An old editor of mine telephoned last month with one last assignment.
“Go check out the statue,” Gary Mortenson told me. “See if they haven't dressed it up again.”
For decades Mortenson has been protecting the integrity of the tall bronze caballero that greets visitors to the Del Mar Fairgrounds.
His principal menace had been reporters such as myself who mistakenly thought the statue was of Don Diego. “It's a statue of Tommy Hernandez,” he would explain, poorly hiding his exasperation, “one of the world's finest gentlemen.”
To some, it was a small distinction. Hernandez had played Don Diego for 37 years, and our memory of the handsome Spanish actor is forever intertwined with his role as the fair's sombrero-waving “goodwill ambassador.”
Yet to Mortenson, who knew and admired Hernandez, misidentifying his memorial was no less wrong than calling the Prince of Wales a killer whale.
And now, from retirement, he warned of a newer and greater indignity: For about a decade, the folks who run the San Diego County Fair have been dressing up Hernandez to fit the fair's annual theme.
Last year, for “A Salute to Heroes,” Hernandez wore a superhero cape, and also a firefighter uniform. When the fair saluted Dr. Seuss, he wore a striped chapeau, a la “The Cat in The Hat.”
“One year they had him in an Elvis outfit,” Mortenson said. “One year they had a snorkeling mask on his face and dressed him in swim trunks.”
Is that so terrible?
To Mortenson it is. He said the statue is a tribute to a treasured figure, no more intended for costuming than a monument in a cemetery would be.
“You wouldn't do that to (President) Lincoln would you?” he asked. “He's a grand old gentleman, Tommy Hernandez. He doesn't deserve to be dressed up in these phony-baloney outfits by the fair board publicity people.”
He made an interesting point, one that deserved further investigation.
Or, as we say in the column biz: any excuse to go to the fair.
I arrived early, to the chirping of morning songbirds and the bubbling of deep-fat fryers. I approached the Pat O'Brien Gate, at the foot of the midway, with an open mind, knowing how important first impressions can be.
I stared up at the 16-foot-tall bronze likeness of Hernandez, who in his lifetime was described as debonair and dashing, who was known for his warm smile and twinkling eyes, who was considered the epitome of grace and refinement.
He looked like a total dork.
In keeping with this year's sports theme, Hernandez wore a white Shawne Merriman jersey, off-center, and had a too-small football strapped to one palm.
But what made him utterly ridiculous was the plastic hat – festooned with Chargers stickers and lightening bolts – perched atop a head 12 sizes larger.
Any child wearing that get-up in a playground would be teased mercilessly, if not pummeled senseless.
I struggle for the right analogy, but imagine, if you will, the Tony Gwynn statue in Petco Park dressed in a muumuu and propeller beanie. How long before an angry mob stormed the office of John Moores?
As a one-man mob, I first consulted with retired fair publicist Bill Arballo, who told me, “The costume they have on him now, it does nothing for Tommy, for the personality he was. When I saw it, my first thought was it wasn't too appropriate.”
Then I happened upon fair historian Jane Spivey, who also runs the Don Diego scholarship fund. “This year he's poorly dressed,” she conceded. “It's demeaning, don't you think?”
Next stop: the fair's CEO and general manager, Tim Fennell.
He cheerily recalled a year when the fair's theme was a salute to Hollywood and so Hernandez was painted to resemble an Oscar.
“I think we've painted him gold twice,” Fennell boasted. “He's part of the team, so we get to fold him in. Whatever the theme is, Uncle Don is part of it.”
I told him of Mortenson's complaint, minus the stern corrective Mortenson certainly would have given him upon hearing the statue called “Uncle Don.”
“That's a shame he feels that way,” Fennell said. “We like to have fun here. We want Don to have fun, too. He's such a major part of what we do here that we don't want to leave him out.”
Fennell, though he never met Hernandez, said the showman would enjoy the attention. “He was a fun-loving guy from what I hear.”
Perhaps he's right. The fair, of course, abounds with internal contradictions. Not far from the statue, you can buy “Fine Imported Crystal,” so fine it's available in “grab bags” for $3 – or two for $5.
Once you enter the fair's gates, I suppose anything is possible.
Even the fair-goers I quizzed about the oddly garbed statue seemed torn between admiration and mystification.
“It's all right,” said Dan Williams, a heavily tattooed fellow from Lakeside. “Kinda weird.”
“I think it's cute,” said Tenisha Lee, a sharply dressed young lady of El Cajon.
Cute? Why? “Because,” she said, “who would do that?”
Probably not the 1984 fair board members who commissioned the statue shortly after Hernandez's death. They declared that the original Don Diego was timeless and could never be replaced.
Though, in fairness, they never said he couldn't be accessorized.
Gerry Braun: (619) 542-4563; gerry.braun@uniontrib.com
Gerry Braun will be at the Newsroom at the Fair in the Paddock Lounge from 1 to 4 p.m. today. Drop by to talk or offer a column idea.
