[A friend asked me to send this to PF....]
Yesterday I photographed a small-town 4th of July parade. Parade assemblies are one of my favorite things to photograph, and after the 9/11/2001 horrors, there was no doubt this one was going to be one to remember.
It was early in the morning, summer light jackhammering at a steep angle through trees yellow with pollen, unfettered by the haze that would come later. I got there too early, and sat on a curb to wait. People came out of a house, and gaciously brought me coffee and water, after I declined breakfast (!).
The first to arrive were a duo of lesbians, towing a red kid's cart full of drums. They went to their assigned spot and began warming up at 8:00 AM, literally setting the pace. People poured out of their houses to watch, none complaining, all smiling. Four ladies in their late '50's from the Historical Society, wearing identical fedoras in a rented
ivory Chrysler convertible....a girl's volleyball team, all in orange and blue piping, brimming with energy, a huge stuffed animal (their
mascot) tied down atop the cab of the pick-up (red, of course) in whose bed they sat, giggling as proud fathers looked on smiling, moms fixed hair, and painted american flags on young faces. Old men grinned
wisely as they showed off their Model T's, as did somewhat younger guys in showroom-perfect '50's Caddiles & 442's. Hordes of backlit chldren in strollers bedecked with red, white and blue ribbons with balloons floating above, and moms holding flags. Hundreds of flags, large and small, lovingly held and/or carfully affixed to cars (floats). Red, white and blue crepe paper was everywhere, taped to everything, including the Historical society's convertible. It got so hot that the asphalt used for patching melted, and stuck to tires and one's shoes, but the heat didn't bother me at the time, though I knew I would die afterwards...I was awed and entranced by what was going on. This was the antidote to our fears, a cleansing gathering, an affirmation of who and what we are, a shared dream. I was touched by this as I never have been before. For a while, I forgot it was my birthday.
The drumming lesbian 's truck/float never showed, andthey were adopted by the grinning, glittery eyed, cigar-chomping Italian owner of the local body shop, and allowed on the back of their huge tow-truck, which also towed a trailer on which sat a rag-time band. They all practiced furiously until the last minute, a magical new fusion of music....middle-aged men in pinstripe shirts and straw hats, the women in spiky red and platinum blonde hair, piercings, sleeveless tank tops, banjos and shaman's drums harmonizing in the heat.
That's what I did yesterday morning
--- Luis
Ps. Before anyone asks where this town in, let me say that it is
everywhere in the United States, including where you live, waiting
for you to find it.
