When is a “penny parade” not really a penny parade? And when did it change?
Those of us who are longer-in-the-tooth than some of our friends remember in days of yore when a penny really did buy a customer a chance at winning a prize from the table of items put out to entice supporters — the folks who could just barely spare a penny for a good cause.
It was the well-heeled in the community who would go so far as to sometimes spend five pennies to earn five chances on the same prize, or one chance on each of five items. Even children would save a penny or two to buy a chance on a win, even though it was frowned upon to allow youngsters to be involved in these schemes.
Our church minister was against such activities. Penny parades and bingo were considered forms of gambling and not to be undertaken in the name of church fundraising. However, we were allowed to have a fish pond because picking out the best “fish” was considered a skill and not a gamble, as everyone won a prize in return for paying a small coin.
I don’t recall the exact time when I was allowed to enter a penny parade, but I do remember being proud that I had some pennies with which to take my chance on winning a new set of pencils or a new notebook. If memory serves me correctly, other prizes included nail polish, tea towels, aprons and, best of all, homemade candy. My luck was non-existent. I should have stuck to the fish pond.
A group that took penny parades seriously was the former Household Arts/Lifestyles committee at the Hometown Fair. As a relative newbie in this area of expertise, I was quickly advised that this was not a garage sale and used items were not welcome. Re-gifted items in the original packaging were acceptable as long as all gift tags were removed. Those ladies spent hours and donated many tanks of gasoline in pursuit of items for this fundraiser.
This was also my first introduction to the fact that pennies had no place in the payment for tickets. No sir, that would be Loonies, please, as many as you wanted to spend. When questioned about this jump in price, I was told it was inflation. “Why not call it a Loonie Parade then?” I asked. “People would think it was too expensive if we called it that,” came the reply. I quit asking questions and simply applauded when the group raised over $1,000 for the fair.
Inflation, it seems, keeps hitting these prize tables. The going rate now is 10 tickets for $5; in some places, it is 20 tickets for $10. And at one, 10 tickets cost $20. There are no marketing boards to control non-penny parade table prices.
But despite the price, the interest in such endeavours has not waned. Everyone loves a chance to win a prize, even if the prize is something one would never consider buying at a regular retail outlet.
I’m sure I didn’t enter to win a child’s shirt and toy tractor, but my ticket number was called and Housemate’s hand went up to indicate my surprise win. I can’t be sure, but I think I might have re-gifted my winnings for the next year’s prize table.
It isn’t the winning that counts the most, it is the anticipation of a possible win that makes us part with coins of every denomination and even folding money for the chance to win an item that surely we do not need.
But by buying a fistful of tickets, we are doing our small part to support the economy of the sponsoring group. We win and the group wins.
Joyce Walter can be reached at [email protected]
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
