The Turtle Race

Each July, the local volunteer fire department hosted ‘The Great North American Turtle Race’, a day-long event. The Races were held at a boat harbor situated off of the Nanticoke River, a major tributary flowing westward into the Chesapeake Bay. The Turtle Race served as a large fund-raising event for the volunteer fire department, bringing in well over $10,000 in revenue each year from beer and fried oyster sandwich sales.

The Turtle Race was a day-long festival featuring a 5-kilometer jog, a sailboat race, a wet t-shirt contest, canoe jousting, live music, a boat docking competition, a dunking booth, and various other carnival activities.  For kids and adults alike, the Turtle Race was one of the year’s most highly anticipated events. On race day, farmers would take a rare break from the corn and soybean fields to mingle with their neighbors, celebrate their community and pay tribute to the fire department volunteers who protected their homes.  This was also a day where kids could lawlessly eat candy, drink sugary soda, zigzag through crowds on bicycles, and engage in general mischief and rudery.

Anyone could enter the Race; you just needed a turtle.  I would start carefully scanning the road’s shoulders for my racer in May or June, hoping to find a turtle early to get a head start on training.  I was too young to drive, but could quickly get out of the car, pick up the turtle, and hop back in when I could convince Mom to pull over.

Box turtles, frequently found in drainage ditches and irrigation ponds, were the most common type to come across.  A turtle racer’s most valuable find, however, was a water turtle.  These amphibious river dwellers were built low to the ground to maximize hydrodynamics, their powerful legs propelling them about as fast as a loping 2-legged dog.  Pretty good for a turtle. This was in sharp contrast to the Volvo shaped box turtles that moved at a clunky snail’s pace.

In 1987, a caravan of small vendors descended on the Turtle Race, their target customers being young boys aged 11 or 12. These merchants brought bull whips, gun powder ‘poppers’, toy swords. All for sale. The access to these toys, along with the overall electric atmosphere, brought our confederation of kids into an almost a frenetic state.

It was late afternoon and we were in high spirits watching the wet t-shirt contest finale, knowing the turtle race competition was next. The race was held in the middle of a large asphalt parking lot. A large circle, about 100 yards in diameter, had been drawn with chalk. In the center was a small, 3-foot in diameter ring where the racers would begin. The first turtle to cross the large outermost circle was the winner.

People gathered around the outside of the racing area to watch.  Spectators stretched 4-5 people deep and little kids were held on their parents’ shoulders for a better view. The grand prize for the winner, a comically large trophy about twice my height, had been on display all day.

In an attempt to intimidate other racers, several contestants had gone to the trouble of gluing plastic engines or capes on their speedy river turtle’s shell. “That must give them a major advantage”, I thought, looking down at my sedate box turtle and wishing I had been better prepared.

A washtub whose bottom had been sawn away was placed over the center ring. I, along with my fellow competitors, placed our racers into the washtub and onto the asphalt. When all turtles were ready, the head officiator lifted the washtub and the cheering commenced. Most turtles began walking, some faster than others, making their way towards the outer ring. Contestants lining the racing ring screamed for their turtle to trudge faster, cursing in frustration if their racer refused to walk. Unfortunately, my racer, perhaps realizing his chances of winning were low, shut his shell and stayed exactly where I had set him down. When the winner finally crossed the finish line, party-goers erupted in raucous cries of approval. The fire chief presented the winner, a teenager who travelled from New York, with the monstrous trophy.

That was 1987 and times, as well as values, change. 

In 2005, years after I had left my hometown for college and medical school, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) an entirely unknown, unengaged and foreign entity to the people of the Delmarva Peninsula, threatened legal action against the local fire department, citing complaints of animal cruelty.  The fire department had virtually no money to defend themselves in court against this charge, so they agreed to no longer hold the event.

And so, despite the best of intentions, the Great North American Turtle Race (along with the community festival, along with fund raising opportunity for the fire department) vanished into thin air.