Jerry Hammer can’t remember life without the Minnesota State Fair, which this year runs Aug. 25 to Sept. 5. The 67-year-old grew up in St. Paul a block from the fairgrounds, started working in the greenhouse at 15 and has been general manager for 25 years. “The fair is saturated in generations of good memories,” he said. “It’s tangible.”
Q) Tell me about your childhood.
A) I grew up on Breda, which runs four blocks long between Hamline and Snelling, in the Holy Childhood parish. With Como Park on one side and the fairgrounds on the other, there was all kinds of stuff to do. Everybody knew everybody. We all ran together. You get into anything, the nuns found out about it — one way or another. I’m sure they had spies.
We all had a primary mom, but then there was a battalion of other moms. Everybody’s moms. If they were Mom, it was your mom. They were always down at HC taking care of things. I think the only one left at this point is my mom. She’s 95.
Q) It sounds like your Catholic roots and your St. Paul roots are interchangeable.
A) It becomes who you are. You can map out St. Paul, at least the western half, by the parish. You say St. Mark’s, Holy Spirit, St. Stan’s, Nativity — you know exactly what neighborhood. I don’t see that anywhere else.
The St. Agnes church bells would ring every hour — if you’re going to bed at 10 or 11, if it’s midnight or 1 a.m. It was loud. It could wake you up from a deep sleep. My grandma had her rosary — that got her through the night — but she was perpetually tired. I don’t think anyone would’ve dreamed of talking to the church about turning the bells off.
Q) Your grandma’s faith anchored her.
A) She kept her rosary in the pocket of her housecoat. If she had a spare second, she pulled it out. She always remembered where she left off: “I’m halfway through the third decade.” Grandmas then — when you hit 40, you pulled your hair back in a bun and put on a housecoat and nun shoes, those black lace-up shoes.
Q) How does your Catholic upbringing influence you today?
A) It required discipline, taking responsibility and doing the right thing. That’s the root of Christianity. Take care of each other, the greatest commandment.
Q) Humility is tucked in there, too. You see yourself as a steward of the fair. You’re not prideful, not the owner.
A) If that became part of the deal, the fair would diminish. It’s not about any one person. It’s a cast of thousands, tens of thousands. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt it was a job. It’s a lot bigger than that. It’s bigger than me.
Q) Is there a spirituality to the fair?
A) Yes. When you celebrate humanity, that’s the best thing you can do for people.
We’re the antidote to what ails the world. What we do here is bring people together. I see people at the fair sharing a bench or maybe a basket of cookies who you know would never give each other the time of day anywhere else.
Q) Does the fair feel more needed than ever?
A) Yes. We’re centered on agriculture but we go beyond that, including all aspects of society, including arts and education and entertainment to inspire people to improve their lives. You leave here feeling better about the world.
We full-timers keep it low-key. Nobody rides a golf cart. We don’t have staff following behind taking notes. The vast majority of vendors don’t have a clue who I am. I’d much rather have it that way.
Q) It’s like that TV show “Undercover Boss.”
A) You can learn a lot leaning on a tree, just listening to people, just talking to them.
Q) Nearly 500 foods are available at 300 concessions stands. What’s your favorite?
A) John Schumacher and the New Prague hotel used to serve real Czech food — dumplings, sweet kraut. It’s the only place I’ve ever had Czech food like my grandma made. A lot of the new food this year is international. It’s incredible. We have Korean barbecue and Middle Eastern delicacies. It’s all over the map.
Q) It’s called “The Great Minnesota Get Together.” Do you ever imagine heaven might be like that, a joyful reunion?
A) Yeah! If you feel this good, yeah.
Q) Last summer Archbishop Hebda blessed the fairgrounds.
A) That was really cool! Carmel Dyer, owner of the Australian Battered Potatoes, was starting set-up and said, “Things just don’t feel right. They’re off.”
Q) You had been closed the previous summer due to COVID.
A) Right. And Carmel said, “We need a bishop to bless the fairgrounds.” I loved that idea, and Archbishop — being just a wonderful man, a gentleman — was all over it. Carmel was beaming. She was a foot off the ground. We all were.
I gave him a tour of the fairgrounds, and we went by the Grand Stand security team — about 50, 60 people. The owner asked him to say a few words. It was the nicest prayer. If you were a human being, it applies to you.
Q) How do you pray?
A) I never feel right asking for favors. It’s all about gratitude.
Q) What did you learn about leadership from responding to COVID?
A) When you’re living it, you’re in the moment and you do what needs to be done. Ultimately, it shows who you really are. When an organization is in crisis — and being out of business is a crisis — there’s a real need to keep everyone connected, and the nature of the crisis prevented that. That was the most difficult. We worked hard to maintain all those relationships when everything was completely shut down.
Q) What do you enjoy about being a grandparent?
A) It’s like you get another lap. When you’re doing it for the first time, you’re so preoccupied with the day-to-day you don’t get to appreciate it as much. Being a grandparent, you get a second look, and you have a better understanding and a much deeper appreciation.
We have five grandkids — 13 down to 4 — and we’re within 10 minutes of each of them. We see them all the time. Every couple weeks we have them all sleep over.
Q) What do you know for sure?
A) All living things are connected by a higher power. I had a road to Tarsus moment in a parking lot. That’s when it hit me that everybody everywhere has that in common, our shared humanity. We’re all people, and we can learn so much from each other.
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