An exciting time for the town of Beaver and Beaver County is upon us. We are nearing the end of the 50th Annual Cimarron Territory Celebration and World Championship Cow Chip Throw. As I think about the event of Cow Chip, time once again seems to slip back upon me. Though traditions continue, the times they have changed.
As far back as I can remember, I’d never seen anything like it. I’d experienced carnivals and the circus, but nothing like Cow Chip. My first “plop” upon the cow-pie pitching palooza was as a sixth grader, gazing out upon the parade rolling down Douglas. One of the things that impressed me most was the marching bands and their uniforms which were quite elaborate in those days. I saw bands from every school in the county, as well as schools that came from surrounding areas. The sounds of brass, woodwinds, and drums; the cadence and the form was all intriguing. The size and number of bands have shrunk dramatically over the years, and that part is a bit sad, but still the music plays on as the parade makes its way through downtown Beaver.
Between the bands there were old cars, clowns, the Shriner’s scooters zipping back and forth, as well as floats of businesses and schools. High school sports stars wore jerseys and tossed candy. Cheerleaders raised pom-poms and chanted. Then the sounds of sirens engulfed everything as police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances chirped, whined, and whirled with lights flashing and spinning. These were symbols of pride for little towns, counties, and cities from around the area. I will forever think of my dad when I see those lights and hear those sounds. Of course, the horses and their riders followed it all up — doing what horses do — leaving little reminders scattered behind for pedestrians to navigate — ending the parade and signaling the time to rush up to the the fairgrounds.
Whether it was the Cow Chip Celebration in the spring or the Beaver County Fair in the fall, it was a time for spending the entire day playing games, eating, hanging out, and yes (as we got older), chasing girls or at least hoping to chase them. We probably spent as much time admiring from afar as we did actually mustering up the courage to interact with them, at least in the early going. Yet, it was always a hope, and since it was a countywide celebration, there was always a chance you might meet that girl you only saw when you went to a basketball game or a track meet.
Back then it seemed the celebrations kept us occupied from the moment the parade started (even earlier if you were in the band or on a float) until late in the evening when the dance ended or the carnival shut down. Unless you went out for track or picked one up on Spring Break, the Cow Chip celebration was probably the first serious sunburn of the season after a long cold winter. I’m sure we walked more that day than we did in a year. From one side of the street to the other, from downtown to the fairgrounds and from ride to ride we put some miles on the old Converse high tops, or that pair of boots we’d worn for the cow-patty occasion.
Stuffing as many people as we could into a Gremlin or piling into the back of a pickup truck was how we got around as we became teenagers, unless you ended up hoofing it when your friends took off without you. Can’t really get away with that these days. Even as teens, we really didn’t mind walking up and down Douglas or around the fairgrounds. If we got bored we’d walk to the Motel Cafe for a burger, over to Love’s for a pop, or over to someone’s house for a break. Then we’d go back to do everything all over again later. I can’t speak for everyone, but for me it seemed to be a time when school rivalries slipped away and we just enjoyed hanging out.
Barbecue, hot dogs, popcorn, and cotton candy were foods that filled our bellies and scents that filled our noses. The smell of diesel burning from the carnival rides threatened to override the other fragrances of the night and etched its place in my memory. Sounds — the roar of machinery, laughter, screams, conversation, carnival barkers, music, bells, whistles, and buzzers — all mingle with the collage of images. The cooling of the evening, the dirt and dust, the worn paths between the rides fill spaces between the pictures as detail.
Winning stuffed animals, velvet art, or Farrah Fawcett posters at the carney booths were matters of pride. Darts, plate toss, ring toss, and baseball throws took all your single bills. Carrying handfuls of tickets from Skee-Ball showed off your talent. The lights glowing and flashing against the night drew us like moths to a flame. Gathering a group of kids to get on the Swings, and pushing each other off while the sound of the music pounded, was one of the highlights. Seeing how many times you could roll the cage on the Bomber, spin on the Tilt-A-Whirl, or smash someone on the Sizzler all became a challenge. Hours and hours of fun, social interaction, and time-wasting enjoyment took place on those weekends.
As my mind goes over those times, faces and names begin to pop back into place. I wonder where some of those people are, how life’s treated them, and if they remember the same things I do. Some of those people are gone now, tragedy took them too soon, life ran its course, and they’ve become part of history, at least my history. The memories and the faint sound of laughter are all that remain. Some of it is sketchy, and I first think of one thing and then stumble on another memory, another smile, another lost piece of the past.
I hope kids today get to have those memories. I hope one day they’ll realize what they were collecting. It’s not just memories; it’s fragments of other lives, shared history, moments, slivers of time, and pieces of Americana. I hope the sound of a song, or a smell in the air lights a candle in a forgotten place of their minds where old memories are stored — burning off the stale mustiness of time and revealing images which had been held in the darkness. I hope they can reminisce over sights and sounds which take them back to a place that seemed fun, exciting, and youthful. I hope these celebrations continue… that they continue to serve as a place where memories are created… friends are remembered… and smiles appear of their own accord.
