Within my head tossed several ideas to write of for this issue; I kept drifting back to politics. No, dear reader, I can’t do that to you! The entire point of me being here, in black and white before you, is to try and lift you up. Describing how sausage is made doesn’t seem the best way to go about it. And so, seeing that May is upon us: something big is coming at month’s end. I promise, if the Lord keeps me vertical, I’ll be there. Now, allow me to back up a moment.

There haven’t been many things I’ve aspired to in life: to own a Studebaker, to figure out electronic theory, to walk down the cookie aisle at Dollar General without picking up a bag of Chips Ahoy! I can continue to work towards each of those. But, at an early age, Bryan very much wished he were a Cub Scout. I’ve no idea how that seed was planted, but when the time came, there I was. Our Scoutmaster at Pack 461 was Earl Frase, and he was perfect for the part with a great sense of humor. His two sons were just a bit older than I, and both fought diligently against muscular dystrophy. With the annual Jerry Lewis Labor Day telethon on the horizon, a roadside carnival was planned to assist. Games were set up on tables out at the edge of Preston, and thinking about it just now, I seem to recall someone frying chicken. My first-ever experience running a game was likely a dart versus balloon contest; the second or third time we were allowed to move out to the “real” carnival grounds in the center of town. I remember it well as I was charged with running a bean bag toss. Earl worked as a TV repairman for Sears and his employer had generously donated perhaps a dozen of these very sporty remote control toy cars. Alas, it was much too easy, and within an hour they were all gone. I can still picture his face dropping when I delivered the news. I felt a bit of guilt about that for years; if only I’d found a way to make the game more of a challenge? It was all okay. There’s a lot of forgiveness for 9 or 10 year old kids, especially from someone salt-of-the-earth like the now departed Mr. Frase.

If someone planted the seed for me to become a scout, from that little job would eventually spring much more. I was 18. It seems that Tracy Swieczkowski was asked to run a booth at the Preston Carnival (the real one, with a Ferris Wheel, cotton candy, and a big parade Tuesday night.) It is important to understand that, had she asked me to go over Niagara Falls (with or without a barrel) my response would have been the same as when she asked about helping out with the game. “Uh, when do you want me there?” That was 1990, this is 2023. I haven’t missed a year. I’ve run little games, made change, sold raffle tickets, been a go-fer. Eventually, pardon the pun, I found my calling. 2 or 3 nights a year, sitting there at the microphone in the Bingo building. It’s still mid-April as I write this, but what was that about my lack of aspiration? I can’t wait for Memorial Day, to warm up that amplifier and start giving away money.

I’ve never actually played Bingo at a carnival; I suppose my last game was in grade school. I’m not much of a gambler at all, limiting my expenditures to raffle tickets and a couple quarters laid down at the Cake Wheel. If I had saved that last baked good I actually won, rather than having ate it, it would now be old enough to vote. (Darn, politics trying to work its way in!) I’m very thankful, though, for all the folks who love to come out and put down that silver and those greenbacks. A special joy is felt when I walk in those gates on Monday night and an hour before opening, folks are already waiting for the first hamburger from the food booth. Most nights there is at least one player sitting at a Bingo table before I arrive. Each of those people have a feeling inside, I believe similar to myself. Being there, on those old grounds, is to be immersed in community. Forget all the doom and gloom of the television screen. Out on that backstreet in Preston you’ll see your friends and neighbors. Everywhere you look you’ll spot a smile. Folks are volunteering; others are giving until it hurts, all to help. The proceeds stay right there, in that town that will ever be special to me.

Sure, you’ll have a number of chances this year to experience something like this. From the Strawberry Festival in Ridgely, to our County Fair, over at the Thresherman’s Show or at Summerfest, you can find yourself immersed in the best of what Caroline has to offer. I implore you: my friends, don’t miss these events. And when you show up, be in no rush. I’m going to leave our fine county for a minute. Have you been down to Wildlife Drive in Blackwater Wildlife Reserve? Drive through there, any day of the week, at about three miles per hour. You will be amazed at what you see. Yet, I’ve seen folks who drove half a day to get there and they pass me running 35. Later they will tell their friends, “oh, it was okay.” Back home to Caroline: take your time. Look around. Soak it in. Not everybody has what we have right here. Play some games; if you can make the time, volunteer. I don’t think it’s insanity that keeps me coming back each year to work! Either way, you’ll find it rewarding. Either way you’ll win, and that’s more than I can say of my time at the Cake Wheel!

See you there?