Growing up, the Fourth of July was always an anticipated celebration. As a kid, I didn’t quite understand all the details of America’s fight for independence. But I knew that America was the place to be, and it was certainly worthy of its own celebration day.
One of the natural benefits of July 4th was that it
happened to occur in the summer. And that meant that there was no school
leading up to the holiday. This gave the neighborhood kids ample time to
collect their fireworks. Any fireworks transactions were kept on the down-low because
they were frowned upon by the local law enforcement. I can understand why as
they were dangerous and illegal.
And before we go any further, I don’t want to incriminate myself.
I’m telling this story in the first person narrative to make it an easier read 😉.
In true “Dragnet” fashion, the names
have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).
The fireworks were usually smuggled into our neighborhood
from a neighboring state. We would sometimes get word that “the mule” would be
making a run to Pennsylvania to make a purchase. Everyone would fill out their personal
laundry list for bottle rockets, firecrackers, Roman candles and M-80’s.
Word would come down a few days later that “Bob” had the fireworks.
You would have to know someone “on the inside” who would take you to “Bob’s”
house for the purchase. It felt kind of wrong. But having fireworks, even a
small collection, gave you some street cred in the neighborhood. So, you would
make the journey to Bob’s house by snaking along through back alleys and vacant fields. And when you finally got to the house, there was usually a tunnel between two adjacent rowhomes that
would lead you to the back entrance.
Once you reached the back door, the "escort" would announce your
presence to Bob. You were then invited into a small kitchen where an assortment
of fireworks would be neatly organized on a fold-up table. Although we were indoors, Bob wore a pair of sunglasses. It gave him a bit of a mystique. And no
matter who “Bob” happened to be, like Roy Orbison, he always wore sunglasses.
As you approached the table, Bob would look down over his
sunglasses and say something like, “You’re not a cop, are you?”
I have always struggled with the urge to blurt out a sarcastic
reply. I so wanted to say to Bob, “Well, if we’re being totally honest here, I
applied at the Academy. But they told me to come back in six years when I turned
18.”
Of course, I didn’t say this out loud for the fear of getting
my ass kicked by Bob. It would also severely jeopardize my chances of leaving
with some fireworks. So, I simply said, “No, sir.”
He then made a Don Corleone hand motion as if to say, “Pick out
what you want.”
Having a limited budget, I would usually grab about ten packs
of firecrackers, a few bottle rockets and three or four M-80’s.
On the way out, Bob would say, “Don’t tell anyone you were
here.”
It was kind of a moot point as the whole neighborhood
already knew who Bob was and what kind of business he was conducting.
As the morning of the fourth arrived, you could already hear
the crack and bang of fireworks through the neighborhood. Occasionally, you
would hear the deep concussion of a distant M-80. These things were brutal. You
wanted to be extremely careful because they had the power to instantly turn
your hand into a lobster claw. Looking back, we were very lucky that no one got
seriously injured. Someone once told me that the M-80’s were used to blow fish
out of the water. Once the fish was in the air, fishermen would catch them with
nets. I personally have never seen any evidence to support this claim. It seems
to me that the explosion would turn the fish into sushi.
As the evening rolled in, most of the community would gather
at Garrett Park. We would light the remainder of our fireworks in the large open field. As darkness approached, everyone slowly migrated to the edge of the large
hill where you could see Baltimore’s Inner Harbor in the distance. It was the perfect
spot to witness the “official” fireworks show.
As the colorful fireworks lit up the Baltimore sky, you could
almost envision Francis Scott Key penning the lyrics to “The Star Spangled
Banner” at nearby Fort McHenry. Celebrating the 4th in Baltimore
back the day was something special.
As the Grand Finale concluded, the neighborhood residents would gather
up their belongings and make their way towards home. Everyone got along and it was an
overall festive day. And aside from the commotion of the fireworks, things were
relatively peaceful. There was a real sense of community back then.
Today, the Independence Day celebrations are pretty much confined
to the back yards. And the personal fireworks collections are obtained through
a “open-air distributor” on a Food Lion parking lot. Maybe not quite as
adventurous as it used to be. But nonetheless, a summer tradition.
Be sure to enjoy yourself today. And take a moment to
reflect on the countless sacrifices and acts of bravery that went into making
our great country. And please remember our troops who continue to fight to preserve
our freedoms. Happy birthday, America!
kw
