Backyard Giants Page 26

  On cue, Joe Jutras, Fred Macari, Steve Sperry, and Peter Ron­deau each lifted a corner of a blue tarp and carried forward the first pumpkin of the day. These early entries were small, but they were still treated with dignity. Their growers, usually beginners or children, had worked hard on them, and were proud and excited to find out what they weighed.

  "Okay, Joe, what do we have here?" Ron asked.

  "Philip Johnson of Bristol, Rhode Island, the first pumpkin to be weighed . . . and it is . . . " Ron peered down at the digital readout that had been set up on the ground in front of the podium. The sun was shining directly onto the readout, washing out the numbers. A makeshift shade they'd taped around it wasn't helping much. "And it is . . ." Ron said, barely making out the numbers, "One hundred sixty-two pounds! Congratulations, Philip!"

  Fifteen-year-old Alex Noel, the club's youngest member, was put in charge of marking the weight on a small dry-erase board and presenting it to each grower. The grower would then hold up the sign and have his or her picture taken next to the officially weighed pumpkin. Philip Johnson knelt down, cameras clicked, and his pumpkin was quickly cleared off the scale to make way for the next one. It was a delicate balance, keeping the weigh-off moving so the crowd wouldn't get too restless, while also giving each grower a full measure of recognition. The smaller pumpkins were easy, though, and could be moved quickly. The scale had been calibrated to account for the weight of the tarp. So the pumpkins were simply lifted and carried to the scale, weighed, then carried away again.

  Ron did what he could to pump up the action. "There are sites throughout the world weighing off today in competition to see who has the largest pumpkin," he noted. Indeed, it seemed that Ron's attention was bouncing back and forth between his duties as host and his interest in what was happening elsewhere. Last year he had been free to emcee without worrying about his own stakes in the contest. But it was a whole different ballgame this year. He and his dad had not only made it to the weigh-off with big pumpkins; they had brought the biggest pumpkins they had ever grown in their lives.

  It was assumed by all the growers that one of the two Wallace pumpkins would win the weigh-off. But which one? And would it weigh enough to win the orange jacket? Everything depended on what was delivered to the scales in Ohio and Port Elgin. Several New England growers were keeping in touch by cell phone with the Ohio growers and friends at the other weigh-offs. Ohio and Port Elgin were posting their results live on the Internet. There wasn't a handy Internet connection at the Frerich's Farm weigh-off site, but it was easy to call up someone who had access to a computer.

  Every once in a while, a grower would walk up to Ron at the podium and Ron would bend down to listen to some tidbit of intelligence being passed along. The news out of Ohio was interesting. At the Southern Ohio club's weigh-off, Buddy Conley had achieved his goal, but missed his dream. His pumpkin weighed 1,333 pounds, close to what it measured. Meanwhile, the Ohio Valley club's weigh-off was nearly finished, and many of their big pumpkins were coming in lighter than expected. Some that had been expected to weigh 1,300 pounds weren't even hitting the 1,200-pound mark. But the biggest pumpkins had yet to be weighed, and the story still could turn.

  Ron didn't have long to wait. Shortly before 2 P.M., his phone rang. It was Dave Stelts calling with the results from Ohio. Tim Parks's pumpkin had come in light—just 1,327.5 pounds, well under the 1,500 he'd hoped for. Quinn Werner's pumpkin, at 1,446.5 pounds, had won the Ohio Valley weigh-off, but had fallen short of beating Larry Checkon's 1,4 69-pound world record.

  That required a whole new set of calculations by Ron. He tried to keep up a good front on the podium. But he was distracted. The numbers were rattling through his head. Werner's pumpkin wasn't a new world record, but it was the biggest pumpkin weighed so far that year. As it stood, Quinn Werner would be wearing the orange jacket at Niagara Falls next March. His pumpkin was 3 pounds heavier than the biggest pumpkin ever grown in New England, Scott Palmer's 1,443-pounder. And it was 60 to 80 pounds heavier than the estimated weight of the Wallace pumpkins. Ron's only hope now was that at least one of the Wallace pumpkins was heavier than they'd estimated. It wasn't a baseless wish—both were "thumping" heavy. He and his dad had played down their chances, but they were confident they had two pumpkins that would weigh more than 1,400 pounds. The question was, how much more?

  One small burden had been lifted off of Ron. No one yet had surpassed 1,500 pounds. That dream was still alive. He picked up his microphone patter as Peter Rondeau's neighbor came to the scale with the pumpkin Peter had helped her grow.

