Honest-to-goodness bare breasts jiggling across stage? Absolutely topless? Imaginations ran wild that night as four college boys explored the Mighty Midway at the 1969 Minnesota State Fair. Worn, painted signs made it very clear that there would be bra-less, half-naked bodies inside that grimy side-show tent. Nothing at all left to imagine, the old barker boasted in a grizzly rhythmic chant.
For boys attending a college that didn’t even allow dancing, it was just too much to resist. Really? Topless? Bra-less? Just a dollar? We wondered how could they not be shut down by fair board management. Unbelievable. Bare booby.
We put our money down.
Directed through a canvas tunnel into a dirty, dark and depressing tent, we eagerly found folding chairs as near to the front as possible, and waited in anticipation. As the tent filled with testosterone, breathless expectations were palpable. The music began.
And there she was! The beginning of the show. Only one dancer, true, but so fine. She writhed and teased and we were caught up in her spell, but never forgetting what the real point of all this fore-play was. It wasn’t long before the performance came to a climax. Sure enough, with one quick motion, she deftly snatched off her wig and cast off her bra. Totally topless, alright. We were shocked, stunned.
Three Lutheran farm boys and the preacher’s son had just been introduced to their first-ever female impersonator. Bare-chested and crew cut now, he scampered across the stage, grinning and laughing and mocking us, then quickly disappeared, presumably for his own personal safety.
We licked our wounds and retired as gracefully as possible, victims of ourselves, of our naivete. Our hormones.
Yes, there’s one born every minute, someone said.
