Community Corner

Thinking Back on the Fourth of July

Patch editors share some Independence Day memories.

The Fourth of July represents the best of summer: Barbecues, time with family and friends, and a long day spent under the sun capped off with a beautiful fireworks display. 

It's been one of my favorite holidays for years, and it always conjures up memories of my mom flipping burgers, my siblings' laughter filling the air and efforts to write our names in the sky with the waning smoke from sparklers.

Here's a few of other St. Louis Patch editor's memories of Independence Day.

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Lights Over Water
It must have been around 1968 when my parents bought their first boat, a little wood-hulled ski boat. That started a three-year period in my life when summer weekends meant going to the lake. The Fourth of July at Lake Mattoon is a special memory for me. Near the causeway was a public swim beach and an arcade with minigolf, rides and games. I remember sitting on the beach watching the waves break on the sand and calling to my mom, "The tide is coming in!" 

We'd watch the fireworks from our boat as dusk turned to dark. While we waited for that first burst of color, I remember thinking that watching all the anchored boats with their red and green port and starboard lights was just as pretty. 

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I drove back through Illinois a few years ago and stopped by the lake. The arcade and swim beach are gone, the site grown up in weeds. But I'll never forget those happy memories or the feeling of an anchored boat bobbing gently in the water.

—Tamara Duncan, Lake Saint Louis Patch editor 

That's For Civilians
It was 1970 and I was a young military recruit, reporting for duty in late June to Fort Leonard Wood, MO for a two-year stint in the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War era. Away from home for the first time, there was a lot of trepidation about what the future would bring. The first five or six days of Army Basic Training were spent relatively leisurely as young men from all over the country went about the process of being militarized—shaved head, uniform fittings, test-taking and learning who to salute and when.

Then things changed—in a hurry.

We'd all seen the 18-wheeled "cattle" trucks on base, but didn't pay much attention to them. But on the morning of July 4, we were summoned to the parade ground to be loaded onto the cattle trucks for a short trip across the base to Delta Company in the Basic Training area. There were smiles that we finally would free from the "boring" days languishing in camp as we were decked out, loaded up and indoctrinated into Army life. We had no idea what was coming!
The cattle trucks pulled into Delta Company and soon, the back doors flew up. We were treated to the sights of a half dozen sneering, mean-as-hell drill sergeants who yelled and screamed a hollered for us to get out of the trucks—fast! Which wasn't fast enough for them, which caused even more yelling and screaming and hollering. Soon we were lined up loosely in formation, standing at attention as we received our "welcome" by the drill instructors. It went something like this:

"Good morning ladies. It's about time you got yours asses off of those trucks. We move a lot faster here, so unless you want to get on my bad side, and you don't want to be on my bad side, you'll get your asses in gear. There is no walking here. You will run everywhere you go. I better not see you walking anywhere.

"Now, who knows what day it is today?" the drill sergeant said, knowing he would receive July 4 as the answer. "Wrong!  It's Tuesday. I know your friends and family will be having fun barbecuing and swimming and watching fireworks today, but we won't. We'll be here getting you ladies ready to go to war. As an extra treat, I'll be working you twice as hard today. July 4? That's for civilians. (This was said with a sneer and disdain for all things non-military.) Civilians can celebrate July 4, but not us. Now get that crap of yours stowed by your bunks and report for calisthenics. I'll be working your asses off for the next hour and a half. July 4? What a joke!"

It was 6 a.m. 

I haven't looked at a pork steak on July 4 since then without thinking of my first exposure to U.S. Army discipline.

—Dan Barger, Fenton-High Ridge Patch editor

The Necessity of the Secret Spot
With the onslaught of Fourth of July tourists, a secret fireworks spot is key for residents of Washington, D.C. For my dad and me, that spot was The Gangplank.

The restaurant sat on the Potomac River, about two blocks away from our apartment. From there, the gold, red, green and blue streaks felt like they were going to hit us before they fizzled in the nick of time.

My dad was born on the Fourth of July. He would order cheesecake, served with a candle, and diners and waiters would help me sing to him. The Gangplank was our spot, and the Fourth was our day.

— Owen Skoler, Kirkwood-Webster Groves Patch editor

An Early Birthday Gift
One of my favorite memories from the Fourth of July was spent on a beach at Lake Sherwood, a private community in west St. Charles County. I was almost 8—my birthday is two days after the Fourth of July.

That year, we were visiting my grandparents, who had been camping out there. They'd given me a new Cabbage Patch doll as a birthday gift. I remember being really excited about the doll, which had bright yellow hair. Her name was Gloria. My little sister got a new doll, too. After spending the day swimming in the lake and playing at the beach, we sat on top of my parent's van and watched the fireworks show. I remember it was a nice night. I was surrounded by family and was very happy. It's a great childhood memory. 

—Kalen Ponche, St. Charles Patch editor

Wiffle Ball Patriotism
When I was growing up, the Fourth of July always meant three things at my house: wiffle ball, barbecue and blowing stuff up.

My brothers and neighbors joined in marathon whiffle ball games. My love affair with Cardinal Nation had already begun. I’d bat left-handed in the leadoff spot because Lou Brock batted left-handed, and then follow suit for the rest of the Cardinal lineup. I might have won more if the Cards had more righties.