  "Sally Sullivan, Coventry, Rhode Island. Sally, are you ner­vous?" Ron asked. Then he addressed the crowd: "She was hoping for six hundred pounds. The first time I grew a pumpkin with my father, it was nowhere near six hundred pounds. This is also a very pretty pumpkin," he said. "Okay, back away from the scales." Ron peered through the glare at the digital numbers. "Sally, your pumpkin weighs . . . five hundred sixty-two pounds! Congratulations to the rookie, Sally Sullivan, her first year growing Atlantic Giant pumpkins."

  At 2:22 P.M., the first 1,000-pounder was weighed, and it was a shocker. It was Steve Connolly's biggest pumpkin that year, but it had taped only a little over 900 pounds. The official weight: 1,031 pounds. Steve held on to his lead for an hour while bigger pumpkins failed to break the 1,000-pound mark. Like everywhere else, most pumpkins in New England were going lighter than expected that year.

  The Frerich's Farm weigh-off dragged on. The forklifts seemed to take an eternity at the scale, loading and unloading the big pumpkins, then moving them out of the way for the next contest ant. Ron was vexed. "It's going too slow," he said. Eyeing the crowd, he noticed that a lot more people were beginning to move around. "I think I'm losing them," he fretted. To break up the monotony, Joe brought up his long gourd to be officially measured. Joe stood the gourd up beside him so that it towered over his head.

  "Big gourd, huh?" Ron asked the crowd. "It got so big that at one point Joe had to dig a hole in the ground as the gourd started to touch down. Congratulations, Joe! First year growing long gourds and a new world record for Joe Jutras with his reallllllly long gourd."

  Dick was hanging out near the scales, talking with growers and keeping his hopes in check. "If mine weighs what it tapes, I'll be tickled pink," he said. "It may not hit fourteen hundred, but who knows? We'll see when it hits the scales."

  Now the big players were rolling to the scale. Mike Oliver, who was hoping for his first 1,000-pounder, fell short, with 947 pounds. Ed Giarrusso scored his second 1,000-pounder of the year, with a 1,108-pound pumpkin, finally snatching the lead from Steve Connolly. Peter Rondeau's pumpkin weighed 1,046 pounds, less than his entry last year, and less than the 1,100 pounds he had wanted. "Well," Ron said, "it's not a personal best, but it's still a very impressive pumpkin at 1,046 pounds."

  Jim Ford brought a fruit from his New Hampshire patch weighing 1,065 pounds—3 pounds more than his fourth-place pumpkin at Topsfield.

  At 3:45 P.M., only three entries were left, the three biggest, grown by Ron, Dick, and Joe Jutras. Ron wasn't even going to try to emcee his own pumpkins, so for the final three he turned the microphone over to his friend Don Langevin, the former president of the Rhode Island growers club and the author of three books about how to grow giant pumpkins. The forklifts shut down their motors so the crowd could hear Langevin's introduction. Langevin had spent years announcing the weigh-off, and he fell in comfortably behind the microphone. His deep voice and smooth delivery were as polished as a television news anchor's.

  "It is indeed an honor to announce the last three pumpkins," he said, launching into a speech to recapture the crowd's attention and play up the drama of the moment. "The top ten pumpkins here averaged 1,178 pounds last year—the number-one weigh-off for giant pumpkins in the entire world. This little weigh-off site.

  "I would love to see Joe Jutras go over 1,200 pounds, and I would love to see both Wallaces go over 1,400. So that's what I'm here for. Jo
e's record was 1,228 last year. He had a pumpkin four years ago, the 1225, that was one of the prettiest pumpkins I've ever seen in my life—perfect orange. And of course, the Wallaces are legendary for losing pumpkins. But this is their payback year. They finished one and three at Topsfield last week, and that was with their peanuts. The big ones are here today. So I'm hoping our average goes up. The work is cut out for us now, because I think the average is over 1,200 at a site in Ohio now. But maybe these pumpkins will go way heavy."

  As he concluded, the forklift roared to life again. "The world record has not been broken yet today," Langevin reminded the crowd. "Fourteen hundred forty-six is the biggest pumpkin grown in the world so far this year."

  Joe's pumpkin settled to the scale. It had been measuring 1,125 pounds. Don watched the digital numbers. "It went over!" he said. "Eleven hundred eighty! Joe Jutras from North Scituate, Rhode Island. And we have a new leader."

