The sound is what most people recall about that Saturday in New Roads. Witnesses described it as a loud boom. Not yet a scream. Just the sound of a body hitting the ground after falling twenty feet from a Ferris wheel bucket that had passed inspection according to all official records. Two girls under the age of thirteen were transported to Baton Rouge by air. One had fractured bones. A brain bleed is the other. A third was also injured. After a brief inspection by inspectors, the Harvest Festival continued, for the most part. Once more, the rides whirled. The machines that made cotton candy hummed. However, those who were familiar with the system realized that something had broken beneath Louisiana’s entire carnival economy.
Bryan Adams, the state fire marshal, has been quietly anticipating this moment. Of course, not waiting for kids to fall. awaiting the political opportunity. The legislature delegated the task of inspecting carnival rides to outside parties back in 2016, which makes sense until you read the fine print. It is legal for those third-party inspectors to work for the carnival companies. examining their own vehicles. approving their own equipment. Because no one looks too closely until someone has to, this type of arrangement endures.
Adams took a close look. Representative Jeremy Lacombe, whose district includes New Roads, did the same. Since then, he has emerged as the statehouse’s most vocal advocate for stricter regulations. Speaking with those who follow this stuff gives me the impression that the November accident wasn’t truly a freak occurrence.
Investigators learned something subtly damning from Greg Brooks, owner of Crescent City Amusements, the business running the Ferris wheel: the door’s ability to catch on the moving sweep is a known manufacturing defect. recognized. It is not legally possible for his company to change it. In 2023, the same operator, incidentally, had passengers stranded upside down for three hours in Wisconsin. Days earlier, that ride had also passed inspection.
You can be dangerous even if you pass an inspection. No one at the carnival booths wants that uncomfortable information printed on a sign. Crews working against the clock disassemble rides, transport them across state lines on flatbed trailers, and reassemble them in muddy fields so they can open by dusk. The marshal’s office’s licensing coordinator, David McClintock, described it simply as a large piece of equipment that has been disassembled, moved, assembled, and disassembled once more. It is not followed through on by the yearly paperwork.
Adams now wants to return his office to the inspection industry. Through NAARSO, the national organization that certifies this type of work, he is training twenty to forty new inspectors for about two thousand dollars each. There will be overtime, and it’s not inexpensive. It’s still unclear if the legislature will fully fund it. Reforms that seem urgent in November may quietly stall by June due to Louisiana politics.
In Louisiana, three Crescent City rides are still subject to cease-and-desist orders. They can still do business elsewhere, which is a sobering aside in and of itself. Adams has proposed the creation of a national database for problematic rides, similar to what is in place for recalled vehicles and contaminated food but, for some reason, not for the devices that raise kids into the air at the county fair.
It’s difficult to ignore the pattern. Florida’s Tyre Sampson case. The Los Angeles zipper failure. The Kansas City Mamba seatbelt incident. The same discussions, legislative committees, and promises are sparked by each one. It remains to be seen if Louisiana truly completes what New Roads began. The girls are now recuperating at home. The Ferris wheel is not in use. The clearing documents are still in perfect order and on file.
