Frenchie hustled waffle irons.
He also hawked peelers, can openers, and electric turkey carvers out of a cornucopial van of small electric appliances and household gizmos.
A swarthy fellow with glistening black locks, starched white shirt, and open collar, his daylong pitches sent his voice low and gravelly requiring amplification, and so the mic around his neck.
Parked next to the State Fair Talent Search with host Bill Riley, Frenchie's performance topped even the winning talent, boy phoenom and accordionist, Dewillio Mordini.
Sometimes Frenchie had must take a break to light a cig for a few puffs such was the exertion of charity in bringing all those reel to reel tape recorders, shoe polishers, and assorted junk to a grateful Iowa populace.
You could watch him for hours.
"Frenchie's performance topped even the winning talent, boy phoenom and accordionist, Dewillio Mordini." *
Americana extraordinaire.
*
*, Steven. This story really captures the universal flavors of the Fairs. Well-written, well-told.
Parallax photography, curious, iconic style.
***
I think I bought something from him once. Couldn't help it. *
I can hear it, see it and smell it.
I like this without knowing why.
click
snapshot
*
Can't beat the carnyism of a great state fair.*
I like.
*Every word!
Ah, luv, I can smell the funnel cakes. *
Great capture of a character!