In western Oklahoma, parades aren’t just events—they’re living traditions. Proof that communities still gather, that families still return, and that in towns like Sayre, the sidewalks fill with generations of stories carried on the wind.
This Easter weekend, Sayre, Oklahoma— proud seat of Beckham County— hosted its 93rd Annual Main Street Parade, a testament to the town’s enduring spirit. Despite a wind chill that flirted with freezing, the streets were packed. Grandparents huddled in coats. Children darted out for candy. Parents waved at floats. Neighbors called to each other by name. The whole town came together, not just to celebrate, but to continue a rhythm that has echoed down Main Street for nearly a century.
Some towns throw events. Sayre preserves heritage. From alumni floats to classic tractors and candy-filled pick- ups, the 93rd parade wasn’t about flash—it was about heart. The kind that fills the air with laughter, leaving candy scattered like confetti across cracked pavement. The kind that lives in the grin of a kid in a hoodie and cowboy boots, and the misty eyes of someone remembering the last 40 parades from the same folding chair.
Sayre has always been this way. In 1908, it was chosen over Erick as the permanent county seat. In the 1930s, Sheriff Clarence H. Phillips was assassinated in the courthouse for standing up to bootleggers. In 1957, the whole town shut down to honor Dr. H.K. Speed with a parade led by children he had delivered. From frontier grit to Route 66 resilience, Sayre’s past isn’t just history—it’s woven into the present.
This year, I had the honor of seeing the parade from a new perspective: the grandstand. I stood on a trailer, the kind used for rodeos and homecoming floats, draped in red, white, and blue bunting. I was handed a float list and told to ‘vamp.’ But honestly, the crowd didn’t need narration. They needed exactly what they gave each other: recognition, warmth, pride. It wasn’t about the voice on the mic. It was about the sound of community.
Before the engines revved and the floats began their roll, the Sayre High School Choir took the stage to offer something quieter but just as powerful. A full, clear chorus of “The National Anthem” floated through the cool morning air—no backing track needed. Just voices and conviction—no one squirmed, no one rushed. Because here in Sayre, no one’s afraid to show their patriotism. It’s not for politics. It’s not for show. It’s just who they are. Honest, grounded, grateful. And that’s how the parade began— not with noise, but with pride.
Some kids were too cold to bend down for candy. Others clutched it by the fistful, cheeks already stuffed. You could hear squeals when the princess in the red convertible rolled by, waving in a rhinestone crown. The drums of the marching band sent goosebumps through the wind.
And before any of that came into view, the first thing to roll down the street were the sirens— the Sayre Police Department’s cars flashing red and blue through the gray sky. But this time, those lights didn’t mean danger. They meant something better. They meant candy was coming out of those windows. Joy was inbound. The flashing lights cast wild colors on the crowd, and for once, the red and blue were just a welcome sight for every little kid lining the sidewalk.
Not long after, the fire department rolled through. Big engines. Bigger smiles. Familiar faces. Sayre’s volunteer firefighters waved from the trucks—not as officials, but as neighbors. And in true Western Oklahoma fashion, they weren’t alone. Right behind them came their brothers from Delhi—fellow volunteers who made the drive not for a paycheck, not for recognition, but because that’s what neighbors do. A big water truck dressed almost like a Tylenol came in from Sweetwater, too—clean, bold, and impossible to miss. Another group of volunteers showing up not for a trophy, but because that’s what neighbors do. Just like Sayre would be right behind them in a time of need. These are folks who don’t get paid, don’t get reimbursed for gas, and wouldn’t dream of needing to. That’s the Western Oklahoma way. Here, we don’t need to be asked to show up. We just show up.
And just when you thought the best part had already passed, the next moment tugged even harder at your heart. It was in the faces—especially the grandparents. They weren’t just watching their grandkids. They were watching a piece of their own youth relive itself right in front of them. Every wide-eyed look, every joyful scream, every little hand stretched out to catch a flying piece of candy— it brought back parades from decades ago. For the parents, it was a moment of surprise and wonder—seeing it all through their children’s eyes for the very first time. What they don’t realize yet is that one day, they’ll be watching their grandchildren do the same—and they’ll feel it twice as deep.
Of course, once the awe wears off, reality sets in. There’s a moment where parents glance into the candy-stuffed bags their kids are carrying and suddenly do the math— just how much sugar is headed home with them. You can almost see the joy turn into a quiet panic. The sidewalk sparkles with dropped peppermints and smushed bubble gum while kids are dragging home enough Tootsie Rolls to survive a blizzard. It’s the kind of delightful chaos only a small-town parade can deliver.
It’s not unusual to come home and find a foil-covered tray of Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and biscuits sitting in a neatly folded grocery sack— no note, no knock. Just a quiet kindness that says, ‘You’ve got folks in your corner.’ That’s Sayre. That’s Beckham County. That’s what Western Oklahoma is all about.
For those who’ve watched this tradition unfold for decades, nothing much has changed—and that’s exactly the point. The magic lives in its consistency, in the way it anchors us. In a world that moves too fast and forgets too quickly, Sayre remembers.
So no, we didn’t have confetti cannons or marching network cameras. We had Main Street. We had cold wind and warm smiles. We had kindergarteners in cowboy hats and alumni who’ve come home more than 60 times. We had laughter, memories, and a parade that has never once needed a spotlight to shine.
Thank you to the Sayre Alumni Association for keeping this tradition alive. Thank you to the families who brave the cold year after year, the kids who dance in the street, the veterans who wave from floats, and the neighbors who make this place what it is. In Sayre, neighborly isn’t a buzzword— it’s baked into everything. From fire trucks driven across county lines to foil-wrapped trays of Salisbury steak left quietly on doorsteps, this town doesn’t ask for attention. It just shows up. Sayre doesn’t just welcome you. It holds you.
