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You have your Rose bowl parade, you have your Gater bowl parade and you have your Fiesta bowl parade. But nowhere else except in tiny Hustisford, WI do you have the infamous Hustisford Toilet Bowl Parade.
Nestled in the central part of southern Wisconsin about an hour from Milwaukee is a small town called Hustisford, WI: population about 1000. Hustisford, founded by John Hustis about 150 years ago, sits comfortably on the southern part of Lake Sinissippi, a man-made lake which covers about 2800 acres of prime Wisconsin wetlands and is fed by the Horicon Marsh bird rookery. Pronunciation of Hustisford can vary depending on to whom you’re speaking. Long time residents can drop the “s” and call it Hustiford…some of the newbies stretch out the HUST and say Hoostisford in some kind of mock Scandinavian accent.
Hustisford is basically a farming town. Corn and cows cover much of the landscape and it’s a common sight to see the hard working farmers and their families planting, harvesting or getting ready for the next year’s work.
Yes, Hustisford is a sleepy, boring little town most of the time. January 1st, however, is when this little town comes out to play.
Every year on the first of the year, when the local residents are drinking their bloody mary’s and tying to sober up after a long celebration the night before, Hustisford has its Toilet Bowl parade. The Toilet Bowl, as the locals affectionately know it, is what gets the population up early on this day when they’d rather sleep in. The downtown areas are cordoned off, cars that may have been abandoned by residents who were a bit too happy the night before will be towed…and basically the streets are artificially widened in preparation for the festivities.
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At noon, the whistle blows and the parade begins. The Toilet Bowl King and Queen sit dignified on side-by-side toilets as a farmer’s tractor drags their parade float down the street. They often have moral support from their friends who may be in costume ranging from the angel of death to members of King Arthurs’ round table. In this parade, things don’t really need to make sense…as long as you’ve got a sense of humor and a beer in your hand. Following the toilet royalty are other floats, bicycles and assorted types of motorized vehicles. It’s common to see local members of the community breaking out their riding lawn mowers for a quick ride downtown. Also, the firemen and the garbage trucks usually make an appearance as well. And the kids get into the act too…either on their own motorized skateboards or scooters or as riders of the floats. Although there’s no set-in-stone requirement, most of the floats have a toilet or 5 in attendance with persons whose alcoholic blood content is highly questionable. They’re often raising a toilet plunger in appreciation of their special day. The onlookers of the parade get into the act as well. Before the first float comes down the street, the local cops and city commissioners give out hundreds of rolls of toilet paper. The onlooker’s job is to throw the rolls of paper at the floats and float inhabitants and try to bean them. Although no serious injuries have been reported, some of the float drivers have scowled mightily after been hit intentionally in the head by one of their not-so-favorite neighbors. As the floats roll down the streets, rolls of paper are thrown from both sides so that the floats, streets and all people in attendance are covered with streams of white paper. The downtown area only consists of 4 or 5 short blocks so the parade usually makes 2 or 3 passes in a circuitous route so that they can drag it out a bit. By the time the floats have finished their second loop, the streets are mostly white with unrolled paper and hoots and hollers of residents and riders alike have started the new year with a bang. A short 2 hours after the parade’s last participant makes the journey down the boulevard, the streets and sidewalks are clean and tidy and there’s barely any evidence of the day’s activities. But looking skyward might you find the remnants of a furtively thrown roll of Charmin which, perhaps, after ricocheting off of somebody’s John Deere tractor, found itself wrapped around the power lines that criss-cross the downtown streets.
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