Matt Taylor finished runner-up two years in a row in the pretzel-eating competition at the 2012 and 2013 German American Festival. He took the stage for a third time this year on a Saturday in late August. In five minutes, on a spot-lighted stage in front of cheering and jeering fans, Taylor swallowed seven medium-sized soft pretzels, more than any of the other five competitors. He finally won the prize.
Taylor is also a volunteer at the Festival. He helps prepare and serve soft pretzels when he isn’t binge-eating them. His first visit to the GAF is found in baby photos taken before he can remember.
The GAF is a three-day juggernaut of a party in a city that percolates with ethnic-heritage celebrations. The Fest is organized by a collection of seven German and Swiss societies that gather a team of 3,000 volunteers. Together, they entertain 35,000 attendees who travel to Oak Shade Grove in Oregon to knock back potato pancakes, hefeweizen, and tradition.
Started at Raceway Park
The GAF Society—a conglomerate of the seven individual groups—just completed its 49th festival. The first was held in 1966 at Raceway Park, and in 1986, the festival moved to 35 wooded acres at Oak Shade Grove, along Seaman Road. The founders were all immigrants or direct descendants. Today, you can find families with four generations of volunteers at the festival.
Kris Abel is the GAF Society President. While she admits that Germans are known for their parties, Abel works with all seven societies to preserve heritage beyond the festival—the societies have two German choruses and a Swiss dance group that travel throughout the year. They also fund scholarships for students who study German in high school. “It’s like a big family,” said Abel.
“We’ve had everything happen here but a funeral,” said Beth Ackerman, whose family has served as many as 2,400 cream puffs each festival weekend, for over twenty years. Ackerman has spent much of her adult life at Oak Shade Grove—her wedding reception was held there—and she has known many of the volunteers since high school. “This is a reunion,” said Ackerman.
Ackerman showed me an industrial refrigerator that caught fire just hours before this year’s festival began, burning over a ton of volunteer-prepared potato salad. The unit, which is the size of a semi-truck bed, sat completely empty with charred walls. Almost immediately after the fire was extinguished, many of the 160 volunteer potato-peelers rushed back to peel all over again, ensuring that everything at the festival is as authentic and homemade as possible. “Nothing stops the festival,” said Ackerman.
Electric nights
Nights at the GAF are electric. Live polka bands play throughout the grounds, and dance floors are filled with people of varying degrees of experience. Thousands cram together to drink over 45 brands of German beer that flow endlessly into boot-shaped glasses. Werner Barteck, who still holds a German accent, concocts flag-striped black vodka shots with orange juice. He serves them next to the Glockenspiel, a towered clock where authentically garbed dancers appear onstage to greet the crowd at the top of every hour.
Bratwurst and schnitzel are constantly grilled and fried, with lines long enough to ensure that no food ever waits to be consumed. Lights flash from carnival rides and games of chance. Oversized men throw a 136-pound boulder as far as they can in a Swiss variant of shot-put called Steinstossen. Tree-shadowed tables are interspersed along with the foot traffic, providing reprieve from the action that ends only when one has had a bier boot too many, or the clock strikes 1.
I sat with four of the society presidents on the closing day of the festival. The air was thickly humid, and the park was full but the festival pace slowed by the laze of a Sunday afternoon. The GAF will turn 50 next year. Tim Pecsenye, festival chairman, is already looking forward to their half centennial, scheduled for August 28-30, 2015. “The Toledo area is rooted in ethnic backgrounds,” said Pecsenye. And for one weekend every August, everyone can enjoy Toledo’s German roots.
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Dorian Slaybod is 28, a local attorney
and happily living in Toledo.