Pat Culverhouse
Pat Culverhouse

Memory gates have opened wide and it all started with a parade Tuesday.

YHO remembers the first time he stood on a sidewalk in downtown Minden as bands marched twelve-to-the-ten with horns blaring and drums ratatatting while sweater-clad pep squadders shook their pom-poms.

Assorted beauty queens who quickened the seven-year-old heart of the Sibley kid rode in convertibles big enough to qualify as buses and horses sporting dressed-to-the-nines cowboys and cowgirls pranced past with hooves clicking rhythm on brick streets. And then there was that big ol’

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