Our Show: A Humorous Account of the International Exposition in Honor of the Centennial Anniversary of American Independence, from Inception to Completion, Including Description of Buildings, Biographies of Managers, Receptions of Foreign Dignitaries, Opening Ceremonies, Poem, Oration, Amusing Survey of All Departments, Incidents, Etc., Etc

In Short

This book serves as a wild, satirical companion to the 1876 International Centennial Exposition. It functions as a faux-official guide, blending actual details of the Philadelphia fair with increasingly improbable stories about international dignitaries, bizarre architectural feats, and social chaos. Through a lens of dry, relentless irony, the work lampoons the pomposity of the era’s civic celebrations. It remains a fascinating artifact of Gilded Age humor, capturing the period's obsession with national prestige and its tendency to mask organizational shortcomings with elaborate, nonsensical pageantry.

The Story

The narrative begins with the "inception" of the Centennial, presented not as a triumph of engineering but as a series of architectural impossibilities. The buildings—Memorial Hall and Machinery Hall among them—are described as having been constructed with materials like gutta-percha, back hair from foreign laborers, and glue. The story then shifts to the "receptions," where dignitaries from around the globe are subjected to a bizarre series of indignities and cultural misunderstandings. Foreign guests, including Irish rifle teams and Indian chiefs, are placed in questionable accommodations, while the local managers, exemplified by the hapless Timothy, struggle to maintain a veneer of dignity while constantly bordering on bankruptcy or disaster.

As the exhibition progresses, the "departmental" surveys descend into farce. The narrative recounts "The Great National Tea Party," where local women mimic Martha Washington with terrifying devotion, even resorting to serving sausage made from her pet poodle. The medical and scientific displays are equally chaotic, featuring "International Hospitals" where doctors are perpetually eager to perform unnecessary, grisly amputations on visitors. A recurring motif involves various foreign delegations attempting to sustain themselves on American rats or engaging in violent international incidents, such as the Indian raid on a Chinese laundry.

The arc concludes with the fair’s formal ceremonies and the eventual awards process. The oratorical displays and "poetic" tributes are mocked as empty, bombastic shams, punctuated by ladies fainting and fire departments hosing them down. The final sections concern the closing of the site, where the managers are pressured to collapse the buildings in a grand final crash to save on labor costs. Ultimately, the book presents the entire Centennial year as a fragile performance held together by grease, patriotism, and the sheer audacity of the organizers, ending with a cynical look at the "judges" who hand out gold medals for items as mundane as roach powder, leaving the reader with the impression that the entire spectacle was little more than a monumental, if expensive, theater of the absurd.

How It Unfolds

The architectural absurdity The narrative opens with the planning of the fairgrounds, where buildings are designed with materials like chewing gum and hair, suggesting a structure that defies physics. These descriptions set the tone for a celebration where form and function are sacrificed for a ridiculous aesthetic.

The diplomatic reception Distinguished visitors, from the Prince of Wales to various maharajahs, arrive to find themselves in the care of inept local committees. Their experiences are characterized by constant danger, absurd housing arrangements, and the ever-present threat of accidental death in the park.

The departmental chaos The account moves through the various exhibition halls, where the "scientific" and "culinary" displays devolve into nightmare scenarios. Whether it is the cannibalistic tendencies of foreign guests or the violent temper of mothers at a baby show, no department remains orderly.

The final judgment The book concludes with the formal awarding of honors, exposing the entirely arbitrary nature of the judging process. The absurdity of the medals handed out serves as a final, biting commentary on the hollow prestige of the entire Centennial enterprise.

The People

Timothy, the director, stands as the central, beleaguered figure of the administration. He is a man of "robust constitution" who is driven to the brink of physical collapse by the sheer weight of his duties. By the end of his tenure, he is so drained that he must return to the sausage business simply to recuperate.

The Hon. Orestus Cleveland, the vice president, provides a satiric look at political pedigree. Described as the eighteenth child of his parents, his path to greatness is defined by his peculiar education—often involving being disciplined by his teacher—and his eventual transition from a "rich man" to a lawyer. He acts as a caricature of the self-important public servant, possessing a "Corregio style" face and an "expanding chest" that seems designed more for public exhibition than for actual governance.

Then there is the unnamed narrator, a cynical observer who survives the fair only by constantly seeking refuge in the exhibition’s "hospitals." This figure acts as our guide through the wreckage, frequently fainting or being "dissected" by overzealous surgeons. These figures are not static; they are trapped in a cycle of constant, frantic movement, desperately trying to keep the "Show" from collapsing under the weight of its own preposterous ambitions.

In Its Own Voice

Regarding the international reaction to the event, the press provided a skeptical view:

"We admit that the volume puzzles us. We should be inclined to doubt some of the assertions contained within it, even to consider them preposterous, had we not long ago given up any attempt to account for events or circumstances occurring in America."

The absurdity of the local pageantry is best captured by the description of the "Martha Washington" tea parties:

"Many a family cheerfully sacrificed its furniture covers to array its daughters in the style of costume made sacred by Martha."

The sheer volume of the fair's construction is noted with dry, mathematical sarcasm:

"This extraordinary structure was completed according to agreement, and upon being weighed at the corner grocery, kicked the beam at 1234567890 pounds, 19 shillings and sixpence."

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is a critique of the American impulse to manufacture greatness through scale and spectacle. It interrogates the authenticity of the Centennial spirit, suggesting that behind the rhetoric of "Liberty" and "Progress" lay a hollowed-out, frantic attempt to impress the world. The text argues that the fair was not a genuine celebration of a century of independence, but a commercialized, performative act—a "Show"—where the quality of the display mattered far less than the appearance of success. The recurring theme of "the show" implies that the Centennial was a fragile, temporary construct, perpetually on the verge of collapsing into the very chaos it sought to disguise.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy satirical, deadpan humor—reminiscent of Mark Twain’s more biting social commentaries—will find this a rewarding, if strange, experience. It is a rare, unvarnished look at the Gilded Age's self-perception, written with a relentless pace that treats the most absurd events with the gravity of a historical record.

However, prospective readers should be aware that the humor is deeply rooted in the specific political and social vernacular of the 1870s. The frequent references to period figures, along with the caricatures of different nationalities and the use of now-obsolete slang, can occasionally obscure the narrative flow. The book does not shy away from the xenophobic and crude cultural attitudes of its time, which are presented as part of the "humor" of the era. It is a dense, strange artifact that feels like a long-lost pamphlet from a fever dream. If you are interested in the history of American public spectacles or simply want to see how a contemporary author dealt with the overwhelming national ego of the post-Civil War era, this book offers a singular, jarring perspective. What stays with you is the sheer, frantic energy of the writing—a sense that the author was laughing at the absurdity of it all even while documenting the impossible details of the fair.