Over the years, Winter Carnival has changed as much as I have, but with one big difference: It has bloomed and blossomed and is now bigger, better and more glorious than ever. As for me? Fill in the blank _____.

If you listen to the old timers, they’ll kvell about the famous stars who were our kings and queens, and the great parade units in Carnival’s “Glory Days.” And they’d be right on both counts. But what they don’t say is none of those luminaries came here out of the goodness of their hearts.

And ditto for the marching units (especially the Philadelphia Mummers, who peeps still keep hoping we’ll get, having no idea we stand as much chance getting them as we do resurrecting the Lake Flower Beach).

Nope, all those big shots came to our little town for one reason and one reason only — The Long Green.

But the money ran out, and so did the Famous and the Flashy, now as far

in the past as the 10 cent cup of coffee and the dollar haircut.

Once the town got left in the star-studded dust, it was as if we went into a state of shock. Yeah, we hustled up local royalty, but a lot of people thought they were sad substitutes. After all, we could brag shamelessly and endlessly about Don McNeil, Johnny Desmond, Alan Hale, Jr., even Judy Carne, but who could we impress talking about King Local and Queen Yokel?

But while we adjusted to and eventually embraced our homegrown hierophants, the parades were a whole different story. And for good reason: They were at best lame, and at worst pathetic. They had neither length nor breadth and looked less like gala processions than a retreat of some shell-shocked stragglers from the Lost Battalion.

One other item of note: Those old-time Carnivals ran only four days. The coronation was Thursday, the final fireworks on Sunday, and in between were jammed some events and a helluva lot of drinking, and in many cases, a simultaneous combination of the two. The biggest problems we had to deal with were finding enough events of interest and nursing industrial strength hangovers.

It took a bunch of years, but thanks to our esprit du frost and creativity, we’ve made Carnival the fabulous fest it now is.

Today’s Carnivals bear almost no resemblance to the old ones. As a matter of fact, if we had a time machine in 1963 and teleported a bunch of townies to Carnival 2023, they would’ve had no idea what they were looking at, much less believed it.

Today there are so many events and activities, it’s impossible to keep track of and attend them all. And it’s not just a matter of numbers, since they also run the gamut from the elegant to the hoot-n-hollerin’ bizarre. Among the former is the coronation, which is beautifully appointed, well run, and classy (the Rotary Club’s Drag Review a comedic exception).

Among the latter activities is my rave fave, The Blue Buns Wheel-a-Palooza. It’s my favorite, of course, because it was my brain child. I say brain child, but brain juvenile delinquent might be more accurate.

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The light bulb goes on

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The BB’s original concept was simple. It was to be a fun little attraction, different from other events, but still showcasing our unique Carnival flavor. And what better way to do that, I reckoned, than have a non-competitive group of bike riders cruise in a pack, on a specific route, around My Home Town? Oh yeah, I almost forgot: The riders would wear bathing suits. Hey, I already said “our unique Carnival flavor,” didn’t I?

I thought a few peeps’d show up, maybe 10 or 20, all wearing lots of underlayers (like me, Wimp Numero Uno) and it’d be a simple little deal. But, as happens more than it doesn’t, I was wrong. Compared to my original estimate, we were mobbed, with 76 official entrants and another 15 or so outlaws.

Blessedly, everything went smoothly, from the moment Elizabeth Izzo waved the starting flag, con brio, till the last rider crossed the finish line, and then till everyone cleared out.

So was the BB a resounding success due to good weather, good luck and good vibes? In part, sure. But it took something else, namely the same thing it takes for all Carnival events to succeed: A lot of helpers, a lot of time and a lot of effort. And I was blessed to have all of them.

A salient example of the work involved in Carnival events is Arctic Golf.

If you’ve never been to Arctic Golf, you’ve missed a real treat. It’s like a frozen miniature golf course, designed by what looks like an architect on acid. Each one of the “holes” is as imaginative as it is impossible to sink a ball in the cup in under a buttload of strokes, which of course is half the fun.

So how many hours does it take to build each hole? I don’t know about All the builders, but I do know my pal Joe Dadey, doing his Hamlets-to-Huts creation, has three other people helping, for a total time of 50 hours (not counting the planning).

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Smooth sailing on the SS Palooza

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To get the Blue Buns off and rolling takes a lot longer, but I have one big advantage over Joe — lots and lots of helpers.

There’s the core group, who I like to think of in nautical terms. Naturally, I’m the Captain. Jack Drury is the Executive Officer. Liz Scammell Murray is the Chief Warrant Officer in charge of the deck force. Under her is Bosun’s Mate Chief, Kelly Morgan (who earned her rank because she has the loudest normal speaking voice). And under Kelly is the rest of the crew, Seawomen all: Marilyn Bigelow, Patti Sauvie and Barb Martin.

To have a clearer understanding of the BB structure, think of it as a Roman galley: My job would be to do the overall planning and give the orders to carry it out. Jack’s job would be to oversee all the ship’s various workings. And Liz’s job, for which she’s a natural, would be to administer frequent and painful arsewhuppings to the poor zhlub rowers.

But of course there are others, without whose help the BB would be a lot less efficient and fun. Piedrito Walnuts and Kathy Dyer Nogales shlep in the P.A. system, set it up, take it down, and shlep it out again — sweet and smiling all the while. Brother Ron Burdick drives the sag wagon at the back of the riders, in case someone’s bike breaks down. And speaking of fun, this year Bucket Ruckus, everyone’s favorite parade percussionists, will be in Ron’s truck bed, rockin’ the ride.

And there are other peeps doing other chores. Bruce Young, BB artist, drew our fabulous logo, which adorns our t-shirts (for sale at a steal for a mere double-sawbuck, and available at the registration table). Buffy VanAnden lets us stash our 120 cakes (free to the first 120 gluttons who snag ’em) overnight in her store. And where’d the buns come from? More help, namely the River Trail Beerworks’ bakery, one of our sponsors.

And speaking of sponsors: We have a bunch of them, all of whom gave willingly to the Blue Buns (money goes to Carnival) and most of whom already give gelt to other Carnival activities.

Though I didn’t want to, I’m sure I left out other peeps who help out, and my sincere apologies to them. But you get the idea of the number of people, time and effort it takes to make our event a success. Then multiply all that by the total number of events, and it’ll give you a hint of how many people and how much work go into 10 days of the best Carnival north of Rio (and as far as I’m concerned, the best Carnival including Rio!).

And all of it has only one purpose — that thousands of people can have a huge variety of nonstop fun. Which means the only reason so many people have fun is because another bunch of people had to work their buns off — blue or otherwise. And I’m proud to be one of those workers, as we all are.

But now I’ll let you in on a little secret: The work and its results are so satisfying, it’s no work at all. And while I don’t know if I’d pay to do it, I don’t know I wouldn’t pay either.