Tom Evans liked everything about his college years in the late 1960s in Hays. He played football at Fort Hays State University and majored in physical education, earning a degree in 1970. "It's a great town — great college," he said. But Evans always knew he would return to his first love after graduation — the carnival business. After all, carnival life is in his blood. He grew up in it.
(editor: no picture available) Roy Duncan let out a gravelly laugh as he told me about a teenager from his neighborhood who lost $45 at the carnival. The kid, he said, thought he could just step up to a booth and win a prize by tossing a softball in a plastic tub. “He thinks he’s a hustler,” Duncan said. “He wouldn’t make a pimple on a good hustler’s butt.” I met Duncan on Sunday under a patio table umbrella outside his apartment. He wore a collared shirt that he saw no need to button, and, I noticed, his arms and legs were dotted with amateur tattoos. From behind his beard, he smoked the nub of a cigarette and punctuated his thoughts by spitting out an occasional stream of Folgers coffee. Duncan is a “carny.” That is to say he’s a retired carnival worker. At age 68, he has traveled from Niagara Falls to South Beach and everywhere in between. Along the way, he learned how to take money from more than a few fat-walleted “marks” who play carnival games they can’t win. He has used BB guns that don’t shoot straight, milk bottles weighted with lead and basketballs that barely fit through crooked hoops. And, now that he’s retired, he said he sees no reason to hide the secrets. “We’re only about one thing: stacking our money,” he said. “That means getting yours and keeping ours.” Which is not to say he doesn’t have ethics. He tries not to swindle a working-class guy who is out for a night with his family. “I won’t cheat a working stiff,” he said. And, he said, he always finds a way to let a mentally handicapped kid win a prize. “We’ve got hearts, too,” he said. He also doesn’t take money from a child younger than 15. But that rule is less ethical and more practical. “I say, ‘Go get your dad. I don’t want your money,’ ” he said, grinning. “I’m a nice guy, ain’t I? No, I’m a dirty old bastard. I just sent Junior to go get the wallet.” Last week, when a traveling carnival came to Columbia and set up shop in the old Osco Drug parking lot on Providence Road, Duncan offered to teach me about his trade. We strolled past the “tub” game, where a plastic bucket is bolted at an upward angle. For $5 and from about 3 feet away, a player must sink two out of three balls to win a giant stuffed prize. It seems easy, but for some reason the balls just keep popping out. Duncan pointed to the bottom of the tub. “Notice that bulge?” He said it is standard to place a flattened tennis ball between the bottom of the tub and the rectangular wood board it is bolted to. This makes the balls bounce out as if they were on a trampoline. I took a try at the game to see for myself, and, despite my delicate toss, the balls hit the bottom and catapulted back out. When the booth operator offered to demonstrate, he used another old trick. He left a softball in the base of the tub — “a deadball” — to absorb the bounce. The young carny rattled his ball home with great aplomb. “See, you’ve got to let it hit the sides,” the carny said, encouraging me to open up my wallet. From there, we walked over to a basketball game, and Duncan took me behind the hoop. From the side, we could see the hoops were angled upward, and the rims appeared a bit deformed. “It looks a little squashed, doesn’t it?” he said. “That’s no accident.” Duncan noted the basketballs are inflated to 40 pounds — about five times the rate used in the NBA. Later, I asked a carnival worker about the over-inflated balls. He didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the only way you’ll get that round ball to go through that round hoop,” he said sagely. I still have no idea what he meant by that. There are other carnival game scams too numerous to count. Tubes are removed from BB guns, Duncan said, to prevent them from shooting straight, and rings are cracked intentionally so they’ll rattle off the top of glass bottles when tossed. But the one game that seemed to me a thing of beauty was the milk bottle toss. It’s a simple game: You knock down three or four milk bottles stacked in a pyramid to win a prize. But, in great detail, Duncan told me just how complicated it is. He used to watch “marks” to see which hand they favored. If a player was right-handed, he shifted the right two bottles forward by 1/16 of an inch. If a player was left-handed, he did the opposite. Like mis-racked bowling pins, the bottles would fly off in odd directions when hit. He could stack bottles so delicately they’d fall over if you blew on them or so sturdily they’d withstand a major league fastball. He’d offer to stack the bottles a hundred different ways. One upside-down, in a column, with one leaning on its side, etc., etc. The changing formations kept the “mark” pouring in cash but didn’t improve his chances. Often Duncan would give the player tips on where to throw. “I’d say, ‘Leave the bottom ones alone. Aim higher up,’ ” he said. “That’s good advice; it works. But once you start listening to me, I just put my hand on your wallet; you just don’t know it yet. Because I got a fraction of your confidence.” Later that day, I returned to the carnival without Duncan to watch people play. I felt like I was seeing it all with new eyes. One particular couple caught my attention. At the tub game, a muscular man was trying to win a giant stuffed Doberman pinscher doll for his girlfriend. Ball after ball rattled out of the tub, and the carny stood by giving him helpful pointers. The “mark” must have poured $30 in before he gave up. After that, he made his way over to the basketball shooting game, where the same prize was dangling. The man obviously knew how to shoot, but his shots kept clanking off the rim. It looked like someone trying to fit a rubber ball into a Coke bottle; it wasn’t going to work. Finally, dejected and emasculated, he gave up. The couple walked out of the carnival arm in arm … the man a little lighter in the wallet.

Kent Wheeler uses a long-handled spike to remove a pin from the Ferris wheel's support leg. Removable pins, cables and angle iron are maneuvered into a transportable rig by carnies, from left, Steven Wessling, Chris Degen and Kent Wheeler on Thursday afternoon. The ride is always a favorite of carnival-goers. "Believe it or not, I've seen them puke on this ride," Wheeler said. "They want to come out on these hot days and not drink much water and go on all these spinning rides."

