Tales from Market Days

<strong>THE SAX MAN</strong></p><p>We’re fans of Warren Bartlett because he’s a fan of puns. The 14-year-old from Loudon likes to play events like Market Days to “jazz up Concord a little bit,” he said.<br />But he’s also laying the groundwork for what he hopes is a lifelong relationship with the saxophone. He started taking lessons in second grade and has played for almost eight years.<br />He does mostly jazz and blues, including “a lot of John Coltrane,” and is planning to start writing his own music in the near future.<br />He’s also hoping it’s lucrative, because he’s still paying off the shiny sax you see above.<br />“I plan to do this my entire life,” Bartlett said. “This saxophone is a new investment, and I’m paying it off. But I’ll be playing hopefully until I’m dead.”

<strong>THE CRAB CAKE CALLER</strong></p><p>It didn’t take long for Tony Pinard to get into the vendor spirit. Even with all the buzz on Main Street, he used his pipes to boisterously advertise the crab cakes he was cooking up for the Common Man.<br />“Crab cakes for sale! Get your crab cakes here!” he barked.<br />It was one of several welcome changes for the Concord High graduate and long-time resident, who not only went from waiting tables in the restaurant to manning the grill in the new craft beer and local food tent but also from passer-by to contributing member.<br />“Being part of Market Days instead of a happy consumer of Market Days is a nice turn of the tables,” he said.<br />The new role looked good on him – just like that sweet hat! He certainly wasn’t short on Market Days spirit, and he proved he already has some serious chef swagger.<br />“It puts a little smile on my face,” he said, “and I put a little smile on the crab cakes with the aoli. It makes my day.”

<strong>THE SKY-HIGH CONSTRUCTION CREW</strong></p><p>Ever wish you had the best view of Market Days? The men from Boston Roofing and Design Corp. no longer have to.<br />Perched high above Main Street for a roofing job, these dudes could see everything – or at least the top of everyone’s head. But the olfactory assault made a greater impact, and brought them down to earth for lunch.<br />“I smelled everything before I saw it,” Jason Sutkaitis, who followed his nose to street level, said.<br />There’s a lot more to see up there than Market Days, too. Gene Blanchard – the boss – said he could see the entire city, including the river and distant mountains.<br />Turns out the people left an equally solid impression on the members of the Massachusetts-based company.<br />“The people are different here,” Blanchard said. “They’re more polite.”

<strong>THE TYRANNOSAURUS CONJURER</strong></p><p>Here’s hoping Jerry LoFaro’s imagination isn’t based on the actual underground workings of Concord. His street-art T-rex, he said, was inspired partly because “Who knows what’s in the sewer system here in Concord?”<br />Plenty of stuff you’d rather not think about? Probably. But dinosaurs? Unlikely (though we’re not saying no).<br />The project was a way to draw attention to LoFaro’s booth, where he was selling screen-printed T-shirts featuring his art work.<br />A commercial illustrator by trade, LoFaro admitted he was a little worried the T-Rex project wouldn’t have the teeth to stand out.<br />“I haven’t drawn in 10 years, because I do all my work on the computer,” he said of his first-ever street art venture. “The truth of the matter is I was nervous to even embark on this because I thought, if I blow this, I’m going to look awful. But I like it.”

<strong>THE SUPERVISOR SOAKER</strong></p><p>Would you stay away from a dunk booth if you knew your boss was going to be in it?<br />Neither did Jen Perkins.<br />“She said, I don’t want anyone coming here,” Perkins said of Linnea Wingerter, her boss at the Holiday Inn. “So I made it a purpose to come down.”<br />Perkins at least knew how Wingerter felt – she spent much of Thursday in the booth herself and was dunked “at least 30 times.”<br />Perkins misfired on her first three attempts Friday and stepped aside to let a few others have a crack, but Wingerter wasn’t going to have the last laugh this time.<br />She was just beginning to taunt Perkins when Perkins moved back to the line. “You do realize I have another three throws,” she said.

<strong>THE YOUNG ROCKER</strong></p><p>Things you can find at Market Days: Food, crafts, art – and 14-year olds rocking out to some Zeppelin.<br />Weird, right? I mean, who sells crafts at a street fair.<br />The Long Tail Monkeys grabbed hold of the stage in Bicentennial Square on Thursday morning and wouldn’t let go until they’d played a set list that included the Beatles and Led Zeppelin.<br />But it also included some original works, most of which came from the brains of drummer and singer Max Barrett and keyboardist Carl Hubbard.<br />Who are barely teenagers.<br />So how’d they learn to play music recorded decades prior to their birth?<br />“My dad helped us learn songs and really got us into that, but we’re trying to move on to our own songs, some originals, maybe some more modern stuff,” Barrett said.<br />Of course, when you’re 14, “modern” refers to albums that came out in the last five minutes. Or does “modern” mean an “album” is an entirely foreign concept?

<strong>THE IMMOBILE TRAVELER</strong></p><p>Mark Bergeron’s respite was brief. He pulled up some curb behind Laurie Gifford’s Pottery Glass China booth to give his broken foot some much-needed rest, but was already thinking of his next move, which would be back to his own tent where he had jewelry and other crafts for sale.<br />“I’ve got to put the lights up for tonight,” he said.<br />Such is life for Bergeron, who retired and made the traveling vendor business his career. Broken bones don’t help, but what he thought was only a sprain was confirmed as a break just days before the Concord festival began.<br />He’s been as far as Arizona and Texas and spent Memorial Day weekend in New York state. He and his girlfriend, Debbie Rule, have made a life winding through the country in a motor home.<br />“This is our living,” he said.