Parading through Balboa

When I was growing up in Balboa, most of our residents were veterans of World War I. Dick Whitson, Frank Finster, Theo Robbins, Clayton Thompson, Irvin George Gordon, Harry Williamson, Lancey Sherman, Lloyd Clair, Gene Fenlon, Harry Estes and, most important of all for this discussion, Gus Tamplis all saw military service.

You would think with so many vets that Memorial Day would have been a day of recollection or reflection, a moment to ponder the futility of war, to think of lost comrades. On the contrary. Memorial Day, or as we called it then Decoration Day, was a day of celebration. It was the day the summer season started, and in those days the summer season was what kept us alive.

The rest of the year we lived on the money we made between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Memorial Day was the day the tourists started to come to town, to the beach, to the dance halls, to the bath house, to Main Street. They spent their money on dance tickets (a nickel a dance), on hamburgers (10 cents each), on renting bathing suits (50 cents) and on straight alcohol at two bits an ounce from the famous Drugless Drug Store. Any money they had left over we took from them at our gambling joints.

There was one man, however, who commemorated the intended spirit of the day, and that was Gus Tamplis. Each Memorial Day, and each Fourth of July as well, Gus led a parade through Balboa. Gus was very patriotic. Born in Greece, he had come to this country at an early age and had joined the Navy as soon as it was possible. His proudest possession was a picture about a yard long that hung over the bar at his Sea Shell Cafe. It was a picture of about a thousand sailors, the crew of a World War I battleship. Somewhere in that picture was a young Gus Tamplis, and this was one veteran who was not going to forget what Memorial Day really meant.

So each Memorial Day and Fourth of July Gus led that patriotic parade through Balboa. Clad in his Navy uniform, which bulged badly at the seams, Gus carried an American flag proudly as he led his parade, which consisted of himself, his flag and a scattering of Boy Scouts who trailed along behind him. There were no marching bands, no floats, no speeches, just Gus and his flag and his Boy Scouts. It really wasn’t much of a parade, just from the Ferry Landing down Palm Street to Central, down Central to Main, down Main to Bay, up Bay and back to the Ferry Landing. Not much of a parade, but it covered all of Balboa.

As he passed we all stopped what we were doing and stood with our hands over our hearts. I guess if anyone had a hat he doffed it although I can’t remember anyone in Balboa ever wearing a hat. For a brief moment we forgot our Memorial Day celebration and joined Gus in his.

I still look on Memorial Day as the beginning of summer, even though it ushers in the worst month of the year with June and all its overcast weather. It’s still a celebration, a three-day weekend to hit the beach or hit the road, but at some point during the day I also think of a rather pudgy little man wearing a Navy uniform several sizes too small proudly carrying an American flag through Balboa.