Minutes after the sky darkened over Wirth Park in Oakland City, Ind., workers — backs still stinging from the early afternoon rain and hailstorm — got back to work. Fiesta Rides, a carnival company out of Corydon, Ind., was getting ready to hit the road again after nearly a week's down time after the Oakland City Sweet Corn Festival finished up. "We're tearing down now," said Kent Wheeler of Scottsburg, Ind. "We were set up all last week. We got done Saturday and we've just been cleaning rides and painting because we had a down week." Wheeler, a two-season veteran with the company, is in charge of "The Wheel," as the carnies call it. The Ferris wheel, a cable-drive No. 5 Big Eli Wheel made by Eli Bridge Co. in Jacksonville, Ill., requires a skilled operator to set up and run. "This is my baby: The Wheel," Wheeler said with more than a note of pride in his voice. "The hardest part of the job is the setup and tear-down," Steven Wessling, who hails from Fredericksburg, Ind., said. "It's like a big Erector Set." The three men already had stored most of the 12 riding carriages and were collapsing the ride's long metallic arms when the skies began to darken again. "Uh-oh, the storm's comin' back," said Chris Degen of Palmyra, Ind., looking west. The next day they would be heading in that same direction to begin it all again in Mount Zion, Ill. "The job ain't bad," Wheeler said as he grabbed a wrench. "You're not in the same place every week. You get to move around and meet new people." Hit and Family interview Mexico based Ride Operator, for Wade Shows on Setup day in Kalamazoo.

Tom Schank and Cory Lafonte were busy Wednesday setting up the midway at the fairgrounds behind the Alliston fire station in preparation for this weekend's 37th annual Alliston Potato Festival. The Pride of Texas Carnival is at he Seward County 5-State Fair this week and reports that it has been part of the 5-State Fair since 1971. The carnival has 21 rides, including the zipper and the ferris wheel. Setting up the carnival rides usually takes two days, ride supervisor and safety coordinator Tim Harris said. This year however, the carnival pushed to set up in a day and half. The carnival rides were at Garden City through Sunday night then had a quick turnaround for Tuesday's local opening, Harris said. Ride admissions are paid through $1 tickets or carnival goers may buy a $20 bracelet for an unlimited number of rides. Most rides require more than one ticket. Pride of Texas owner Doug Barton feels the bracelets are a better deal than the tickets. On average the cost for a person to ride all rides one time is around $65. Since the 1970s, Barton has offered the $20-unlimited-ride bracelet on any night in hopes to get more patrons into the carnival. He has had this promotion for several years. This year though, his carnival sales have been significantly reduced.

"I have been down 20 percent across the board this year,” Barton said. Barton's sales are down not only because of the economy but also because of the weather. "I need to get paid for rain,” said Barton. Barton said he likes to have fun with one the carnivals promotional slogans. “Instead of 'Fun-maker since 1965,' sometimes, I say, 'rainmaker since 1965,'” said Barton. People may also play games or have food, like cotton candy, corn dogs and funnel cakes. The corn dogs are kosher and all beef. The funnel cakes are made from the carnival's own mix which they have perfected over that last 25 years, said Barton. The funnel cakes sell for $6 for 8-inch funnel cake. Barton also said that the games are not games of chance but of skill. Barton said that the carnival can be inspected up to 36 times per year by inspecting agencies. Barton said that the carnival is unlike some negative perceptions. "All my life, (I've been) trying to out live this third rate citizenship," said Barton of the preception cheap carnies. “It is not my grandfather's carnival.” Barton explained that like a lot of businesses, he does background checks, training videos and certifications of employee. He said he has policies on hair cuts, shaving and uniforms and his staff enforces that policy. Barton said that is not only a business to him but a business that requires dedication. “We eat, breath, live this life,” said Barton. If Ron Jeffries had his way, the theme of this year's Central States Fair would have been "65 years of food on a stick" instead of "Where Stars & Buckles Shine." "We always have great food," said Jeffries, general manager of the Central States Fair. While the food may take center stage for hungry fairgoers, it's the free entertainment today through Aug. 28 that draws most of the crowd. And, of course, there's the carnival.

The Central States Fair carnival and midway will again be run by Bill Hames Shows, which has kept ticket prices the same as last year. The group returned to Rapid City to run the carnival last year after a 10-year absence, and Jeffries said CSF was pleased to have them again. "They do a great job," he said. "It's a nice, clean, well-run program."

The Bill Hames Show will be bringing about five or six new rides to the fair, said show general manager Alan Cockerham. "I think the midway is even better and more spectacular than it was last year," Cockerham said. The carnival and Central States Fair have a multi-year contract, and Cockerham is pleased to be returning to Rapid City.

"I really appreciate how the community gets behind it," he said. "It's nice for us, traveling the way we do, to come into a community like Rapid City." Ticket sales are up, with early estimates running 6 to 8 percent ahead of last year. Jeffries is anticipating another sellout on the Big D Mega Pass, which allows unlimited carnival rides for $39. "It's been a wonderful tourism year," he said, with more people traveling to South Dakota, which means more work for all of the vendors and groups the fair works with. "I really think that we're going to have a good year."

Fairs are popular with families because they are relatively inexpensive and allow for one last outing before school. "It's the last big family vacation," Jeffries said. "The last chance to come have some fun before the school year starts." Cockerham said Bill Hames has seen good turnouts at fairs this year. The carnival hosts events throughout Colorado and Wyoming and will head to Texas after shutting down in Rapid City. "Fairs are still a great family value," Cockerham said. "I think families are still willing to go out and spend time together. Even a family of four can go out and have a great time for a limited amount of money."

PLEASANTON — "If you see something you like, there's no need to go all over the place! Stay here and win something right here! You're bound to win it sooner or later!"

So goes one of the many pitches by the charismatic 62-year-old David Patterson as he tries to lure Alameda County Fair visitors to his basketball carnival game. Hanging up on the game's netting behind him are giant stuffed toys, Sponge Bob Square Pants and other characters, all seemingly calling out to the kids and adults to try and shoot just one ball into the hoop. This is no part-time job for Patterson. He's been a carnie worker for 30 years. He spends more than nine months a year on the road traveling from fair to fair, before getting back to his home in Sacramento to rest up for the next go-round. "It's a really hard job sometimes. When I first started out I would sleep in the back of a semi or underneath one of the rides or sleep in one of the games," he says. "You really live like a gypsy." So, the obvious question becomes: 'If it's such a hard life, why do it?'

