Like fireworks, Fourths of July memories tend to run together for me. Now, without little ones nearby to ohh and ahh, the aerial displays and bombardments are for someone else. Residents in the Chehalis Valley here in Washington state started early this year. Last night (June 30) I felt like a kid, smiling from our deck at the 45-minute colorful show courtesy of someone right next to Interstate 5. It was quite professional and cost someone a bundle. At first I wondered if a fireworks stand was exploding.
Two Fourths in particular stand out in my mind. The first was when I was 11 and is documented in my childhood memoir, "Walkin' Joe and The Midnight Marauders." Our Iowa town celebrated its Centennial in 1954 and if fell over the July 4 holiday, so many festivities were packed in, including the grandest fireworks display ever held there. Or so everyone said. Actually the fireworks misfired and sent us and the crowd scrambling.
A couple decades ago, a prominent Iowa grocer, who shall remain anonymous, decided to make the Fourth memorable. We were guests at their beautiful home in the Iowa Great Lakes (yes, there are great lakes there!) for the long weekend. Sharing my penchant for fireworks - illegal in Iowa - my grocer friend thought it was a good idea for us to fly his plane to South Dakota, where fireworks could be purchased. We pooled our resources (actually, his resources) and loaded up his plane with boxes upon boxes of promising rockets, starbursts, rain-makers and bombs for our own little lakeside party.
Loaded with hundreds of of dollars in fireworks and safely in the air, my friend (let's just call him "Bob") had this strange smile as he detailed all the violations we could be charged with. Taking explosives across state lines was one thing, taking them in an aircraft was another. I hadn't given it much thought, I just wanted some damn fireworks. I owned a newspaper at the time and Bob thought this caper and the resulting charges would make a funny story - "One for the old scrapbook, eh, Denny?" Once we got out of jail, he asked, would it make page one?
Well, the story ends happily, except for one little thing. We had a brilliant display for our children and every other family on West Okoboji that night. It was truly impressive. There were so many fireworks going off that the grand finale was one to remember. We caught his wooden dock on fire. No one was hurt and we had plenty of water to extinguish the flames.
So, Bob, our story didn't ever make the newspaper, but in this newfangled digital age, it's on a "blog." Someone explain it to him, okay? (And thanks for the memories.)
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