This is not exactly a holiday story, except in the sense of its being about an unexpected gift.
A number of years ago, my wife, She Who Must Be Taunted, and I took a trip around the country. We got in our tiny stereo- and air-conditioning-free Honda Civic and spent seven weeks and change on the highways and byways of this great country, visiting friends and our National Ancient Piles of Rock. We had a magnificent time, we did, but the magnificence of certain moments gleams with a light all their own.
We were visiting some friends in Indianapolis, and we were talking about what we could do that day, and our friends mentioned that the Indiana State Fair was going on, which could not have pleased us more. The state fairgrounds have this marvelous set of WPA obelisks that mark their entrance, and feature vast arrays of exhibits, like the brick building with “SWINE” written in ten-foot letters over the door, and the competition for the best hay bale, and the fashion show for painted denim clothing, accompanied by organ music provided by the spitting image of the Church Lady from Saturday Night Live. But none of it – none of it – was as wonderful as Oink, the Singing Pig.
Oink was part of an act called the Pork Chop Revue, which was (duh) a trained pig act, emceed by a man in a pair of overalls who was, without a doubt, one of the best showmen I’ve ever seen in my life, and I am not kidding. His presentation was absolutely effortless, and he had the audience in the palm of his hand. After a number of the pigs had done their tricks, he brought out Oink, the star of the show, a truly huge hog wearing enormous pink sunglasses. And Oink placed his front hooves on one of those little pedestals they use in these animal acts, and the host pulled a child out of the audience – couldn’t have been more than eight years old – and asked the child to lead the audience in a round of “Old Macdonald Had a Farm”. And when the child got to “and an oink-oink here”, the host pointed the microphone at the pig, and the pig – yes – oinked on cue.
And I died of laughter. SWMBT looked over at me at this point in the show, but she didn’t see me, because I had, honestly, been so overcome with the hilarious preposterousness of it all that I’d collapsed. It was hokey, and silly, and the whole thing could have been a giant dud – but this host, man, was he good.
Over the years, I’ve told many people about Oink, the Singing Pig. And I grew to wonder: was I just in the right mood that day? Maybe I’ve turned this story into one of those kitchen-table legends that would wilt on videotape. But I’m pleased to tell you: no.
This summer, we were up in Vermont, visiting other friends, and we went to the Orleans County Fair, which we’d been to before. And we flipped through the program, and – could it be? – the Pork Chop Revue was scheduled to perform. Now, anyone who’s been to a few of these fairs knows that there are acts that make a good deal of their living on the county and state fair circuit, but I never, ever dreamed that I’d see the Pork Chop Revue more than once in my life. So at 6:30 sharp, we wandered over from the Ferris wheel next door, and amazingly enough: same guy, same pigs, same effortless presentation. This time, he pulled this little girl out of the audience, and asked her name, and she said “Cindy” or something like that, and without missing a beat – at the exact, perfect moment – he asked, “You married?”
And then we sang “Old Macdonald Had a Farm”, and Oink did his thing, and it was just as hilarious the second time as the first, and our friends gave us the thumbs up, and the Pork Chop Revue won another family of fans.
Who would have ever thought that the host of a trained pig act would delight me so? Who would have thought that he’d have anything – anything at all – to teach me? It just goes to show you: no matter how foolish, and frustrating, and unfair, and tortuous this world can be, there are billions of corners of talent, just waiting for us to discover them.
So at this dim, cold, overly gift-wrapped time of year, I say to you: oink. I thank you, once again, for letting me be one of the people you discovered. May all your pigs bring you truffles.