They Pack Huntington Beach to See Americana in Full Strut

The Teachmans celebrated their hometown Fourth of July parade with a stakeout.

Kurt Teachman, 57, showed up at 5:30 a.m. to claim part of the grassy median in Huntington Beach he had taped off Tuesday at midnight. Thirty friends and relatives, five from Portland, crowded into a space no bigger than an SUV, with bottled water and pecan tarts and Mona Lisa, their basset hound.

One year, Teachman showed up at 8:30 for the 10 a.m. parade. Too late. Someone had stolen part of his spot.

That’s what happens at what is billed as the largest Independence Day parade west of the Mississippi, which drew nearly 250,000 spectators for its 99th trek down Pacific Coast Highway and up Main Street to City Hall, where the Teachmans were camped out.

For all the cheering crowds stacked five rows deep and the celebrity marshals -- Mickey Rooney and Reggie Jackson -- the parade’s charm is in its folksiness, locals say. “This is the only piece of small-town America you get in California,” said Brian Fried, a 36-year-old beverage company manager.

He and his family got to the parade’s start, near 8th Street and PCH, maybe 10 minutes before the 330-plus entries rolled. They were there when a tiny scout lost his troop, and well-wishers shouted: “Hey, sweetie! They’re starting! Oh, he was looking at the girls!”

Down the oceanside street rolled the community: The Lynwood High School band blaring “Louie, Louie.” Chapter 785, Vietnam Veterans of America. More than one sparkling float cranked out “Surf City,” drowning out the crashing waves.

And of course, the royal court.

Huntington Beach Princess Erin Britt practiced her wave this morning before the bathroom mirror: elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. The 20-year-old sprayed her hair in a stiff French twist, slid into a red, sequined full-length dress and braced her jaw: “It starts quivering from smiling.”

The pageantry was dealt out in a homey manner. Derek Bercher, a 35-year-old lawyer from Huntington Beach, ticked off the parade order even before the groups trundled onto PCH: “There go the Democrats. The Republicans are next. Loretta should be dancing soon.”

And Congresswoman Sanchez did indeed shimmy past, in a knee-length red sheath dress. “I’m not sure,” Bercher said, “but I think she always wears that dress.”

The line of people waiting for the bathroom in the Chevron station at PCH and 7th Street was clad in red, white and blue. Flags rustled everywhere -- on surfboards, in ponytails, on dog collars.

Two shirtless guys held one over the sidewalk and called, “It’s not mistletoe, but it’s the next best thing!”

The cacophony reminded 22-year-old Stacy Shute, a food server who lives on 8th Street, of a Midwestern shindig. “It’s like when I was growing up in Wisconsin. Everyone was up at 7 a.m. for the big parade. For one day, it’s this local feel.”

A city police car drove by, signaling that, after two hours, all the parade entries had gone past. Scooters and bicycles took over the neighborhood streets.

It’s what 79-year-old Dick Teachman, at his 15th parade, called the best part: “When it’s over. That’s when the party really starts.”