Life of the carnival

There's a wheel in the sky overlooking Fess Street in a gravel lot next to the stadium. \nAt night, it glows and turns and carries families, children and lovers high into the air and down again. A sign on its side tells those waiting to ride it the history of the Ferris wheel, and that this one was built specially for Cumberland Valley Shows. In the gravel lot below, children hold their parents' hands and eat cotton candy and elephant ears under glowing signs. People play skee ball and throw darts and kids whiz around on spinning machines.\nHere and there white generator trailers belch smoke and pump life into the rides and lights and the giant wheel through a thick web of cables that cross the midway under the feet of the crowds. But some of them go past the throngs and the machines and the barking vendors into the little village by the road.\nIt's not a village in a conventional sense. It's a village on wheels. This is where the operators live. Some people call them carnies -- they're the folks who keep the whole thing going. And when the spectacle's over, they'll pack in their trailers, roll up their cables, pull down the wheel and travel to the next town, where they'll set it all up all over again. And so forth, for many of them, for all of their lives.\nThis time, it's the IU Fun Frolic, taking place at the Memorial Stadium White lot for the rest of the week. Next time, it could be anywhere from Monroe, Michigan to Miami, Florida. To the carnival operators, home is always another town away.\nJohn Marconi has been on the road with the show for 49 years -- all his life. He describes himself as being born and raised on the road. His face is brown and furrowed from a lifetime of travelling and working in the sun.\n"Growing up out here is just like growing up at home," Marconi said. "When school time came, mom took us home. I played football, normal sports."\nManagers, equipment owners and those who have made smart business moves wake up in a luxury trailer equipped with multiple beds, kitchens, bathrooms and, often, satellite television. \nMany of the employees tumble out of sleeping compartments in the sides of specially outfitted trailers. The compartments feature enough room to stand, a little bed and some closet space. The workers decorate their compartments with everything from photos to Budweiser labels to CD covers. The starting salary for a Cumberland Valley operator is $250 per week.\nAfter roll is called, workers set about repairing equipment, cleaning trucks, stocking vending stands and seeing about general maintenance. Wednesday is a free day, when employees can do their laundry and sit on the steps of their trailers cooling themselves with soft drinks. Marconi and a group of friends from the carnival try to golf a couple days each week. \nThen, every night at 6 p.m., the gates open and crowds roll in. \nMarconi said the average worker puts in about 8 hours a day, but it can vary depending on the crowds and the weather and the work that needs to be done. Marconi said he likes the business because punching a clock isn't his bag, but the carnival isn't always fun.\n"Sometimes it's raining all night on a Saturday night, and I'm working all night in the rain," Marconi said. "Watching it get muddy and knowing you have to push and pull everything to get it off the lot."\nWhen he was 17, a heart attack took Marconi's father, and he took over the family business. After growing up on the road, he knew the business but was intimidated by the prospect of managing his family's equipment. He married a cheerleader from his high school and raised two sons. One became a Florida realtor, the other joined the Marines.\nThree or four families, like the Marconis, run most of the rides, concessions and games and stay on the road about 10 months out of the year and operate primarily east of the Mississippi. Cumberland Valley Shows manager Jason Floyd tries to limit distances between shows to cut costs. In the winter, much of the equipment is parked in Florida, where the long road begins again every January. \nFloyd said some of the contractors have been with his company for 10 to 15 years. Marconi's been with the show since before Floyd's family owned it.\nAfter his dad's death, Marconi managed his family's equipment until the day came -- what he describes as his happiest day in the business -- when he could buy his first trailer. It consisted of a dart game where contestants throw darts at balloons for mirrors. \nNow he manages the concession trailers and owns a dozen booths, games and rides of his own. His 71-year-old mother runs the dart game now, and his son has come home from the Marines to travel with them. Although he's been immersed in the carnival life for almost half a century, Marconi still enjoys it. He said people either love it or leave.\n"I get to meet different people," he said. "You get to see people at their best and worst at the carnival. You get to see kids be kids and sometimes you get to see their parents be kids again too"