"It's actually really exciting," he said. "You get to meet new people all the time. Sometimes you make really good money. I've been managing to live pretty good. I've been managing to make ends meet." Of course, it's a little easier to make a few bucks when the basketball rims have been made smaller and slightly oval shaped. It takes a perfect shot to get the swish and the prize. But lots of people do win their maximum one prize daily. "I had 70 prizes at the San Mateo Fair and left with 23. They were tearing me up," Patterson said. The games haven't changed over the years. The favorites still seem to be basketball, ring toss and, throwing darts at balloons, considered one of the top jobs for carnival workers. One balloon game worker, who didn't want to give his name for fear of upsetting his boss for talking to a reporter doing a carnival story, said he has worked the fair circuit nearly 10 years and was just recently "promoted" to the balloon game. The idea here is to get people to win a small prize and then to keep them spending omoney to try to win a large stuffed animal. "I'll give you these two darts on the house, but you gotta help me out and buy three more," he cajoles a dad and his daughter — unsuccessfully this time. Meanwhile, across the fairgrounds and away from the main rides and carnival games sits another of the expected attractions at a fair — the old-time photo concession. Here, people get to fantasize a little as they dress up as cowboys, gamblers, pirates, Roaring 20's gangsters, civil war soldiers, saloon girls and more. Shooting the photos is Linda Mileham of Redding, who works with her seamstress mother-in-law, Marie Murphy of Paradise. Like the other fair workers, they're on the road most of the year. But don't call them, carnies. "We don't sleep under the rides and we have our own teeth," Mileham says with a chuckle. The old time photo business has been in Linda's family 40 years. Computers and inkjet printers have replaced film, but the concept remains the same. People enjoy, even if for just a few seconds, being someone that they are not. It's worth $10 to $25 to take a fair souvenir home that won't just get added to the pile of stuffed animals and be forgotten. That's a big part of the fun for the women too. "I used to be a bookkeeper and worked in an office all of my life. Now I get to see a whole different world," says Murphy. Murphy says she's become a pretty quick read of people as a result of her fair circuit experience. As she helps customers into costumes she occasionally needs for males to put their hands behind their backs to help get into vests and ties and the like. When some male customers cross their wrists behind their backs as if they're about to get handcuffed, she knows they're gang members or had a brush with the law. "I know where you've been," she tells them with a smile in her voice. Life is a Carnival STAMFORD, CT. -- Carrying 6-by-6-inch blocks of wood in the searing sun while setting up the Grecian Festival on Newfield Avenue, Robby Roberts wasn't about to let the heat get him down.

Just a year into his gypsy-like odyssey as a carnival employee -- "Carny" is a fightin' word except amongst and between the brother and sisterhood -- the happily driven Long Island native was for the first time on his own erecting the 65-foot Landslide ride on the property of the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church. With sweat coming off his brow, Roberts, 33, remembered the carnival saying when things looked tough. "Rain, sleet, hail, snow we still have to set up the Dreamland show," he said with a smile. The day before, Roberts with 22 other Dreamland Amusement employees had just made the "jump" from a carnival on Patchouge, Long Island that ended at 5 p.m. on Monday, Memorial Day.

After bringing their semitrailers hauling 14 rides along with seven or eight fifth-wheel camping trailers to the Newfield Avenue church, they rested on Tuesday, said Bob DeStefano, who technically is the Dreamland consultant, but everybody knows him as boss. DeStefano, between rides to the hardware or auto parts store for needed maintenance items, had just two days to get the show up for its Thursday 5 p.m. opening. DeStefano, 49, another Long Island native, did not seem too worried on that Wednesday morning about his rapidly closing deadline, which he has faced over the past 20 years. From New Hampshire to North Carolina, he puts on about 45 shows a year from late March through October, he said.

He says living on the road is fine. The travel trailers have electricity, water and kitchens. "When we get out of bed, we are already at our workplace," he said. Making their life place to place with each other is fine with him. "The world should be more like a carnival. If you work, you fit in. It doesn't matter what your sexual preference is, race, color or creed. Everybody who joins the carnival and works becomes like family," he said. All around the parking lot, men were moving equipment, setting up the rides like the Gondola Wheel, car ride, Space Saucer and kiddie swing. All were sweating.

DeStefano said Roberts was the cheerleader of the group and if there were 22 more of him he would sleep better at night. Up on the top of the hill next to the church and Newfield Avenue, Roberts was just about finished putting the wooden blocks under the jacks holding his gargantuan ride steady for the shrieking kids who would be taking their big slide down the tallest ride of the show. As he talked about being able to make $20 per day "draws" from their upcoming Wednesday night paycheck on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, he played the Landslide like a violin. A lot of people, he said, want to work a carnival when it's all set up and the lights are flashing and people are having fun. It is glitzy, even glamorous, he said.

"But when it comes to the tear down, we lose a lot of people," he said. Reaching up beyond where a man of his 5-foot, 4-inch frame ought to, Roberts pushed the green button igniting the hydraulic motor, and the Landslide began to rise. After running around the ride installing pins and locking the tower into place, he looked up and smiled. "That is the first time I have ever done that, baby," he yelled to a few of the crew assembled around the rig. A quick trip from the annual trade show; is a visit to the Tampa based, Florida State Fair. After entering the grounds...yes, we paid to get in....we headed directly to the midway where we met, John Hodge.

John is local to area and only works the Tampa fair in a joint owned by Harold Stallard. Bobo has a good time every year.

We next met up with someone new and an old friend from Upstate New York. Chuck Trent and Sam D'agustino are operating a speed pitch. Chuck is 23 years old, has no kids and is having fun living the life. Sam, who has worked in the past for Midway Rides of Utica has been enjoying the big shows which he says are a nice break from the smaller shows he plays during the season but is looking forward to getting home to see his family.

Michael Bronchik, the owner, also owns the rope ladder, has been working the tampa fair for four years. He was born into the biz. Marcus who is an old time rope man, gunned the joint a bit and managed to sprain a couple of muscles in doing so. Michael says he is down by 50% but was looking forward to making it up on last day. Right now he is thinking that he may not be back in tampa next year.

Roydon, above; has been on road for 4 years. Normally you can catch him on Belle City year round. He indicated that he has been doing pretty good at the fair and is having a ball.

Scott Lawson. Has been a ride operator on Daeggller Shows for four years. He performs break functions for the ride operators, and when asked what he would like to say to our readers he said; "nothing but since (he) is the strong silent type."

Rob Parra works on the Sideshow Spider Girl operation which is owned by Four C productions and he loves the road. He pointed out that he would never have found his true love without going on the road.

Jim McGuire has been on the road for 20 years and now works for Will Ryan. He postulates that he is "not seeing the money" but loves the road.

