As Lambs to His Fold

by Kurt F. Kammeyer

CHAPTER TWELVE

  We Are Marching On To Glory....

  On the Fourth of July, we always went over to Prosperity for the Independence Day parade.

  Daddy would wake us with an authoritative rap, first on Irene’s door and then on mine. When he figured he had our attention, he would quote, in ringing tones, something from scripture; perhaps, “Cease to be idle! Cease to be unclean! Cease to sleep longer than is needful!”

  Or he might wake us with this: “Rise! Shine! For thy light is come!”

  Once, Daddy shouted from the upper hall, “Lazarus, come forth!”

  This so shocked Mamma, he never said it again.

  Dressed, we would follow Daddy and Mamma outside and stand with hands over our hearts while Daddy raised our flag on the pole in our front yard. We would then pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.

  All up and down Welcome Road, people had put out their flags. Americans everywhere, I knew, were raising their flags in honor of the Glorious Fourth. I thought, if the angels were looking down they could probably see one lovely red, white, and blue banner going clear across the country.

  Breakfast was next, with Mamma’s waffles, and Daddy remarking, “Where, in any other place, could you find waffles like these, or chokecherry syrup, or home-cured ham?”

  This Fourth of July, just Daddy, Mamma, Leatrice and I would be going over to Prosperity. Irene and Dorajean had gone with Aunt Mabel and Uncle Roland to an American Legion picnic; Aunt Francie and Roger were in Salt Lake; Uncle Jack had driven out in the valley to visit one of his girl friends.

  As for Grandma and Grandpa, they had told us, somewhat apologetically, that they had seen a great many parades, and they were all beginning to look alike. They were always ready to stand up and salute the flag and pledge allegiance to it; but today they preferred to sit on the nice, cool porch instead of standing in the hot sun.

  Seeing our disappointed faces, Grandma hastened to add, “Oh, but I’ve seen some wonderful parades in my time. Would you believe that when I was just about your age we went up to Salt Lake and saw a parade that was three miles long?”

  We knew that Grandma didn’t tell lies; so we had to believe her.

  “I don’t suppose there will ever be the likes of that parade again. It was to celebrate the thirty-third anniversary of the pioneers coming into the Salt Lake Valley.

  “There were two brass bands; and — my goodness! I wonder if I can remember it all! Five wagons carrying the surviving pioneers of 1847; then all the living members of Zion’s Camp marched by — those brave men who went with Joseph Smith, in 1834, from Ohio to Missouri — a thousand miles — to help their fellow Saints.

  “And then came the men of the Mormon Battalion, marching along in the faded uniforms they’d worn in the longest infantry march in United States history.”

  Grandma paused for breath. “Well! That wasn’t all. After that came a wagon carrying a group of ladies, the wives and mothers of Battalion members. And then there were several carriages pulled by beautiful, black horses. The horses had their tails braided with ribbons through them; and the carriages were decked out in red, white, and blue banners; and there, inside, reaching out their hands to wave, were the General Authorities of the church — President John Taylor, and the Twelve Apostles, and others.

  “Now, let me see.” Grandma paused and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “There was a glee club; and then a group of Sunday school children riding in a wagon and carrying a banner that read, ‘The youth of Zion — the hope of the future’.

  “And then — oh, yes! There was a whole group of people walking and carrying signs that said what they did for a living. These were the workers of Utah: farmers, carpenters, printers, cabinet makers, merchants, blacksmiths, and so on.

  “Then — oh! I almost forgot! Last of all came a long line of carriages with people representing the twenty-five countries they had come from, with all of them dressed in their native costumes.”

  We had to admit that was one champion parade. It made the one we were about to see in Prosperity seem pretty dinky.

  __________

  We stood on the sidewalk in down-town Prosperity, waiting for the parade to begin. On other occasions, Daddy and Uncle Roland had hoisted Leatrice and me up on their shoulders where we had a wonderful view of the parade. But now we were getting too big to be hoisted up on anybody’s shoulders. So Daddy was spared the dilemma of deciding which one of us to favor. Instead, we crouched down and wiggled through the crowd until we were standing on the curb with a clear view of the proceedings.

  We heard the band strike up far down the street. I loved parades — the clapping and cheering of the crowd, the beautiful floats, the flag bravely fluttering by, the smell of horses and dust, the heart-thumping music of the band that made you want to get out there and beat the drum and march right along with them.

  I couldn’t understand why Grandma and Grandpa had chosen to miss all of this — even if the Prosperity parade was, admittedly, not as grand as the three-mile-long one Grandma had described to us.

  Here they came! First, a group of Boy Scouts proudly carrying the flag. We stood. The men took off their hats. We all put our hands over our hearts as the symbol of our nation went by.

