Faire Play - AltWeeklies.com

I
’m squashed into half of a twoperson seat on a bright yellow
school bus. It’s hot, it’s crowded,
and people keep tripping over my
sword, which is sticking through
my belt and into the aisle. I haven’t found
an easy way to sit with it. I could lay it
flat across my lap, but there’s no way I can
stand up now and adjust it without poking
the guy behind me in the eye or smacking
the little girl with fairy wings in the face. So
I just hold it as close to my leg as possible
and smile apologetically at the people whose
shins it scrapes against as they walk past.
I’m dressed like a pirate. And I’m not
the only passenger struggling with a 16thcentury wardrobe malfunction. Most of
the crowd is wearing shorts, T-shirts, and
sunglasses, but a goodly few are decked
out in period garb. There are tall boots
and floppy hats and a woman or two busting out of a tightly laced bodice.
I’m on my way to the Central Coast
Renaissance Festival. We all are. My car
is behind me, parked in a lot at Cuesta
College; my wife is next to me, dressed like
a peasant of some sort; and the fictional
Elizabethan market village of Donnybrook
is ahead of me, temporarily rising out of
nothing to fill El Chorro Regional Park like
San Luis Obispo’s own Brigadoon.
My wife and I have visited several times
before, almost always in costume, so we’re
no strangers to the scene. In fact, once we
get there, I almost immediately recognize
a bare-chested guy—though I think he
had fangs last year.
The path we follow meanders purposefully between alehouses and vendor
booths, gaudy stages and small petting
zoos, food stalls and guild encampments.
A few days earlier, this was a large, bare
swath of browning grass punctuated by
playground equipment and a couple of
large climbing rocks that look like a rudimentary attempt at a mini Stonehenge. A
few days from now, the park will return
to its original state—a mite trampled, but
free of tents and structures.
But for now, the air is charged with music
and voices. The scent of sizzling meat mixes
with the pungent aroma of live goats and—
from a distance—horses. Passersby nod at
each other. Gangly pre-teens gawk at glittering daggers. A man shackled to a tree growls
and lunges at people as they walk past. I
remember him, too—I think his chains are
a gimmick to get him free beer. Then two
women strolling arm-in-arm catch my eye.
They were here before, but maybe in different costumes?
The familiar faces get me thinking:
What drives people to come in character
to the faire year after year, braving the
late-July heat and sometimes puzzled
stares of khaki-shorts-wearing visitors? I
know why I come, or at least I have some
idea. It’s fun to every once in a while
throw off my everyday work clothes and
slide on a puffy shirt and rough leather
vest, and thereby slide into an alternate
reality. I’ve been known to dress up to see
the occasional movie (including life jackets for Titanic), but some of these people
have been drinking out of pewter tan-
Revisiting history
EARL IN THE HEAT
Rydell Downward
portrays the Earl of
Leicester at the Central
Coast Renaissance
Festival. Many of the
event’s organizers
say they used to play
nobles, but turned to
peasant costumes
because they’re more
comfortable in the heat.
PHOTO BY RICK SMITH
Faire play
Visit the Renaissance without leaving
the Central Coast or the 21st Century
BY RYAN MILLER
kards and adding letters to words—like
idea is planted in my head, and it ger“goode” and “olde”—for two decades or
minates until now, July of 2007. Who
more. I wear a costume and all, but many
makes this all happen? What brings
of the regulars have full-on alternate
these hardest of the die-hard re-crepersonas with richly develationists back year after
oped histories, elaborate
year? What drives them
outfits, and scores of
to not just dress up,
friends who meet
but literally live for
regularly to develop
a couple of days as
new characters or
earls and fishmon This year’s Central Coast Renaissance Festival
further embroider
gers? And what’s
is open 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. on July 21 and 10 a.m. to
5 p.m. on July 22 at El Chorro Park on Highway 1,
old ones.
the deal with that
across from Cuesta College. Tickets cost $14 for
A seed of an
guy’s fangs?
