515. July 4: Honored Holiday or Time to Goof Off?

                         BROWDERBOOKS

                             Wild New York

Forbidden Brownstones has received another good review, four out of four stars, by a reviewer for OnlineBookClub.org.  The reviewer says:

"Browder's appreciation for the history and spirit of New York City ... comes out on every page, making it very difficult to put the book down."

For the full review, go here.  It is the fifth title in my #Metropolis series of historical novels set in nineteenth-century New York.

  July 4: Honored Holiday or Time to Goof Off?

Three years ago I polled my friends, business associates, and blog followers about what, if anything, they did on the Fourth of July.  Here is a summary of the results, originally published in full as post #418.

So what did we do on the Fourth?  Some twenty answers are in, enough to draw some conclusions.  (One of my publishers declined to answer, perhaps puzzled by my innocent intentions.)  Nobody entered Nathan's traditional hot-dog-eating contest on Coney Island, and for that I am grateful.  

        Few of us are patriotic as the old-time Tammany politico G. Washington Plunkitt understood the word.  He told of sitting with other Tammany stalwarts in a hot, humid Tammany Hall listening to a reading of the Declaration of Independence, followed by four hours of speeches and music, before the champagne- and beer-anointed celebration could begin in the basement.  Corrupt in other ways, Tammany honored the flag and the holiday.

        Here now are our ways of doing the Fourth, presented in categories.  Admittedly, these categories are arbitrary, since a given answer may fall into two or three of them.  I’ll use the category that seems most relevant.

TRAVEL

·                 Friends who were traveling had little time for the Fourth.  One friend was waiting with her husband at Calgary International Airport in Alberta, Canada, for a flight to New York, returning from a two-week visit to Japan and her native Taiwan. 

·               Another friend was flying home to New Jersey after visiting his family in Traverse City, Michigan, which was hosting the National Cherry Festival, with cherries all over the place.  Back home in New Jersey, from his building's terrace he watched fireworks at night.

·               Another friend was with her husband in Paris, with no special plans for the Fourth.  But inspired by me, she decided to read the Declaration of Independence. 

RURAL  AND  SHORESIDE  DELIGHTS

·             One friend was with her partner at their country house, hacking at the jungle of weeds in their garden, then taking a quick dip in their pool.  A light lunch, then a nap, then dinner in a nearby restaurant.  No interest in the nonsense being staged in Washington; hopes afternoon rains will descend on the presidential (i.e. Trump) parade.

             Another friend was staying with friends, “unplugged,” at a lake house that, ironically, belongs to a patrician English family.  They had grilled hamburgers and sausages on the Fourth, and discussed but didn’t see fireworks.  He is newly devoted to kayaking. 

             A friend who lives on Staten Island went to the Fort Wadsworth Overlook and sat in the shade on a lawn chair, gazing out at all of New York harbor, with the city in the distance.  As she did so, she listened to a seaside concert of band music from several decades.

·             A friend who lives on a little island off midcoast Maine consumed a cold tuna salad and strawberry shortcake, then watched a beautiful sunset and the fireworks of the towns along the coast, their noise sounding like distant thunder.  She had flags and bunting on display at her shop and on the front porch of a nearby guest house, which for me is a reminder of how the Fourth used to be celebrated, and maybe still is, in small towns throughout the country.

FAMILY

·                  One resident of Lincoln, Nebraska, went to a lake outside of town where his grandmother used to live, and visited with nieces and nephews, and lit fireworks by day and by night.  (Fireworks are legal in Nebraska on and around July 4.)  Result: sunburn.

·                  A resident of Alexandria, Virginia, had a cookout on the Fourth with his partner, parents, siblings, and cousins by the dozens, prior to a big family reunion on July 6, some thirty strong.

            

NOTHING  MUCH

·          

            A friend in Massachusetts said that he didn't really observe any holiday.

·             A friend in North Carolina made a delicious banana nut bread on the Fourth, but otherwise did little else.

·           A (now former) publisher of mine, a resident of south Texas, announced emphatically that she doesn’t celebrate holidays.

·           A friend in Brooklyn Heights went to a barbecue in New Jersey, but then came back to the Heights and hid in his apartment, as his beloved Brooklyn Heights Promenade got overrun with people wanting to see the Macy’s fireworks.  He felt grumpy like a true New Yorker.

·           One friend ignored the holiday completely because his longtime partner had had some kind of an attack and was now in the hospital for tests, unable to recognize his partner or remember his name.  My heart goes out to them both.

RARE  AND  SPECIAL

·         One friend went to a couple of friends’ barbecues, but also donated money to RAICES, a Texas nonprofit, in support of treating immigrants humanely at the border.  She feels queasy about celebrating the nation’s hypocrisies with regard to liberty past and present.

·               Another respondent and a friend saw three movies in three different theaters back to back, getting drinks or snacks near the theater entrances in between.

·               A cousin in Kokomo, Indiana, said that Kokomo celebrates its automotive heritage just as enthusiastically as it celebrates the nation’s birthday.  Local pioneers claim with some credibility to have produced the first U.S. automobile (sorry, Henry Ford).  The festival fills the town square with booths selling food and silly games for kids, while a nearby park becomes a carnival with all kinds of rides.  She avoided the brouhaha at all costs, but took bran muffins to a friend recovering from surgery.  Otherwise, she hid.  But her husband, being a beer distributor, had no time off; his trucks ran all day.

·               Another Kokomo resident sat with family under a beach umbrella and did some reading at a nearby quarry that has a beach, and then did a few laps on jet skis, an aquatic motorcycle.

TRADITIONAL

For me, a traditional Fourth involves flags, a parade, and fireworks.  When I grew up in Evanston, Illinois, long ago, my family flew the flag from a second-story window, as did our neighbors.  Then there was a long parade that we watched on nearby Central Street, and a magnificent display of fireworks at Dyke Stadium, the Northwestern University football stadium, that night.  

        Personal fireworks were still legal, but could not be sold in Evanston.  We lit sparklers that traced patterns of sparks when we waved them in the air at night; little sticks called snakes that, when lit, stretched out like tiny black snakes; and Zebra firecrackers, which popped and crackled wickedly.  Somehow we managed not to burn or blow ourselves up, but this was all small-time kid stuff compared to Dyke Stadium at night. These memories of the Fourths of long ago were matched by only one respondent, maybe two.

·              On the afternoon of the Fourth, a friend in Lincoln, Nebraska, took her kids to a neighborhood party in a park  There the kids paraded down a sidewalk with decorated bikes and wagons, following which they ran in a sack race and tossed balloons.  In the evening she took them to their grandmother’s place and (quite legally) set off fireworks.

·           Another friend, based here in the city, had dinner with friends who live near the East River.  Then they went out to watch the traditional fireworks that were set off down around the Brooklyn Bridge.

        And what did I do?  After reading the Declaration (nine minutes), not much.  I made a note at the time, but I can’t find I, it must be lost.  I cooked in, but I don’t remember what.  And I listened to classical music on WQXR, so I must have had a dose of Bach and Beethoven and Vivaldi, though I can’t be sure.

CONCLUSION

Most of us don’t celebrate the Fourth in the traditional, old-fashioned way.  Maybe we take our freedom for granted.  But maybe just doing things that our society allows us to do, whether travel or relaxing in the country or kayaking or jet skiing or seeing movies or just loafing about, is a way of celebrating freedom.  Instead of talking about it, you just do it, you live it.

©   2021  Clifford Browder