Getting fairly excited about ‘The Fair’

There’s been an awful lot of activity around the Chelsea Standard office the last few days as we prepare for the one of this area’s biggest events, the Chelsea Community Fair.
But what we’ve been doing doesn’t come close to all the energy being spent just down the street from us at the fairgrounds.
I went over there on a recent evening to gather some information for some articles, and the place was positively buzzing. Now I understand why they call it a "work bee."
Fair board members and their families, exhibitors and their families, and plenty of folks who just want to lend a hand showed up, ready to work hard.
They pitched in to set up stalls in the livestock and horse barns or tables and chairs in the exhibition buildings, prepare the track for the demolition derbies, put the finishing touches on the brand-new pavilion, and lots more.
Most of them didn’t quit until after dark on a hot, humid, uncomfortable night, and that was just the one time I was there.
They were doing all the behind-the-scenes work that not only makes the fair run so smoothly, but makes it one of the best small-town fairs in the entire state.
For the people of this area and beyond, the fair has been A Very Big Deal for a very long time.
It’s not an exaggeration to say, if not for the volunteers, there simply would not be a Chelsea Community Fair.
So when you see one of these volunteers while you’re at the fair next week, make sure you tell them how much you appreciate all their hard work.
Over the years, I’ve found that probably the best way to get a true sense of what life is like in a small town is to attend whatever festive event they have that involves the entire community.
Saline has its Celtic Festival, Manchester has the Chicken Broil and Dexter has Dexter Daze, but Chelsea has The Fair.
Some folks might think they are too cosmopolitan to bother with a country fair, but they don’t know what they’re missing.
As far as I’m concerned, you have not really lived until you have dripped mustard all down the front of your shirt from eating a corn dog or gotten your fingers impossibly sticky on cotton candy or elephant ears.
And there are few moments as thrilling as seeing a ribbon attached to a plate of vegetables you have grown in your own garden or to some goodies you made in your own kitchen.
I know this to be true, because I have done all of those things (except for the corn dog — I prefer the big sausage dog with grilled onions and sauerkraut on the homemade bun, but I still end up wearing some of it).
This is the third year I have taken home a prize from the Jackson County Fair.
Foremost is my German Extra Hardy garlic, with a blue ribbon my first year, third place last year (I wuz robbed), and first place again this year.
But a bonus this year was my baked goods. I won a blue ribbon for cheesecake brownies and second place for pecan pie, and this was the first time I'd entered anything in that category.
Because I work for the Standard, I don’t know if the Chelsea Fair Board will allow me to enter anything in the fair next year, but I wouldn’t mind being a judge.
A few years back, during my last two years with the Adrian newspaper, the Lenawee County Fair invited me to be a judge for the pie contest. Anybody who knows me well also knows my penchant for pie, and perhaps I could do the same for the Chelsea Fair.
My wife and I have attended the Chelsea Fair several times in the past, but by working at the paper this year, I’ll likely be over there every day and see more of it than ever.
And that’s just fine with me. That gives me plenty of opportunity to scout out the whole thing so that when I do bring her with me, we’ll know exactly where to find the best exhibits to look at, the best rides to ride and the best sausage dog to slop on my shirt.
So, yes, I guess you could say I really look forward to fair season.
See ya at the fair!