Hear ye, hear ye
adults, $10 for seniors, and $8 for kids, ages 6 to
12. A two-day adult pass is $22. Parking is $1 per
vehicle, and guests get a free bus ride from the
parking lot to the entrance gate.
Rick Smith is one of the faire’s original
founders. His volunteer organization ran
the annual event for eight or nine years,
until “the wheels started coming off,” he
says. “We didn’t want to do it anymore,
but we didn’t want to see it die.”
Enter Larry Gunn and Mickie Perez. As
the local faire producers were running out
of steam, Gunn and Perez were incorporating History Revisited, a nonprofit dedicated
to teaching history in a way no classroom
ever could. They bought the faire and have
been running it with lots of help ever since.
Gunn produces the faire and is president
of History Revisited. Perez is chair of the
History Revisited board and the faire’s
entertainment coordinator. Most of the rest
of the board, the coordinators, and the officers live in SLO County. Smith agreed to
handle the faire’s publicity for a year, and is
still doing it 15 years later.
“It’s like my baby,” he says in a phone
interview. “I have a hard time letting go.”
Each year, Gunn and Perez—both retired
from the building inspection department
in Contra Costa County—show up a week
or so early to start the construction and
be sure the faire is up and running by the
third full weekend in July.
This year, I drive out to their campsite in El Chorro Regional Park to catch
them before the hammers start pounding.
Their home away from home is a Dodge
Pleasure-Way van and a blue E-Z Up
awning—a far cry from the canvas walls
and fluttering pennants of the faire itself.
Gunn meets me and soon has a beer in
hand. He’s a large man with a mustache, a
jovial personality, and a lot of hats—literally. Throughout his time-traveling life,
he and Perez have visited, participated in,
and/or dressed up for Dickens fairs, Old
California events, Civil War re-creations,
and—of course—Renaissance festivals.
“Any of these period events, it gives
us a chance to escape reality and go into
another world, how people used to live,”
Perez says.
Their main event, though, is the
Central Coast faire. They also put
together workshops so kids can learn
about Renaissance life.
Now, Gunn is sporting sunglasses, a
wide-brimmed hat, and a Hawaiian-type
print shirt with wine bottles instead of
flowers or hula dancers. He looks relaxed,
but keeps jumping up to answer his cell
phone or tweak the campsite to make it
more comfortable. The first of the volunteers are rolling in, too.
“We have 800 participants,” Perez says.
Gunn explains that volunteers get into the
faire for free, though many of the helpers
who create the temporary market village
are members of guilds—formal knots of
people who cooperatively pretend to be
members of a particular social group or
culture. There are peasants. Nobles. Scots.
Gypsies. Merchants. Militarists. Italians.
Take your pick.
Perez, in a vivid blue shirt and hoop earrings, explains that they try to keep the
history depicted at the faire as authentic as
PHOTO BY RYAN MILLER
Nissan Altima baseball cap.
Teubner sometimes goes by the
name of Winston Waters. He’s the
peasant I found at Farmers’ Market.
Winston, Teubner explains on a
break, used to be a sailor. Now the
English peasant sings and drinks
and entertains the crowds at the
market faire. His fellow guild members are all English peasants. They
sing, stagger though the streets,
play games, hold parades, and
make rude sheep sounds at the
Scots. Teubner explains the peasants as the “real people” who live
in the fictional village where the
market is set up.
“Everything we do is part of the
act,” he says. “It’s a lot of fun, especially if you are really into history.”
Teubner speaks from experience. He’s been attending faires
since 1981, and came into the local
peasant guild through his daughter, who, as a minor, needed to be
accompanied by an adult. She’s no
longer in the guild, but he’s still
around, plus he’s on the History
Revisited board. And he’s the
Peasant Guild’s guildmaster.
“I’ve been doing this faire as an
actor, a participant, for 12 years,” he says.
Amy Underwood, another peasant helping to set up the faire, explains that years
of guild activities require ingenuity.
“You come up with new ideas, new
things to do,” she says.
