Anchorage Daily News

Maybe I shouldn't be writing this, because the quirky small-town celebration I recently observed might get so popular it becomes a bacchanalian rumble like this year's Talkeetna Moose Dropping festival. But the old mining town of McCarthy is an eight-hour drive from the big city and 60 miles from the nearest pavement, so maybe it's safe to let their secret out. My wife and I stumbled across McCarthy's Fourth of July bash during a trip to the ghost mining town of Kennecott, in the heart of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.

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McCarthy is five miles downhill from the huge Kennecott complex, which was a tightly regulated company town. When miners wanted to get drunk and gamble, they headed to McCarthy. These days, the town is more famous as the Alaska home of the notorious Papa Pilgrim, the now-deceased Bible-thumping sex offender.

McCarthy looks like the classic Western movie town, with its dirt streets and old-time wooden store fronts. Shortly before noon, the entire two blocks of "downtown" were already lined with people, a mix of camera-toting tourists, summer transients, and long-time locals. About 400 people showed up, nearly eight times the town's nominal population.

The parade, a decades-old tradition, was an outdoor version of Anchorage's Miners and Trappers costume ball, made all the more merry by the 80-degree weather.

A crew of uniformed park service workers wearing oversized hats carried signs touting their park, "Wrangell-St. Enormous." A smartly dressed woman on stilts passed by, plus a chain gang that apparently was a joke I didn't get, and wilderness guides leading a small dog team with a bawdy double-entendre sign. Trucks, motorcycles and ATVs rolled by, festooned with red, white and blue. A kid pedaled a unicycle and a juggler performed, both with a respectable degree of success.

The local church entry was a cart with an electronic mini-piano and a smartly dressed older couple who sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." On the other end of the theological spectrum, a lone bicyclist pulled a cart advocating "Freedom From Religion." His exhibit A was Papa Pilgrim. Someone dressed as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz advertised his love for Jesus.

A pickup carried volunteer firefighters who enjoyed hosing the crowd with water. I stood in front of my wife, to keep her from getting a wet T-shirt treatment. I got soaked in the crotch, so it looked like I'd wet my pants.

It was a small sacrifice to make in the name of chivalry and small-town fun.

-- Matt Zencey

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