We finally got to talk to Maureen Leno who has been in the business for sixteen years. She started as a magicians helper. Maureen wanted to branch out on her own so the magician clued her in on "the strange thing." Maureen not wanting a sucker job, thought this was a good opportunity. Marcus was too afraid to go in to see "the strange" thing," but by the indication of the people going in and coming out it promised to be more scary than "the man eating chicken," but stranger. :)

Cliff Poster. Cliff has been working for Corky Powers for eight years running a Spider.

Chief (on the left) and Steve are working the miniball. Steve aka "sanitarium steve," got his name because he drives the other agents crazy making all the money and as Marcus interviewed him, he got to see, first hand, "he ain't lying."

Chad Reld has owned the milk bottle joint for seven years. He told us that he, pretty much hangs around TX and LA, usually on Razorback or Mid-America shows. Why is he in the biz? " A'n't no better job than a carny job."

Tiptop aka Kory Vanbamme is running balloons, at the fair and has been out for 30 years. As we were interviewing Kory he puts the move on my girlfriend. Or maybe he was just looking to win her money. Either way it was a big laugh. Kory is just loving life and expresses it well.

Rafael has only been on the road for one year. When asked why he joined the Carny, he told me "I was walking down a dark road, with no direction, he decided to have a long conversation with God to save himself" the next thing he knew he found himself at the Raleigh Fair." We couldn't come up with any comment to beat that one. The Independent Midway this year is featuring 93 rides presented by 9 ride operators. We have the manual which we obtained from the fair board and it is impressive. We will be reprinting interesting items from the manual in other articles. All in all, an exciting Fair that just keeps getting more impressive and entertaining every year. Next year, don't miss the "Florida State Fair." Marcus Brumberger and Kelly Woodman

Hanging light bulbs glowed from under a fireworks tent in the Bealls Outlet parking lot on U.S. 41, just south of Colonial Boulevard. Two struggling carnival workers, Dave Evans and Barbara Bowers, were waiting, hoping to make some sales. They work for a Tampa-based supplier, Universal Novelty & Fireworks, so the couple is responsible for thousands of dollars of product. "You sleep here, you eat here, you shower here," Mr. Evans said. "You have to protect all your fireworks from theft." They arrived on Dec. 12 and live in a well-worn, 16-foot long trailer by the tent, along with Ms. Bowers' "children," five happy-go-lucky Chihuahuas. The couple has sold fireworks for New Year's Eve before, near Tampa. But this is their first time in Fort Myers. "This is one of the nicest places we've been," Mr. Evans said. They hope to make at least $2,000 before leaving on Jan. 3, so they can pay bills and the rent on a space at a campground near Tampa. They were living in a tent there until a few months ago, when they bought the trailer. Prior to selling fireworks in Fort Myers, they'd been traveling with a large carnival outfit called Amusements of America, up and down the East Coast. Both have been in and out of work in the last few years, and scrambling to find any job they can get. A few years ago, construction work dried up in North Carolina for Mr. Evans, 51, who made small repairs on homes. Ms. Bowers, 47, was a house cleaner there, but her income wasn't sufficient to live on, so they joined the carnival. Mr. Evans thought it might be a chance to see the countryside and enjoy big-city attractions, but as it turned out, there wasn't time for sightseeing. "We thought it would be fun at first, but it really is strictly 100 percent work," he said. "We saw the Statue of Liberty crossing the bridge. We saw the White House when we drove by it." As "carnies," the couple worked at fairs in March and April in North Carolina. Mostly, they ran the games in which people throw darts for prizes. By the summer, they were in New York. Then they traveled back south again after finishing the New Jersey State Fair. By October, they were at the Coastal Carolina Fair in Charleston, S.C. On a jam-packed day at the fairgrounds, Mr. Evans or Ms. Bowers can made upwards of $250 apiece. At the New Jersey State Fair, Mr. Evans made nearly $5,000 in a week. But on slow days he could worked 10 hours and make $25. "The problem is when you get that rinkedy dink little spot where nobody comes," he said. At one smaller festival outside of Washington, D.C., he only made $30 for an entire week's work. (Minimum wage laws apparently don't apply to many carnival workers.) When this happens, his bosses usually lend him money "for food and cigarettes," but he's still required to pay it back. It's not a way of life he was unfamiliar with. Mr. Evans was working the dart-throwing games at the fair in Charleston four years ago, when he met Ms. Bowers. She had lost her job selling leather jackets and biker supplies at a flea-market, and showed up at the fair seeking work. "She came through the gate looking for a job and I was unloading a truck load of teddy bears," Mr. Evans remembered. They've decided to wait to get married: Mr. Evans explained the reluctance. "She's been divorced four times," he said. "I've been divorced three times. Barbara has this thing that her relationships don't last more than five years. So if we last five years, maybe we'll get married." Meanwhile, Mr. Evans has become tired of this rough, rambling life, but says he has learned to laugh in the face of misfortune. "We're nomads," he said, smiling, as headlights drifted across his face. "It's hard times." As the night wore on with few customers, Ms. Bowers dealt herself another game of solitaire so as not to worry over their accounting books, which show little profit so far. Mr. Evans isn't worried though. "You really don't do much business until New Year's Eve or the day before," he said. "That's when we get 90 percent of our business." Two of the Chihuahuas, kept near the trailer by a wire fence, were enviably free of any financial anxiety. They scampered down the steps and shook themselves off in the balmy December night.

