Memorial Day in a Small Town

During the summer life for most children in Curwensville was pleasantly routine and almost carefree with family picnics at Irvin Park, Elliot Park, and Parker Dam. The year Memorial Day fell on a Saturday there was no “day off” for those employed in Monday-to-Friday jobs. Our mother, like many others, was up early that Memorial Day morning (having boiled potatoes and eggs the previous evening) making potato salad, deviled eggs, and meat loaves, her specialties for every family picnic. Our Aunt Jean would prepare baked beans, a relish tray, and a basketful of sandwiches for the children; Aunt Josephine would bake her angel food and Lady Baltimore cakes; and Aunt Jessie, not prone to planning, would make whatever struck her fancy.

By ten-thirty Memorial Day morning our extended family—adults and children—would be sitting on our Grandmother Pifer’s porch, just as nearly every other family in Curwensville would be sitting on porches or standing on curbs, watching the parade from South Side along Susquehanna Avenue, up Filbert Street after crossing the Anderson Creek Bridge, turning left on State Street for a block, and then right on Thompson Street where we watched the marchers en route to the annual Memorial Day services at Oak Hill Cemetery. Every flag in town was hoisted this landmark Memorial Day and every home and business that could find bunting had it prominently draped. Similar scenes were played out across the United States.

Services were held in the small band shell on the side of the cemetery hill. Our father was marching with the Firemen’s Drill Team that would go on to win the state championship that year. Most parade watchers were solemn as they viewed the veterans pass by, followed by the boys in the Class of 1942 who had enlisted in the service and would be leaving a few days after their graduation. Everyone knew all of these boys from town and a hush fell over the crowd as these young men passed by, most uncomprehending what was in store for them.