The song goes “I love a parade, the tramping of feet, I love every beat I hear of a drum…” This wonderful song has been a part of Americana since the 1930’s when it was written. I myself have hummed it from time to time in my life. The Lawrence Welk singers:
Yesterday I realized that I have a black spot on my soul, a character flaw my subconscious has known for years but could never admit -- I do not like parades.
I live about 50 miles outside New York City in a small town. Most residents never travel off Long Island for any kind of entertainment, have never been to the Empire State Building and wouldn't even think of attending the St. Patrick's Day parade. I have friends who have not been to Manhattan since the fifth grade class trip to the Museum of Natural History.
In 1981 I started working on Madison Avenue and 49th Street. The first St. Patrick’s Day I could see the parade one block over on Fifth Avenue from the high floor on which I worked. I could hear the cheering. At lunch time I was drawn to it with every beat of the drum, which I could feel within the very core of my being.
What a sight! A sea of firemen, police, and military, and the non-stop music of marching bands and bagpipes. It was exhilarating – for about 15 minutes.
Every year I put in my 15 minutes, the required amount of time so I could honestly say “I went to the St. Patty’s Day parade in the city,” which impressed my family and friends because everyone loves a parade, right?
Even though I now readily admit that I do not like parades, as far as parades go, this one is among the very best.
My little home town has its own parade. My brothers, their wives and kids, and my friends all go to this parade. They are true "parade people." They get there two hours early, wearing funny green hats and shamrock painted faces. They bring corned beef sandwiches and coolers of beer. I went the first year or two but after that I played the role of parade snob. "Oh please, I go to the real parade."
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| My Irish Papa |
I no longer work in midtown and haven't been to the parade in years. My family and friends assure me that the local parade gets better each year. Yesterday was a bright, sunny day, I figured why not.
My home town is part middle class/part white trash reality show. The parades I attended years ago lasted about half an hour and consisted of nothing more than a few fire engines with blaring sirens, assorted girl scout and boy scout troops, two bagpipe groups imported from Brooklyn and a whole mess of flatbed trucks dressed up as floats.
The floats are sponsored by the local bars and taverns and are filled with a dozen or so drunks throwing candy at the crowd. My brother Wally ended up with a welt on his forehead from a double-bubble.
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| Wally |
I am assuming that anyone willing to pay a few bucks to the town can march in this “parade.” Besides every boy scout and girl scout troop on Long Island, there were Lacrosse teams and karate kids handing out flyers for the local karate school.
Edible Arrangements and an bug exterminator had vans in the middle of the parade, along with various auto body shops and driveway paving companies. From time to time a group of people would appear, walking and waving -- no costumes, no flags, no musical instruments. I think they just felt like taking a walk on a sunny day in the middle of the road.
The good news is that they imported more bagpipe bands and another marching band. There were a total of 12 musical numbers mixed in with all the useless marchers. So the hour and a half the parade lasted, we got about 10 minutes of music.
The best addition in my book, and really, nothing says Happy St. Patrick's Day more than the addition of
The Second Truck
not one, but TWO cesspool trucks. This picture was taken with my cell phone because I didn't remember to bring my camera to this spectacular parade. I didn't react in time to get a picture of the first truck, whose side had a paper shamrock pasted on the side, just above it's slogan:
Your #2 Made us #1
Makes me proud to be Irish in my home town!
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