Westport’s Memorial Day parade is a week from Monday. If the past few years are any indication, a long-time tradition will be overlooked, forgotten or ignored by way too many Westporters.
The parade began long before my parents arrived in town, in 1956. Black-and-white photos show policemen (and they were all male), politicians and school bands marching down the Post Road (then called State Street) long before World War II. It was a huge community event, a way to honor the soldiers and soldiers who had sacrificed their lives. Nearly everyone in town turned out, either to walk or watch.
Some of my earliest memories are of the Memorial Day parade. Like everyone, my parents had their favorite spot: near Saugatuck Congregational Church on the Post Road, where the parade turned left onto Myrtle Avenue.
My father pointed out World War I marchers — led by the ramrod straight and elegantly named Nigel Cholmeley-Jones — and told stories of his own Memorial Day parades growing up near Yonkers, watching veterans from the Civil War pass by.
As my friends and I grew older, a rite of passage was riding our bikes alongside the floats. We stuck baseball cards into our spokes, making a very cool snapping sound.
When we outgrew bikes, we clambered onto the roofs of Main Street stores. We watched from on high, as the parade made what was then its way to the ceremony at Jesup Green.
The Vietnam War was raging. Like many in my Baby Boom generation, I strongly opposed our government’s policy. But that just made me feel even more patriotic. My opposition was principled, a way to make my country even better, more moral — and to prevent people just a few years older than I from having to be memorialized in future parades.
As the fissures over Vietnam faded, the parade grew more festive. Other sports joined the Little League baseball boys (and later, softball girls). Community groups like the Y’s Men built impressive floats. Representatives of the Westport Country Playhouse and other organizations rode in cars.
Today our Memorial Day parade is as big as ever. Hundreds of kids still march or ride, under more (and more diverse) group banners than ever. (Even the Suzuki Music kids are there, play violins.) Politicians and policemen (and women) still proudly walk, in front of equally proud veterans. Youngsters still climb on fire trucks, and happily sound the sirens.
But over the past decade or so, the number of people watching the parade has declined dramatically. Crowds five deep have vanished. Vast stretches of the route stand starkly empty.
The Memorial Day parade is no longer a family affair. If they’re not marching with their kids, parents stay home. It’s been years since I’ve seen a boy on a bike.
Part of the blame may lie with the weather. During the 2010s, a few parades were canceled by rain. Then COVID knocked out the 2020 event. Some people fell out of the habit. Others never got into it.
Part of the reason may be that Westport’s many new residents just don’t know how much fun — and how important — our Memorial Day parade is.
Part too may be an erosion of participatory patriotism. It’s a lot easier to wear a flag pin than to go downtown, on a holiday morning, and actually wave one.
But that’s the whole idea. Memorial Day is a holiday, a day to honor the millions of Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice. They gave their lives so that we can live the lives we do, however we want to, in a country that – despite our current stresses and fissures – is still truly blessed.
The Memorial Day holiday is a day off work and school, sure. But all those beach parties and backyard barbecues can wait a couple of hours.
I mentioned earlier the ceremony. Now held on Veterans Green across from Town Hall, it is at least as important as the parade that precedes it. Beginning soon after the final float passes the reviewing stand, it’s a low-key — but quite emotional — homage to the fallen. Highlights include a couple of brief speeches a musical tribute or two, and a salute to the grand marshal.
This year’s honoree is Ben Pepper. A Purple Heart recipient who fought in the Battle of the Bulge, he may be the final Westport World War II veteran ever to wear the marshal’s sash.
Today’s children and teenagers need to see him. They must hear his story. Decades from now — just as my father remembered Civil War veterans — they can tell their children that they saw, and honored, a military hero.
Dan Woog is a Westport writer, and his “Woog’s World” appears each Friday. He can be reached at dwoog@optonline.net. His personal blog is danwoog06880.com.
