Pitman, New Jersey: Main Street, USA

In an earlier post I talked a little about my hometown of Pitman, New Jersey.  It was and, miraculously, still is, a wonderfully charming slice of middle-America on the east coast.  It’s parks, lakes and compact main street (Broadway) was conducive to nourishing friendships.   There was a summer program at the park on the end of my street and kids from all over town came to make gimp lassoes, popsicle stick boxes and new friends.  The Highland Chemical Fire Company’s Carnival over Labor Day weekend was the much-anticipated end of summer ritual at which we’d meet up with our friends (after dark, no less!) and talk about all the things we were going to do when school started the following week, cementing bonds and ensuring piece of mind when we walked into the new classroom.

But the biggie; the best day to be a “Pitmanite,” is the Fourth of July.  (I can see everyone reading this who is from Pitman nodding their heads.)

July 4^th is, of course, celebrated in all towns and cities in the United States.  And I have no doubt that other small towns do it up in a big and memorable way.  But my memories are of those in my town.  And they are special enough to bring me the 500 miles back many, many times over the last 40 years.

The evening before, the Miss Pitman pageant is held at the movie theatre on Broadway.   

At the same time, people start setting up folding chairs along the parade route, confident that they will still be there in the morning.  The next day at 10:00 a.m., following a 5K race, the parade makes its way down the same street.  The players change and we now look for the grandchildren of pals among the marchers, but the sponsors remain pretty much the same:  The volunteers of the three fire companies walk behind their trucks; Miss Pitman candidates (Miss Kiwanis, Miss Lions Club, Miss American Legion, etc.) wave from convertibles interspersed between the Pitman High School marching band, the baton twirlers and the Cundard Clowns.  Kids on bikes with red, white and blue streamers weave in and out among the Boy Scouts, church floats and tired, over-heated pre-school girls turning somersaults in itchy spangles to advertise the local tap and gymnastics school.  The Bonsal Blues, a thunderous drum and bugle corp from a neighboring town’s American Legion are always a highlight, though they’ve dwindled in number greatly the last few years.

But the piece de resistance; the sight that everyone waits for, leans over the curb to catch a glimpse of, spreads the word when they catch sight of, is The Original Hobo Band.  The Hobo Band has been a part of Pitman since WWII.  Passing membership from father to son to grandson, the band is an institution and the pride of Pitman. http://www.originalhoboband.org/index.htm

Early in the evening, after picnics and ball games, people start walking down Lake Avenue toward Alcyon Park.  The steady stream of Pitmanites with blankets, lawn chairs and coolers will make their way to a spot on the grassy banks of the Alcyon Lake to watch the fireworks.  I grew up on Lake Avenue and loved sitting on the screened-in porch watching people walk by the house in the dusk, before joining the tail end of the crowd. 

How much do we love our hometown Fourth of July?  In two days, five friends who never moved from the area will get up and go to the parade before heading to the airport to meet the hub and I and catch our plane for Venice, Italy.  They will make sure their bags are packed the day before.  They will have their boarding passes printed and carry-on bags ready to go on July 3^rd.  Why?  Because the fourth is reserved for the Pitman Parade and nothing, not even a dream trip to Europe, can take its place.

That’s my hometown.