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Another Mt. Lebanon Traditon

There are many things that make a community--its people, its businesses, its values and its traditions. Yesterday, I took part is a long-time Mt. Lebanon tradition, one that stretches back at least to my childhood and certainly much earlier: the Memorial Day parade.

We had perfect weather--sunny and warm--and the sidewalks along the cemetery and across the street were crowded by the time my daughter and I arrived at 11. My daughter's fifteen and her attendance was more of a gift for her nostalgic mother than a desire on her own part. Nonetheless, I enjoyed seeing her find a shady spot on the curb near the Public Safety Building and glance eagerly to where Washington road disappears over a rise, waiting for the first paraders.




We sat between the two places I knew my mother, who brought me to the parade every year until she passed away when I was eleven, had worked. Where the office building at the southeast corner of Washington Road and Shady Drive East stands was a house that held the offices of Stewart Brothers Real Estate in the 60s and 70s, and across from the Public Safety building in one of the one-storey buildings--I can't remember which one--was a builder or real estate broker's office in which the receptionist's desk, in full view of passers-by, sat under a huge, deep sea marlin mounted on the wall. Exotic places for me as a child.



The first paraders appear. Onlookers dart into final position. I feel a bit envious of the folks who live in the apartments that line this particular block. I can see them sitting on their balconies, enjoying the show. We watch firetrucks and politicians, Shriners and cub scouts. I'm a big kilt and bagpipe fan, and there were two sets of those. My favorite is the bands, though, and we see two--Keystone Oaks's and Mt. Lebanon's. I feel the vibrations from the drums in my heart, a sensation that unlocks such specific childhood memories I tear up automatically, though I hide the tears from my daughter. I can almost see my father in his trenchcoat across the street, holding his Brownie 8 movie camera and capturing both my sister and I jockeying for position on the curb and my cousins Mary and Donna marching, Mary for the Dormont Boosters and Donna in her Brownie troop. My father and sister are gone now, too, and Donna and Mary have stepped in as sisters in my life.







Almost as soon as it started, the parade is over. My daughter and I walk the length of Washington Road, past the Denis Theatre and the Municipal Building and the place where Horne's used to be, to our car. It has been a perfect hour, one more layer of memory for each of us.

Gwyn Cready
www.cready.com