Try as I might I couldn't find an image to go with today's commentary. In the end I chose Indian Summer--mainly because the parade happened on one of those perfect "Indian summer" days (and because you can't really have cowboys without Indians). So--on with the rant.-
You really have to be careful when you are revisiting childhood memories: the reality simply can't match up to the burnished glow of the past. (If the bad stuff isn't magnified out of proportion it tends to fade into the background thanks to the glow of nostalgia.) I had this lesson brought back to me when Robyn and I attended the 53rd Annual Cattle Call Parade in Brawley California this past weekend (November 14).
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The parade is barely-younger than I am and before I left Imperial County to make my adult life I went every year. When I was very young my Dad was involved with the Westmorland Chamber of Commerce and he often headed their float building projects. (Most of the time he would drive the float as well and I'd ride in the pickup cab with him. I remember one float he built that was half-contemporary patio (complete with working fountain!) and half Old West Covered Wagon: I think it won the Sweepstakes Trophy that year. I remember the costumed riders and the horses dripping with silver tack. I remember the Al-Bahr (sp?) Shriner's unit that seemed to go on and on with the parade of clowns, motorcycle riders and the centipede filled with old dudes in fezzes. I remember bands who came from all over Southern California and Western Arizona to march and play. As an older child I often rode in the Parade with one club or another through high school. Of course then I graduated and looked to broader horizons--and put the Cattle Call behind me with the other things of childhood.
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Still, as I grew older I found that I missed the things of my childhood and wanted to go back and experience the simple pleasures of a small-town festival: when my sister Wanda invited us down to attend Cattle Call (and we had something else we needed to do in the Valley) we decided to go. The morning of the parade dawned clear and breezy: there was a bit of an autumn chill in the air but the promise of a warm day was in the air and the sky was the color of denim lapis from horizon to horizon--something you'll only see in the desert Southwest. I was pretty sure the best viewing spots would fill up early so we arrived tow hours before the start of the festivities--only to find most everything had already been staked out. (We heard people had started setting up chairs and even pavilions as early as Thursday to assure their spots.) Still, we found a place on the sunny side of the street and settled in to wait for the show to begin.
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Boy was I disappointed.
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The band from my alma mater Brawley Union High School was frankly BAD (and I didn't even like their new uniforms). There was no drill team (although maybe they had been dragooned into carrying banners announcing the various Divisions and prize-winning entries. There was only one rider in silver tack (although he was pretty spectacular). Kudos to the Winchester Widows and the Hold-In-The-Wall Gang for keeping the tradition of costumed riders alive. Still, I missed the Desert Dolls, the Barbara Worth Brigadettes and the Galloping Gossips--all Imperial Valley instutitions) who didn't put in an appearance. I know the Brigadettes are still in existence (my niece is a member): why the shocking lack of community spirit? Has it gotten so expensive you can't scrape together enough cash to honor the place that birthed you? How sad you all chose not to participate for whatever reason.
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The rest of the units were bands from local schools (with the exception of a band from Chula Vista) and floats that looked like they'd been slapped together. (I said of the Sweepstakes Trophy winner "that one isn't sad--just kind of unhappy.") Most of the kids riding floats didn't even look like they wanted to be there--the way I felt as the endless parade of sub-par clopped on and on for nearly two hours. I was actually had to see the finally entry come down main street so I could finally leave.
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And so I put one more childhood memory to bed once and for all: unless I'm asked back to ride in the Parade as an honored guest (not likely!) I won't be attending the parade again. The parade had a good run but it's time to let it go the way of the Dinosaurs if the community can't muster up any more support for this venerable institution.
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'nuff said.
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