Those of you who have followed my Fair antics these past years know full well that Jeff Kramer from the Post Standard has been the catalyst to my explosion of writing, he has been a role model for my production, and he has been a good and dear friend. All of that came crashing down on me yesterday.

Jeff made his presence known at the Fair and introduced himself to the Syracuse community back in 2003 over an issue with Santa Claus. Since then and through this year, Kramer has been the Post Standard’s “go-to” guy for Fair reporting. In words whispered to me this year, Jeff made it clear that “he just isn’t into the Fair” anymore.

In case you forgot: This all started with a restaurant at the Fair called ‘Buckets’ that used to have a giant inflatable Santa Claus atop their roof. From the day my feet hit the fairgrounds back in the early 90’s, that Santa was the one item at the Fair that always stood out; Santa Claus does not belong at a State Fair. He is an icon for a different time of year. Hint: It is not summer.

In 2003, someone complained to the New York State Liquor Authority about the presence of the giant Santa Claus atop an establishment that sold alcohol. (Gasp!) True enough, Buckets does indeed serve beer. Threatened with the loss of their liquor license (Gasp!), Santa had to go. Here in New York, apparently it is illegal to intermingle messages of Santa Claus and alcohol. Don’t thank me, thank a Christian.

At about that same time, Kramer made his appearance on the scene and happened upon the Santa Claus controversy. Having himself just arrived from California, he … like me … could not understand the goofy ridiculousness of Santa Claus being a symbol of sobriety. Applying his California training, Kramer took the giant Santa Claus with him and rode the Ferris Wheel for several hours. This was his protest against the New York State Liquor Authority and the powers that be who would rob an establishment at the Fair from having a giant inflatable Santa on its’ roof. Syracuse fell in love with Kramer at that moment.

At the end of the Fair in 2003, spurred mostly by reading Kramer’s stories, I started writing ‘Rat Tales: Odyssey of a Fair Rat’ about my experiences honoring the shrine of Templeton for 12 days at the end of every summer. In 2004, again I wrote pieces and started thinking along the lines of Jeff Kramer. It became a question of not writing about what things look like, but a rather using words to mirror how things really are. Though he was at times funny and entertaining, Jeff’s words showed that he never really understood the New York State Fair. Clearly he was entertained by it and certainly found material to write about. It was fun to watch him work.

Then came the 2005 Fair. Kramer and I collaborated on stories and at times, I followed him around like a puppy dog. Teach me, oh Master. Together, Jeff and I did a Katrina Red Cross Relief fundraiser at Chevy Court and raised almost $12,000.00 in less than 30 minutes. I wrote about Jeff and he wrote about me. It was the best of times.

This year, at the 2006 New York State Fair, Jeff Kramer did a sudden about-face. He announced in his column that he was not going to write as much and instead was seeking interns to do his writing and research for him. “Email me”, he said. Email him I did. “Meet me at Buckets to sign up”, he said. Waited hours in vain for Jeff at Buckets I did. The next day, I read a column by Jeff that he has selected three interns and is off and running with their stories. It was like a kick in the gut; the ultimate rejection by your mentor and teacher.

But ask that carnie who ripped off my daughter; I am a persistent little fuck and every day of the Fair I walked by Buckets several times in search of Jeff. I never found him. Every morning with my coffee, I first hunted down his column (if he even had one) and sighed forlornly at the wasted column inches filled with nothing but empty words.

Despite everything; I believed that someone other than Jeff was keeping me from being a part of his experiment and internship program. My relationship with the Post Standard and some of its editors and writers is not the best. It is not unheard of for that paper to write about a case of mine and omit my name therefrom. Sal Piemonte returns to practice and the newspaper writes a glorious puff piece. (Good for you, Sal!) I return to practice, and John O’Brien finds a way to worm seven different variations of the word “liar” into the four paragraphs. That Jeff Kramer left me out of his program was not an insult to me. I figured it was just the political status quo at the newspaper.

In this past Saturday’s newspaper, Jeff’s column made a point that he was going to have a celebratory luncheon with his interns at Buckets on Sunday at 1:00 p.m. Since Jeff and I have been playing telephone tag over a few days, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to stop by and say hello and share some b.s. about the Fair experience.

After visiting with friends at the horticulture building who won BLUE Ribbons again and got Best of Show again (way to go Mary and Gretchen), I was en route to have lunch and some fun with Jeff. As I walked from the door of the horticulture building toward Buckets and as I passed the State Police exhibit, on the right hand side was ……. GASP … a five foot tall singing dancing SANTA!

It was at that moment, I had one of my brilliant ideas. Making what must have sounded like the most insane requests, I introduced myself and asked if I could borrow the Santa for an hour or so. I gave them my ID and showed them I had the money to cover in case of damage. It took some time to explain my intentions but finally those wonderful folks agreed and lent me Santa.

Carrying a five foot tall 40 something pound Santa Claus along the crowded and cramped walkways of Times Square on the fairgrounds is an experience in itself. Having to do so carefully so as to not break it only made it worse. From the faces I did see, it was clear they were feeling exactly what I used to feel when I saw Santa atop Buckets … WTF is THAT thing doing here at this place at this time of year?

I thought Jeff would appreciate a special guest at his celebratory luncheon.

Oh boy was I wrong.

From what I can tell; the brouhaha over Santa atop Buckets was a bigger legal issue than was let on in the media. When Santa and I and entourage showed up at Buckets, the owner came out and nearly wet his pants. I told him the reason I was there and why I brought Santa. He still was pale as a ghost and begged me to move way away from his establishment. Within moments, he was on the cell phone with “someone” and came back and asked me to sit at the handicapped table and promise to tell people I won the Santa on the Midway.

So, friends went and brought me food while I babysat Santa. Fairgoers would walk up and take pictures with their cell phones. Children would pass by in wonderment … is it Christmas already? One nice woman came up and made a wish in Santa’s ear. I didn’t get to hear it.

Jeff arrived late; as usual and I could see him beeline straight to the owner and tell him Santa “was not my idea”. After he apologized to Buckets for me, he came over and made nice for a minute and then shooed me away. At least he was kind enough to pose for a picture before he turned his back on me.

The walk back to the Christmas tree farm was far more painful. The joy and celebratory spirit that had been rushing through my veins was as empty as my bladder. Santa hurt to carry. My heart hurt at rejection. Today, my back hurts from the stress of trying to be a friend to someone who obviously has no such interest.

Thank you Jeff from the bottom of my heart. You have taught me well. I bear you no malice or ill will. I sincerely hope that all your wishes come true and that you live another 100 years.

So the seasons take another turn. The Fair again surrenders to the gloom and doom of fall then winter.

But through it all, the dreams and joys that keep us young at heart … the fantasies of the Midway and the joys of Christmas morning … are what keep the mundane and routine from driving us to suicide. That spirit lives in me Jeff, and you can never drive it out.