All's Faire

Just got back from my Renaissance Faire. Actually, it's not mine. It belongs to someone else. I just run it while it's on the ground.

Hmmm? A Renaissance Faire? Well. It's a bit like a craft fair. And a Grateful Dead concert. And a fairy ring. Or the path to heaven or the road to hell. Or the one in between. Or nothing like any of those. I've been intimately associated with this particular Ren Faire, the Shrewsbury Renaissance Faire in Oregon for the past 15 years. It occurs on the second weekend of September in the aptly named Kings Valley.

Ren Faires come in all sizes. I've got a booth in the Kansas City Renaissance Faire which runs for seven weekends right about now and sees a couple of hundred thousand visitors. And the Shrewsbury, well the Shrewsbury Renaissance Faire is only a single weekend, but we get about 20,000 visitors during that time.

What do I do there? Hmmm again. I guess you could think of me as the Mayor. Not the Lord Mayor, who is played by a friend and fine actor during the hours of 10AM to 6PM Saturday and Sunday. You won't recognize me as any kind of nobility or gentry when you wander the Shrewsbury. Heaven forbid. Should you actually catch a glimpse of me, you will see a rather raggedly looking Irishman in a dirty yellow linnea (sort of an old-time Irish night shirt worn by both sexes.) I will also probably have a radio jammed into my ear, and I will often be muttering.

If you are knowledgeable of the various types of possible municipal governments, you will recognize the concepts of a strong Mayor or a weak Mayor. I am neither. I am a tolerated Mayor. Everyone recognizes the need for someone to be the focus of malice, but no one really wants the job. That's where I come in.

I've been trying to give up the job for the past thirteen years. It's not easy to con...convince anyone to take it from me. The job description is what makes it tough.

Imagine that you are the mayor of a town of 1000 people for roughly five or six days. OK so far. But nearly every one of the town folk positively knows that they can do the job better than you, (Possibly true.) but can't be bothered doing so. Now add to the fact that most if not all of those 1000 people are artists. Brrrr... Then for two days during your week-long tenure as mayor, the population of the town swells to 21,000.

Since we are out in the middle of a field, you as Mayor are ultimately responsible for making sure the sewers (porta-pottys), water (6000 gallon water tanker with refill on Sunday morning.) Food (vendors and participant support), Site safety (The Reaves), Trash (bins and wheelies) roads, stages, arena, jousters, vendors, performers. and a hundred other things actually arrive, are placed right, serviced, repaired, and maintained. You are also the final arbiter of any of the one hundred personal problems that happen when you put 1000 artists together is what is essentially a hay field for a week.

I don't mean to say that I do all of these things myself. Far from it. The Faire Staff is great and doesn't even need me around for most of it. But if something goes wrong...well thats when I do my thing.

I don't panic.

That's about it.

I'm am very skilled at my job. I can lie. I was going to add "with a straight face", but actually I can arrange my face while lying to suit all possible conditions. If it calls for a jovial whopper or a conspiratorial fib, I'm the guy. What do I lie about? Mostly about having an answer to whatever the problem is.

I think most everyone knows that I don't know what I'm talking about. But they're just happy enough that someone else will make the decision that it doesn't really matter what the decision is. The other part of the job is to modestly accept the credit when one of your wild-ass decisions work. Actually they often work. This is not a factor of uncanny accuracy or supernatural management skills, it's more often an indication that any number of possible solutions would have worked. (But don't tell anyone that. Just nod knowingly and go get a beer.)

Below are as number, but by no means a complete selection, of some of the people I love at Faire. These folks are very much family to me. You'll note that most of the photos show people NOT in costume. That's because I rarely ever seem to take any pictures during the operational hours of Faire.

A Cast of Characters (Names changed just for my own pleasure.)


This is "Reaper" the second in command of the Reaves. They are the town constabulary. The big smile is there because it's Monday after Faire and he can finally relax. Like many men, he has trouble keeping his meals from sticking to his beard. Reaper owns a business making quality kilts. Check it out




This is Reapers boss, Der Graf Otto. He's the head of the Reaves. He injured his leg while involved in some kind of daring assault on a bit of home furnishing. Or so he says. I suspect gout. Here's what he looks like when he's pretty.




This piratical looking fellow is Knute Hosenfeffer, the leader of the Mongers. The Mongers are a consortium of blacksmiths, founders, dry-gulchers, and moon-shiners. Trust them with your life, but not your women.



Here we see Gomez. Gomez is an artist, a mystic, and a sojourner. However, his real purpose in life is to be the obedient worshiper and acolyte to "She who must be obeyed":


Morticia, She who rules the night. My old Faire closing buddy. With rare exceptions, the last person standing in the wee hours.



Next we have The soon to be Mrs. MacGyver. She runs the Muggers, an organization of folks who exist as participant support. I name her Mrs. MacGyver, because she is soon to marry (This November.) her long-time sweetie MacGyver, the Faire's unofficial official fix-it guy.



Also in the "Must be obeyed" category is Jimi. Technically, she is the Assistant Site Director, which theoretically means she works for me. I usually just spend all my time staring at her as she tells me what to do.


In the same category is Madonna. She works all year keeping track of, and managing the Maintenance of, well...everything. Then she relaxes during Faire by acting as cushions for Senior Faire Staff.


This is "Tank". He in THE Artyfactor. For many years, he and his crew have taken empty fields and built temporary renaissance villages on them. We finally convinced him to do it in a field where it is wanted.

Finally, there is "The Reverend"



He is, for 360 days of the year, the Chief of the greatest band of scoundrels, highwaymen and suspect-able wenches (Obviously they're Irish.) it has ever been my honor to associate with. The other five days of the year, during Faire, the Clan snickers and calls me Chief. I was once asked if the "The Reverend" was my brother. I said yes then and I meant it.

So there are a few of my friends from the Shrewsbury Renaissance Faire. One of my greatest friends is the Shrew herself. She owns the thing. But she would kill me if I posted a picture of her and as I love her and her Faire...

I could have posted many other pictures. There are so many there I love. And once a year I get the chance to gather together with a thousand of them.

All family to me.

It's never going to be sweeter than that.

Stop by some time. Make some friends. And feel the magic.