In a democracy everybody has a voice, even when you don’t like what you hear

It seems the Chelsea City Council has been put on notice.
Townsfolk unhappy with the council’s handling of city finances have banded together in a grassroots effort to form “Chelsea Citizens For Accountability.”
On one hand it’s unfortunate that people like Jeanne Olinyk and Rod Anderson felt such a move was necessary, and I find myself in agreement with Mayor Ann Feeney:
“They didn’t really need to form a group. This is America, and they are free to speak their minds.”
On the other hand, it’s not such a bad idea after all, and I find myself agreeing with CCFA's basic argument:
“The Chelsea City Council does not appear to be strongly motivated to cut costs before raising taxes as a last resort. We hope to provide additional motivation.”
I don’t mean to suggest, not even for a millisecond, that there could be anything untoward or illegal going on behind the scenes.
I’m convinced the council members are honest and sincere in their belief that they are acting in the best interest of the city’s residents.
But isn’t it at least possible that there were a few more cost-cutting avenues to explore before deciding on a tax increase?
This is a tough one.
After years of covering municipal governments and school boards, I’m about as well-versed as anyone in the financial difficulties they face.
People in this state are struggling economically, and so, as a result, are their local units of government.
Mayor Ann Feeney and the council members defend their actions, saying that they are trying to live up to obligations to the retirement fund, contract negotiations and so on.
That’s good news. It’s exactly what they SHOULD be doing.
However ‑ and this is one of CCFA’s main arguments ‑ how did we find ourselves in such a hole in the first place?
Here’s the thing: When you get right down to it, all of that is really irrelevant.
What’s done is done, and anguishing over what could or should have been decided differently in the past is a frustrating waste of time and energy.
Instead of thinking of what went wrong, I would encourage the CCFA, the council, every city employee, indeed every city resident to concentrate on how to make things right.
And it just so happens that we are at a unique point in history that provides this opportunity.
Within the past year or so the city has hired several new department heads and a new city manager; administrative decision-makers who are relatively unburdened by the baggage of the past.
The residents should to make their needs and desires known to their elected representatives on the council.
The council should work with city staff to prioritize those needs and desires.
And city staff should try to find creative, innovative ways to make those needs and desires a reality at a minimum of expense to the residents.
If nothing else, the formation of CCFA reminds us that in a democracy, the voice of the people should be heard the loudest.

People of the Blogosphere, I have returned

It says “Reporters Ed Freundl and Don Richter post blogs twice a week” on the front page of our newspaper, and “Ed Freundl talks not only about issues but why they are important to you” on my blog page at www.chelseastandard.com.
Ouch.
After a gentle reminder from my editor, and a not-so-subtle nudge from elsewhere, I’m back in the blogging business after going 0-for-June.
Not for nothing, but it’s been a busy month around here.
Car crashes, city council tax increases, historical museum openings, high school graduations, retaining wall collapses.
Chelsea is a busy place, and it’s kept me busy bringing you the information about your town that you want and need to know.
Did you know we have a new city manager who spent the last few years in Dexter village government? You do if you read our paper.
Did you know Timber Town has been restored to its former glory by the tireless efforts of an army of volunteers? You do if you read our paper.
Did you know many of the town’s ancestors came here from out East by way of the famous Erie Canal? You do if you read our paper.
Did you know that Michigan’s only venomous snake, the Eastern Massasauga rattlesnake, can be found right outside Chelsea?
You didn’t? Well, neither did I, but you will when you read our paper this week.
You have a right to expect that we will do our best to bring you the news on a timely basis (at least as timely as a weekly publication can be), and to expect that I can take at least a few minutes each week to update our Web-based readers.
My thanks to “JW” and “Leslie” for talking the time to post comments on my few previous blogs, and to Michelle for that not-so-subtle nudge reminding me to get back online.
“Twice a week” is a good goal to strive for, but let’s start with baby steps for now.

Relay For Life a life-affirming event

Over the weekend the Chelsea Standard had the privilege of reporting on the Relay For Life at the Chelsea Community Fairgrounds.
The Relay is the biggest annual fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society, and the local event generated more than $55,000 in pledges.
It’s a 24-hour event that takes place in thousands of communities nationwide, but its focus is local.
Local team members, local companies and organizations, local volunteers; all raising money or donating goods and services to help track down a killer.
Participants walk for several reasons: sometimes it’s in memory of a loved one whom cancer has claimed; many times it is for someone who has stared death in the face and conquered it.
Most poignant are those who walk even while the disease continues to ravage their bodies.
Witnessing their courage and dedication is what makes it such an honor and privilege to be involved.
I, too, have walked in a Relay. At the time I was editor of the Albion newspaper, and I simply wanted to show support for a young reporter who recently had lost his mother to cancer.
We had signed up several co-workers but when the event arrived, only one of them showed up.
I stayed with Tom virtually the entire 24 hours, awestruck by his focus and determination.
The toughest part of the Relay comes in the middle of the night, when participation and motivation is, understandably, sparse.
You have a lot of time for introspection at 3 a.m. Why are these people out here, missing a night of sleep or a favorite TV show or ball game? Why are they putting themselves though such fatigue and soreness?
If the American Cancer Society just wants to raise money, why don’t we just write them a check and go home?
Well, the answer dawned on me, literally at about dawn.
This is not about money. It’s about sacrificing a few hours of comfort to commemorate the ultimate sacrifice made by cancer victims and their families.
Cancer has a vicious tendency to run in families, and I consider myself extremely lucky that my family has been pretty much untouched by it.
My closest association with cancer was through my father-in-law, Hager Large.
Not long after the Relay that I walked in Albion, doctors discovered something in him that had gone undetected for many years.
The surgery to remove half his tongue and lower jaw went about as well as one could expect, but a blockage in his carotid artery also had gone unnoticed — until a clot broke loose and caused a major stroke in the recovery room.
The most cruel thing was that it did not kill him outright.
This generous, jovial and gentle man spent every day of the final five years of his life in agony I’d rather not try to comprehend.
If it was just a matter of writing a check, I’d gladly turn over half my salary.
But the memory of Hager Large, Carol Kochinski and the millions of other cancer victims and survivors is worth a lot more than that.