At one time, the Peasant Guild would
attend 10 faires a year. Now they’re down
to two or three, including an Ojai pirate
faire—some of the peasants do double
duty as seafaring plunderers.
The Peasant Guild averages between 35
and 50 members, with a core group of about
15 or 20 that’s practically a family. They lose
a couple of people each year, but they tend
to gain a few, too. Teubner says that guilds
are a good fit for historical enthusiasts, budding actors and performers, and introverts
who want to be extroverts.
There are a lot of computer geeks, too,
he says.
No matter the reason, the whole experience, Teubner says, is to get away from
PHOTO COURTESY OF THE KNIGHTS OF THE CRIMSON ROSE
possible—though the edges of reality sometimes get fudged for fun.
Take the Scots. They weren’t even
around at the time this festival
is set, Perez points out, but still,
“everybody wants to be a Scot.”
“We have to limit them here,” she
says, noting that History Revisited
allows two Scots groups to participate, but there are more than a
dozen waiting to get in.
Gunn says that administrators,
doctors, lawyers, and the like tend
to gravitate toward acting in the
lower classes. Burger flippers, garbage collectors, and members of
similar professions don outfits that
inspire groveling. As for themselves,
Gunn and Perez play a variety of
CHEERS Michael
characters that span the socio-ecoTeubner plays
nomic spectrum. They used to reguthe character of
larly dress up as full nobles.
Winston Waters,
a former sailor
“But you know, you don’t want
who sings and
to be a noble in San Luis Obispo in
interacts with
July,” Gunn says.
visitors to the
He’s been the mayor a couple of
Central Coast
times, but he and Perez often choose
Renaissance
peasant personas now. The limitFestival.
ing factor is the heat, which is a
bit of an anachronism itself—one
Eventually I find the people I’m looking
that mercilessly beats down on the
for, tucked between Democrats seeking
velvet-draped, multiple-layer-wearing
new voters and a bright booth advertising
upper class. Renaissance England didn’t
some feature of EOC Health Services.
see Mediterranean summers, but the faire
There’s a man leaning on a walking
is when and where the faire is, and History
stick, politely nodding to passersby.
Revisited can’t control the sun. Thus, you’ll
There’s a woman sitting to one side
find monstrous sno-cone-style ice-slush
munching on clam chowder in a bread
creations for cooling off at the festival—
bowl. Capped heads are bobbing to
another out-of-period allowance, but one
music from the nearby Soulamente,
that not many people argue against. Huge
turkey legs don’t raise much of a fuss either, which is belting out a particularly rousing “Lady Marmalade.”
despite the fact that mutton is a more
I pick out a man I recognize from visappropriate choice for the era.
its to faires past. He’s got long hair, a full
While we’re on the subject of wrinkles
beard, and a wooden sign around his neck
in time, I ask about the fangs. Perez nods
that reads “Lord Mayor.”
with sympathy. Pointy teeth were a fad
I clear my throat and deliver what feels
at the faire one year, she explains. It was
like a secret password, one that will open
horns another year. And wings somedoors to me, doors that lead into other
times make the rounds. Fantasy fans who
eras, other timelines, other worlds: “I’m
quote Tolkien while playing Dungeons
looking for the Liar of the Shire.”
and Dragons are an obvious presence. It’s
The man fixes me with an intent gaze
unavoidable, but there’s no harm, no foul.
and flips his sign around to reveal the
There are still plenty of authentic blacktitle I’m seeking. He’s busy drumming
smiths and weavers and unchoreographed
up support for the faire and his
full-contact jousts—this year from the
guild, so I take a business card
Knights of the Crimson Rose, Perez says.
from him (“Do you know someThere are also historical standards with
body that is just aching to dress
which guilds must comply, but the board
up in funny looking clothes
is less concerned with becoming a sort of
in front of faire customers and
timeline Gestapo and more concerned with
hang out with the coolest group
keeping the event out of the commercial
of people?” it says) and make
realm, which has taken over some other
plans to meet him at the faire
faires we won’t mention. In other words,
History Revisited isn’t into selling T-shirts or site on Saturday, a week before
the gates open.
hats or little plastic knight figurines.