  As the forklift rolled over to pull Dick's pumpkin from the line, Langevin kept working the microphone, pumping the crowd. "The next pumpkin going is Dick Wallace from Greene, Rhode Island. Dick is a perennial bridesmaid. He named his pumpkin this year Mrs. Calabash. She's not pretty, but this is not a beauty contest. Dick's personal best last week at Topsfield was 1,110 pounds. He's hoping this one is even heavier than that."

  Dick stood to one side of the scale watching as his pumpkin advanced. He looked for Ron and spotted him across the parking lot, standing alone. "Ronnie! Come over here," he waved him over. "Ahhhh, I'm a back-of-the-crowd guy," Ron protested. But he came over anyway to stand next to his father. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms folded across their chests.

  The forklift maneuvered Dick's pumpkin to the scale as Don filled the time with painful reminiscing about past Wallace disappointments.

  "I remember one year they brought one to Topsfield and we thought they were going to win. Steve Connolly actually won that year. Steve grew the first one-thousand-pound pumpkin. Ronnie had one taping over a thousand. We thought it was going to weigh heavy. It weighed light. That was a tough ride home. So, Dick, you're due." The forklift backed away, and the lifting team scrambled to remove the harness.

  "Just to remind you . . . the world record is 1,469 . . . The biggest one grown so far this year is 1,446, grown in Ohio," Langevin said. "I think one of these has a chance . . . My legs are shakin'."

  Dick refused to look at his pumpkin on the scale. He wouldn't even look in that direction. He stared off over the crowd, his eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his SNGPG baseball cap.

  "Okay, can't get excited now," Dick whispered to Ron, trying to make a joke. But his voice was thin and nervous. Don chattered away into the microphone.

  "This really isn't that ugly of a pumpkin. But the key thing is, does it weigh what it measures? And we're hoping it weighs more than that."

  Finally, the lifting team loosened the harness enough to pull it off. They stepped away. The pumpkin was free and clear. The crowd was quiet. Langevin crouched down a little to peer at the readout. "Hooooool-y crap!" he said. Dick's head snapped to look at him. He fixed Don with a glare, tense and impatient. He was a man ready for anything life was about to bring him, but he wanted to get on with it. Someone from the crowd shouted, "Dickieeeee!"

  Langevin called out the weight: "One thousand four hundred . . . fifty pounds'."

  Dick gave a little shudder. His hands reached up and grabbed the top of his head, crumpling his cap in one brawny fist. His knees buckled as if he were about to fall, but he staggered forward and Ron was there, throwing his arms around his father. Dick buried his face against Ron's shoulder as the other Rhodies rushed up and pounced on him, slapping his back, cheering.

  "One thousand, four hundred and fifty pounds," repeated Langevin, as Dick was mobbed by grinning pumpkin growers. "What an achievement! It was a long time coming."

  Dick had recovered himself and was grinning broadly, but was still speechless. He had just grown the biggest pumpkin in the world so far that year—he had beaten Quinn Werner by 4 pounds. It wasn't a world record, but it was the second-largest pumpkin ever grown, just 19 pounds lighter than Larry Checkon's world record, set the previous year.

  "She weighed heavy," Langevin explained to the crowd. "She taped 1,340 and weighed 1,450. Who says big pumpkins don't weigh heavy? Congratulations, Dick. Mrs. Calabash is a beast!"

  The furor gradually died down. No one had forgotten that the weigh-off had one more round to go. Ron's pumpkin, the one that had thumped just as heavy as his father's and actually measured a little larger, was on its way to the scale. And now the Wallaces were in that awkward position Dick had predicted the night be­fore: father versus son.

  "Fourteen-seventy, that's the number we need to see for a new world record," Langevin reminded the crowd.

  "That would be a really tall order," Ron said. He was playing down his chances, and especially playing down the competition with his father. "I just wanted to beat the 1,347 I got at Topsfield. It didn't matter to me whether it was me or my father . . . So . . . how much of a surprise was that?" He beamed at Joe. "Huge, hugel The legend of the 1068 continues."

  Dick had disappeared into the crowd.

  "He's probably on the oxygen machine. I thought he was going down," Joe said, laughing. He eyed Ron's pumpkin as the forklift carried it to the scale. "I think this one's heavier," Joe said.

  Fred Macari rushed over. "Ronnie, the forklift guy said it was the heaviest one for him to load so far."

