July 3, 2022 --- Fourth of July Memories

 

BY: Colleen Holmquist

'Twas early morning, the fifth of July, the odor of smoke was gone,

The animals were all settled and calm

I had just gone to bed and the lights were all out

Then when it seemed no one was about,

Out on the porch there arose such a hullabaloo 

That I leapt out of bed afraid it was a boogaloo 

Away to the front door I bounded…

That Independence Day started out like most of those of the last 20+ years: with a pancake breakfast at Fort Missoula. Then we hung out at the Fort most of the day watching sawmill demonstrations, appreciating the views from the Sliderock lookout tower, browsing through free books in the Noncommissioned Officers Quarters, sending Morse code messages in the old Drummond train station, tooting the whistle of the Willamette Locomotive #7, touring the Alien Detention Center barracks that housed Italian and Japanese detainees during WWII, resting on wooden seats of restored Streetcar #50, listening to old time blue grass music in the Hayes Homestead Cabin, eating Lemon Dairies, taking in bagpipe music, wandering through vendor stalls and observing Medieval jousting demonstrations—just to name a few activities.

Dehydrated from those festivities, we returned home, grilled and ate kabobs chased with s’mores and finally, settled in for the fireworks show provided by The Tabors.

Later when the smoke had settled, the guests had departed, the food put away, the large parts of the debris picked up and tossed in the otherwise empty garbage container, we all went to bed.

The silence was shattered by pounding on the front door. I stumbled out to investigate. My neighbor, Jime’, greeted me with, “Your garbage can is on fire!” Wide awake now, I bolted off the porch and saw flames reaching skyward. More fireworks—sort of. Jime’s husband was already there with a hose. I grabbed ours and we battled the blaze until we were sure it was out. 

I’m not sure exactly what the environmental impact was but in the morning when I inspected the site, nothing was left except a small bit of blue melted into the asphalt. I pulled up a piece and with it some of the asphalt.

‘Twas the fifth of July and I melted a garbage can. I was sure the firework carcasses were cool when I tossed them in…

By: Carrie Keiser

Growing up on the hill we didn’t have any fireworks, the dry conditions and my parents dislike of them made for us not having any. We did watch them from Missoula.

My first experience with fireworks (aside of forecrackers and bottle rocket that Brandon and cousin Scott played with at grandma and grandpa Booher’s.)up close and personal was when I spent summers with Colleen In UT and we went to the Cox’s for fourth of July. One fourth a flower fireworks were being set off to spin and bounce around the cul-de-sac and we were all sitting on the curb when one jumped up and spun across Colleen’s face. This experience gave credence to my parents concern for fireworks.

After I was married and I spent my first fourth with Tory’s parents, they let off fireworks in their backyard. I had one of the bottle rockets whiz by my head and put a little fear into me. 

As our family grew and we had moved to eastern Montana, we made friends and spent many fourth of Julys with the James family. We would have a big BBQ and then fireworks in the street in front of their house. Many happy evenings of watching the lights in the sky with these friends and our children learned the safest way to light them off but even with all the safety precautions, something can go wrong, once one went astray and started the neighbors tree on fire. 

The twins first fourth of July was spent at the fairgrounds and despite the loudness of all the fireworks, they slept right through it.

We have for many years gone to the parade down Merrill Avenue its always fun to see the cars, trucks and tractors decorated with flags and blasting the songs of freedom and throwing candy to the bystanders for the 20-30 mins it takes.

We have these last years watching and setting off fireworks with our grandkids, they have sensitive ears and enjoy them with ear protection. 

Fourth of July Memory

Flynn Family Story Slingers

3 July 2022

BY: Cary Holmquist

A long time ago, in a farmyard far, far away, I was a youngling who was just figuring out what what the Fourth of July was all about for young men from a cousin who was visiting from Helena.  Seems it was back in ’63.  That is, 1963 to be precise.

Cousin Georgie was 10 years older than me, so he was probably a teenager of about 16 or so when this Fourth of July happened.  Georgie was visiting my grandparents’ farm with his family of mother, who was my grandmother’s oldest sister; his father, after whom he was named, and his just older sister.   The Andersons.   

My family lived as across-the-road neighbors to my grandparents, so that holiday we were family all together with a number of other sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles and young cousins.  We gathered for our Fourth of July picnic celebration at Grandpa and Grandma Holmquist’s commodious dairy farm in northwestern Cascade County, Montana, United States of America, North America, Western Hemisphere, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, the Solar System, Milkyway Galaxy, the Known Universe, Creation of God.  That’s how we kids were learning and challenging each other to expand our address—our place in the world—putting it all into perspective, which was how we youngsters, who brag to show-off and one-up each other, are prone to do.  Boys in particular.  

