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nivals run by gypsies were held at apple harvest time. Complete with Ferris Wheel, carousel, bumper cars, a favorite was the Motordrome or Barrel of Death. Motorcyclists would enter an opening at the base of a huge drum, ramp up to speed on the sloping bottom inside the drum, and end up whizzing around the inside of the drum. The cyclists would be speeding around and around, parallel to the ground, while people watched them from a platform at the top. Then there were the hootchie cootchie (burlesque) dancers, with a shapely woman shimmying on a platform outside to entice men inside for their act. Wives and girlfriends needed to exercise tight control over their men, but small lads would sneak in under the tent to catch a brief glimpse of the action before being caught and ejected.
Loring Anderson, Jr., tells of hearing that after WWII, the U.S., Army wanted to experiment with the Covington River Bridge by having their demolition engineers blow it up as a training exercise. Key people in the county put a stop to that idea.
Memories are strong stuff at times, and each generation has their own cache of nostalgia held tightly in their hearts. That’s why the Covington River Bridge means so much to certain local people.
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