  "Twenty pounds, maybe," Ron said.

  "You're going to be a happy man," Peter Rondeau predicted.

  "After last week, after Topsfield, I think it's got a shot," Ron said.

  "We'll see what happens. If not, I'm not disappointed either way."

  Dick walked up to wait beside Ron. He wanted to reassure his son. "It thumped a lot heavier," he reminded Ron. "And it taped about eighteen pounds more than mine." But Dick looked worried. The orange jacket had been his dream too, but the last thing he wanted was to beat his own son at the weigh-off. He wanted the world champion to be a Wallace, but he wanted it to be Ron Wallace.

  "The truck driver says Ron's is heavier," Joe told him.

  "It's heavier?" Dick said.

  "Yeah, the guy over there said that punkin's heavier," Joe repeated, pointing to Ron's fruit.

  "So, I had the heaviest pumpkin in the GPC for ten minutes," said Dick, relieved enough to feel a little disappointed.

  The Wallaces waited impatiently as Ron's pumpkin was unhar­nessed at the scale. "This is not the time to go slow. This is the time to go full throttle," Dick griped.

  Langevin picked up the microphone again. "The last entry is from Ron Wallace. He's the president of the Southern New England Giant Pumpkin Growers Association." The crowd applauded politely. "The weight to beat is 1,450 . . . The world record is 1,469."

  A voice called from the eerily silent crowd: "Come on, Ronnie! Let's go, Ronnie!"

  It had been 17 agonizing minutes since they'd learned the weight of Dick's pumpkin. With mind-boggling slowness, the lifting team finished pulling the straps off the pumpkin and stepped away. The routine had been repeated at least 3 o times that day. But now it was Ron's pumpkin on the scale, his fate being weighed. The digital numbers began flashing on the readout; they blinked and started to climb.

  Don leaned over. The sun was going down behind him, shining straight on the readout. There was just too much glare. He couldn't get a clear view. He leaned closer. He forgot his manners. "You gotta be shittin' me," he blurted into the live microphone. "One thousand . . ."

  And then he screamed it: "One thousand five hundred and two pounds'."

  Ron jumped into the air as the crowd roared, applause and cheers filling his ears for the second time in a week.

  "Unbelievable'. You just saw history being made," Langevin shouted to the crowd.

  Ron leaned back, both fists clenched and raised in the air as he whooped his joy. "Oh yeahhhhh! Yeahhh! Whoooooool Heeeeee-iiiiia
aaaaah!" Dick grabbed his son around the neck in a bear hug.

  "Fifteen-oh-two! I think I'm gonna pass out here," Langevin said. "I mean, that's like a Volkswagen."

  Dick still had a grip on Ron. "Fifteen-oh-two, fifteen-oh-two," he repeated to his son, tears welling in his eyes. "You deserve it!" Both men were mobbed by grinning, hollering pumpkin growers, who lifted Ron to their shoulders for a triumphant parade through the parking lot.

  "No one has ever grown 1,500 pounds before, ever," Langevin reminded the crowd. "The world record was 1,469 pounds last year. Not only did he break 1,469, but he broke 1,500! 1,502 and 1,450 are the two biggest pumpkins grown in the world this year."

  Ron's mom joined the mob surrounding her son. She looked happy, but a little stunned. Cathy had been feeling more and more exasperated and more and more neglected as the season wore on. A delicate gold-and-diamond bracelet sparkled around her wrist. Ron had surprised her with it out of the blue just a few days ago. No special occasion, just a gift to say thank you for being my mom, and maybe a little, thank you for putting up with the pumpkins. "I told him, 'I'll never take it off,' " Cathy said.

  Now Joe walked over to her, took her face in his hands and leaned his nose down to hers. "How about that!" he said to her. "Now it was all worth it, eh?"

  Mike Oliver complained good-naturedly, "Just when I get to where I can compete, the bar is raised."

  Ron and Dick spent the next hour posing for pictures and giving interviews to local radio and television stations. Someone opened the bottle of champagne and Dick grabbed it and poured it over Ron's head. Neither of them had stopped grinning.

  Ron called his mother over and she stood by his side, between him and his father, for a family portrait with the pumpkin. Ron's face was red and scrunched up with emotion. He was jubilant, and he was exhausted, and he was . . . relieved. God Almighty, he was relieved. There would be no disappointment to stomach today. No if-onlys. Just joy and celebration. And freedom.