For the past 31 years, Melanie Heinrich has been photographing lively carnival scenes and the interesting and quirky “carnys” that inhabit the behind-the-scenes environment. The photographic essay and video documentary that she created is on exhibit at the 800 Gallery at Monmouth University in West Long Branch through Nov. 23. The main characters in her film “Behind the Colored Lights” are her sister and brother-in-law, who continued in the carnival business while she left to become a commercial photographer. Heinrich’s family has been in the carnival business for many years and she spent her summers working in one carnival or another. Her interest in photography was inspired by her mother and her grandmother, who were amateur picture takers. She was given a Brownie camera when she was 9 years old, but the family could not afford the cost of film, so she dropped photography until she was 17 years old, when she started filming carnival life. “Butler” “Since I was a little girl, I have been working at carnivals. My whole reason for creating the documentary was all about trying to get the public to see how different carnivals are now. There are no more sideshows because people thought they were kind of inhumane. They [carnival owners] want people to bring their families. That’s who they cater to nowadays. It’s like Disney on wheels,” she said. Heinrich’s photography offers a unique perspective and an insider’s view on the life of carnivals, a life that many people find interesting and curious. They were taken at various traveling carnivals throughout the United States. “These images appeal to the viewer because of their intimate quality. You can see the people are comfortable with me,” she said. Heinrich’s short video documentary also allows the viewer to go behind the scenes of a carnival. Her moving video portrait of her sister, Debbie, and Debbie’s husband, Corkey, reveals six generations of carneys. Corkey’s great-grandfather started in the business when the first carnivals began during America’s Great Depression of the 1920s and ’30s. Heinrich said helping out at carnivals during her summers was fun, but it also taught her about tolerance and compassion. “A carnival is like a traveling city with all kinds of people,” she said. She learned that some people are leaders or bosses or owners, and others are workers. “I learned to work with all kinds of people,” she said. “You’re so close. Sometimes you work for 12 to 13 hours together.” Heinrich said she is not an aggressive person, but it was fun to stand out there and yell out “ ‘Come on over.’ It was like a game to me. I was young, and I did it with my sister.” Besides, she said, “It was a good way to make some extra cash during the summers. It sure beat working on the farm down the road picking strawberries in the hot sun for 25 cents a quart.” Her sister bought a small ice cream stand called Chocolate Nut Sundae, and Heinrich went to work for her after high school. “I used to go to sleep hearing myself cry out, ‘Get your chocolate nut sundae here ... It’s yummy in your tummy.’ ” In the 1970s, she bought her sister’s ice cream stand and traveled just long enough to pay her way through college at Rochester Institute of Technology, Rochester, N.Y., where she earned a bachelor of fine arts degree in photographic illustration. “Rochester Institute is probably the best school in the country for photography. I got a degree that was both technical and artistic.” She also has a master’s degree in liberal arts from Monmouth University, where she is currently a specialist professor and heads the photography area, and she is working on another master’s in fine arts from Goddard College in Massachusetts. After she graduated from Rochester Institute, she left the carnival business, but her sister stayed in the business and, with her husband, owns a large amusement company with approximately 60 rides. Heinrich is still involved in the business in one way or another and has captured the charismatic quality of the lifestyle in her still images. “My sister and brother-in-law own a show that is absolutely stunning,” she said, adding, “I got out of it and now teach, but it’s something you never forget. I learned so much about people.” Gallery hours are Monday through Thursday from 2:30 to 4 p.m. and Fridays by appointment. For more information, call (732) 263-5507 or visit www.mhstudios.com/BTCL/btclenter.htm. __________________________________________________________________________ It may appear to be a piece of cake, but staging a gentle slice of Americana like the county fair is no small feat. During the hometown celebration, which ends Sunday, an estimated 190,000 people of all ages will have passed through the gates of the 125-acre fairgrounds on State Road 44 east of Interstate 4. Some will choose to watch pig races, catch a concert, ride Pharaoh's Fury or walk through the Monkey Maze. Still others will gaze in awe at the amazing Hercules, a 2,830-pound horse, and Black Jack, a 3,250-pound bull. And of course what would a trip to the fair be without consuming cotton candy, jumbo pork chops, kettle korn and turkey legs? All this fun requires a mountain of work. "There's a lot more to putting on a fair than people think," said David Viers, executive director of the Volusia County Fair and Youth Show. "I come to work one day and there is little here. The next day, there is a city." Calculating the numbers, Viers estimates it takes between 600 to 700 volunteers, nine maintenance workers to keep the three livestock barns and midway tidy, and another six full-time office employees to make it all happen. Then there are 102 food vendors to get organized, overseeing the setup of 45 carnival rides and transporting six national recording stars and their crews back and forth from the hotel to the stage. And it all has to fit into a $2 million budget -- $300,000 for entertainment -- which is in part paid by the more than 50 sponsors. With nearly two decades of experience under his belt, Viers still depends on feedback from past fairs to keep the event running smoothly. The only thing he can't control is Mother Nature. "Weather is hard to predict," he said. "Cold temperatures and rain keep people away. Last year we set the fair record, 50,000 in one day -- it was beautiful out. " On any given day, it's not unusual to see Viers walking the grounds, checking things out and enjoying moments such as watching kids put their hands out and touch a dairy cow for the first time. And hopefully learn about the route it takes from the barn to the dinner table. "When I see this, I know we did what we were supposed to do and it puts a smile on my face," he said. "A fair is a place where you can be a kid again." Here's a look at a few of the people whose hard work makes the fair fun: MAKING THE RIDES Being a "carney" is a tough life, and not for everyone. Constant travel, setting up rides, taking them down, only to do it again and again -- same carnival, different day, different city. "I've been doing it a long time," said Jerry Borges, a supervisor with Stuart-based Deggeller Attractions Inc.. "If you don't like to travel, then it's not a life for you." Bunking in travel trailers and eating on the run is the norm, he said. For this stop, the crew pulled in at night, slept for a few hours and started putting together the 45 rides dotting the midway. "We are used to it," he said as he ate a bacon and egg sandwich between jobs. "I like it; that is why I do it." The workers have curfews and unusual hours -- long days and lots of nights, he said. This time around, he worked on the Tilt-A-Whirl and merry-go-round rides and oversaw assembly of the rest of the rides. On the grand scale of fairs, Volusia County is a small venue, he said. In Richmond, Va., there are 65 rides at the state fair. This is the final stop of the season for Borges, who's been with Deggler for 15 years, and his crew. "I will go on vacation for the next two months," he said, "then start over again." FEEDING THE CROWDS For the past 22 years, Debbie Moreland has deep-fried green tomatoes, cooked sausage, peppers and onions and squeezed lemons at the county fair. Her younger brother Dannie Moreland worked by her side and all three of her children grew up inside the travel trailer while she served fairgoers. "I love it here," she said. "This is a family-run business, a way of life." Moreland works the "restaurant on wheels" for her parents, who own the business. Dannie Moreland even bought two of his own trailers and travels the national fair circuit. Both agree they make a decent living and wouldn't do anything else. "We get to see different parts of the country and meet different people," she said. "Over the years we made some good friends and see them each year when we go back for the fair." The good thing about being an independent vendor, and not part of the traveling carnival circuit, is the freedom to pick and choose what fairs to be involved in, Debbie Moreland said. However, they do sleep in an RV compound with the rest of the crew and have made friends with many of them. "To me, it's no different than owning a restaurant. We get inspected and have rules to follow," she said. "We just travel to different places every week instead of being in one spot." BEHIND THE SCENES

Bill Mares has found a new way to occupy some of his free time since retiring. The 68-year-old DeBary man volunteers at the Volusia County Fair. "This is my fifth year and I love it," he said as he sat outside the T. R. Townsend Livestock Pavilion recently. "It is very satisfying." Like every other year, Mares oversees the six portable sanitizing stations outside the barn to make sure the visiting school kids wash their hands after finishing their tour of the livestock area. He knows it is hard for the children not to touch the cows, chickens and goats when they walk past the cages. "You know kids; they touch the animals and then the fingers go right into the mouth," he said with a smile. "Kids are kids and we want them to stay safe." The barns have a special meaning for Mares. His granddaughter Kaitlin Plante has a steer in the competition to sell at the auction. "I like the shows and the entertainment," he said, proudly displaying his pink fair shirt. "It's great being part of it all."

