A Call for Help
It was October, the kind of month where the wind turns sharp, and the leaves whisper secrets. I was sitting in the shop, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee gone cold, when the call came in. Bobbi McDaniels, from Camp Aldersgate. Her voice had that edge—concern, with a good helping of pressure. The kind of tone you don’t ignore.
“We need the carousel up and running,” she said. “Before the Fish Fry.”
That wasn’t just any event. It was the event—the biggest draw of the year, the kind that brought the community together. And the carousel? It wasn’t just a ride. It was history.
A 1947 Allan Herschell, built to travel, designed to last. Thirty horses, two chariots, all moving in perfect harmony—until they weren’t. Years of wear had done their damage. The gears had slipped, the balance was off, and now, the whole thing was a liability. If we didn’t fix it, the only thing that would be spinning at the Fish Fry was the cotton candy machine.
A Ride Through Time
Herschell’s carousels were built for the road. A steel heart, wooden bones, and just enough aluminum to make the horses lighter, faster, stronger. Every piece balanced, suspended, working together in a system fine-tuned like a pocket watch. When it ran right, it was effortless. But when it slipped out of alignment?
That’s when the trouble started.
The carousel at Camp Aldersgate had a past. It once stood alongside the Over the Jumps carousel at War Memorial Fun Park, a Little Rock landmark in its day. Later, it ended up in the hands of Cliff Peck, a name known around town. When he passed, his family gave it a new home at Camp Aldersgate, where it became part of something bigger—part of a mission to create a space where anyone, no matter their background or ability, could feel included.
It was a noble cause. But noble causes don’t stop gears from grinding down.
The Problem
When we got out there, the damage was plain to see. The gears had shifted—subtly at first, then worse over time. The whole mechanism was fighting itself, grinding where it should glide. Left unchecked, it would destroy itself from the inside out.
The only solution? Bring it back into alignment. But that wasn’t a simple job.
Because first, we had to lift nine tons of steel, wood, and history—straight into the air.
The gears are out of sync, and the stakes are high. Can we lift nine tons of history back into place before time runs out? Stay tuned for the next chapter in The Case of the Crooked Carousel.
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