Trees, bushes and fences meant lots of ground rules. A hit under the sticker bush was a ground-rule double. A foul ball over the fence was an out because it was a pain to retrieve it. We learned to pitch low in the strike zone to keep the game moving, a lesson that served well in real games, too.

Our strike zone was the brick barbecue pit’s front opening. When Dad started the charcoal fire, we had to block off the opening with a block of wood. The ball still found its way into the coals or on top of the grill, so we’d have to be quick to fish it out of the flames.

By late afternoon, we turned our attention to our carefully hoarded pyrotechnics collection. Firecrackers provided early entertainment, as we tested how high a jar lid could be blown, or how badly we could mangle a toy.

We waited impatiently for the sky to grow dark. It was the only time it took forever for night to fall. We’d send up test bottle rockets, only to be disappointed that we could barely see the explosion in the twilight.

Finally, night would come, and we’d rapidly shoot them off.

Occasionally, we’d go to a municipal display, sit back on blankets, listen to patriotic music and come home happy, scratching mosquito bites the size of anthills.

Somewhere along the way—whether it was the music, remembering the Founding Fathers and our military, the fun we had, or the fact that we were free to believe anything we pleased—I learned we live in the greatest nation on Earth.

—Joe Scott, Associate Local Editor

Sparkler Terror
My family spent the Fourth of July together—grilling out, making homemade ice cream and taking camping chairs to Twin Peaks Golf Course in Longmont, CO, to watch fireworks. My parents also bought sparklers, Black Cats and other home-use Fourth fare for my three siblings and I to set off in the backyard. The holiday represented summer at its finest: We didn't have to go to school. We got to scarf down hamburgers, hot dogs, pop and chips. And we got to play with fire. 

Although in my case, I spent considerable time running from my brothers and sister—all younger than me—who thought it was funny to chase me with sparklers. 

I'll watch the lights in the sky, thanks. From a safe distance.

—Nate Birt, Clayton-Richmond Heights Patch Editor

"Welcome to Erf!"
Every July Fourth, my family makes burgers, corn on the cob and lemonade, and then sits down to watch the 1996 alien-invasion masterpiece Independence Day. We've done this roughly every year since 1996, which means we've seen the movie well over a dozen times. We know every one of Jeff Goldblum's sassy lines. We savor every tortured crease in Bill Pullman's presidential face. When Will Smith, flying a spaceship, shouts "I have got to get me one of these," we squeal in triumph. It's cheesy, but it's what we do.

—Andrew Dana Hudson, Affton-Shrewsbury Patch Editor

Upcoming Memories
My absolute best memory actually happened last year. Robert and I were living in Tulsa, and it was our first Fourth of July without any family or friends. For the first time ever, he barbecued, and I contributed to it with potato salad and my famous Flag Cake. 

Then, that night, in the drizzle, we watched fireworks by a lake, and it just felt special and different.

I've always enjoyed going to the fireworks shows with my mom or little cousin, and now I get to share that memory and many more with my husband and the family that we'll soon have.

—Aja Junior, Florissant Patch editor 

A Fourth on Lake Erie
My favorite Fourth of July memory is from just a few years ago. My family went up to my aunt and uncle's cottage off Lake Erie in Ohio and just had an amazing time. The community is Cape Cod-esque: very quaint, lots of families, grilling and fun. I also learned to play cornhole, which I had never heard of! We rode mopeds and Jet Skis, and saw the biggest snake (more like a sea serpent) in the lake. It was still an amazing trip.

They had an amazing fireworks show, but it was so nice to just be with my family because my sisters and I get along so well with all my cousins. It was just a great feeling to have everyone together enjoying each other's company. 

— Gabrielle Biondo, Town and Country-Manchester Patch editor

Of Course She's Right!
My wife is practically manic about getting to the fireworks on the Fourth of July. We have taken great pains to make sure we could find them, wherever we were—sometimes en route to a vacation spot, sometimes just at home. I sound lackadaisical about it every year. But in retrospect, I realize that it's the fireworks that have cemented some of my Independence Day memories.

There was the gigantic fireworks display many years ago when we lived in South Florida—but before we had kids. Flagler Drive in West Palm Beach hugged the west side of the Intracoastal Waterway, where thousands gathered for the Fourth on Flagler celebration. The fireworks rumbled on continuously for more than 45 minutes, accompanied by patriotic and pop music that thundered from dozens of speakers on the water. We felt the shockwaves of the fireworks and the crescendos of the music in our chests. It may have been the best fireworks display I've ever seen.

On the other end of the spectrum, after we had kids and when a minivan was our wheels, we were en route to the Jersey Shore when we stopped for the night in Suffolk County, VA. It was a dreary, rainy night that Fourth of July, but we asked around until we found out where the fireworks would be shot off. The executive airport was a tiny spot with a somewhat muddy field. We bounced over the clumps of mud and grass and backed up our minivan in the direction of the boomers. We popped the back open, sprawled in the back and watched the most adorable fireworks display. Each burst was fine, though the pauses between them lessened the mood. But we remember that one as much as the Flagler Drive display.

It was great family time. And as it turns out, my wife is right.

— Kurt Greenbaum, Regional Editor


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