May. 04, 2007 - 12:28 MDT

Glorious

Thinking back again, to my young years when the Fourth Of July was a very enjoyable event for us boys.

There wasn't much excitement for us normally, TV was a dream of the future and Jack Armstrong The All American Boy and radio programs of that ilk was about it. An occasional movie with the serial cowboy episode was a break from the boredom of our ordinary lives.

But the anticipation for the joy that was the day of the Fourth Of July ran high in the group of kids I ran with. Oh we'd buy carbide at the hardware store and blow up cans in a somewhat restrained manner. Carbide was what made miner's lamps shine and back then most hardware stores carried it. Little rocks they were, when spit on and dropped into a can with a fuse hole in the bottom and a nesting can over the top, with the application of a flame at the fuse hole the gas would ignite and blow the top can about telephone wire high.

But, no flash, no big bang, rather blah compared to the excitement of the fireworks of the coming day.

My Dad would buy fireworks in Hop Alley down town where the Oriental folks were. Guess the price was right and I will attest to the good quality of them.

The morning of the day would start out with Dad igniting a string or two of Lady Fingers as a sort of build up of fun to come.

Each year my share of firecrackers would grow, in amount and intensity (as I grew in ability to save my fingers). I carried kitchen matches in my pocket to light them with, in case I didn't have punk handy.

We boys would meet, not by appointment, as boys seem to do now on "Play Dates," but just because it was the way of most boys then. And we would exercise our imaginations and devise as novel a way of blowing up things as we could.

In those days the biggies were called "Salutes," and they were noisy to the max. They'd send a can up a bit.

Somewhere in there we'd have lunch, usually potato salad, hard boiled eggs that had been in a jar of beet juice, Cole Slaw and maybe Cherry Pie washed down with home made Root Beer.

There were things the girls had, I think were called snakes, when placed on the sidewalk and lit with a match, a gray snakelike thing would begin to grow, Lady Fingers were their area too.

As the day waned and dusk approached anticipation of the pyrotechnic evening activity would be eagerly anticipated. But before the Pinwheels, Roman Candles and sky rockets were the firecrackers we kids would save for the oncome of darkness, they were called Flash Crackers, fairly loud noise and a brilliant flash which showed up quite well with oncoming darkness. By the time the supply of those items had been depleted it would be dark and the show about ready to begin.

What went on in our backyard was of course duplicated in backyards across town which added to the display of night time fireworks. Dad had a board stuck up he would put pinwheels on, oh it was such fun to watch them spurt fire and spin. Then I would be stood in a point to where I could safely aim Roman Candles and being told not to shift my aim be handed one and Dad would light it. And I became Thor wielding thunder and lightening over the world. Through the evening the roar of firecrackers continued, big bangs produced by Dads and uncles I guess.

Pinwheels and Roman Candles exhausted then Dad would set up his rocket launcher, boards nailed in vee shaped configuration set in such a way as to be aimed at about a 35 degree angle. I would be trembling with excitement awaiting that grand swoosh as his rocket would take off, fire trailing along behind it.

There would be launchings from our place and watchings of others skyrockets in air, sips of root beer, talk and then another would be set off by Dad.

Our fireworks done for, still we would sit out watching the skyrockets in the neighborhood in their flights, listening to the barrage of firecracker explosions still going strong.

It would be a late night for me which was a cause for my celebration too, as late nights were few and far between for this night owl.

And then it would be over and sleep would occur. The next day we boys would scour the neighborhood for skyrocket sticks and other explosive detritus, which eventually found its way to trash barrels when the interest died.

Perhaps that is where many of us boys got the idea of the power and destructiveness of explosives, after holding a firecracker too long befor throwing it, and other hurtful events on Fourths as years went on. I think too that Dad and Mom stayed up on that night to make sure that our roof wasn't set on fire by a wandering skyrocket or a blast from a Roman Candle.

I know that it had a bearing in my case as in my mind I fit the reality of gunpowder into the cowboy movies I had seen, assiduously learned the use of rifle and shotgun, taught by my elders. It was well that I had learned early as I found my Mom's 25 caliber automatic on a shelf high in the closet (Dad had bought it for her when he was working nights) and proceeded to go to the clay pit to shoot up tin cans with other kids. There were a few 22 caliber rifles in play also. Guess we all had been well taught as there was never any byplay of a dangerous kind.

Those who sit in stadiums and so forth watching a fireworks display see much that never happened in neighborhoods back then, color, effects, noise and so forth, but we seemed to be right in the middle of the whole thing back then. But to us, the Fourth of July was truly GLORIOUS . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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