Crashing the House Party
On the outside looking in.
The most obvious of obvious observations about Mississippi’s Neshoba County Fair comes into focus while nibbling a stick full of alligator meat.
There are two distinct parts of the fair.
The public side consists of the usual county fair amenities: livestock shows and produce competitions; the crowning of the fair’s beauty queen; booths selling useless, although sometimes beautiful, local crafts; more booths selling unhealthy but very addictive food, especially fried; various opportunities to display strength and hand-eye coordination to win future nostalgic clutter. And, of course, amusement rides, lots and lots of whirling, scream-producing, death-defying, wobbly contraptions hazardous to anyone with a heart condition rides.
Most rousing are the horse and mule races, especially since the fair is the only place in the state where racing is allowed. There shouldn’t be betting taking place either, but transactions held under the grandstand reveal how little the law is adhered to.
The other part, and why the Neshoba County Fair’s other name is “Mississippi’s Giant House Party,” is due to the jumble of about 600 elaborately decorated cabins that are occupied for only two weeks at the end of July. The fair began as a two-day camp meeting and farmer affair in 1889, but two years later it stretched into a week. That’s when people put up tents, the tents soon replaced by rough planked dwellings. Besides providing more substantial shelter, the cabins allowed for the growth of fraternity. Many of the cabins are still in the hands of the families of the original owners, passed down through the generations, even though the only actual inherited wealth is the cabin and not the land underneath it. Nevertheless, if a family chooses to sell, they’ll still reap a chunk of money: Individual cabins have gone for more than $250,000. RVs are a cheaper and growing alternative, but by their mobility they form a less cohesive community.
In contrast, the cabin owners form a tight macramé-knotted society of blood and neighborly relations, one you are welcome to mingle among but never with a comfortable sense of acceptance unless you marry into the fold or settle for at least three decades somewhere around the county. Because the fair was called off last year, the parties and porch sitting is intensely buoyant this year.
Diversity is the other demarcation of the fair: As far as the eye can see, the cabin owners are white; the fair workers and especially the horse trainers and livestock handlers are not. The midway and grandstands are much more inclusive.
On the day I’m enjoying alligator—explained to me by a local as “the other other white meat in these parts”—I check out the children’s art exhibit and a pie baking contest. Two elderly sisters accept my greeting while shelling beans on the front porch of the still modest cabin their father built. The eldest, Marie, remembers somewhat fondly when there was a fine 20-seat unisex privy along a boardwalk down past the tree line. She kindly answers a know-nothing’s question about what makes the fair so notable: The two days of political speeches given by state and local candidates. The fair’s first politician, Anselm McLaurin, was the last Confederate veteran to run for office in 1896. He won the governorship.
“You have to make a speech at the fair, you see, if you want to get elected in Mississippi,” Marie says.
“We take our politicians seriously enough here to want to see them up close,” adds her sister, Cecilia. “How can you vote for someone you don’t know?”
The nation really didn’t pay any attention to Neshoba’s politics until 1964, when Governor George Wallace spoke at the fair a few days after the bodies of Civil Rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner were found.
From The Guardian, August 8, 1964 “KKK men charged with murder”
A Southern journalist writing in the "New York Herald Tribune" today reports a Mississippian as saying that the fair will be the greatest celebration in Mississippi's history. He quotes:
"For six weeks we have had to put up with invading enemies - agitators and Communists and writers like you who hate us and spread lies about us. Now we are going to entertain our friends and the sweetest music for everybody in this county is going to be hearing George Wallace pour hot lead into the pants of all you South-hating writers. And even sweeter music will be hearing Barry Goldwater junior tell us how police power ought to be returned to the Neshoba County and to the Mississippi State highway patrol."
Ronald Reagan stopped by the fair in 1980 after his nomination and gave a rousing speech endorsing state rights, and that’s all the country talked about for awhile. The only other presidential candidate was Michael Dukakis in 1988. He was warmly received for a speech that dwelled on the economy.
A 2014 Washington Post article provides a deeper overview of the fair’s political importance.
The sisters excuse themselves from further bothersome questions because their long knotted fingers are stained dark with bean juice and they better get them on the stove to be ready for the camp’s potluck. They slowly push themselves to stand and Marie invites me to stay for the evening’s dancing in the pavilion, music provided by various local bands. I say thank you and wander over to what’s called on the camp map “Founder Square,” where there’s already little room on the benches. I have to admit that I hold back in consideration of the county’s 20% vaccination rate and the recent spike in hospitalizations. I’m wearing a mask, but few others are doing the same. A nearby tree available to lean against is close enough to the podium.
Everyone in earshot seems to be in agreement that, since it’s 2021 and an off election year, there won’t be much variety in subject and tone—nothing substantially new and, given it’s Mississippi, very conservative partisanship.
The politicians are, indeed, extremely partisan and lean conservative. Creeping socialism, voting restrictions, cultural schisms, defense of the state’s COVID-19 response, and a rosy remembrance of the previous four years in power pretty much cover the topics. The lone Democrat in the lineup, transportation commissioner Willie Simmons, says something in support of federal and state infrastructure initiatives that gets a round of hand clapping. The audience slowly fans themselves with paper fans (courtesy of, and advertisements for, the various politicians) and listen intently to each speaker, growing restless only if the speech is less than stellar. They throw out questions, comments, and occasional criticisms—democracy at work.
Just like Cecilia told me, I now feel I have a firmer grasp of what’s on the minds of the speakers. They’ve become individuals to me and, while I strongly disagree with a lot of what they’re saying and grow alarm at the implications, I feel I understand a little better where they’re coming from. That’s not a bad thing, especially now when we’re shouting at instead of talking to one another. This is how civil discourse happens and, for that alone, the Neshoba County Fair is worth attending.
It’s time to go, though, the body melting, feet blistered and dusty, stomach needing more than alligator. After a shower and a nap in a very no-frills motel, I drive a few miles into Philadelphia, wander around for a bit, and end up at a restaurant recommendation, The Porterhouse. It’s short on staff, and the menu is limited due to current food supply difficulties. But the much-needed martini, steak, and indulgent glass of red wine are fine companions to figuring out tomorrow’s drive to the Choctaw Reservation.
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