shaffer usually closes her evening with piles of paperwork. “There has to be a ride report for each ride, each day,” she says. “And that’s just the paperwork for the rides.”

And when she’s done with reports, it’s on to payroll. The average day, Shaffer says, is about 12 to 14 hours. “And that’s what it’s like for about 12 days straight until it’s time to pack up and do it in another city.”

Shaffer says the seemingly endless carnival paper trail wasn’t always miles long. “Back in the ‘70s, there was probably half the paperwork there is now. I mean, if you wanted to work for the carnival back then, we would hardly ask your name, let alone your social security or your driver’s license.”

Some cities and counties today require background checks for carnival employees before the carnival can hit town. “And when that happens, it’s just a little more paperwork to deal with,” Shaffer says.

Carnival den mom

It’s enough to impress almost anyone, especially her fellow “carnies.”

David Love, a ride operator who has worked for Butler Amusements for the past 18 years, says Shaffer is something of a carnival cornerstone.

“Everyone around here looks up to Sally,” Love says. “Not only is she a beautiful person with a great sense of humor, but she has a very difficult job to make sure that everything comes together. And it almost always comes together perfectly.”

For the past four years, fellow ride operator Eugene Shaw, 28, has worked with the carnival. He says Shaffer is the mom of the “carnie” bunch. But sometimes, the need is as much for tough love as it is for the sugary, candy-coated variety. “There are times when things need straightening out,” Shaw says. “She takes care of us as if we’re kids at home. But once in a while, she’ll point a finger at you just to make sure you’re doing your job,” Shaw says.

Patty West, 49, and Betsy Stewart, 41, who have spent a good portion of their lives in the carnival business, work with Shaffer in the roving trailer-turned-office of the Butler Amusements carnival. “She’s a tireless slave-driver,” jokes West. “Every time I think it’s just about time to go to bed, Sally comes alive and points out all the work we can still get done.”

“Hands down, Sally is the hardest worker I’ve ever seen in my life,” Stewart says. “To me – and a lot of people out here – Sally is family.”

Which is to say that Shaffer has more people who consider her family than most of us can claim. Aside from the close to 200 carnival workers who travel with Butler Amusements and consider Shaffer their surrogate mother, she also has raised her own family.

“I’ve raised four kids out here,” Shaffer says proudly. “They all had new clothes, they were all well fed, and they all went to school every single day,” Shaffer says.

Each evening, long after the front gates of the fair close, fluorescent lights dim and mechanized monsters go to sleep, Shaffer strolls around the fair with her five cats at her side, reflecting on the day that was and the life that is being a “carnie.”

“It’s been a good life,” Shaffer says. “I’ve been able to see a lot of different places and meet a lot of people.”