Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories. With Marysville and Union County celebrating Bicentennial anniversaries in 2019 and 2020, respectively, these articles help depict what life was like in those early years.
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One of the nice things about living on West Fifth Street during the 1930s was the parades. Whenever there was a parade in town, the route often took it right past our house. We could sit on our front porch and watch the whole thing.
I don’t know when I saw my first parade from that porch, but I can tell you a bit about the first one I can remember. I must have been about six years old. It was a 4th of July parade, and I had never before seen anything like it.
The Marysville High School band marched that day. It was the first marching band I had ever seen. They were all dressed in white, and they wore a cape.
There were groups of marchers in the parade – groups like the American Legion and the Boy Scouts. Then there were cars decorated with crêpe paper, and a couple of farm wagons with some kind of displays on them. And one man was dressed like Uncle Sam.
There were flags everywhere, a couple big ones in front of the band. Lots of small flags were being waived, even by people who were just standing on the sidewalk. I guess that was the day I fell in love with parades, and I couldn’t wait for Marysville’s next one.
The following spring, I heard my parents talking about the upcoming Memorial Day parade. It would take place in a week. Oh boy, I couldn’t wait. I would ask my friends Jim Beck and Bill Porter to join us on our front porch. I knew we would have a great time.
When the day of that parade arrived, we all sat on the porch. It was one of those porches that spread the entire width of the house, so there were a lot of places to sit. My aunt and uncle from Columbus were visiting us for the day, so they sat with us.
When the parade reached our house, it was headed west on Fifth Street. I could tell immediately that there was something different about this parade.
There was no high school band. In fact, there was no band at all. Instead, there was something my dad called a “drum and bugle corps.” The buglers we’re not playing. They were just marching. The only sound was the beat of all those drummers.
Leading it all was a lone American Flag carried by a soldier. There were two other soldiers, one on each side of the flag. Each carried a rifle, and my dad said they were the “color guard.”
As they approached our house, all the people on the sidewalk and everyone on our front porch stood up and placed a hand over their heart. This was all new to me, and I turned to say something to my sister, Betty. Before I could utter a word, I noticed that there was a tear running down her cheek.
There were some soldiers that came next followed by other groups like the American Legion and the Boy Scouts. There were no cars decked with crêpe paper. There was no “Uncle Sam.” And most of all, there was no laughing and yelling. It wasn’t at all like that Fourth of July parade.
Later in the day, when I was alone with my mother, I asked her why my sister had been crying. She told me that the Memorial Day parade was to honor all those who died while defending our country. She said that when Betty saw the soldier carrying the lone American flag, her emotions brought a tear to her eyes.
Over the years, our family watched other Memorial Day parades. And every time, when a lone American flag passed by, I would see a tear on my sister’s cheek. She was a really sentimental girl, and that is one of my fondest memories of her.
Those wishing to contact Bill Boyd can e-mail him at bill@davidwboyd.com