Miniature float capital of the world: New Orleans, Louisiana, or Lehi, Utah?
Or, a tiny float Battle Royale.
On Sunday afternoon, New Orleans’ tiniest parade —Pe(tit) Rəx, otherwise known as ’tit Rəx — rolled from the neutral ground in front of the St. Roch Tavern.
The crowds showed up long before the micro-parade rolled down the sidewalk; some hunkered down on the grass with itty-bitty parade route dioramas featuring Barbies, Pikachus or Lego guys. One even featured miniature porta-potties, with two Barbies waiting in line for the facilities.
The whole thing started off with a police escort — a pair of police dolls on motorcycles attached to sticks — followed by krewe members in formal black with turquoise sashes, puling shoebox floats built around the theme “hot tip.” They politely handed out very small throws, including gumballs and handmade books. Mr. Quinton and Miss Pussycat made an appearance with a float featuring an arm-flailing red monster puppet. There was an animatronic homage to Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure; a “Nailed It,” decorated with multi-colored, glittering acrylic nails; and lots of other floats playing around with a very Mardi Gras-style sentiment: “show us your tips.”
The krewe threw its first parade in 2008 as a response to old-school juggernaut Mardi Gras parades:
Inspired by Bacchus, the father of all super krewes, the creators of ’tit Rəx asked: in an age when super krewes are setting the bar for larger and larger spectacles, when route consolidation has resulted in epic evenings of parade upon parade, when the size and velocity of throws has become at times physically hazardous to the recipients, could New Orleans not benefit from one krewe that takes the opposite approach?
A few years later, as their popularity grew, they were sued by the King of Carnival for copyright infringment for using the name “Rex.” The matter was settled by dropping a schwa — an upside-down e — into their name. Which somehow makes the whole thing better, anyway.
‘tit Rəx draws its inspiration from the “generations-old, grade-school tradition of decorating shoeboxes to look like Mardi Gras floats,” and that humble armature is the basis for most of the parade units. With the exception of this one:
A dive into the newspaper archives suggests that in most American cities, the peak of the shoebox parade occured between 1940 and 1970. The Pensacola News-Journal reported on two big shoebox parades in 1953, one a neighborhood event, the other in honor of Childrens’ Day:
In mid-century America, shoebox floats were often part of the school curriculum — teachers assigned kids to make history- or geography-themed shoebox floats, like these California fifth graders featured in the Gridley Herald in 1970:
In the era of classroom laptops and iMovie book reports, the history-themed shoebox float has gone the way of ditto machines. But the tradition of tiny floats lives on a few places — especially Louisiana, where parades are a deep part of the culture. They’re still used as a classroom tool, and for decades they’ve been a Mardi Gras tradition and a feature of childrens’ parades around the state.
You could make a case for crowning New Orleans as the city for tiny float parades. But there’s another contender for that title: Lehi, Utah. The town is named after a prophet in the Book of Mormon, has been around since about 1850. Its claim to fame is that Footloose was filmed there. Or, well, that’s what some people would tell you … people who don’t know about Lehi’s Round-Up Days parade.
Lehi’s Itty Bitty, Teeny Weeny, Totally G-Rated Parade
Utah has two giant parades. There’s the Pride Parade, which lasts for well-nigh three hours and attracted 70,000 people last year. The other biggie is Days of ’47, a nearly 150-year-old parade that celebrates Pioneer Day, aka Utah Fourth of July. (If you spend the month of July in Salt Lake and observe the volume of fireworks shot off on July 14 vs. July 4, you’ll see what I mean.)
The town of Lehi, on the other hand, brands itself as “the miniature float capital of the world” (or at least the parade committee made that claim in 1985). At the very least, the city regularly attaches the word “famous” to its miniature float parade, and has so much pride in it, it requires all small floats to roll in the mammoth grand parade the following day.
The tiny float parade is part of the town’s mid-to-late-June Round-Up celebration (which includes a rodeo, natch), and very much reflects small-town Latter-day Saint culture. It celebrates and centers children and families; the float-building units are based out of LDS wardhouses; it’s a multi-generational pursuit that bonds elders, parents and littles. And just as ’tit Rəx overflows with raunchy, eccentric, inventive NOLA humor/satire, the Round-Up Mini Parade glows with a Utah-centric wholesomeness and nostalgia.
This year’s theme is “Lets Round-Up some Lehi Fun!” According to Lehi City’s Round-Up Mini Parade Handbook, the parade started in 1926, featuring “children on decorated coaster wagons, tricycles and bicycles, as well as children in pioneer costumes, all of who simply paraded around the racetrack where the present rodeo arena is now located.” It rolls mid-to-late June, starting at 6 p.m. sharp, starting on Main Street and landing in Wines Park.
