This Year's Fourth of July Parade

The day started early. Ann, Kristin and I drive to Iona to do the breakfast. It was once a tradition, and I decided I wanted to do it this year. It was something I looked forward to experiencing.

It's funny how sometimes you never quite learn from mistakes. Nostalgia is not a good thing. The breakfast was a disaster. I told Ann, that even if the meal was horrible, at least we'd be able to get a good shop broom there--yet another silly assumption.

I was furious after our experience. Within a short time, I did the research, and I sent an e-mail to Iona's mayor:

Dear Sirs:

My family has visited the Iona Breakfast for many years since moving to Idaho Falls. We've been in Idaho Falls since 1989, although we haven't been to Iona for this event for at least eight years; however, it once was a yearly tradition.

We arrived this year promptly at about 7:15 and were some of the first to go through line. My wife and youngest daughter went with me. The breakfast price was $21 for my wife and daughter and me.  I bought three brooms, so I'm now at $52, and I didn't mind, because we always enjoyed the people at Iona.

Now this is where it gets interesting--the beginning of the breakfast line. There were scouts helping. I am an Eagle, getting the rank in the late 60's. I enjoy seeing them do service. They were nice kids. They would have known how to cook pancakes. We wait for the first adult to cook one that was brown on both sides. He seemed puzzled that we wanted cakes that weren't still white with a hint of brown.; however, he was nice, even if he probably didn't understand that a hot cake isn't done until it cooks a bit longer. I can wait a while. No one is behind us anyway. The eggs were great.  You served yourself. We scooped medium amounts for each of us. We didn't overindulge. We just wanted breakfast. The people seem friendly. My wife and daughter don't really like breakfast, so they are there to keep me company, because I really insisted that we do it this year.

Then this oddball with glasses, probably about 50-60, appears in line. He's the kind of guy that knows when a glass is halfway empty.  For what he is about to do, I figure he must represent PETA or something. He assumed the role of commander in chief. A boy standing on the other side of the counter in line rations the sausage--two links per person, if you're sure you want that many. I asked for two more. The old PETA guy, who must want to save pigs, wears these 50's style  hard-rimmed glasses. He glances over the top of them. I get the look, and then he says gruffly to the boy scout. "Give him only two for the first time through the line." He doesn't really look at me. He talks to me via the young boy. He is a--well, I won't say it. Why give you the wrong impression of me, when you don't really know me at all anyway. You see, it's important to note that I am not the "man" or t"hat person" or even "the fat white guy." He refers to me as "you." It's always painful to have someone treat you rudely, but to have them do it as if you don't really exist, or as if you're invisible is something a bit worse. Did I mention this person is rude? I let it go. I'm not one to look for trouble, but I don't let things like this happen, without saying something. It's 7:00 a.m. in the morning. I don't want to ruin the day for the few others who will soon be referred to as "you" too. I think, I'll just go back for seconds and get two links.

I finish two medium hot cakes and a small portion of scrambled eggs, and I go back for the two links I wanted.  I get a hot cake. It's white again. I get to the rude old man again.  He says to another ration person of pork servings, "Give him one link. He's been through once already." He announces it loudly and rudely. He doesn't look at me. I'm still invisible. But I guess that's what you should tolerate when you buy breakfast from the Lion's Club Fundraiser. 

We won't be back. And I know it's no big deal for you guys out there, because I'm sure you have plenty of people who don't mind paying over $50 for three mediocre brooms and three over-priced breakfasts, but I remember a time when a customer at your Fourth of July breakfast received something nice--both in terms of quality and portion size. And even if that hadn't happened. I could have been satisfied with poor quality food, if the man in question had been capable of acting politely. I'm not part of the empowered or entitled generation. I'm a 58-year old guy, who grew up on a farm in Northern Utah, and I learned important things about life: to be honest, to treat people with respect, to work hard. I don't think I'm somehow better than anyone else, but I don't treat people disrespectfully. And if someone treated me otherwise, they learned the hard way never to do it again.

I spared everyone that. I look at this experience as a lesson learned. I won't buy three breakfasts, which I can get much less somewhere else, or even better yet, which I cook better at home. I make sure the cakes are done, the hash browns aren't crunchy, and I never open my window and scream. "This fat guy's gonna eat all the sausages today." 

So, to avoid future misunderstandings, there needs to be a sign posted at the entrance: that place where they grab your money.  And instead of this nice lady saying, you can go back for seconds. They need to put the crabby guy, who hates his life there. He can set everyone straight. And then no one needs to go any further. It's the honest way to do business. He can say this: "Our brooms are poor, and don't even think about asking for more than one or two sausage links. We're here to make a buck. And if you go back, we'll embarrass and be rude."

