Putting Patriotism on Parade in Studio City

It was 9:30 a.m. on the 220th anniversary of America’s birth, and in a certain neighborhood in Studio City, the air was charged with the pursuit of happiness.

Here at the home of Michael and Karen Morin, parade preparations were in full swing. On a walkway lined with tiny Old Glories, neighborhood kids--including the Morins’ Nick, Casey and Marissa--decorated bicycles, tricycles, wagons and baby strollers in red, white and blue crepe paper. Karen and neighbor Megan Mouton hung red, white and blue bunting from porch eaves. Helium-filled balloons were tied here and there and a few soared off by accident. In a star-spangled hat, Mike attended to the music, among other chores. Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” was followed by “My Hometown.”

Kids kept coming, some on skateboards and Rollerblades. The grown-ups were arriving too. Don Schwartz, a resident of this neighborhood for 33 years, drove up in his ’36 Ford convertible with the top down. His son arrived in a ’31 Ford Model A truck. Others walked with mutts and purebreds, all parade-ready.

Alas, I had shown up without a photographer. My friend Mike, an attorney, thought it was just as well. Alerting the media wasn’t his idea. He’d invited me a few years ago, but I failed to show. This time, I invited myself. One neighbor made me promise not to identify the corner where the parade begins. It’s just a neighborhood party, after all. If this became too popular it just wouldn’t be the same.

So we’ll just say it’s the neighborhood that’s north of Moorpark between Coldwater Canyon and Whitsett, a place where the homes are handsome and the trees are old. Larry May likes the neighborhood so much that, when it came time for his family to move, they journeyed just a couple of blocks. Rather than move, the Morins added on. Don Schwartz’s son bought a home close to his parents’. With her husband, Laurence, Hope Juber is raising two daughters in the same ZIP Code where she grew up. Suburban sensibilities must be in the blood: Her father produced “The Brady Bunch.”

By his English accent, it was obvious Laurence Juber didn’t grow up in Studio City 91604. “I’m supposed to sulk today,” he said.

Instead, he joined the parade. Recordings of Springsteen gave way to Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever.” Up front, a group of kids carried a homemade banner heralding the 5th Annual Fourth of July Parade. Later came the Schwartzes’ vintage vehicles. Young cyclists and skaters weaved among folks waving flags and walking their patriotic dogs, like Sara, an Irish Wolfhound whose fanciful flag bow belied her regal bearing.

There’s a story to Sara, a tale that says something about America’s place in the world today. Dr. Bill Goldsmith, a psychiatrist, first encountered Sara as a puppy two years ago while on a volunteer medical mission to Croatia. He was helping a Croatian doctor attend to the family of a man who had a dog breeding business. Unable to pay, the breeder offered an Irish Wolfhound pup. When Dr. Goldsmith warmed to a puppy, the breeder offered her as a gift, but the American doctor insisted on paying the fair market price. He was taken aback to learn that this puppy cost about $1,500 in U.S. currency.

The doctor paid it. “I felt the honor of the United States was at stake,” he recalled, grinning.

So many neighbors were in the parade that participants outnumbered spectators. An older couple stood holding Old Glory at the sidewalk and waving. At the Rec Center, tennis players halted their game to cheer on the parade before it headed down a cul-de-sac and made a U-turn.

I was straggling with my notebook. Soon there was Mike in his spangled hat, taking a head count--”81, 82, 83, 84 . . .” He’d already counted to 100. “I’ve got 186,” he told me. That was only the marchers; there were late arrivals back home, bringing attendance to more than 200.

It’s gotten bigger every year. Five years ago, about 50 people came to the party. The Morins used to live nearby, on Laurelgrove, and had been delighted by the traditional Independence Day celebration there. After moving a few blocks west, they’d bring Nick and Casey to Laurelgrove on the Fourth. This was before Marissa was born. Then they got together with the Moutons and other families to stage a pageant of their own.

The parade meandered slowly about a half a mile, maybe three-quarters, before returning to its starting point. Now it was about 11 a.m. and getting warmer. Most of the grown-ups headed for home or other events, but most of the kids stayed. For them, the parade was just a warm-up. There was still the egg toss, the water-balloon fight and the whipped-cream pie fight--one of the high points.

Last year, Laurence Juber, a musician, was on tour in France and decided to bring his family along. Hope Juber says their girls weren’t happy with the idea of being in Paris on the Fourth.

“I said, ‘But you’re going to see the Eiffel Tower!’ ” What she heard back, she recalled, was, “I don’t care! We’re going to miss the pie fight!”

They didn’t miss it this time. And they probably didn’t miss the bees either. In past years, the bees had crashed the party, attracted by the sweet sticky mess left over from the pie fight. Now the parents know it’s wise to hose off the kids quickly and get them into the backyard pool.

That’s where the kids were when it came time for me to say goodbye. Places to go, people to see. It’s my understanding, however, that in a certain neighborhood in Studio City, the pursuit of happiness continued through the day and into the night. Ten families got together for a barbecue and Laurence Juber played his guitar for his Yank friends. After dinner, the kids got back in the pool.

* Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311. Please include a phone number.