Parades and the Pierogi

Up until last week, I did not think I liked parades. This impression was based on two examples, both on television. Of my parade stereotypes, one type consists mainly of enormous balloons representing animals and characters being pulled down a street in a major urban area. The second consists mainly of floats, which are announced breathlessly by commentators, who tell us how many thousand of volunteers spent how many thousand of hours affixing how many thousand of gladiolas to what I would call a hay wagon. Football followed both types of parades, and for most of my adult life, I thought a parade is what one had to endure before enjoying football.

All that changed when I went to the Pierogi Festival last week in Whiting, Indiana. I had heard about pierogi’s and the festival from Mayor Joe Stahura, and after checking the website, I learned that Oprah herself rated the festival as one of the nation’s best. I am unsure how Oprah arrives at her ratings, but I loved it, especially the parade.

In that diverse and beautiful tapestry that is northwest Indiana, Whiting is a jeweled sequin. On the shore of Lake Michigan, tucked between Hammond and East Chicago, its heritage as a Polish enclave is clearly visible. There is a substantial industrial presence of course, especially the BP refinery, one of the largest in the United States. It is driving in the neighborhoods that one senses the flavor of Polish culture and tradition. The homes are older, but the upkeep is virtually flawless, and the lawns immaculate. The main street in the business district is just like the main street in a county seat city in a rural area, and one can easily forget being in the middle of a huge metropolitan region. There is a park on the lakeshore with a magnificent view, including the Chicago skyline.

When my wife and I arrived at the festival, we found that the pierogi was not just a convenient symbol. The festival area was virtually wall-to-wall with food vendors, most offering pierogi’s and other Polish fare. We arrived early, and got our first pierogi’s without standing in line; that convenience did not last long. If you don’t know, a pierogi is a Polish dumpling with various stuffing. I prefer the meat, or the sauerkraut pierogi, but my wife likes the cheese. For dessert, we both liked the plum. There were various stages with live entertainment, and we particularly enjoyed the local dance groups.

Then there was the parade. Despite the error of not staking out a vantage point early, my wife and I fortunately stumbled on a location where we could easily watch. Although I did not know the groups or individuals participating, parade participants were clearly representative of the whole community. Most of the groups were dressed in a costume of one sort or another, apparently the wilder the better. There were no formal floats, balloons, or bands, just folks out for a fancy stroll.

My favorite groups were the washer-women doing the polka with mops and brooms, and the precision drill lawn-mower team. The latter paused in front of us, and attempted to do a drill consisting of marching to the rear and to the front pushing the lawn mowers with great enthusiasm. Thank goodness no one was hurt. I laughed till I cried. Everyone else was laughing too, including the drill team.

One of the first vehicles in the parade had a platform on which Mr. Pierogi sat. I presumed he was more or less the king of the festival. When he went by, he got great cheers, even more than the mayor! Only one other person got cheers louder than Mr. Pierogi. When a local priest came by on the back of a pick-up truck, waving and smiling to the crowd, the ovation was overwhelming. This is some community.