The King

Autumn is an exciting time here in Kentucky. As nature ages gracefully, the leaves change and set the hills on fire in a blaze of scarlet, amber, and gold. Mornings wake up the day with a decidedly crisp chill in the air, and the fog is taking longer and longer to burn off in the valley of Booneville. Front yards are slowly filling up with pumpkins, bales of hay, and scarecrows. The old folks are taking turns making predictions about the coming winter, each more ominous than the last and quickly followed up by war stories of Januarys survived.

Perhaps, though, the most exhilarating Fall activities are the slew of county fairs that are threatening to occupy our every weekend. These festivals are no frivolous New York affair featuring beer tents and wire leashes for invisible dogs. Oh, no. County fairs around here are serious business. Young and old battle it out in 4-H contests for canning, quilting, painting, and vegetable-growing, and local musicians show their stuff at down-home talent competitions that win the victors a Walmart gift card and a year’s worth of bragging rights. There are banjos, mandolins, guitars, and more Appalachian clogging than you can shake a stick at. And as far as sustenance goes: well, if you can fry it and run a stick through it, you can most certainly ingest it (before jumping on the giant pirate ship ride and sorely regretting it).

During the past few weeks, my Kentucky family and I have immersed ourselves in the local flavor of our current surroundings. We kicked things off at the Jackson County Fair in our CAP hometown of McKee, which I followed with the Booneville Fair in the OC. A few of the J-House ladies checked out the Richmond Pottery Festival, while the ever-wise McCreary gals opted for the Bourbon Festival last weekend. This past Sunday, a few of my friends and I attended the Berea Spoonbread Festival.

Spoonbread is a type of cornbread that’s pudding-like in consistency, not like the dense, crumbly cousin that we live on down here. Seeing as how there’s a whole festival named after it, five of us splurged on a single three-dollar helping and eagerly gathered around the bowl with our spoons to try it. We all took our bites at the same time and chewed them slowly before looking up into the faces around the circle and seeing our own confusion reflected in each of them. Okay, so spoonbread isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m quickly learning, though, that a small town doesn’t need a real reason to celebrate community.

We wandered about the grounds, looking at the different stands and sampling the various fares offered from brightly colored booths smelling strongly of oil and clogged arteries. Eventually, we found ourselves sitting in a pavilion next to the music tent, eating snow cones and impatiently awaiting the arrival of the final act of the festival and the one for which we’d really come in the first place.

Will “Teen King” Reynolds is a sixteen year-old reed of a boy who – you guessed it – impersonates Elvis Presley. Do yourself a favor and Youtube him. All it took was for us to see his name and promotional photo in the festival program, and we knew there was no question that we’d have to be present for his show. He’s been doing this routine for years. When discussing the show later on in the McKee Rite Aid, the cashier knew exactly who we were talking about; she’d seen him at an Independence Day celebration in Richmond a few years back. What I’m trying to say, kids, is that this fellow if kind of a big deal.

Tamara and I were sitting at our picnic table surrounded by other cheery festival-goers while Christel and Ben went off to make phone calls before the music started up. While we girls were chatting, we heard a blood-curdling scream; we, along with the other thirty people in the pavilion, whipped our heads around to see who’d caught on fire. Alas, Ben came running over to us, eyes like saucers and the Superman symbol he’d had the kids’ face painter draw on his chest just peeking out over the top button of his flannel shirt.

“YOU GUYS. HE’S HERE.”

It took us a minute to realize that he was, in fact, talking about the Teen King. With those around us now looking at all three of us with some alarm and much interest, Tamara and I sprung from our bench and fled the scene, making a bee-line for the parking lot where the King himself was exiting his Oldsmobile with his grandparents and girlfriend in tow.

And what a King he was. He was dressed in a pale blue jump suit, his large white belt and many rhinestones catching the September sunlight and making him sparkle. His perfectly coifed black wig had not a hair out of place, and I can only assume that blue contact lenses allowed him to hold us in so piercing and icy a gaze. He was putting on a white scarf when we approached him, positively star-struck.

He graciously agreed to take a picture with Ben and me. Upon later review, I’m not entirely sure whether or not the curled lip was evidence of Mr. Reynolds staying in character or a sign of impatience for those of us who are so very far below his particular brand of royalty.



The show was just as spectacular as we’d hoped it would be. Afterwards, Ben and Trevor, who himself was sporting Batman’s emblem on his t-shirt, were banned from the Fun Slide for flying down headfirst, Ben bellowing the Superman theme song on the way down. And so we headed out.

But Lee County’s Woolly Worm Festival is right around the corner; its main draw is a massive caterpillar race. “Excited” doesn’t even begin to cover it.