Balloon meister. That’s two words, no hyphen.

We’re creating those rules because we can, and because there is no dictionary, thesaurus, syllabus or legal document that proves such an animal actually exists.

Crites isn’t even sure how he graduated from balloon enthusiast to chaser to meister. He swears there was no triple-secret ceremony.

“It almost sounds regal, doesn’t it?” said Crites, the Auburn man who’s been meister of his domain at Great Falls Balloon Festival for six years.

“That’s me. I’m the master of everything to do with balloons.”

So many dreamers in the world, yet so few meisters.

So many words that can be coupled with that authoritative suffix, yet so few that roll off the tongue.

Someone who deals in shoddy goods or produces kitschy entertainment might be called a schlockmeister. Or an employee of FOX.

The magistrate of a German village might insist you call him burgermeister. Perhaps he imbibes Meister Brau, but only after a day in the snow demonstrating both his downhill and cross-country skills, in which case he’d be called a skimeister.

And of course anyone who encountered Rob Schneider’s obnoxious office character on “Saturday Night Live” was dubbed the Joemeister, Johnmeister, Janemeister, et al.

Thus ends meister’s mastery of the English language.

Does balloon meister belong on the list? Jury’s still out.

On one hand, it rings a tad presumptuous, considering there is no college-level course that makes somebody a certifiable source of hot air about hot air.

“There’s no real qualification,” Crites admitted. “But it’s somewhat universal. Every festival has a balloon meister.”

Follow him and you’ll conclude that Crites merits a label symbolic of power and glory.

Friday, his alarm (no, it doesn’t play “Up, Up and Away” or “I Believe I Can Fly”) went off at 4 a.m.

From there, it was a quick shower, quick cup of coffee, quick pilot briefing at Auburn Inn and lengthy look at the weather charts.

Then Crites spoke his blessing, paving the way for the Flying Purple People Eater and Giant Octopus to do their thing in the steamy, early morning light.

And make no mistake, the meister has the power. What he says, goes.

Crites ascended to his authority without fanfare. Before the Great Falls festival was birthed a dozen years ago, his family traveled to Quechee, Vt., each summer for a similar balloon bonanza.

“By the time we started here we considered ourselves quasi-experts,” Crites said. “My wife (Lisa) and I volunteered as chase crew. The rest of it has been a slippery slide.”

Anything related to launches or landings falls in Crites’ lap. He has the weather map, the walkie-talkie and the authority. If meister’s sighin’, you ain’t flyin’.

Thankfully, balloon meister isn’t the fun meister.

The festival is precisely that, complete with fireworks, vendors, guided tours and kiddie fare galore. It’s enough to ensure there isn’t a mob around Crites at 5 p.m., slipping him tens and twenties for ignoring the red and yellow blotches on the radar screen.

“I’m happy when a good time is had by all and it brings exposure to Lewiston-Auburn,” Crites said. “We’ve been around long enough so it’s become a community cult event, if you will. Now it’s become a destination. People maybe were drawn in by the balloons, but there’s a lot more. And it’s free.”

Which is more than we can say for Crites’ time.

“I always liken this to throwing a wedding for 150,000 guests and 300 of them are staying at your house,” he said.

“We do look forward to Monday.”

That’s when balloon meister morphs into snooze meister.

Kalle Oakes is staff columnist. He may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].