An even better plan would be to put one of those over-priced brooms in his hands and point him in the direction of a place away from people. 

Jon Ward

Ann was a bit upset, when Kristin told her I was mailing a letter to report what happened at breakfast that morning, but I was not about to simply let things go without saying something. Iona is a beautiful spot, a place with an incredible small-town atmosphere.


My hometown has had breakfasts like this, and the successful ones function, when they not only place the right people in charge, but when they also find the right people to represent the community at a function like this.


It doesn't work any other way. When the wrong people are in key spots, the thing just eventually stops happening. Suddenly, there is nothing at all in a small place like that to make it interesting.


I watched that happen in my hometown,where after one key person, who always kept things going, passed away, things changed. 


No one took the time to create anything out of the ordinary. Then another individual, who grew up in Malad, moved back and slowly began restoring some of the positive things I remember.


I started to write a letter, when I returned home from the breakfast, but then I soon realized time was passing quickly. The Fourth wasn't about me. It was about two grandsons being excited to see a parade, where adults threw candy.We took lawn chairs and watched the parade. There were incredible bands from all the high schools. I'm not much of a fan of the whole dancing thing, whether it's a dance team or some float for the local workout center. Either way, I find much of that pretty much disgusting.


I'm too old to push and shove to retrieve Tootsie Rolls as they bounce across the pavement after one of the many adults through handfuls at the crowd. I'm too prudish to see women, either young or old, prance about and strut like sluts. 


My two grandsons seemed to be too young to understand that, or at least I hope they are. They sat in their chairs, sipped cold drinks and enjoyed the free candy.


The drive to Kristin's apartment to see the parade had been hectic, because the parade route began immediately in front of her place. 


Tommy was excited, and Jack was too. It was a great way to begin the Fourth. I should have been content with just doing the parade and fixing breakfast at home.





All was not lost. For me personally, I found the parade fun, but some of the floats and other things were a bit strange. 


Even though I probably should understand the float at the right, I don't. It was odd, even a bit funny, but I just didn't understand it at all.


Somehow, the Fourth seems to find me entrenched in some sort of moment. I wallow in memories of the celebration in my hometown. I miss the breakfast there. I miss the hometown floats. I miss the line of horses and riders that always made up a good section of the parade.
There was no street cleaner there, so the pungent smell of horse apples entertained every farm boy there, especially ones who long ago moved to the city.


But I don't miss the band there. When it comes to that, Idaho Falls has a real advantage. But then again, listening to four or five bands somehow is more than I want to enjoy on a July morning.


The day, however, was not for Pop Pop. We do things for grandchildren, that we normally would never do. It's a part of being a grandparent.

It's a nostalgic moment in a way, because parents and grandparents did that for us, at least that's how it happened in our past. Ann and I both rode bikes in Malad's Fourth of July parade, when we were young. Our friends did too.


We decorated the spokes with red, white and blue streamers. I remember using clothes pins to fasten old baseball cards on a frame near the wheel. As the wheel turned, it made a sound, which in any child's mind, sounded like a motorcycle. At least, that was the rage at the time.


I just wish I had a handful of those baseball cards I used like that, not to hoard them but to sell them on E-bay.


The day was a great one. I returned from the parade, finished my letter to Iona's mayor--who by the way, was also in the Idaho Falls Parade--and then began the rest of the day of having a great lunch before spending the evening watching grandchildren. 


Fireworks in the front yard was never so much fun. We used half on the Fourth, and the rest we used the next night. Anna arrived with her dad, and the moment was complete. Having all of my grandchildren in one spot makes for a perfect holiday, although it would have been even better if Cles and Leslie had been able to be here. Virginia is too far away to make something like that possible. We'll hope for that on another holiday.


In the meantime, the mayor of Iona sent me this response today:

I am sorry about your bad experience you had and I will get to the bottom of this.  If there is anything I can do to make it up, please call me at 521-6970.  Again I am sorry, but thanks for letting me know what happen.  brad


In responding to it, I wrote this:


I really appreciate your getting back to me about this. The way I look at it, if you can correct the situation, it is what is most important. I am not the type of person, who takes advantage of a situation like this in any sense. As a former public employee, who worked for a very long time in the system, I just don't like seeing the behavior of rude people like this affecting a potentially positive program, especially when they appear to take a leadership role.

But I know that your having contacted me means that you will make the necessary changes. You have an incredible community--one that obviously is not only worth preserving but also worth promoting as a place, where other people would like to reside. Every town has people like the one I wrote you about, and I understand that fact, but I also understand the need to make positive change.

Your letter is the first step. I wish you the best.

Jon