Yesterday I revisited the scene
of an imaginary crime and, in the process, committed an actual one. Herein lies that story.
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| My fictional 'Brookfield Fair' looks a lot like the very real Topsfield Fair |
Anyone who has seen a map of the
Topsfield Fair will immediately note
a striking resemblance to the map of the fictional “Brookfield Fair” that
appears on the flyleaf of The Garden Club
Gang. Further, anyone who has heard
my ‘Gardening Is Murder’ presentation knows the circumstances under which that
venerable annual event came to be the inspiration for the story of a heist that
doesn’t go quite the way it was planned.
For those who don’t know the
story behind the story, a brief synopsis:
The Topsfield Fair has, among its many attractions, a flower show
sponsored by the Garden Club Federation of Massachusetts. My wife, Betty, is a floral designer who
periodically enters such competitions.
Once you have signed up to design at the Fair, you also are making a
commitment to be at the Fairgrounds at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m., where you
have two hours to create your design.
Medfield is 52 miles from
Topsfield and the only sane route from Point A to Point B is the insane
circumferential highway known variously as Route 128, I-95, and the Yankee
Division Highway. Rush hour on that
particular roadway begins at 5 a.m. (I promise I am not making this up) and so,
to be at the Fairgrounds by 7, you need to leave Medfield before 6 a.m. And, to arrive there without the residual
urge to strangle anyone driving a gray Honda Accord, you need someone to drive
you.
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| Even at 6 a.m., Route 128 is not for the faint of heart |
And so, on a morning seven or
eight years ago, I did my Loving Spouse Duty and drove Betty to Topsfield. Unfortunately, once she was ensconced in
front of her pedestal to begin her design, my presence became distracting and
she bluntly let me know that I should go somewhere else for the duration. Where I went was out in front of the Flowers
Building (yes, the Flower Show has its own barn-like building which also houses
horticulture and mini-landscape exhibits).
Close by were two other features: the Fair Administration Building and
the Fair’s Main Gate. I thought it
mildly interesting that the three landmarks made a tight little cluster.
Then, the ‘Aha’ moment
occurred. An armored truck pulled into
the main gate, went around a little traffic circle, and stopped in front of the
Administration Building. Two men jumped
out of the truck, walked into the building, then came back out in under thirty
seconds carrying a pair of enormous saddlebags.
The bags went into the truck, and the truck pulled out of the
Fairgrounds. Elapsed time: perhaps ninety seconds. I realized the truck had likely just picked
up the Fair’s daily gate proceeds.
And then it hit me that I was in
the last bastion of the cash economy. In
a world where debit and credit cards have replaced cash in our wallets, places
like the Topsfield Fair continue to be ones where we peel off twenty-dollar
bills. In that moment was born the plot
of The Garden Club Gang in which four
‘little old ladies’ will pull off the feat of robbing that truck in broad
daylight (yet with no witnesses), leaving behind no clues, and injuring no one.
Well, yesterday morning Betty
was again entered at the Topsfield Fair and, once again, I was her designated
driver. But things have changed in the
intervening years. I have gotten to know
many of the designers who form the core of the amateur competitions (they are
‘amateurs’ in name only). Further, I
spent three years as Chairman of Blooms! at the Boston Flower and Garden Show,
where I learned the intricacies of how these competitions operate (knowledge I
put on display in A Murder at the Flower
Show and Murder in Negative Space). Instead of wandering the fairgrounds, I
stopped to chat with the flower show staff.
Moreover, taking a cue from one of my most useful activity as Chairman
of Blooms!, I helped designers carry in cartloads of flowers from their cars.
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| Betty's design captured the essence of Connecticut |
Most designers were at their
work places by 7. A few had already
completed their arrangements by 7:45.
But there were still a few open spaces.
These late arrivers would have to work quickly. I saw one of those late arrivers struggling
to bring in a cart and armload of flowers.
Her name was Rita, and she is a very nice lady. I immediately rushed over to help her. I swept up her cart and carried it into the
building, following her instructions about which station was hers. I placed the cart in the proper location, feeling
very proud of myself.
Which was when I got my foot
caught in a basket.
There are moments in your life
that will endure forever in memory. This
was one of them. I did not see the
basket; I knew only that I was inexplicably falling down. And so I grabbed for something to keep me
upright. The ‘something’ that I grabbed
was a pedestal on which rested the completed floral design of one Bonni
Dinneen.
I did not know this at the
time. Nor did I know I had
simultaneously jostled yet another pedestal.
All I knew was that I was being drenched in water and covered with
croton leaves. From start to finish, my
pratfall lasted perhaps two seconds. To
me, it lasted an eternity.
I had just ruined someone’s entry.
In seconds, I was surrounded by
women asking me if I was all
right. Physically, I was fine. A little wet perhaps but none the worse for
wear. What I was, was mortified. This was
the thing Betty had been admonishing me about for more than a decade: stay away from the designers – they don’t
have time for chit-chat. And, for heaven’s
sake, don’t ever get near any of the
designs…
I slinked out of the Flowers
Building and sat in my car. As I was
doing my slinking, I heard people asking if Bonni was still in the building and
heard that, yes, she was still somewhere nearby. I did not have the courage to face her, nor
anyone else. This was my
‘You’ll-shoot-your-eye-out’ moment. Oh.
My. God.
Early in the afternoon, the judging
results were emailed to the entrants.
Betty received a 90+ Red for her Connecticut door hanging. A 90+ Red is a big deal. It means you got second place, but your design
was good enough that it could have won a Blue (first), except that someone
else’s entry was just a skosh better.
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| Bonni's reconstructed design received a Blue! |
Oh, and Bonni Dinneen’s entry in
a different category won a Blue. And,
no, it wasn’t a ‘we’re-so-sorry-for-what-happened’ gesture for my
clumsiness. The judges don’t show up
until 9 a.m. and they have no idea whose entries they are viewing, and they
certainly have no idea that someone’s entry had to be re-done on the fly.
I sent Bonni a congratulatory
note that also apologized for my causing such devastation. This morning, I received the following reply:
I feel as though I owe you an apology. As I saw it happen, all I could do was laugh. It was a comedic episode played in slow
motion, with my design splaying in all directions and you grappling for
control, while the second pedestal was wiggling back in forth. No one knew if the second stand would also
topple. It was truly funny to see. I apologize that I laughed at
your accident. I had to walk away, my
laughter was so pronounced; like watching someone slip on the ice, it was that
funny.
Please if you ever tell the story... tell it with a light heart
and without embarrassment. I know I will, when I encourage others to
pursue flower design.
Bonni, that’s just the way I’m
telling it.
Bravo Bonni!
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