Reporter's Notebook: What It's Like To Announce Cody's Famous Stampede Parade

How does one become an announcer for the Cody Stampede Parade perched on the second-floor porch of Buffalo Bill’s Irma Hotel?

I could boast that it’s a rarefied honor, only bestowed upon those of the highest esteem in the Cody community. After all, seeing the parade from the best spot in town can only be reserved for the upper echelon of the town’s patriotic and devoted.

But the reality? I asked, and Mack Frost said, “Sure.”

That’s how my bald head and walrus mustache have ended up behind the railing of the Irma Hotel, while my parched mouth tries to keep the words flowing smoothly as horses, trucks, tractors and floats inch along Sheridan Avenue.

Amazing what can happen when you ask.

At The Railing

Each day of parade prattling starts with a quick stroll across a blocked-off Sheridan Avenue, darting into the front door of the Irma for a quick handshake with owner Mike Darby, the ascent up the spiral staircase, and the turn to the right where the “Authorized Personnel Only” sign is taped to the door leading to the spot where I’ll spend the parade.

A step through the door reveals a unique slice of history that I’m always excited to stand upon. The rooftop porch itself might not seem all that remarkable, but a few steps to the railing are enough to enrapture anyone who likes a good view.

From this elevation not too far from the road, the grandeur of Cody’s history stretches before you.

Heart Mountain peaks over the downtown rooftops, old painted advertisements that adorn the sides of the brick buildings are clearly visible. You can spot the occasional familiar faces among the hundreds of people, sometimes in rows four deep, on the sidewalks waiting for the bombastic procession to begin.

Mack’s been narrating the parade for 44 years, and I’ve been the Robin to his Batman for the last three. We both have a blue binder filled with green paper on which are all the names and words we’ll be saying as more than 100 entries go parading by.

Cody has several “narration stations” along the parade route, so everyone can hear about what they’re seeing. However, there’s something special about the block where the Irma sits. Every person, horse, mule and dog is putting their best feet, hooves and paws forward when they reach this spot, recognizing its importance as the place where it all started.

Quotes For Patriotic Folks

I, admittedly, look absurd as I sit atop the Irma.

It’s primarily due to the copper-colored walrus mustache I wear for most of my summer as part of the “Wild West Spectacular.” That’s staged six nights a week in the historic Cody Theatre, which I can clearly see right across Sheridan Avenue.

The narrations can get lost in the crowd, even when our voices aren’t competing with revving V-8 engines, popping tractors and gunshots (all blanks, of course). My microphone is so close to my mouth that I’m nearly swallowing it to ensure I’m heard.

Nevertheless, I can’t help but indulge my enthusiasm for the circumstances. When I took in my first Cody parade, I struggled to find a spot on the sidewalk, never thinking I could rise so high as to be one of the echoing voices emanating from the Irma.

Mac plays a recording of the Declaration of Independence as the parade preamble, mainly because he believes it’s more than a history assignment and a piece of important paper.

“I’d bet most people have never read it beyond the first paragraph, and have never heard it in its entirety,” he said.

He also noted the entry for July 4, 1776, in King George III’s diary: “Nothing of interest happened today.”

He’d find out soon enough.

Mac and I go back and forth reading patriotic quotes from the likes of Theodore Roosevelt, Frederick Douglass, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Ronald Reagan. The traditional first quote from Emma Bombeck is one we take turns doing, as it’s just too much fun to say and share.

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism,” she wrote.

The parade starts at 9:30 a.m., but there are still several minutes of filler before the first flag reaches the intersection of Sheridan Avenue and 12th Street. There, the flag is presented, the National Anthem is played, and everyone takes a moment to reflect on the sacrifices that made this day and these celebrations possible.

Somber To Silly

The opening of the 2025 Cody Stampede Parade has a quiet solemnity.

After the color guard and the only mounted unit of the U.S. Marine Corps passed by, there was a riderless horse for one of Cody’s legends, lost in the past year: U.S. Sen. Al Simpson.

Anyone who knew Al knew he was the life of every party.

I was fortunate to have my moments with the great man, and that sight made me think and feel more deeply than any other that day.

Soon, the streets were noisy with vintage vehicles, sirens and uproarious responses from the crowd. Every entry pauses at the Irma, acknowledging us and other spectators with a wave or wisecrack.  

U.S. Sen. John Barrasso, who’s a fixture on both days of the parade, always stops to shout up about the latest story of mine he’s read. When he and the other high-ranking politicians finish the route, their next stop is to join Mack and me on the Irma rooftop porch. If you’re looking to network, there’s no better place.

Parades move slowly, but there are a lot of words to get out in a surprisingly short amount of time. My well-wishes are kept cursory between the entries, split with Mack to ensure we keep up with the flow.

Naturally, I enjoy a captive audience that’s forced to endure my bad jokes. So, I relish the opportunity to make whatever the parade announcing equivalent is of a “dad joke.”

“I love the smell of leaded gasoline in the morning.”

“The sirens seem determined to narrate themselves.”

“My favorite vehicle is that older model.”

Are they funny? Not necessarily, but they’re fun to say.

The Unofficial Finale

After several marching bands, Western-themed float and vintage vehicles file past, it’s time for the parade to reach its natural conclusion. The Cody Outriders join together for a final applause for their nearly 50 years of service.

But it ain’t over until the street sweeper deftly moves across the four-lane road targeting the bushels of road apples left by the hoof stock. Once you’ve seen that, you know it’s over.

Mack and I shake hands, pose for a few photos, and I secure my place for next year — if my bad jokes and mispronounced names weren’t enough to kick me to the Sheridan Avenue curb. They haven’t — yet.

With one final survey of my incredible surroundings, I step through the door back into the Irma, authorized no longer, to join the throngs spreading out through Cody to enjoy everything there is to offer.

Working For It

I still consider narrating the Cody Stampede Parade a tremendous honor and pleasure for a Cleveland kid who didn’t grow up celebrating a Western-style parade. That’s why I put my darndest into every written word and spontaneous joke.

Buffalo Bill was the world’s greatest showman. If I’m going to be one of the booming voices overseeing a parade in his town, I’d better give it my all.

I probably won’t step foot atop the Irma again until July 3, 2026, the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. But I’ll be there, cracking bad jokes, enunciating at great speed, and swallowing my microphone so I can reach the bar I feel has been set for that position during this parade.

It’s a damn good time in an incredible community. And, as long as they’ll have me, I’ll be at the railing of the Irma, mustache and all.

Andrew Rossi can be reached at arossi@cowboystatedaily.com.