Doug Clark: Col. Wallace returns to namesake as a 1-ton tombstone

Col. William Ross Wallace was formally welcomed back into the North Idaho town he founded amid cannon blasts, flag waving, ballyhoo and one of the greatest parades ever.

The colonel’s comeback last Saturday wasn’t in a physical form, thank goodness.

That’d be zombie creepy since the Civil War hero died at age 67 from some internal malady on Nov. 16, 1901.

No. Wallace returned to Wallace in the form of his 1-ton granite tombstone. The marker was obtained from a collector and hauled up from California earlier this year.

It now rests in perpetuity outside the front door of Wallace’s historic Northern Pacific Railroad depot museum. The monument was ceremoniously installed there following the Founder’s Day parade.

“It’s here hopefully for eternity,” said Jamie Baker, adding in a knock-on-wood tone: “But who knows?”

Ah, and what a celebration it was!

In a rare hiccup of happenstance, Baker, who owns the landmark Red Light Garage restaurant and other Wallace properties with his wife, Barbara, is a good friend and fellow bandmate from my high school daze.

So after my Clarksville column broke the tale of the Wallace tombstone rescue, Baker asked if I’d like to ride in the parade in a white stretch limousine.

Would I?

Only a fool would turn down such a rare chance to be part of Silver Valley lore.

And so at 1 p.m. the parade began with a cannon blast and a biplane circling the clear blue skies high overhead.

My pal Joe Brasch and I sat in the limo, tossing taffy out the windows to awaiting kids.

Until a block later, that is, when the bag ran dry.

Brasch reminded me that if I hadn’t already eaten so much of the candy we would have had more to toss.

I never understood supply side economics.

To make up for the shortfall, we filled the remaining time hollering to the people lining the sidewalks that I was Butch Otter, governor of Idaho.

Along for the ride was trumpeter Mike Lenke.

His job was to stand through the moon roof and play “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” during our journey.

Lenke is a solid player. But to be honest, I’d had it with the tune by about the 55th time.

Speaking of classy rides, nothing in the parade quite compared to the rig Baker arranged for Wallace Mayor Dick Vester.

A truly good sport, the mayor sat in an orange Cinderella-like pumpkin carriage mounted atop a flatbed truck.

At the other end of the mayoral float, a woman in streetwalker’s garb gave a colorful nod to the town’s former bordello-rich history.

“Only in Wallace do they have the mayor riding with a hooker,” said Vester with a laugh during a phone call.

I took an immediate liking to this guy. And I’ll bet anyone that we never hear anything that funny coming out of Spokane Mayor David Condon.

Anyway, the eclectic parade included …

Civil War re-enactors. Abe Lincoln and Mary Todd impersonators. Genuine striking miners. A combat veterans motorcycle association.

Fifty high-stepping, line-dancing Blazen Divaz. Masons from Lewiston with a “crutch” float.

A woman carrying a pig in a basket.

Minnie Mouse pulling a wagon.

A small army of ATV riders. Firetrucks. Horses. Emergency vehicles. Scores of mini-tombstones so decorated by child artists.

And this is just what I remember.

“It’s so cool that people put so much time into all this,” said Baker, who estimated that at least 500 people participated in the parade.

Not too shabby for a hamlet with just 785 residents.

You can learn a lot about a place by looking at it through the open windows of a parade car.

I’ve always loved this town for its rugged setting and its historical downtown.

But what I saw Saturday is that Wallace is all about whimsy, which would make for a pretty good civic slogan.

Especially considering that Spokane spent a quarter million to come up with our latest brand, “Creatively Indifferent.”

Something like that. It’s so forgettable that I always have a hard time remembering the exact wording.

Wallace residents, though highly independent, don’t take themselves too seriously. After all, this is the town that years ago branded itself the “Center of the Universe.”

The hilarious advocates of this notion went so far as to pinpoint the exact spot with a customized manhole cover at 6th and Bank.

So why not attempt to hold the biggest parade Wallace has seen since Teddy Roosevelt blew through back in 1903?

That was the goal Baker, Chuck King and other volunteers set for Founder’s Day. Baker believes they succeeded.

“There’s no one alive to dispute it,” he added slyly.

There’s more than a touch of irony in Wallace being welcomed home with such open hearts and minds.

Lured here in the 1883 gold rush, Wallace used his money to form a township that in 1885 was named in his honor.

That was the high point. In 1889, some sharpies supposedly swindled Wallace out of his land. And his marriage blew up. The colonel left with some pretty bruised feelings, I’m guessing.

Said Baker, “A lot of people have come up here and lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. That’s just kind of the mining mentality. A lot of people get screwed.

“William Wallace was the very first one to be screwed,” he added. “He set the standard.”

Ah, but that was then.

What counts now is Wallace is back, sort of. And on permanent display for public examination in the very town that bears his name.