Each spring, all of us in the Pine Plains school band poured our energy into preparing for the year’s music competitions. But we had another, more visible duty too: marching in the town’s parades.
I’d joined the band early, in fourth grade, thanks to a shortage of French horns. That meant I was already part of the ensemble when Memorial Day rolled around in 1952 — one of the major events on our calendar. First, we rode the bus to Bangall for a ceremony at the memorial, then marched to Stanfordville, where the parade ended by the general store, right next to where my friends Ronnie and Richie Withers lived.
The march was long, and the wool uniforms heavy, especially under the early summer sun. It always seemed to be hot. There were stretches with only a few onlookers, but the people who came out cheered us and clapped for the music, and that made it worth it.
Our bandleader, Tom Foster, was a serious musician and a demanding conductor. He had an ear for excellence and a sharp eye for sloppy marching. The day before a performance, he’d deliver a stern reminder: Be there, on time — or bring an excuse note from the funeral parlor.
After Stanfordville, we returned to Pine Plains, where we’d muster again — usually at the Town Clock parking lot, some years at the Catholic Church. The parade route never changed: We’d head east on Church Street, turn south on Academy, then west on Myrtle Avenue — where my mother would be waiting in front of our house — before turning north on Main and ending at the cemetery.
There, a ceremony honored the fallen. A rifle volley rang out over the headstones, and taps echoed from a distance. We kids would scramble to collect the spent bullet casings like souvenirs.
My father, Augusts Upitis, was the town photographer from 1951 to 1965 before opening his color studio in Poughkeepsie. Among the treasures he left behind are negatives from the 1952 Memorial Day parade.
I was six years old then. Looking through those scanned images now, I’m struck by the joy on people’s faces. Many had gathered at the corner of Main and Church to watch the procession. Some of the faces I recognize — friends my age, older students I would later look up to on the baseball field, or perhaps adults I’d go on to shovel sidewalks for in the winter. Others feel familiar, but I can’t recall their names.
Maybe you’ll see someone you remember, too. Maybe these images will rekindle memories of your own Memorial Day parades — of family, friends, music, and marching.
Chronicles is The New Pine Plains Herald’s memoir series, chronicling life in and around Pine Plains, Ancram, Gallatin, Milan and Stanford. The Herald welcomes stories from readers that highlight memories and lived experiences from all people of all backgrounds. Send your submissions to editor@newpineplainsherald.org.
