Parade Those Babies!
For every nineteenth century fad that lost its luster, Asbury Park’s merchants, with the blessing of James A. Bradley, “the Founder” as long as it didn’t involve the sale of alcohol, occasion sexual propinquity, or draw too many black people to the boardwalk, were determined to lure tourists and profits to town on a regular basis. Thus, in July, 1890, the city initiated an annual event that would become one of its biggest, most legendary and enduring tourist attractions – the baby parade. The “unique parade,” as one news reporter described it, was Bradley’s personal brainchild, and first held on a busy summer afternoon in 1890 at the height of the vacation season. About 200 mothers and nurses wheeled babies in their little carriages in single file from the foot of Wesley Lake to the pavilion at Fifth Avenue and back. The popular band from the steamship Trenton led the procession, which was under the general direction of Bradley, who “acted as godfather of all the youngsters,” according to the reporter at the scene; the writer also observed there were “all kinds of babies.” The tots were pulled in wagons decked with silks, satins, flags, streamers and Japanese lanterns. There were even several carriages carrying twins. An estimated 15,000 people witnessed the spectacle, and in the following days, Asbury’s promoters were already describing it as a strong addition to the annual lineup of summer events. The parade was an ideal promotional tool because it strengthened the city’s reputation as a family resort, filled with wholesome amusements suitable for a respectable middle-class clientele. After all, what was more innocently appealing than a parade of adoring mothers and their adorable offspring?
Within seven years, the parade had become an event of epic proportions, with some 50,000 people watching. While the march had warranted a brief three-paragraph write-up in the New York Times in 1890, the festivities were now covered in elaborate detail, with a complete listing of judges and award winners included. Mothers and nurses were busy in the hours before the 4:00 pm march, as they began dressing their babies and decorating the wagons and carriages. Curious onlookers began to gather on the boardwalk several hours before the kickoff, and flags and bunting waved gaily from hotels along the parade route. As fifty security guards kept the route clear of meandering pedestrians, the parade began its route at the auditorium, and then proceeded down the brick bicycle walk to Second Avenue and back. Photographers snapped photos from elevated stands provided for their convenience, while the panel of judges eyed the contestants carefully from a reviewing stand on Fifth Avenue.
The categories for prizes reflected the variety of costumes and decorated carriages, ranging from the “Best Decorated Baby Carriage in Cultivated Flowers” to “The Best Decorated Girl’s Tricycle.” In a category reflecting the belief of the era that obesity equaled health, little William Carpenter won the today dubious distinction of “Heaviest Boy Under One Year of Age,” and received a one-year subscription to Bradley’s Asbury Park Journal for his weight. To ensure that all participants went home happy, every child was given a box of candy, a bottle of manufactured baby food, a blank form for recording age and achievements and a cake of toilet soap.
With each passing year, the parade increased in size and spectacle. In 1901, Ocean Avenue was covered in matting to accommodate the marchers, and even the judges had acquired a more regal air. Miss Grace Crawford, gowned in a Grecian robe of “spotless white,” was queen of the reviewers and rode to the judging stand in an open carriage accompanied by her maids of honor. Little Eilen Passedoit traveled all the way from Paris, France, to participate in the parade, and rode in a coach trimmed in Old Glory and the tri-color of her native land. The displays were even more elaborate and included children riding on diminutive ponies, little girls pushing doll coaches containing make-believe babies and displays depicting everything from the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe to the Discovery of America. Gushed one reviewer: “The weather was perfect, the babies were in fine fettle, and the spectators in good humor.”
It seemed as if nothing could halt the public’s fascination with and affection for the baby parade. By 1912, it featured 700 participants and drew more than 150,000 spectators. By that time the parade had been incorporated into a weeklong schedule of events that included a “Children’s Carnival” and the coronation of Titania, Queen of the Fairies. Even through a World War and the cynical, sophisticated ‘20s, the event, which in a more urbane era might well be deemed a cornball display, remained a top draw. The baby parade survived well into the twentieth century and in the end the only phenomenon that could stop it was financial disaster — the Great Depression. The last true parade was held in 1931, perhaps at least partly because cash-strapped parents had little money to indulge in such frivolities and tourists – the ones who could afford the luxury of a holiday – were preoccupied with more pressing matters. City publicist George Zuckerman attempted to revive the event after World War II, but his efforts were ultimately unsuccessful. Not counting a one shot revival in the 1970s, the last parade took place in 1949.
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