Not even two knee replacements and retirement have slowed Laverne W. “Wilbur” Lee from being a fixture for 48 years at the Eastern Carolina Agricultural Fair. Lee is the gate foreman. He takes the ticket money from the gates and brings it back to the office as often as needed. “We put the tickets out on the gate with ticket sheets,” he said. “And every time we pick up the money, we write the amount down on the sheets so that we can balance up at night. We’ve done good over the years.” Lee takes change to the gates and picks up the money. “We don’t like a lot of money being on the gate,” he said, “so we bring it in. There are a lot of mean people out there now, you know.” Lee works from 10:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. the first part of the week and from 10:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. later in the week. He usually doesn’t get through until about 1 a.m., when everything is balanced up. But why does he give up the easy life of retirement at Myrtle Beach to commute to Florence each day of the fair? “I’ve quit about 20 times, but never long enough to not come back,” he said with a hearty laugh. “I love the people I work with here. I’ve been working with (fair manager) Bobby Jones since 1960 and his secretary, Pat Lee, for about that long. I’m always ready to come back.” Lee enjoys seeing the people each year. He’s made fast friends with many of the carnival people since 1960. “I enjoy seeing the carnies once a year,” he said. “And it’s fun just to be out with the crowd.” Lee hasn’t seen much change in the way business is conducted at the fair. “We have a proven way to keep account of the money,” he said. “It’s worked out good over the years. We’ve got smart people who take care of the accounting. I just know how to get the money and bring it back to the office.” But he has seen change in the midway entertainment. “You had the burlesque shows at the old fair when it was at the airport,” he said. “But things have been cleaned up, I have to put it that way.” And while he doesn’t miss the burlesque shows, he does miss Speedy McNish and his “Wall of Death” wooden tower. Speedy used to fire up his motorcycle at the bottom of the tower. By the time he got to the top he was going 80 miles an hour and could still grab a dollar bill out of a thunderstruck spectator’s hand. Lee worked in the Sonoco Products Co.’s mechanical maintenance shop for 36 years before retiring in 1999. The Effingham native then moved to the beach. “My main hobby is doing nothing,” he said. “I rock a lot on the carport and piddle around the house. “When you get to be 68, the good is done got out of you, so you are just a shell. But life’s been good, friend, and I can’t complain.”

Where do the rides come from? Who sets them up? Where do they go? After spending 63 consecutive years traveling with Belle City Amusements Inc., there is perhaps no better expert on life at the fair then Mary J. Panacek, vice president of Belle City Amusements. When asked how she first started her adventures with the carnival, Panacek said with a laugh, "I married the carnival owner. I had no idea what I was getting into. I was just 20 years of age then." It has become more than a tradition - it has become a family legacy to pack up in mid-March and hit the road until mid-November. "We are on the road eight months of the year," said Panacek. "We start in Florida, working our way to Chicago and then back home via a southern route." For the past seven years, the Western Carolina State Fair has been a part of the journey. Aiken County is their only South Carolina stop. Mary Panacek travels with her son, Charles Panacek, president of the company; her grandson, who plays a managerial role; their families and a few hundred employees. Each plays a vital role in the company's success. Belle City Amusements was founded by Charles G. Panacek Sr., the son of immigrant parents from Czechoslovakia. At the age of 18, Panacek visited the local fair where a friend of his was operating an amusement ride. While at the fair, he came upon a live pony ride and thought already having ponies on the farm, he could build a ride himself and start a business of his own. As the torch has been passed to the next generation, many memories remain. In fact at every stop on the tour, Charles Panacek can be seen setting up the Sky Wheel as it has a loving place in his heart. "I bought that for him at 16," said Mary Panacek as she pointed to the double Ferris wheel ride staged at the front of the midway. "He asked for it. There are very few sky wheels in the carnival business anymore." For the Panaceks, a life of traveling from one city to the next has presented many joys. "I love each one of the places we set up. I have real good friends at each stop and it is always good to see people again," said Mary Panacek. The Belle City Amusement crew is self-sufficient, providing their own lodging and rolling into town for approximately two weeks at a time. Upon arrival, the equipment must first be unpacked and set up on the midways in preparation of opening day. During the travel season, the work never ends. After everything is set up, it's go time, with operations and maintenance throughout the duration of the fair. "It's a full time job that is non-stop," said Captain Jack who has been a part of the Belle City Amusement team for the past 20 years. "99.9 percent of the thousands of lights on each ride are working all the time. If there is a light out, Charles sees that it is fixed immediately." After the gates have closed for the final time to the public, the process starts all over again. The equipment must be broken down, cleaned, stored for transport and the show must move to the next venue. "Everything must be in first-class condition to go down the highway," said Panacek. "Belle City Amusements has been chosen two times for the OABA Circle of Excellence. They came and judged us while we were here last year." It is non-stop action for the workers with a job that calls 24 hours a day for eight months of the year.

For many people the fair is a once a year extravaganza, but for the workers and vendors who have made fairs their life, the fun never ends. “I just love it,” said David Signor of Jackson. “I love the people and I love the work.” Signor, 43, said he got started working at fairs when he was only 8 years old. From rides to games to food, he said he’s done it all. “I’ve worked my way up,” he said. “I’ve been doing food for about seven years now.” Signor said he occasionally takes time off, but generally goes from fair to fair all year. “I love the people I work with,” he said. “We spend so much time traveling together we’re like a family.” One of the favorite stops has always been the Hillsdale County Fair, Signor said but there is one fair that everyone talks about. Columbia, S.C. is the fair all the workers look forward to. “They have lines (from the fair office to the midway) all day,” he said. “We have a ball.” Having fun is what makes Signor keep coming back he said. “You’ve got to make it fun,” he said. “I’m a jokester. People like it when you joke with them.”