Trip to ancestral home brings back memories I never had

My wife and I went out of town this weekend on our annual pilgrimage to Frankenmuth.
For the unfamiliar, Frankenmuth is a little town located roughly between Flint and Saginaw that is most famous for two things: chicken dinners and Christmas decorations.

Those are two of my favorite topics, but we go for a much more personal reason.

If my paternal great-grandfather had not been a stereotypical stubborn, hard-headed German, in all likelihood I'd probably be running one of the breweries there.

But no. Great-granddad was the brewmaster and a business partner at the Frankenmuth Brewery, one of several that came and went in that town over the years.

For those who know Frankenmuth, it was the brewery on the south side of the Cass River, since torn down and replaced with River Platz, a faux reproduction of an Alpine village and filled with overpriced trinkets for unsuspecting tourists.

At any rate, after Prohibition was repealed and the brewery was again able to openly produce its liquid gold, some sort of disagreement arose between Braumeister Freundl and his partners.
Seems ol' great-granddad didn't like the bean counters telling him how to make beer, and he told them to take a flying leap -in probably more than one language.

A German not wanting to be told how to do something. Go figure.

So he packed up the family and moved to Jackson, where he hooked up with another brewery.
And that explains why I had a fairly normal, middle-class upbringing in Jackson, rather than being a beer baron in Frankenmuth.

There are a few other juicy details mixed in there; something about the Purple Gang out of Detroit wanting to get their hands on the Frankenmuth brewery - or else; but those stories are quickly being lost to the mists of time.

Frank Freundl died in the mid-1940s; his son (my grandfather), Frank Freundl Jr., died in the early '80s; and the health - and memory - of my father, Frank Freundl III, is beginning to slip away.

Therefore, my wife and I go to Frankenmuth every year to pay tribute to what might have been.

It also explains one of my father's favorite sayings:

"You can always tell a German, but you can't tell him much."

Edward Freundl
The Chelsea Standard

Where do I begin?

The boss wanted us to start a blog for the newspaper’s Web page, and I do what I’m told (most of the time).

Apparently “The boss,” AKA Editor Terry Jacoby, is unaware of my personal feelings toward this whole “blog” thing.

I have confronted the obvious: that I’m definitely an “old-school” kind of journalist.

At the risk of sounding like a cranky old grouch, I am not as enamored of current technology as many (OK, most) of my colleagues.

The only laptop I use is the one on which I tend to spill my lunch when I’m sitting at my desk.

I still prefer to use a pen and notepad as my primary tools. At least they still work when the power goes out, like it did here twice just last week.

And until my wife gave me one for Christmas, I previously regarded cell phones as symbols of obnoxious self-importance at best; and at worst, a deadly dangerous distraction to motorists.

But these technological gadgets can be wonderful, if used with proper respect.

The Internet is a godsend to those in my profession, however; it makes researching a story and checking facts almost effortless. The downside is all the garbage you have to sift through when you type something in to Google or Yahoo.

Which brings us back to the blog.

When they first started appearing on the Web, I couldn’t think of anything more representative of our increasingly self-centered and self-absorbed culture.

Electronic versions of “Dear Diary: Today I watched my cat throw up” or some such nonsense hold absolutely no interest for me.

It’s not that I don’t care about someone else’s thoughts and opinions, but the concept of personal restraint seems to be eroding before our very eyes.

And the advent of MySpace and YouTube video carry this to a ridiculous extreme, with the added treat of watching someone’s inanity instead of simply reading it.

With that, I thank you for stopping by and letting me blow off some steam. See you next week, if the boss lets me.

-- Edward Freundl