Now, boys being boys, and men being used-to-be-boys-who-still-like-boyhood activities, this meant that fireworks were the essential part of the annual Fourth of July celebrations.  During the daytime, this meant firecrackers, smoke bombs and magic black snakes to make the excitement of noise and explosions, smoke and fire. 

Teenager cousin Georgie had a good deal of experience with firecrackers, more than likely taught to him by his father and other high-spirited friends.  And so he had a particular trick he was more than happy to show us.  Over and over and over again.  

First, the set up.

It takes just a regular-sized firecracker to pull it off—those little “ladyfingers” need not apply.  Other ingredients needed are a pan on the ground with at least a couple of inches of water in it.  Next, an empty metal can that is completely open at the top, and a small hole punched in the center of the bottom just big enough for a firecracker to fit, but can be held upright, like a candle in a birthday cake—usually a regular Philips screwdriver pounded through the bottom will make the right size hole.   Then the firecracker has to be tamped down into the hole so that at least two-thirds of its length is inside the can.  

With the firecracker in place, the can goes upside down into the pan of water, firecracker end up and the fuse well exposed.  Light the fuse and step back.

When the sizzling firecracker goes off, the resulting explosive changes in pressure between the can and the water cause the can to shoot up—and if powerful enough it goes up dozens of feet, like a rocket taking off and lots of the water tries to follow it.   A local and entertaining defiance of the law of gravity, right there before our young eyes in rural America.  

Georgie did it right there in the farmyard’s dirt driveway, just out of range of the parked cars, surrounded by a small crowd of admiring and amazed younger cousins.  He was a hero at age 16.  

Meanwhile, the older folks sat in lawn chairs and benches on the lawn on the other side of the parked cars, clucking and wincing in worried anticipations that the can might land on a car or some such imagined catastrophe.   It mostly interrupted their gossiping and joke-telling and so earned some tongue-clucking and warning words to be careful, and keep the kids back.  

We soon tried to count-down during our local version of Cape Canaveral—get it, CANaveral?—just like we had heard it when we watched the historic NASA launchings on early-morning television.   Although ours was an un-manned launch, except for our dreams of getting it higher the next time.  A glorious and noisy uplifting of a solid object and liquid into the hot July sky.  

So the process of repeating this stupendous, can-into-sky-launching fireworks display, requires that the water level in the pan be replenished with nearly every launching.   If you stand too close or downwind, you could get wet.  Which is not a bad thing on a hot July afternoon.  And so you do it over and over and over.  In true Georgie Anderson fashion.  

Five, four, three, two, one, Zero!  Blam-Whoosh!  We have lift off!   Ooh and aah!  It’s the Fourth of July!  We celebrate by launching a can into near space!

This is a much safer and less destructive Fourth of July trick than blowing up other stuff and getting into trouble —or worse, getting hurt from shrapnel— but it still inspires some oohs and aahs as various experiments with various elements try to get the can (or cans, as usually becomes the case) higher and higher.  Such as larger firecrackers, deeper water, smaller can-to-firecracker ratios, tall cans versus squat cans and so on.  Georgie managed to use up quite a bit of the afternoon with these displays and variations thereof.   

And we kids watched with apt, monkey-see, monkey-do attention so we could repeat it easily after Georgie left.  And in true boy-to-man tradition, I have passed it on to my children and soon to be my children’s children. 

Oh, yes,  by the time I was 16, like Cousin Georgie when I first saw it happen, I had taught it to numerous siblings and cousins and it was a Fourth of July tradition for the 20th Century—launching a can into near space.   

This is the clearest memory I have of Cousin Georgie.  Being 10 years older, he did not have much patience for me whenever my family visited his family over the coming years.  He usually took off on a motorcycle to spin around with friends his age, leaving his country cousins behind.  Such is life amongst cousins.  

A few years later in 1968, Cousin George, age 21 years, five months and eight days, was killed in South Vietnam, reportedly a victim of an accident in a U.S. Army camp at Thua Thien, though a fellow soldier who was there told a different story than the official records.    

Far, far away. 

I have come to remember this firecracker launching as the Cousin Georgie Maneuver and it is a legacy of him that I can pass on to other generations who would otherwise not know anything about him.  

He had been a proud enlisted staff sergeant in the U.S. Army 7th Cavalry, 1st Battalion, Light Weapons Infantry.  George Rolan Anderson died while in service to defend the American freedoms we celebrate on Independence Day. We launch a can into near space just as Georgie did long, long ago, in a farmyard far, far away.  I always remember my forever-young Cousin Georgie Anderson on the Fourth of July.