The American Legion, are, in a word, legion. There are over 13,000 Legion posts dotting the globe, cranking out millions in fund-raising dollars (emergency funds, scholarships,VA and children’s hospitals, etc.) and volunteer hours (community service, emergency aid).
The town of Chapala, the biggest settlement on its namesake lake, counts itself among the organization’s many homes. As one would expect, they put on the ritz for the 4th of July as faithfully as any of the other posts around the world. And while the Legion’s celebration has changed very little (according to sources at the event) in the more than half-century they’ve been on the lake, peoples’ experiences of the holiday over the course of their own lives differ considerably.
American Legion Chapala Post 7 is one rambling, low building located inside a high, white stucco wall shaded by a few ancient trees on a dusty side street a short walk from the town’s malecón. The post’s July 4 festivities took place mainly in the property’s large patio space, shaded by tents nd leafy trees and scattered with tables and chairs. Food was prepared in the building’s kitchen and brought outdoors to stock a long buffet. The attendees of the event, naturally, were mainly veterans and their significant others.
Bill and Dodie Tillman, originally of Houston, Texas, moved to Ajijic six years ago. Prior to becoming expatriates, they witnessed over the course of many decades Houston’s remarkable expansion — exponential growth which in turn changed the nature of the calendar year’s important holidays, such as 4th of July. Bill’s description of that evolution contrasted casual quiet, bucolic neighborhood cook-outs in the old days with today’s million-strong extravaganzas in the city’s Buffalo Bijou Park, complete with loud music and seizure-inducing fireworks displays.
The invite list of Legion events isn’t limited solely to members; Jean, a Frenchman, had just moved with Carla, his American spouse, to Chapala just three weeks ago from the southern French town of Montpellier. Nearby sat two Canadian veterans, Norm and Rick — ineligible for membership by virtue of the flag under which they served — with two American women, Lee Gudaitis of North Carolina and Gloria George of Texas. Gudaitis’ father was murdered when she was very young, leaving the already motherless girl an orphan.
“Because of the fact that I was in an orphanage, [my experience of 4th of July] was quite different,” she said, describing a somewhat Dickensian arrangement wherein the children were never allowed to enjoy the holiday’s festivities. “Later, when I was able to leave there and got intonormal living, we’d go to the town fireworks — they always had the most beautiful fireworks. We’d eat the hotdogs and just enjoy,” reminisced Gudaitis. “It was always potato salad, fried chicken and hot dogs.”
“[In Texas] It was all hamburgers and hot dogs — and fried chicken, if your family was into that,” said Gloria with a sly grin.
At 3 p.m., people pushed back their chairs and strolled over to the buffet table, where they were served (wait for it) fried chicken, baked beans and coleslaw by Post 7 staff. There were bottles of Tabasco at every table, but very little of it seemed to be in use — there being little need, perhaps, to adulterate one’s birthright comfort food with foreign flavors, even if Tabasco is almost as American as ketchup. Being that old veterans can be an inscrutable lot, it was difficult to tell whether or not anybody noticed the absence of the celebration’s de rigueur fireworks display, a ubiquitous but stirring spectacle lighting up the sky above countless American cities and towns down the generations.