The weekend rolls around, and
I have more questions, but to learn
I return to El Chorro park. I see
more about the guilds themselves—the
a car with a “Pirate Girl” sticker.
dramatic DNA of the faire—Gunn sugI notice a higher percentage of
gests that I visit Thursday night Farmers’
men with ponytails and bristly
Market in San Luis Obispo.
facial hair than I might on an
average city block. Volunteers
have stretched hundreds and
I’m looking for the Liar of the Shire.
hundreds of feet of burlap
Gunn told me that I would find the lead- around the park, creating tan
er of the local Peasant Guild at the market.
walls that enclose the faire and
So I stalk up and down Higuera, brightenkeep out the modern world.
ing when I glimpse some out-of-place cos Gunn is there, raising poles
tumes—only to resume my search when
to create the mayor’s tent with
the group bursts into a rousing rendition
a couple of other men. One of
of “I Won’t Grow Up” to advertise Kelrik
them is Michael Teubner, his
Productions’ staging of Peter Pan.
long hair tucked into a gray
Peasant hunting
A KNIGHT OUT The
Knights of the Crimson
Rose—that’s Sir Tyler
on the horse—will bring
full-contact jousting to
the faire this year.
Get dressed
The Peasant Guild of San Luis Obispo is
looking for actors, singers, and all-around fun
people to participate. For more information,
call 466-9436 or e-mail [email protected].
everyday life. In fact, guild members have
a term for un-costumed customers who
visit the faire: Mundanes. Then there are
the people who wander the stalls dressed
as Klingons.
“And they thought we were weird,”
Teubner says.
Bottom of the class
Like most of the faire folks interviewed
for this article, publicist Smith mostly
plays a peasant.
“I used to be the queen’s master of
revels,” he says. “That’s a higher-class
costume, and it’s not as comfortable …
When we started this faire, I was the Earl
of Leicester, the queen’s right-hand man.”
The bottom rung of the social ladder
seems to be where the comfort-seekers
settle. Maybe it is the heat. Or maybe it’s
the fact that you can get away with more if
you’re not royalty. One year, Smith walked
around trying to sell rotten rutabagas and
cabbages. Other years, people would offer
fish or sheep’s heads.
“It adds authenticity,” Smith says.
“Where else in your life could you walk
around with a plate full of entrails and try
to sell them to people?”
The answer is obvious: Nowhere.
“Most of us have pretty normal lives,
but for one weekend, you can go out there
and put on a costume and be someone
else,” Smith says. “I think it’s kind of
healthy for most people.
“The more we can make it real … the
more fun it is for the participants, too,” he
continues. “You can feel it when you’ve got
somebody caught up in the fantasy.”
And that fantasy extends beyond what
the public can see. When the gates close
and the last bus takes the last of the
Mundanes back to their cars, the illusion
of a 16th-century market village fills the
growing dark.
“A lot of them don’t take their costumes
off on Saturday night,” Smith says of the
guild members and other participants.
“Once the public’s gone, it’s like their village. People just wander around in their
cloaks and night clothes and pretend it’s all
real. It’s magical.”
Even as a casual visitor to the faire
each year, I can sense that slightly
supernatural element. It’s a little intoxicating, a little tempting. Sure, I pull on
boots and wrangle a wayward sword at
my hip each year, but I certainly don’t
have an alternate persona. I can put on
whatever costume I want, but I’m still
technically an outsider. A visitor. A
Mundane in pirate’s clothing.
Do I have what it takes to make that
extra step, that move from observer to
participant? A few of the peasants I talked
to for this story think so. They can see me
teetering on the edge, they say. Just a little
push, and I’ll land with both feet firmly in
the 16th century.
We’ll see what ultimately happens, but it
sounds like a goode idea to me. ∆
Editor Ryan Miller can be reached at
[email protected].