Liar, Liar, Fish on Fire
by Zoe Brunk, Staff Writer
Illustration by Sylvia Cottrell, Contributor
This past weekend in downtown Lorain, the annual FireFish Festival took place. It was Saturday; the clouds hung low in the sky, and the prospects of finding a ride to the annual fish-burning were murky. Yet, by 8:00pm that night, we were piled into the back of a car heading north.
The festivities began at 4:00pm, with an Art Alley similar to the Art Market we have at Oberlin; local vendors selling pottery, paintings, and a variety of other crafts. My sources tell me there is also a Broadway Performance area and a ballet performance leading up to the main event: the burning of the fish. Downtown Lorain itself is reminiscent of Oberlin, with restaurants surprisingly similar to the offerings we have in town, a Lorenzo’s Pizza, a Black River restaurant, and, of course, a Domino’s, as well as stores like The Plant Shop and a local bar called Speak of the Devil Cocktails. They give a small-town, local business-owner kind of vibe. I arrived in the nick of time, a little after 8:00. I made my way through the Alley and took a left. And behold… the fish.
The fish itself was at least six feet tall, shrouded in orange fabric, or maybe it was papier-mâché, with one large eye on the side of its head, staring into the surrounding crowd. It was set in a parking lot, an orange island in a sea of asphalt, encircled by a metal barricade, on the other side of which were flashing fire trucks, parade leaders with big tufts of feathers protruding from their heads, and the small crowd of people that had come to view the tradition. Our place in the grass was directly in front of the fish, and as we waited for the main event, we passed around a bottle of Barefoot white wine. Around us were screaming children and their parents.
Then began the fire jugglers; various townspeople from the Ohio Burn Unit had their chance to shine. They were fire hula hoopers and people balancing long, flaming torches on their noses, as well as, my favorite, women with fiery sconces on the end of long chains that they swung around themselves. I appreciated the importance of this night to them; they were all so proud to be a part of this festival, theatrical and excited in their movements and their greetings of the crowd. Once they ran off with their various flaming implements, they were sure to demonstrate proper fire safety by suffocating the flame in thick, dark cloth at the edge of the stage.
This is it, we thought, the rumbling of the crowd, and then the booming voice of the announcer, decreeing that it was time, time to light the fish. Violins began to play, and a woman costumed in gold with a shining crown led a horde of schoolchildren to light the fish alongside her. In her hand was a large torch, crackling with flame. She held it out to the fish and…placed it on the floor a few feet away. The crowd burned with desire to watch the fish be engulfed in the heat. Its gasoline-powered end still burned as she walked away and left it on the concrete. The crowd watched, puzzled looks on our faces, when a member of the Ohio Burn Unit came and suffocated the tip. The violins still played, and left the crowd in the dark. We were out for justice, waiting for the fish to burn. The sound of strings still filled the air, but now it seemed their dramatic theme would have no satisfying resolution. They played and played on, and the crowd grew impatient. “Burn the fish!” some fair-goers yelled, increasing throughout the course of the violin performance. When they finished and then began to play another, there was a rumble of impatience. Their lament seemed endless, and I suddenly felt the fish-burning tradition was all a ruse. The crowd was out for blood; confusion rippled among the people of downtown Lorain.
Finally, when the wine was low and our brows furrowed, the violins ceased. The announcer’s voice, again, boomed, “Thank you, and now BURN THE FISH!” Chants from the audience, cries of BURN THE FISH echoing throughout the stretch of the crowd. I myself began to give in to the mob mentality when, instead of a burst of flames, we saw two women take the stage and begin to sing. The fish looked cold and dark, with no hint of flames in sight. There were still dissonant cries around us, people chanting “BURN IT,” “BURN THE FISH.” It was truly frightening to hear.
Fall Out Boy’s hit song, “Light ’Em Up”, bombarded our ears, the two women singing as if it were their swan song. The echoes of their high, vibrato-filled voices mixed with the outraged cries from the throngs of people around us. It was dramatic and we were getting desperate. This all seemed increasingly like a ploy. Would the fish ever burn?
Just when I thought all hope was lost, fireworks exploded from behind the fish, flashing in an arc right over us. The crowd shouted louder, and the singers kept singing, “Light ’em up, up, up, I’m on fire!” on top of the screams of the sparks above us.
Children were crying, parents were yelling, we were all united—college students, high schoolers, parade-goers, and toddlers—by our desire to see the fish burst into flame. It felt as if we would never win. Little drops of misty rain began to fall, and mosquitoes pricked our legs and arms. It was us vs. the world.
And then, the music ended. We stared at the singers; we stared at the fireworks still bowing over the fish; and we watched as it erupted into flame. The skin of the fish was slowly charred and melted away. There was a long spine in the middle of its body, crafted out of thick wood, along with rib-like supports that went from the head all the way down to the end of its tail. The flame slowly consumed the fish.
Almost as soon as the fish began burning, the people around us got up, packed their various blankets and picnic supplies, and left. The show was over; I suppose that’s why the lighting of the fish was such a thing of suspense. I watched the fish burn as if I were sitting around the campfire. Then I, too, packed up and began walking back to the car.
The FireFish Festival is a chance for Lorain residents to shine for an audience; historically, it celebrates a symbolic rebirth for the town and is a symbol of Lorain’s natural water resources, but on that night, it represented the ongoing strength and effectiveness of the mob mentality. No one can resist.
