Skip to main content

Small Town is Old Town

Small Town is 200 years old, and just yesterday, it celebrated its bicentennial with the unveiling of a huge multi-part mural in the town square, a brief speech by the mayor, and a street concert by my summer band.

The town closed down the main intersection and positioned three firetrucks as our backdrop. We played our bit to a pretty nice crowd, and there weren't even any deep-fry stands or carnie rides. We played a mix of crowd pleasers, like a few patriotic classics, Over the Rainbow, Festive Overture, and Mule Train. Mule Train may seem odd, but given the history of Small Town, it fits, kind of.

In 1807, two guys bought 2,175 acres in the "western frontier" and plotted out a town they hoped would become the county seat, once the county had been established. By 1818, the place had three taverns and two houses, houses I assume that belonged tothe land buyers. It wasn't until the Ohio Erie Canal was built and in full operation that Small Town really got kicking. Trade and travelers built Small Town up enough to allow the houses and shops to outnumber the taverns, although it never did become the county seat.

During the Canal era, canal boats were pulled down along the canals by teams of mules, often lead by children, on paths alongside the waterway. Canal=mules=mule train. Forget that the song is a wild west festival of cracking horse whips and bellowing "yee hahs" from the soloist. If you want to play the song, you find a way to make it work.

This is a picture of my summer band in its early days in the early 1900s. The uniformed guy in the front is Dominic Greco, the band's founder and director. the guy next to him is the governor.

This is what we look like now. We've got nearly 80 members these days,
but we don't have caps and plumed hats. It's a pity.

Comments

Sassy Sundry said…
Glad you lost the uniforms. It looks like y'all have fun.

My town's almost 200 years older than your town. Neiner neiner neiner.
dive said…
Hee hee! Robyn, I love the idea of a town with three taverns and two houses!
And your band looks so much fun! I can imagine Mule Train is a riot.

And sorry, girls, but I think that tonight I shall wander along the road from the station and have a pint in the twelfth century cellar of one of my favourite pubs.
Scout said…
I know having only 200 years of history is funny to the rest of you. It makes me chuckle--but "out west," it's all we've got.
dive said…
Your town's only four times older than me, Robyn.
That's scary!
Anonymous said…
My whole country is only just over two hundred years old.
I like the old bands uniform of plumed hats. I'm a bit of a hat nut at the moment.
I like the uniforms of the old band.
It would have been nice to bring them back for the bicentennial.
Gina said…
I kind of like the band uniforms, actually! But are they uncomfortable to play in?
peahen said…
Sorry Sassy, but I love the uniforms. I thought that our jackets were OTT, but those old ones are great. (Could they only afford half a jacket each, Robyn?) I love the hats, but I'm glad that we don't have to wear them.

Popular posts from this blog

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...