Cyclists visit baker’s dozen of Lodi parks

Saturday’s inaugural 13-mile Park to Park family ride for all cycling levels visited 13 parks throughout Lodi.

There’s nothing more “Lodi” than the Lodi Grape Festival, which opens Thursday. It happens every September right along with the grape harvest. It has always been a celebration of the grapes and the wine and the industry that’s been Lodi’s economic engine for generations. Nothing has deeper roots in Lodi history than the festival, with the possible exception of the grape vines themselves.

IN THE BEGINNING: The Grape Festival had very humble beginnings. The Tokay Carnival, as it was first called — a nod to the area’s new cash crop, Tokay grapes — was staged on the dirt streets of Lodi in 1907, in the vicinity of Pine and Sacramento streets. Excitement abounded. Townsfolk were eager to promote their newly-incorporated city and to showcase the beautiful Tokay grape crop. It was a homespun, homegrown event — an early day block party where everyone in town pitched in and everyone else was invited. Big shots from up and down the state were invited. Two arches were built, one remains. Speeches were given by the governor, mayor and other arriving dignitaries. A grand parade was organized. A queen and court were crowned. The seedling event was planted and would eventually grow into a thriving annual festival celebrating the grapes and wine and the town that produced both so elegantly. It was vintage Lodi.

However, the Tokay Carnival turned out to be a one-shot deal. The event drew an estimated 30,000 people. But exhausted townspeople and an army of volunteers couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm a year later to repeat it. Plus, the first gala ended up 500 bucks in the hole.

A FESTIVAL IS BORN: Fast-forward to 1934. Acting Police Chief Clarence Jackson had just organized the Mustachio Club, a social gathering of men whose only admission requirement was to sport a mustache. The Great Depression was in full swing. Prohibition had been repealed. The grape industry was well established by then, but grape pickers were in a lousy mood, having organized a strike in 1933. So Chief Jackson proposes that the club sponsor a Carnival redux. There’d be a parade, and a queen and court, carnival activities, bands, dignitaries, food and fun, lots of grapes and the community would be invited. The Lodi Grape and Wine Festival was born anew.

Just like the first one and every one since, the festival has been largely homemade. A local affair. Downtown merchants decorated their store windows according to that year’s festival theme. Flags were strung across School and Pine streets for the event. The queen and her court would attend various social events and visit downtown businesses. It was, for the most part, a hometown holiday. Everybody turned out. For those three days, Lodi was all about the grapes and wine. It was vintage Lodi.

EVERYBODY LOVES A PARADE: The Grand Sunday Parade featured homemade floats, marching high school bands from Lodi and beyond, the Sheriff ’s Mounted Patrol, the local mayor and city council members riding in their customary Cadillac convertible, and other assorted entries.

Members of a local service club dressed in clown outfits selling peanuts along the parade route. The local DeMolay chapter sold ice cold bottles of soda from large tubs stationed along the parade route. Parade Grand Marshals included such celebrities as Governor Earl Warren, Congressman Leroy Johnson, Senator William P. Knowland, Senator Alan Short and California National Guard Commander General Frank Schober, Jr. — a Lodi boy.

Shriners clubs from all over Northern California would drive their go-carts and perform driving maneuvers in the parade, all to the delight of kids and parents alike. Then kids discovered Silly String, which they squirt in the faces of Shriners as they motored by. It became such a big deal that the city council banned the stuff from being sold or used unkindly at special events.

Residents with homes along Pine Street would plan porch parties on parade day. People would deploy chairs days in advance, staking out their viewing spot. If you weren’t in the parade you were among the 100,000 spectators who lined the streets. The whole town turned out. However, as participation waned and crowds thinned, the Sunday parade was discontinued in 2002. The Saturday Kiddie Parade, also a Festival staple, went by the wayside in 2010. Oh, those were the days. It was vintage Lodi.

HERE COMES THE QUEEN: What started in 1907 with the Tokay Carnival ended in 1980 with the last queen and court being seated. There were 44 queens and 220 princesses crowned over the years. The first was Queen Zinfandel Bertha DeAlmado and last was Queen Angela Parises.

In 1907, the first queen was selected via ballots that were purchased. In later years Her Royalty was chosen by much more scientific means — a beauty contest. Once selected, overseeing their care and well-being was Nadine Aberle. She was Festival secretary by day and “queen mother” the rest of the time. Bill Pisani, a longtime Lodi educator, was pressed into royal service because he owned a convertible. He would become their official driver and later a festival director and musician for the queen’s coronation. Royal escorts were members from branches of the military.

Viola Reiswig became the official dress and costume designer for the festival, a position she’d hold for 22 years. She worked out of her studio, which doubled as her home, on Church Street near Pine, where a City Hall parking lot is now. Interesting note about Viola: when she didn’t want to do something, not even City Hall could force her to do it. When the city asked to buy her property for a new parking lot, she wanted nothing of it.

The city built the lot anyway, thus surrounding her home with asphalt on three sides. When she passed away the city got the land and finished the job.

Tragedy struck in 1971 when Princess Lorna Unternaher was killed in a car accident a month before the Festival opened. Her spot was filled by a runner-up.

Through the years there have only been four managers of the Festival. Clarence Jackson, the town’s police chief in 1934, took the position as the fair’s first professional manager, a job he would hold until his retirement in 1975. He loved Lodi and the harvest celebration he helped create. Clarence and wife Arvilla Jackson died suddenly on September 16, 1980, within an hour of each other. He was 83, she was 82.

It’s so vintage Lodi.