The Day I Met the Fattest Man in the World

Or, the U.S., or Kansas, but he was really fat.

I was a newbie reporter in Wichita, covering the Kansas State Fair for the first time. The photographer with me said he needed to go back to the car for more film or some such, it was hot enough for the pavement to be soft, I didn’t want another trek from there to the car and back…so I said I’d wait RIGHT THERE for him. So much for being an intrepid “girl reporter” (as some called us then).

Dum, dum,  de dum…this was before cellphones and such, so I looked around for something to do. Over to my right was a tent with a sign that said “See The Fattest Man in the World” for fifty cents. I thought to myself, “I’ve got fifty cents right here in my pocket,” so I bought a ticket and went inside.

I would like to point out that I’d never done anything like this before, and haven’t done it since. As a general rule I disapprove of “raree” shows or freak shows – it  seems rude. Since that time I’ve seen several documentaries interviewing retired performers – bearded ladies, elastic men and such. Some make a point that when they were doing it there really wasn’t much else for them to do to make a living and that, on the whole, it wasn’t so bad.

I don’t know. It’s easy to get all puffed-up and say such shows are an affront to humanity, and maybe they are. But the performers had some sort of choice in the matter (well, except for the Elephant Man and that was one hundred years prior). Maybe they had other career paths open to them, but who am I to decide?

Anyway, I stepped inside the tent, which was smaller than I thought it would be. I was the only customer, which surprised me, but has never surprised anyone else I’ve told this story to. There was a red rug where obviously you were supposed to walk past the fat man. Waist-high brass poles held swaged red velvet ropes, separating you from him. (The red velvet ropes were pretty worn. They’d seen a lot of midways.)

There, on my left, sitting in the middle of an ugly couch was a very fat naked man with a towel over his lap. I jumped. This was certainly not what I was expecting. (I don’t know what I was expecting, now that I think on it.) I’ve been asked how fat he was. He pretty much filled the couch, side to side.

He said, “Well, hello.” And so did I. At this point conversation stopped. I had nothing else to say to him. I think it was his proximity that surprised me. But what did I expect? A stage? Did I think he would sing and dance? For pity’s sake, it’s noon on a hot Tuesday in Hutchinson, Kansas, and we are in a tent together.

All of this made me very jumpy. I had never been in a tent with a (apparently) nude fat man who was willing to visit. The best I could do was choke out “goodbye” and scurry out of the tent. I’m sure he was amused.

All these years later, I still think about him. He has a little corner of my memory all to himself, with his nasty couch and towel. I wish I had said something more than “hello” and “goodbye”. He deserved more, but I'm not sure what.