I’ve always carried pride in my hometown, although I can still recall those jabs from Buffalo State College buddies about milking cows and living in Hooterville.
My self-deprecating side allows me to poke fun at Morristown too.
When asked what life was like growing up in a North Country village of 400 without stoplights, I often say: “You can shoot a gun down Main Street after Labor Day weekend and not hit anybody until Easter.’’
The exception each summer arrives on July Fourth weekend. Visitors pour in on Friday night for a lengthy fireworks display. The Saturday parade is remarkable for a small town – fire departments, high school bands from Morristown, Gouverneur, Lisbon, Heuvelton and Ogdensburg, floats, politicians and local businesses. The volunteer fire department sponsors a field day behind its headquarters with a chicken barbecue, beverages, car show, craft vendors and games.
So when I answered a phone call from older sister, Maureen, to drive her truck in the parade, I said sure. She lives here seven months a year and exercises the devotion to community, church and neighbors that was instilled by our parents, Fran and Eileen Holleran. That was Maureen’s motivation to enter a Liberty Bell float in the parade.
I didn’t realize what a production this would become. Her 1997 GMC with 212,000 miles seemed destined for the junkyard two weeks ago until she bought a new battery and got it running again.
July Fourth marked the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Since 1963, Congress has encouraged churches and governments across the land to ring bells 13 times at 2 p.m., a commemoration called “Let Freedom Ring.’’
Maureen the retired art teacher and her three daughters, Colleen, Mary Brigid and Caitrin, kicked their creative talents into overdrive. They made a large replica of the Liberty Bell and suspended it from trellises across the back of the truck bed. By Saturday’s parade, the truck’s rust and bald spots had been covered with flags and red, white and blue bunting. Each side was adorned with banners — “Let Freedom Ring.’’
The coup de grace was to recruit our youngest sister, Anne Marie, to dress up as Lady Liberty. She made a fake torch out of tinfoil and crepe paper to hold with her right hand and held in her left hand to represent a tablet. She modified an inflatable crown with spikes for her head. Her robe was a matching teal plastic table cloth.
Of course, we couldn’t resist the teasing:
- “Did you miss out on becoming St. Lawrence County dairy princess?’’
- “Is this some sort of teen-age longing for drum majorette or cheerleader?’’
- “Are you expecting scouts from ‘America’s Got Talent’?’’
When you’re the youngest of six, you better develop thick skin.
I wasn’t immune either. “Hey Jim, we should hang a sign for your website on the back bumper – Holleran Gets It Wrong. For the record, it’s www.hollerangetsitwrite.com
The hardest part of this parade is killing 45 minutes, waiting for the fire department siren to signal its start. The truck’s AM/FM radio did not work. Eureka! I found a Grand Funk Railroad CD in the console, but the CD player was dead too. I didn’t bother with the cassette player.
Once we got rolling, make that creeping at 2 mph, the memories rebounded. I rode my bike in this affair about 60 years ago. We didn’t decorate them or put playing cards in the spokes; we just wanted to be part of the affair. Nobody told us we’d be stuck behind the horses and must dodge their road apples.
There were friends along the one-mile route to wave to and acknowledge. I passed the Main Street houses that once belonged to the families I grew up with – Spilman, Casey, Colburn, Bennett, Haines, Mourick and White.
My nieces, Deirdre Spilman with Colleen and Mary Brigid Considine, worked the crowd, passing out flavored ice and blow pops. Anne Marie drew the cheers from her perch behind the cab — “Look, it’s Lady Liberty!’’
My adult daughter with Down syndrome, Katie, sat in the passenger seat and rang a dinner bell the entire time. I studied the second looks and admiring glances she earned from parade-goers. The intended message was that Katie is more alike than she is different. Everyone has a place at this parade.
After stowing the truck, Katie and I visited the field days, then took a slow cruise down Main Street about 2½ hours after the parade. Crickets. The cars and lawn chairs were gone. The food trucks had disappeared. Eager hands had vacuumed up all the candy tossed from floats.
That’s the rub about any St. Lawrence County hamlet – the scale of everything is so small. Although the streets were deserted, the hometown pride remained.
“It is beloved of year-round residents and summer visitors alike,’’ said longtime village resident Kathy Connor, who has watched the parade since childhood. “It’s always heartwarming to see groups of two or three generations trooping down to Main Street together with lawn chairs to claim their spot for viewing.’’
My niece Colleen arrives every year from Boston to watch the fireworks and endure the family hijinks. “The Fourth of July is a symbol of communities coming together over shared tradition, values and ideals.’’
Hometown pride never gets old.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/
Holleran Gets It Write 