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I consider myself something of an expert on parades; after all, I was the Grand Marshal of the Meeteetse Labor Day parade. Meeteetse is a wonderful little town in the western part of Wyoming with a population of about three-hundred and fifty. It's the place where I did my debut library event when my first novel, The Cold Dish, was published. When they first asked about the parade, I said no, thinking I was over-stepping my bounds by taking such an illustrious position-but they explained that the parade was only three blocks long and was so much fun that they usually circled back around and did another lap.
I never had such a good time in my life, and I have to admit that it changed my entire perspective on parades. Most of the parades I've witnessed have been in uniform, and there are sixteen parades in New York every year. I know because I worked practically all of them as a young patrolman. There are the ones that everybody knows about because they're on holidays or because people grew up watching them on TV back when there were only three channels. New Year's Day is a biggie along with Thanksgiving where I once saw twenty guys get lifted about ten feet off the ground because Underdog got an unexpected tailwind. But there are also the ones that nobody's heard of.















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