As the Deseret News noted, marshalls of the mini-parade have always issued strict size and financial ceilings for floats — a reflection of Utah’s dominant religion, which prizes efficiency, consistency, modesty and thrift. In 1933, you could spend between 50 and 75 cents. In 1989, it was $400. Putting a money cap on floats meant it was a fair game for everyone, and no one got too ostentatious. As a result, each tiny float requires ingeniuity with materials and workmanship; early on, kids spent hours curling crepe paper over their knees, or wadding up paper napkins to create flowers. The invention of plastic pom-poms was received with great joy.
Last year, the Lehi Free Press gave a mini history lesson on mini-float materials:
In the 50s and 60s images were made of wood as a base, covered with chicken wire and paper mache. After the base was created, the paper mache designs were covered with curled crepe paper. The strips were glued to the figures to add depth, color and detail. Hours upon hours of curling crepe paper made knees sore and pants worn. Many intricate designs could be achieved with the infamous curled crepe paper. In the 70s, thousands of plastic pom poms replaced the curled crepe paper and became the popular decorating medium. Some of the more elaborate designs had mechanical parts that would make windmills go around, bulls buck, dinosaurs move from right to left, trains climb hills, dogs wag tails, etc. etc.
Besides making the floats, costumes had to be designed and sewn. If you wanted to be a float designer, you almost had to be a seamstress. One year, three 9-year-old boys were forced to wear costumes of Donald Duck’s nephews, Huey, Louey, and Dewey. The three boys never forgave their mothers for making them don these costumes. One suggested that he was scarred for life because of the taunting of his friends as he had to march the parade route looking like a duck. Another boy had to march the entire length of the parade looking like a turtle. He said, “I was OK with the turtle shell, but when I had to wear green girl’s tights, I resisted loudly, but it didn’t matter. My mother made me do it. I didn’t forgive her for years.”
As you can see in the photo above — if you’re familiar with Utah history, that is — it’s hard to miss the visual simliarity with the handcart, the vehicle of choice used by Latter-day Saint pioneers as they crossed the country before settling in Utah.
If tourism numbers are any guide, most parade- and fun-loving Americans would opt to visit New Orleans in early February and watch ’tit Rəx rather than going to Lehi in June to see the Round-Up Miniature Float Parade. Though they seem worlds apart —NOLA’s blue, radical, bon-temps-roulez approach vs. Lehi’s family-friendly, family-forward wholesomeness — they’re both dead serious about preserving unique cultures and creating cohesion across generations. This Free Press article from 2001 lays it all out:
Ned Wilson was 12 years old when he built his first miniature float in 1946. It was a stagecoach, and for its base, he used a little red Ryder wagon. He's not quite sure how many he has built and helped to build, but miniature float building has become a tradition passed down to his children.
His daughter, Peggy Lewis, has built 13 floats and now her daughter, Susan Peterson, is working on their second float in her new Lehi ward. Another daughter, Kellie Jones, has made float building an annual Memorial Day tradition.
“Forever,” Kellie's husband Darren said when asked how many years they had been building flaots. “Too dang long.” He smiles and admits, “I have to give my wife a hard time for planning my weekends 'til the end of June.”
Another Contender, Though!
Having recently been a resident of St. Louis, Missouri, I can say that town throws a good parade, too. I’ll throw a short list out there: the Soulard Pet Parade; the People’s Joy Parade; and of course the Boat of Dreams parade during Artica, which is like the regatta version of a miniature float parade:
It’s not a surprise that the Tiny Totem Parade, with variable names, originated with the Artica unit in the People’s Joy Parade.
The last official Tiny Totem parade happened in 2019, when it was also part of St. Lou Fringe. There’s a good argument to be made that a lack of subsequent parades is due to COVID-19; last October, Artica’s annual fest near the riverfont felt like it was finally getting back up to speed after a couple of quiet years. Here’s a slideshow, circa 2015, of a cold, ancillary pilgrimage through Tower Grove Park to the Tick Tock Tavern. (Quick disclosure: my partner, Thomas, was a partner in TTT at the time. If you have sharp eyes, you’ll even spot him in the slideshow. Also, he publishes this rollicking Substack, which this week gives a front-row account of watching a Valerie Sassyfrass show at St. Roch Tavern following the ’tit Rəx parade. Her gig smoked t-Rəx parade in terms of its charm, naughtiness and sass. Seriously!)
Hopefully, the Boat of Dreams Parade can return to its original route, which ends at the river’s edge — the Mississippi’s wildly fluctuating levels, from Too Full to Nearly Empty and Full of Droughty Sandbars has prevented direct riverside visits the past few years. And fingers crossed, Tiny Totem will make its return alongside it. With tiny floats on both land and water, it’d be hard to argue against it as one of America’s mightiest miniature float events.
But I’ll ask you, Reader: what do you think?
I love this. but how could you forget the Bicknell International Film Festival Parade? hehehe
Two more entries for Carnival contests.
Rio of course: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rio_Carnival.
And if you toss art history into the requirements this 17th century painting attributed to to an unidentified follower of Hieronymus Bosch.
Two more entries for Carnival contests.
Rio of course: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rio_Carnival
And if you toss art history into the requirements this 17th century painting attributed to to an unidentified follower of Hieronymus Bosch.
T