My first memory of the Bethalto Homecoming was as a sprout, being led down the midway by my parents. We watched a gentleman introduce the acts. His name was Les Prehn. He did it for decades...ever since the Doughboys came marching home in the late 19-teens. That was the beginning of the event that has survived and flourished since.
My adolescence was marked by each Labor Day weekend. It was really a rival of Christmas for someone so in tune with Bethalto. God I loved that weekend. I blew hundreds of my hard earned dollars trying to win a rifle by blowing away all of a star in a shooting gallery. Never came close to success.
I remember the utter pride in wearing my Wilbur Trimpe football jersey to show that I was indeed a football player representing the town. Later it was the purple uniform that I still find pride in remembering.
Early adulthood led me to the Legion beer tent. That was living large. I suspect at least two of my offspring will be there to carry on the decades long tradition and tip a few with old classmates. I would go on Saturday night....drink a few and close the place down at midnight....get up at five in the morning to make breakfast for the United Methodist men...go to church to gain forgiveness for the night before.....and work the Rotary shake-up stand to round out the day. Not a problem....I was young and anyway---Monday was Labor Day.
The last Homecoming I attended was with my new wife who understandably didn't understand the Homecoming. I don't expect anyone from outside of Bethalto to understand.
Because of the events of my life, I have a sadness about the Homecoming these days. I can't see myself there. My life has moved on...well beyond those great old days.
Bruce Springsteen probably captured it best in his song, "Glory Days."
"They'll pass you by in the wink of a young girls' eye...Glory Days.....Glory Days."
God Bless my memories...