The East Texas State Fair draws thousands of people to Tyler for more than a week each year and, for the past five decades, Rodney Kamel has been there to greet them. He's easy to recognize, dressed in a royal blue cap and shirt, just like all the workers in his seven food vending booths. He's usually tooling around on his signature golf cart with cigar in hand, waving to folks as they walk by, shooting off a few jokes to friends and feeling pretty good about being at the fair. "I'm the oldest living exhibit at the East Texas State Fair," he says matter-of-factly. "No, I mean it. It's like when people say, 'Did you see the show?' 'Did you see the elephants?' -- they say, 'No, I saw Rodney Kamel!'" And he's right. The man and his army of helpers have been flipping his famous burgers and handing out his renowned turkey legs for 51 years. He's seen children grow up who now bring their grandchildren to the midway to say hello. "You get to see your friends," Kamel says, recalling some of this year's reunions. "It's almost like a class reunion. It's clean, decent fun for the whole family. "What keeps me going is the people. I'm just a people person. � I see the kids I helped raise, you know, bring their grandchildren and I appreciate that." Cooking up fair food for so long hasn't weathered the 72-year-old, who still maintains his own booths, manages his workers and reels in new friends with his never-ending sense of humor. "I'll tell you what, give me an audience, and I can't help myself," he laughs. Fifty-one years ago, Kamel admits the fair was a different kind of place. When he first took on the job, there were 15 food booths. There are nearly 80 now. In 1957, a hamburger sold for 35 cents, a bottle Coke was 10 cents and potato chips and pickles were each a nickel. "There's no doubt about it, the hamburger (now $3.50) is king at the fair," he says. "But we can't stop there. Turkey legs and corn dogs and sausage on a stick are always everybody's favorites." Deril Franklin grills up turkey legs for one of Kamel's booths, and says he's a man who gets the job done when it comes to fair food. "I've been working for him for seven years," Franklin says. "I started out as a runner, and I've been cooking for six years. I love the turkey legs. You know they're good when people come back and tell you. It makes you feel like you're doing something right. "I look forward to this every year. You know, when (Kamel) started this, I was a baby -- in 1957. He's been here for 51 years, and that's my age. I guess it just means I was meant to be here." But if anybody knows how to flip a good burger, it's Kamel. He's been doing it since 1943. "I was 8 years old and worked at Kamel's Candy Kitchen for my dad next to the Liberty theater downtown," he says. "My family had that place for 42 years. It opened in 1912. "I started cooking in 1943, when hamburgers were 5 cents a piece." Now, when fairgoers line up at one of his booths, Kamel is sure they're still getting the best available. "I've heard a lot of people say, 'That's the best hamburger I've ever eaten,'" he says. "Just yesterday, one couple wanted me to cater their wedding -- I'm not kidding you!" But the trick to all of it, he says, is loving it. "You have to love it because it's hard work," he says. "I've traveled to fairs all over the country, and this one right here is as good as any of them. It's great!" And he's literally been there, whatever the weather. "We're always praying for good weather," he says, squinting up to the mid-morning sun from under his golf cart canopy. "I've seen blue northers blow in when you had cook a hamburger with an overcoat on. I've seen rain up over the curb. In 1958, the rain closed the fair for three and a half days. I saw people go broke." Kamel takes the fair and his role there seriously, comparing ETSF food to any restaurant anywhere. He gives the credit not only to his staff, but the East Texas Fair Association, the Northeast Texas Public Health District, the city of Tyler, Tyler police and fire departments and the Smith County Sheriff's Department and a host of volunteers who keep the midway, the restrooms and the food booths clean and well cared for through the duration. "The security is tremendous, too," he says. "Those officers must be complimented." The fair never fails to disappoint Kamel, but he admits it wears him out. He won't really entertain the idea of closing up for good, though. "I've been quitting for the last 45 years," he jokes. "Somebody asked me last year, 'Are you rested up from the fair?' I told them I wasn't rested up from the first one! "We spend the summer getting ready, and after the fair's over, we move out overnight, and then we spend more time cleaning up. It's not a job for lazy people." Kamel has worn a lot of different hats through the years, even producing stage shows at one time. "We'd get big names like Johnny Cash come in here and I would emcee and then run down and fry up a hamburger," he says. "It's such a fun place to be, and I wouldn't come back if it wasn't. On my word of honor, if I wasn't happy, I wouldn't be here. "It has gotten so much better than it was. It is truly a state fair."

There are nearly 60 carnival rides for you to hop on here at this year's South Plains Fair. However, the rides don't run themselves. Each night dozens of carnival folks go to work to run the rides and make some of the fair food. But when the fair closes and you head for home, many carnival workers never even leave the fairgrounds. For nine days out of the year, the Ferris wheel goes around and the Super Shot drops due to the efforts of dozens who live on the north side of the South Plains Fairgrounds. "This my living quarters, it has full restroom facilities," Miller Spectacular Shows Food Manager Craig Miller said. Miller lives just feet away from where he works overseeing all the carnival food booths. More than a week and a half ago, Miller, along with dozens of other carnival workers, rolled several mobile homes into the Hub City and started to set up fair rides. "We're one of the only carnivals that travel three different time zones. Next week we'll make our third time zone," Miller said Miller is on the road about nine months a year ending up in a different town nearly every week. And at each stop, a mobile apartment and storage shed is where he lives. "It's amazing how many can fit in something like that - in the small space," Miller said. Miller is just one of about 50 people that live on the north side of the fairgrounds, and just like how each home in your neighborhood is different, the same goes for this mobile community. "Four bunk rooms in this tuck and the last one is a shower," Miller explained. By day, Peter Basdukho makes funnel cakes. But once this fryer quits sizzling Peter goes home to his mobile apartment. "It's all what you need. You come from work, you're tired and you need a bed. Go into bed and you sleep," Basdukho said. "It seems to you guys different. To us it is just normal life. It's fun - you get to travel a lot," Miller added.

