The Knothole Parade on Saturday, April 21, dared to ask the question: How many? How many fire trucks exist in Athens county? How many sirens are needed to make a parade great? How many little leagers can be packed like sardines into the back of a pickup truck?
As I walked up Court Street to meet Sonya Hebert, who was photographing the parade for the Soul of Athens project, I felt an air of anticipation.
“What’s going on?” one woman asked as she waited expectantly on the side of the street. People didn’t necessarily know what was going on, but they were ready to enjoy it. Policemen blocked the streets, much to the chagrin of the Saturday drivers hoping to score a parking spot on Court Street.
I called Sonya as I neared the gathering spot for the parade, hoping to meet up and watch her in action. Then the sirens started. Phones, it seemed, were no longer a communcation option. I wandered along the street searching for a visual of Sonya- though all I knew about her appearance was that she was a girl with a camera. When there was no sign of her, I turned my attention back to the parade.
Like kids in a candy store, the fire truck drivers gleefully pulled their sirens. As I walked, I found myself wondering if there were any trucks left at the fire station in case of an emergency. It seemed that the only thing they would be extinguishing Saturday morning were any hopes Court Street residents had of sleeping in.
A little girl with pigtails covered her ears, unaware of the long-standing tradition of loud parades. To her, it was just noise. To others lined up along the street, it was pomp and circumstance.
After the barrage of fire trucks came the real reason for the parade: the little league teams. Above the crowd, they were free to call out and command attention. One particular exhibitionist took the opportunity to heckle people, myself included, calling out “Crackhead!” every few yards.
Their uniforms shone in the harsh sunlight, and banners with their team name fluttered in the wind as they waved to their families from the truck bed. They were also armed with bags of candy.
“I think the boys are using the candy as target practice,” one woman remarked with a laugh. As I walked by CVS, a girl was pelted in the face with a fairly large box of Dots. Others scrambled to pick up a few pieces of candy without sustaining any personal injuries.
The girls little league teams were also bearing candy, but seemed to be more focused on wowing the crowd with their chants and cheers. “Who’s the hottest team around? We are!” they screamed. Partway through the parade, I faintly saw a girl with a large camera snapping pictures of the teams much further down on the other side of the street. Was it Sonya? I looked up as candy whizzed by my head, and as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone again, probably following a shot.
As the parade reached end of Court Street, the vehicles began speeding up and the magic of the parade was over. People came out of the trance the sirens put them in, and went back to their normal Saturday activities, be it sleeping, shopping, or playing ball. The candy debris thinned as I left Court Street, but I was still able to follow a candy trail all the way home, picking up a few Smarties and a Tootsie Roll along the way.