American Tradition

Not even considering the 4^th of July, then 93-year-old WWII Navy veteran Tom DeCarlo cutting a mean rug to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' kicks the holiday off, there's no other way.

And he cuts that rug on grass, too…

The American tradition of town bands goes back to the beginning.

As we grew into a recognizable country, successive waves of immigrants added their own gifts. When the British fife & drum military tradition was sufficiently evolved, it became distinctly American.

Every band reflected their own community. There were thousands of them across the country. They were a community pride.

Probably, John Phillip Sousa didn't do much polka. He was a national act. An American act. Likely ignorant of local cultural nuance...

It pleases me no end that my maternal hometown still has its own town band. That's Marty's Goldenaires, out of American Legion Post 27, in Bessemer MI.

For the longest time, after a day in the woods I'd retire to the now defunct Traveler's Motel (down the hill from what used to be my great Uncle John's farm) for a quiet restful evening spent in a clean, safe place among friendly people.

On certain nights, the breeze carried the defining sound of brass and drums (lots of drums) practicing together on the lawn at the Legion. Sometimes, that drew me back out.

Maybe I'd go over and watch. More often, I hit the Dairy Queen down the block from the Legion, sitting outside eating an ice cream cone, listening to my hometown band play. In the setting sun, A.D. Johnston H.S. across the street sometimes turns gold.

Born to be chattel, my Grandmother graduated from Johnston with honors. She was salutatorian, Class of 1929. Probably about as high as the bright girl could go, then.

These days, when the stoplight between the high school and the Dairy Queen starts blinking yellow for the night, it's been a good long day.

I finally captured the Goldenaires at the annual town picnic, 2019. Not full strength nor decked out in all their golden glory, but the drumming went on and I was there.

Maybe that plays to the little kid in me, I dunno.

Marty's continued existence helps keep alive the multigenerational narrative that's always made tiny northwoods Bessemer feel most like home to me. Even despite my being big city born & raised. More's the wonder, eh?

Call that genetic pride of place, I guess. Or nostalgia for riches spent before I ever got there to share.

Today, my affection for Bessemer's town band feels like patriotism. Since that's too often an undercut bank failing beside a dangerous river, we must be careful where we step.

The American Promise remains unfulfilled for far too many, way too long. Criminally many, shamefully long. Nobody can truthfully deny it.

Just the same, if I could reasonably spend this 4^th of July in Bessemer MI, with the Goldenaires playing their hearts out while bombs burst and rockets red glared, I would. Instead, I'll be content knowing it's mostly all still there.

Mostly. That's just the way of things. Has been, forever.

So happy 244^th birthday, United States of America. Best get at it. You're not exactly young anymore and there's still much to do.

And here's to Marty's Goldenaires. Long may they play.

#america #4thofjuly #patriotism #wipeout