Fireworks of my childhood were mostly loud. I vaguely remember townsfolk gathering in the college stadium for a few arching streaks accompanied by sonic type booms. There seemed a long waiting time between flashes while adults fanned, and we younger ones ran up and down the steps. The gathering was obligatory for 4th of July and then all dispersed to various meals of hamburgers or bar-b-que. Around the neighborhood, that group I have mentioned before were given another free range with firecrackers. Our invention was dropping them down a Coke bottle to intensify the sound. We had one accident with a boy checking on a delayed reaction and injuring his eye when the explosion happened. Nobody seemed to think we needed to stop ever shooting them again; Just remember to be careful, Tommy got his eye hurt, you know.
Through adult life, various displays occurred at various places. A group I worked with in New Mexico was bussed to a field outside of Santa Fe for a perfect dark sky experience. AstroWorld had fireworks on Saturday at 9:00 in the summer. We could take yard chairs across the street to the parking lot for Rice Stadium. For several years before the oak trees grew tall enough to block the view, we had an eye on look. The distance muffled the sound while we exclaimed over each burst of color.
The glory of fireworks will always be the Smith ranch near Bergheim where we gathered for July 4. The daddies started the first offering. They drove to one of the roadside stands and picked with care. The rest of us lined up yard chairs just inside the fence while all preparation was made just a little bit down the road. Two of the brothers did the prep and lighting while one chose to give warnings and directions. The grandmother’s ending comment was, “Now that was fine.”
The performance expanded as the boy cousins got old enough to take over. They were handed money, and the older one could drive the group to choose. They set up the area with the old red pickup truck and several buckets of water, Both might be needed if a spark started a grass fire. All wore boots, necessary footwear for stomping flames if required.
A defined sequence was followed. First came on the ground volcanoes consisting of a small shower and a whistle bang. Roman candles held ten balls. With excited comments about whose turn it was, boys lighted the first and the rest went off in sequence. A bottle rocket was on the end of stick and gave a screaming whistle without much light. Each offering garnered scattered applause and comments. Excitement grew when the sequence mortars were fired. Finally came the announcement: “Now for the single tube mortar.!” It shot 100 feet in the air and filled the night sky with expanding color.
All stood up and sang, more heart felt than tuneful, the Star Spangled Banner. S
parklers were handed out and the yard resembled fireflies on steroids. Even in writing this, joy and thankfulness pour out for family and country. Some of you were lap sitters and sparkler wavers in those moments. I delighted re-living part of the journey that has brought family members to this day.
Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place, from one generation to another. Psalm 90: 1
Let Me Tell Ya 