Time in a Bottle Rocket

America’s birthday bang-up has moved from small backyard affairs to city-sponsored production

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Fireworks have been the centerpiece of America’s birthday celebrations since 1776. One of five chosen to disentangle America from Britain’s colonial net, John Adams helped fine-tune Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence and witnessed the colonies’ maturation into an independent nation. About the official 1776 split with Britain, he wrote to his wife, Abigail: “It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.”

Add Francis Scott Keyes’ “rockets’ red glare” and “bombs bursting in air,” describing the War of 1812, to the “illuminations” (i.e. fireworks), and boy howdy! We have a recipe for explosive 4th of July celebrations ranging from city-sponsored fireworks and concerts to backyard barbecues with oft-lethal, not-at-all legal homemade varieties.

We weren’t called to invent fireworks when creating a democratic republic; it had already been done. Some 1.5 million years ago, man harnessed fire for warmth, grilling bear burgers, lighting his cave, and shooing predators. Most experts agree the Chinese unwittingly invented firecrackers circa 200 B.C. by tossing green bamboo shoots on a fire. Sap and air inside the stalks expanded, bursting the bamboo with a bang. Around 850 B.C., Chinese alchemists, searching for immortality potions, created gunpowder and put the exclamation point behind the term “bamboo shoots!” … if packed with the powder. Fireworks became a staple of military maneuvers to traumatize enemies and the showpiece of major festivals like Chinese New Year. China holds the lead in fireworks production and exportation today; however, after fireworks were introduced to Europe by either crusaders or Marco Polo in the 1300s, Italy embraced pyrotechnics with its usual warmth, turning blown-up gunpowder into an art form by adding powdered metals for aerial explosive displays of gold and silver in elaborate designs. Schools flared up across Europe to train pyrotechnic masters to raise the bar on pyro-maniacal spectacles used in warfare, religious ceremonies, and royal celebrations. When Adams had his vision of “illuminations” in 1776, gunpowder and fireworks were available to American colonists; Captain John Smith had set off fireworks in Jamestown in 1608. America’s love affair with explosives further heated up in 1830 as Italy added a variety of trace metals to produce a wide spectrum of colors.

Fireworks have gone from the firecrackers and thirteen-gun salutes of early American celebrations to massive, color-coordinated, synchronized, choreographed displays of the “ooh” and “ahh” type provided “for the people” on July 4th. Many of us have seen the progression of fireworks, from small stuff in our yards, to state park or city productions, to channel surfing for the best televised Boomapalooza. Adams, I think, would disapprove of La-Z-Boy recliner spectators. My 4th memories, from the 1950s to today, run the gamut. My earliest are on the Gulf Coast beach in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where family friends had a house separated from the beach by two lanes of Highway 90. (All highways had only two lanes before the 1956 Highway Act provided interstate multi-lane roads across America.) The drive from Natchez to the coast was an endurance test. Highway 61 had steep hills and more curves than Dolly Parton; and heavily laden timber trucks maxed at about twenty-five miles per hour going uphill, trying the patience of drivers like my Papa, trapped behind slo-mo truckers as his little girls fussed in the cramped back seat with no air conditioning or “devices” to amuse us. So, my father put us on the train in Brookhaven, allowing us to arrive in pristine condition to join the community in collecting driftwood for July 4th beach bonfires. Papa arrived by car in time for the holiday. Roman candles and rockets shot over the murky water, putting stars in our eyes as we ran past the bonfires armed with sparklers. We returned to Natchez via car, surviving the appalling conditions without our parents being charged with child abuse. After the house on the beach burned due to faulty wiring, we were on our own for the 4th. Laura and I waved sparklers again as Papa set off a few Roman candles over pastures if there was no drought. We let the pasture tradition fizzle out quietly. When, in 1976, Macy’s had its first nationally televised fireworks show, we were content to celebrate with the television audience or attended less grandiose local displays.

Because some of us are drawn to the thrill of fireworks’ potential dangers, emergency rooms steel themselves for injuries to eyes, faces, and limbs. Usually, victims are unsupervised young males with a penchant for danger who delight in shooting bottle rockets at each other; but adults may fall victim as well if they experiment with homemade varieties, referred to as “redneck fireworks,” involving volatile household cleaners, lighter fluids, etc. Today’s trend to leave fireworks to expert pyro-technicians may well be an unacknowledged safety measure.

“Illuminations” draw us like moths to the flame, triggering childhood memories of awe when the skies magically lit up and our innocence protected us from possible dangers. The bright noise may even chase the blues, as my grandmother observed. When the woman who lived behind our house shot fireworks on random dates throughout the year, my Grandy would comment, “Bless her heart. Aggie is depressed tonight.”

We Baby Boomers, who survived riding on two-lane highways in cars without air conditioning, should emulate national pride in the country’s longevity by facing our own gray hair and turkey necks with joy instead of woe. The city of Vicksburg, where I’ve lived for twenty-five years, is a prime example of finally accepting change. Legend has it that for 150 years, Vicksburg refused to celebrate the 4th of July, the day that ended the Siege of Vicksburg with surrender to Grant in 1863. Time does heal wounds; Vicksburg now celebrates the 4th over the river, while its  sister cities along the coast have resumed their fireworks after recovering from hurricane devastation. Let’s celebrate our nation’s birth and the ripeness of age.

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