When I was a reporter at U.S. News & World Report in the late 1970s, I was assigned to do “mood surveys” of Midwestern towns in America. They were places like Tiffin, Ohio, and Fort Wayne, Indiana, the hometowns of “real people.” Our editors came up with their selections by throwing darts at a map of the U.S., and then making assignments based on where they landed – at least that was the common wisdom.
My boss Bud McKirgan, the Detroit bureau chief, advised me to do most of my reporting by phone to save time once I received my designated town. But he always insisted on a follow-up visit to “sniff the air” and get an accurate sense of the place. Mandatory stops: the local barbershop and pub, especially if it was called “The Dew Drop Inn.” A Memorial Day parade celebrating the least commercial holiday in the U.S. roster was deemed extremely valuable, especially if it was sparsely attended or the site of protests.
I recalled those days while watching the 2024 Memorial Parade in my little mid-Michigan town of 4,500. My goal on the threshold of a contentious presidential election: count the MAGA hats, get a sense of the political leanings of the crowd, and gauge if there was any sense of patriotism left in America.

What a surprise. This crowd respectfully applauded and stood when a farmer on a John Deere tractor pulled a float filled with aging veterans. People of all ages cheered when the high school band strutted along the route playing Anchors Aweigh, Wild Blue Yonder and other military theme songs. Instead of MAGA hats, I saw hats decorated with the Stars and Stripes. One man’s t-shirt memorialized the “58,479 Brothers and Sisters” who died in Vietnam. Houses on nearly every block were decorated with American flags and red, white and blue bunting.
The mood felt calm, well-mannered and respectful. Some lighthearted touches along the parade route drew laughs, especially the dogs dressed as Uncle Sam. Local politicians were relegated to the end of the parade, after the vintage cars and Cub Scout Pack.

It felt hard to believe that such small towns still exist. In those official mood surveys back in the day, the editors would always insist on a one-word description to set the tone for the piece. “Upbeat,” I would say.
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