Veishea has come and gone. There was the prelude, the event and now, the aftermath. All week, you have read columns about Veishea, Quick Es about Veishea and letters about Veishea. Since, for some reason, the Quick Es I send in never get printed, I’d like to share my own view on this year’s celebration.

I had a dry Veishea. It was so friggin’ dry that it caught on fire.

When Veishea got the final go ahead this year, I decided I wanted to be a part of it. Unfortunately, I missed the application deadline for a committee member. Go figure. But in late January, I applied and interviewed to be a Parade Aid and was fortunate enough to get it.

Let me give you a little idea of a Parade Aid’s duties. A lot of things are needed to make a successful parade. Things like marching bands, big floats, huge balloons, dignitaries, etc. In the Parades Committee, there is a sub-committee with two co-chairs for each one of these categories. And each co-chair needs anywhere from two to seven gofers. This position of gofer is also known as a Parade Aid.

Though we may have been only gofers, we worked hard and were often the answers to a lot of important questions. Questions like: “Who’s gonna sit at this barricade?” or “Who’s gonna get me a Coke?” or “Who’s gonna pick up the horse crap?”

I got handed to the Traditional Floats Committee. Traditional floats are the big floats in the parade that fraternities and sororities build each year. The float I was in charge of was the Noble House/Sigma Kappa float. Noble House is a floor in Friley with a strong tradition in Veishea floats. For about two months, I met once a week with one of the co-chairs of the float. I made sure they were keeping on schedule, attending all the meetings and following all the rules. Not too exciting.

But alas, Saturday’s parade finally came. The Noble Float was ready to go. There had been some problems with the engine earlier in the morning, but a mechanic had looked at it and given it the go-ahead. Apparently, it would be just fine if it could keep moving.

And finally, she pulled onto the parade route, looking spectacular. I was walking alongside her looking proud, though I had absolutely no part in building it. My only job in the parade would be to radio for help if the float broke down. I carried a radio in my hand, but I figured its only purpose would be to make me look cool. Unfortunately, that statement would come back to burn me, in more ways than one.

This parade was filled with stops and starts. For some reason, we’d have to stop about every five minutes. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was killing the engine on our float.

As we turned on to the road in front of Beardshear Hall, the guys warned me that we had a problem. They said that they couldn’t stop anymore or the engine would blow a rod. I got on the radio and tried to see if there was anyway to speed up the parade, but I received only static. I told them there was nothing I could do, but that the float would make it. Famous last words.

Not five minutes later, I heard a huge pop from inside the float, and my heart sank as someone yelled “FIRE!” Then, like a scene out of the movie “Animal House,” everyone who was on or under the float busted out in a cloud of smoke. They ripped down walls, they punched out windows, they broke through wood. In a comical horror, I watched as everything they had worked so hard for and everything I had been so proud of was literally destroyed.

Remembering my one job, I was quickly on the horn: “We have a fire in front of Beardshear Hall!” At once, all the bigwigs of the Parades Committee were there, except there was nothing anyone could do. A tow truck was called in, but it took about 15 minutes for it to get there. And to make matters worse, the float’s wheels were locked, so it took another 20 minutes to get it moving.

We walked the rest of the route beside a burned out, ripped up float. Unfortunately, we still had to walk in front of the television cameras. I guess no one informed the announcer that we had a fire, so he read just what was written on the sheet: “Here’s the Noble Float. This is an attractive float complete with characters that wave and a moving train!” The train was on its side, and the charred characters had no arms left with which to wave. It was a disaster.

So that was my Veishea experience. Unfortunately, the parade was held up for about 40 minutes, but I don’t think it detracted from anyone’s enjoyment. In fact, those who saw the fire were probably thoroughly entertained.

And I know that I was probably not the model Parade Aid, but at least I didn’t get fired — sort of.

Jackson Lashier is a freshman in journalism and mass communication from Marshalltown.