KM was reading the paper to me the other day. She does that so I don’t miss anything. She read me that it would cost 40 bucks to get into Riverfest this year.
“To keep out the Little Hawks?” I asked.
“I guess,” she replied.
Before I tell the Little Hawk story, let me say that KM, my protective wife, has suggested more than once, “You’re a complete idiot if you write that.” I always count on her for constructive and compassionate disclaimers.
We used to be regulars at Riverfest, when our kids were small and the crowds were smaller; when funnel cakes were still donuts and turkey legs still had feathers.
I actually came pretty close to returning two years ago when Jacob here at The Daily Record had me worked up about seeing Del McCrory, but it didn’t work out. (I think KM had something to do with that too.)
Anyway, a few decades back, the Arkansas Democrat, or Gazette, (I don’t remember if they were together then or still separate,) ran a large photograph on the first day of Riverfest.
It was a half page, in living color, of a man reclining on one of the grassy banks downtown near the river. He was not from here, and looked like he might be someone who was fond of the open road, with an occasional stop for a new tattoo.
He told the Democrat photographer that his name was Little Hawk Richter, a name that probably describes his appearance better than I ever could.
Anyway, the photo was priceless, and my only regret is that I didn’t keep a copy. Maybe one of you out there saved a copy and would let me buy it. I’ll make it the price of admission.
KM has a Riverfest story of her own, told to her by a friend who lives in a small town south of Little Rock. The friend, along with her husband and son, had driven up one Riverfest Saturday to hear a band the son liked.
They arrived in town, and after parking and wading through the people, and others, they found a prime spot in the grass to set up their chairs.
She told KM that the crowd was getting rowdy, fueling itself for the concert with alcohol and what not. One man, the girl said, stood out from the rest when he pulled off his shirt and replaced the rings from his pierced chest with Riverfest badges, in reverence to the occasion.
She said the guy finally staggered away, likely in search of a way to top the chest piercings.
Next she noticed a woman coming over with a group of young people in wheelchairs, and her faith in human nature was restored. But alcohol casts a long shadow, and the music apparently became more than the kindly tour guide could resist. She danced and spun around the young people in her charge, as well as the rest of her captive audience. It was, the witness said, the kind of dancing best confined to an indoor facility, one with blacked out windows and a cover charge.
“I kind of felt sorry for her,” the lady told my wife. “She really thought she was good, until I guess she fell a few times.”
KM’s friend said she probably wouldn’t be back to Little Rock for a while.
As for me, I plan to go on enjoying the experience of Riverfest vicariously. At least, that’s what KM tells me I’m going to do.
There’s always the State Fair. And I think I can still get in there for much less than 40 bucks.