As fair-goers travel through the games and rides at this year's Kern County Fair, not a single one can avoid the calls and heckles of the carnies. It seems that simply watching and listening to these booth workers can be more entertaining than the games they want you to play. Russ Markusson, who works at one of the dart booths, says that being a carny isn't a bad gig. "I work six months out of the year, and I don't miss any meals," he says as he smiles and pats his generously sized stomach. Having worked in the carnival business for the past 14 years, Butler Amusements specifically for eight years, Markusson has become fairly comfortable with where he is. "We work on commission; so, the more you can sell, the better it is." This would explain all the yelling and the catchy little phrases like: "Water gun, water fun! Race 'em, chase 'em!" This can be heard throughout the fair grounds. Many of the workers seem to really enjoy their jobs. "It's a great job if you like working with people and have a lot of energy," says Mary Feger as she works the fish-bowl booth,which sells 10 ping pong ball throws for $2. When asked how she came to be working at a fair, Feger replied, "I showed up at a fair and got a job." That is most likely the technique used by the alleged Cody Smith, 14, who was found working with another child at one of the basketball booths. Smith and his coworker seemed rather standoffish. "We really aren't supposed to talk to the press," says Markusson. "If somebody asks us questions, we are supposed to direct them to the PR office." That would explain Cody but so would the fact be that he's working underage. Although people may crack jokes, most carnies don't mind. They're fine with where they are and with only six months of work a year. Working a dart booth is starting to sound like a pretty good idea.

As the trucks rolled into town early last week towing carnival rides and games for Delhi’s Harvestfest, many carnival employees made themselves comfortable in town for the weekend. After traveling all summer to different Ontario cities, Harvestfest is one of the last stops for the tight-knit group of employees who entertained Delhi families last weekend. And as much as Harvestfest is a family affair for Delhi residents, it also is for the carnival employees. “We bring our kids with us to play until we have to send them to school in the fall,” said Denise Gordon who works the Wacky Shack. “They get to see all different towns and make a little bit of money along the way. It’s a great way to keep us all together for the summer.” This year is Denise’s first tour. Her husband, Red, is an 11-year veteran of the festival scene. “We all bring our kids and families to each location,” she said. “We’re all a tight knit group that watches out for one another and all the kids. Sure, sometimes we get sick of each other, but we’re all family.” The Gordons said small town festivals never go out of style, but times have definitely changed the way they are run, as well as who runs them. Despite change, the stigma that follows festival workers around is still present. “Don’t call us Carnies,” Denise said. “We’re different than those people.” With designated areas to smoke in, and no cuss words allowed, Denise said the employees want the festivals to be as family friendly as they can be. “We’re not into drugs and alcohol and we all don’t have criminal records,” she said. “We are family entertainers. We all have kids, and we wouldn’t swear in front of ours so why would we do it in front of someone else's?” And when it comes down to it, festival employees agree that it’s all about the children having fun. “When the kids get off the rides and they don’t want to leave, that’s really something,” said Delhi native and festival employee Devin Childs. “Sometimes they cry because they like the ride so much and they have so much fun.” Only a few weeks into the job, Childs is glad to be back in Delhi. “It’s been a lot of fun to travel all over to smaller towns where I never would’ve gone before,” he said. “It’s nice to be back home though where I know everyone.”

David Smith sits on the edge of his cannon as it slowly rises 50 degrees into the sky. He waves at his audience and lowers himself into the cannon’s muzzle. After a five-second countdown, Smith shoots through the air, landing in a graceful somersault on a net 150 feet away. The crowd cheers. Smith gives a thumbs-up and hops back to solid ground. He makes it look easy. But Smith says if he didn’t know what he was doing, this job would kill him. In Smith’s 12 years as a human cannonball, he’s launched himself from a cannon more than 5,000 times. He’s taken his act all over the world, from South Africa to the Netherlands and the United Kingdom. But this year marks his first visit to the Puyallup Fair, where he’s performing cannon shots twice daily at 3 and 6 p.m. Smith didn’t stumble onto his career by accident. His father before him was a cannonball, and the younger Smith picked it up when his dad needed a substitute. Smith was 19 at the time, and a four-sport athlete. Still, those first shots left him hurting. “It was terribly painful,” said Smith, 31. “You really have to learn how to fly.” A few days before the fair’s opening day, Smith spoke to The News Tribune about his job, his family and his life in the comfort of his RV parked outside the fairgrounds. His 9-year-old daughter, Alexa, scribbled away on homework at the kitchen table while he sat cross-legged on the floor. He said he doesn’t view his job as safe by any means, but that doesn’t stop him from performing 350 to 450 times a year. “There’s plenty of times when I get in that cannon when I ask for a little help from upstairs,” Smith said. “It’s a very nerve-wracking job.” He’s had close calls before, when the wind or other factors have caused him to nearly miss his net. Typically, he ascends 75 or 80 feet into the air and travels about 150 feet. The trick, he said, is in the positioning. “I have to hold it in a position where it shoots me straight and I’m not spinning in the air,” he said. “Any small mistake in there can hurt you very badly. So I just don’t make those mistakes.” He wouldn’t reveal much about how the inner workings of his cannon, which he and his father designed together. He said there’s a person in a small control room at the cannon’s base who pushes the launch button. Normally, that person is Smith’s wife, Audrey Smith. The couple often travel together and bring all of their children on tour, including 2-year-old twins Maverick and Mackenzie, and 4-year-old Chloe. But Audrey Smith said in a phone interview last week that she didn’t want to uproot her children for this tour, which will last only about a month. The family’s permanent home is in Port Charlotte, Fla. “Usually we travel together and I’m his cannon shooter,” Audrey Smith said. “This trip is just too short.” As a rule, participating in her husband’s act helps alleviate some of her fears for his safety, she said. “Every day, I worry,” she said. “It’s a lot worse when someone else shoots him. But you are not safer driving your car to work than he is getting shot out of a cannon. I try to put that in perspective to make myself feel better.” When David isn’t shooting through the air, he spends his time calculating the proper angle and amount of force for his next shot. Other times, he focuses on his family. He made sure to bring Alexa along this time so she could see where he grew up in Salem, Ore., he said. The two of them will stop in Salem on their way to an appearance at San Diego’s Charger Stadium. He said he’s not sure how long he’ll continue working as a human cannonball, but he feels compelled to continue his family’s performance tradition. When he can no longer do it himself, he’ll teach others, he said. But that day is still a long way away. “I’m still getting better at it,” he said. “There are a lot of things I feel I haven’t accomplished yet. I’d like to keep it alive long enough to pass it on.”More in the Group. Click Here