  After that came the Prosperity High School band, legs swinging in unison, bright, brass instruments twinkling in the sun, pretty girls prancing along in front twirling batons.

  “I’d sure like to twirl like that,” I said wistfully.

  “Well, we could,” said Leatrice.

  “How? We’d need something to twirl with.”

  “We’ve got something — that wand we got from Mister Hobbs.”

  That worthless wand. When it quit on us right in the middle of our performance, Leatrice had thrown it in the back of her closet.

  “It doesn’t go on an’ off anymore.”

  “It doesn’t haf’ to — if we’re just gonna twirl it.”

  The idea certainly opened up possibilities. But, before we could do anything about it, other matters, more important, would come to our attention, and we would forget about the wand and turning it into something to twirl with.

  Now, I turned my attention to the parade: the marching by of the war veterans; the sheriff’s posse riding beautiful palomino horses; the patriotic floats, decorated with red, white, and blue crepe paper and suggesting events in American history: Columbus sternly looking through a spy glass; George Washington kneeling at Valley Forge; Betsey Ross, in a cotton wig, sitting placidly and sewing on the flag; the winning of the west, with Lewis and Clark, hands shading their brows, presumably looking out over the Pacific Ocean.

  After the parade, we went down to Prosperity’s Central Park and ate the picnic lunch Mamma had brought — ham sandwiches, and potato salad, and lemonade, and watermelon, and chocolate cake. While Daddy took a nap on the lawn and Mamma knitted, Leatrice and I went over to the carnival rides, the quarters that Daddy had given us clutched in our hands. For twenty-five cents we could get a ride on the merry-go-round, two rides on the Ferris wheel, a box of Cracker-Jack, and a frozen ice cream on a stick. If you were lucky, when you had lapped up all the ice cream, there, on the stick would be printed the glad news that you were entitled to another one, free. I had never been so lucky, nor had Leatrice.

  After that, we went with Mamma and Daddy to watch a rodeo, where Leatrice and I cheered for the bulls and bucking broncos rather than the cowboys.

  I said to Leatrice, “If they put Mooey Moocher out there, I bet she’d win the prize for the meanest.”

  Leatrice agreed.

  Last of all, as dark came on, we sat on the shore of Prosperity Lake and watched the fireworks. This was the closest I had ever come to Fourth of July explosives. It was unlawful in our state for individuals to buy or shoot off fireworks. People were so law-abiding that I had never so much as seen a firecracker.

  Daddy said that he had set off many a firecracker when he was a boy, before they became illegal. I asked him if he wish
ed the law would change so we could shoot them off again.

  “Well,” said Daddy, rubbing his nose thoughtfully, “it was a lot of fun, lighting them, and seeing them shoot into the air and explode. But some people lost fingers and even eyes through carelessness. So I guess it’s just as well to leave the shooting of fireworks to the experts.”

  I wondered what would happen if I sneaked a firecracker from someplace and just tried it out. Would the police come after me? Or would God come down personally and jump up and down on the firecracker and stamp it out? and then shake an awful finger at me? I decided not to chance it.

  Then, as I watched the lovely explosions of color in the sky, I thought about our glorious American history. It all started with Columbus setting out with just three little boats to find China. I was glad that Heavenly Father gave those ships a nudge so Columbus ended up discovering America — or else, where would I be?

  I thrilled to the memory of our Founding Fathers standing up and telling the British, “Phooey!” and fighting, and struggling, and finally winning the Revolutionary War, and then turning the Thirteen Colonies into Forty-eight states; and Lewis and Clark walking all the way across the country to find out what was out there, and going back and telling President Jefferson, “Hey, there’s a lot of good stuff out west!” and then the North and the South fighting over slavery, and the slaves getting their freedom. There weren’t any former slaves in Welcome, but I thought that wherever they were, it was mighty nice that they were free.

  And I thought about the winning of the west, and all those covered wagons rolling along and the people not knowing for sure where they were going; but Heavenly Father looked out for them and showed them the way.

  And then, as the lovely many-colored stars exploded overhead, I thought about all those soldiers fighting all those wars to keep us free; and the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air; and Bunker Hill; and the Shot Heard Round the World; and Valley Forge; and Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death; and Shoot If You Must This Old, Gray Head; and Betsy Ross and the flag; and the Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave; and Glory, Glory, Hallelujah, His Truth Is Marching On!

  We drove home in the late evening. Down our darkened street people had taken in their flags. I staggered upstairs and fell into bed, where I dreamed I was leading a parade. I was dressed in white boots, and a beautiful, twirly skirt, and a sparkly blouse, and a tall hat with a plume. I had a sign around my neck that spelled “Queen” in neon lights. And the horns were tooting, and the drums were thumping, and we were marching clear across the great, big U.S.A.