Pandemonium curbed, but parade popularity still strong

If you knew members of the Arlington Heights Garden Club were ambling past your house, would you rush to your front lawn to gawk? What if they brought along a street cleaner, a kids swim team, a bookmobile, the Wheeling Township Democrats, several Realtors, local atheist Rob Sherman and Cub Scout Pack 37?

Well, throw in an appearance by the governor, Chuck-A-Roo and the Memories All-Clown Band covering the Rolling Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman," some high school marching bands and the Jesse White Tumblers and you have a two-hour July Fourth parade so enticing the village of Arlington Heights had to pass rules to keep people from staking out viewing spots days in advance.

"There were a couple hundred people out here in 1976," remembers Pete Lippert, who had moved into a house on the parade route a few years before that inaugural parade. "Now there are thousands."

In recent years, people would call dibs by laying out blankets, lawn chairs and plastic tarps weighted down with bricks and rocks to reserve spots on the grassy parkways along the parade route as early as four days in advance. Once set in place, those objects carried the clout of unmovable landmarks.

That made it impossible for homeowners along the route to water or mow, and even killed grass. Arlene Mulder, mayor of Arlington Heights, says that behavior kicked off an unnecessary frenzy.

"Certain people started doing that, and other people said, 'Oh, my goodness,' and they followed," Mulder says.

In response, the village ruled last year that no one could stake a claim before 7 p.m. on the night before the parade. This pleased homeowners along the route, and even those parade-goers who didn't like the pressure to arrive earlier and earlier,

"It got kind of out of hand," says Fred Groth, 61, who has watched the parade with his wife, Dianne, every year since their son, Andy, now 30, was a baby. The new rules make Groth's life easier. He drives to the spot he likes across from the judge's stand and unloads at 7 p.m. Friday.

But the land grab starts at 6:20 p.m., as soon as nervous homeowners along the route claim the space in front of their houses. Places that were empty minutes ago suddenly fill with activity.

"Once it starts, it goes quick," says 25-year resident Frank Wostmann, as he and his wife, Adriene, grab a spot not far from their house.

While Lippert says "there is no bad place to view the parade," the regulars all have their favorites.

"It's the big tree there that puts all the shade out," Groth explains. "That's the place you want to get."

Before the official stakeout time rule went into effect, Groth had a routine.

"I'd get up at 3 a.m. to get out there to get a blanket out there, go back home, have some coffee, read the paper, usually the Daily Herald," Groth says. Then he'd come back a few hours later with the family and mingle with neighbors and friends, some of whom he'd see only on this one day of the year.

In the suburbs of backyard decks and patios, "it's the only time of the year when people in this neighborhood move to the front yards," Lippert says.

That camaraderie, the feeling that you are in a small town unencumbered by modern pressures, may be more of a draw than the actual parade. What makes the event so popular?

"When you find out, will you let me know?" quips Carmella Lowth, a longtime resident and former parade marshal now in her 15th year as parade coordinator. She and her army of volunteers spend a lot of time and effort making sure the parade has entertainment that appeals to kids and families. People might show up four days early to buy Bruce Springsteen tickets, but what makes folks that crazy for a village parade?

"I wish I knew. I mean, it's a parade," Lowth says with a laugh. "Other townships have wonderful parades, also."

But the Arlington Heights parade inspires a devoted following that borders on a pilgrimage.

"We even had one person selling their house using that as a selling point; that they were on the parade route," Lowth says. "We love it. We just love the parade."

The ban on early claim-stakers isn't the only time authorities have had to set some parade limits, however. Parade participants throwing candy used to set off a mad frenzy among children dashing dangerously into the street to grab it.

"We were going to ban candy at one time, and we got a lot of flak for it," Lowth says, explaining how the compromise means parade participants with candy now must walk along the parkway and hand it to the kids.

So no early arrivals and no throwing candy.

"That and the Super Soakers. No Super Soakers," Lowth says, referring to the brand name of the most popular of the long-range squirt guns. Water isn't good for expensive band instruments and fancy costumes, and not everyone wants to get soaked.

"It was done in a fun way, but Miss Illinois at the time didn't appreciate it, and that's the truth," Lowth says, explaining the conditions that led to the squirt gun ban.

The prohibitions, even the new 7 p.m. claiming time, work, Lippert says.

"There were 'sooners,' who showed up at 6:30 p.m." Lippert says. But the retired Buffalo Grove deputy police chief says everybody manages to keep the peace.

"Most of the people who show up on my front lawn are people I know," Lippert says, recalling neighbors, friends from church and other local connections. He says he and other homeowners on the route try to accommodate the yearly crowds.

"I walked into my kitchen one year and there were a group of women standing there who said, 'Who are you?'" Lippert says with a laugh, explaining how the women had been granted bathroom privileges.

"It's July 4," Lippert says as if that one phrase explains it all. "It's just a good Arlington Heights thing. It's a great hometown parade."

Nary a discouraging word can be found.

"I could do with less politicians, but that's all part of the gig," Groth says. "I like hearing the high school bands. The Northwest suburbs have some fantastic bands. The Jesse White Tumblers are spectacular. Some homegrown things like kids riding bicycles, the swim teams, I guess that appeals to me. It's hard to describe. It's become more of a habit and a traditional thing. It's like a social event. It really gives you that hometown feeling."

That is what the village hopes to achieve with Saturday's parade, Mulder says.

"It's these kind of things that define the community spirit," she says. "I call it the largest small town in America."

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