Da Forty Julie

My father always played with words. Dad and his brothers were accomplished in the art of uttering spoonerisms. An innocuous little phrase like, "My warts are numb" turns out to be "My nuts are warm." I have some of that play on words, making words sound differently. The title of my little essay is one of the examples, I am really talking about The Fourth of July.

I try to maintain a group email to all of the clan on the Floria side. Recently I wrote a brief paragraph or two about what the Fourth of July meant to me. This is a little longer.

When I was a youngster the Fourth was the number two holiday in my mind behind Christmas. Each holiday had its attributes that I enjoyed, but the Fourth was the most fun holiday. My little home town of Munising, MI sits nestled below some towering hills on the shore of Lake Superior. Munising is fronted by an island called Grand Island that sits 2.5 miles north of the dock in Bay Shore Park. The bay is also approximately 2.5 miles wide, it isn't square, but there are two channels one opening into Lake Superior in a westerly direction, the other opening into Lake Superior to the north.

One of the sounds I enjoyed during the summer months was a good old thunderstorm. If the storm came in from the northwest the thunder would roll into the bay, hit the hills and resonate with a deep tummy tickling rumble. I always liked that sound, it was a primitive sound and one that I took comfort in knowing had been around for probably 2.5 billion years.

The American Legion Post in Munsing always fired a fireworks cannon shell off at 6:00 AM the morning of the Fourth. Often it woke me up. I would roll over in bed, stretch an contemplate the day before me as one looks over a menu filled with tasty items for you to enjoy.

A parade kicked off about 9:00 AM. The high school band had about 70 members and sounded good, at least to me. There was a city band at the time, while they only had twenty to thirty members, being mature musicians they sounded good, real good. Many times there would be a band from towns nearby or once we even had a Black Watch Drum and Pipe Band from somewhere in Canada. The floats weren't much, logging trucks draped with bunting and crepe paper, the First National Bank always had a float that featured Miss Alger County, if often won first prize in the commercial division. There were three places in each division, often there were only three entrants in each division, so guess what, everyone won!

Clowns rode bicycles, handed out candy, shook hands with kids and adults and many times scared the heck out of the toddlers. Local politicians marched, and so they should on the Fourth. The local fire department, all volunteer, had uniforms and marched resplendent behind a fire truck. Some of the men were pretty old. They had a little crossing routine that they would perform as they marched through the streets that always brought a smattering of applause from friends, relatives, and tourists.

The parade was fun because you knew a lot of the people in the event. Young kids with hot cars drove in the parade and pounded the accelerator to produce the loudest rumble from their mufflers possible. Noise, people and sights to fill the senses were abundant. One year a marching unit from K.I. Sawyer Air Base in Gwinn marched. The crisp uniforms, the young men, and the color guard heading the unit brought everyone to their feet, women and kids and old men put there hand over their heart, men who had served in WWII and Korea rendered the best salute they could, It was touching. I still get tears in my eyes when the colors march by and people honor them by standing and saluting or putting their hand over their heart.

After the parade, and just about an hour later the Pet Parade would come down Elm Avenue and go down to the dock. Children dressed their pets up, had wagons with crepe paper all wound around and parents shepherding them down the street trying to make sure little Johnny or Shirley didn't light out in the middle of the parade because they felt self-conscious or saw their Grandmother on the sidewalk. The Pet Parade was always led by the Clown Band made up of City Band members who would make up like clowns and lead the kids down the street. So often a little dog would get all excited and romp around, and then want to run and chase kids who weren't part of the parade but were skipping along following the parade. Some of the big dogs walked and kind of hung their heads, I often used to think they were embarrassed by the "get ups" some were dressed in. I think they were just leary of the noise and confusion.

The dock, formally knows as Bay Shore Park was one block north of the downtown area of Munising and sat right on the shore of Lake Superior. The park would be filled with booths of games, a huge fire pit barbecuing chicken and hamburgers sold by people helping fund the Fourth. Some time around noon the greased pole contest and the greased pig contest were held. The greased pole was exactly that, a pole was mounted from the dock suspended over the waters of the Lake. Now this doesn't sound too bad, but you didn't swim in Lake Superior until late July or August. The water temperature might well be in the low 60's. Young men tried to shinny up the greased pole, ring a bell at the end without falling into the water. If they did, the got a dollar. The first ten or so usually ended up in the drink, however as succeeding boys tried to shinny out the grease was rubbed off until finally one young lad would ring the bell and then the ones who had fallen in the water would attempt a second time only to fail, not realizing that their body and clothes were grease laden and often put them back into the cold waters of Lake Superior a second time.

Families held picnics down by the shore, little kids waded in the waters, even as cold as they were. Relatives visiting from other cities or states would congregate at the Lake Shore Park and often old friends were discovered or class mates and impromptu reunions took place.

About 4:30, the siren at the Fire Department sounded. It was a piercing sound, you could hear it all over Munising as the wail bounced off the surrounding hills. It announced the renewal of an old tradition, the WATER FIGHT! Two of Munising finest pumpers would be brought to Elm St., the main North/South street in downtown Munising. The trucks would unravel hose and the hose would be hooked up to the fire hydrants. Then, two teams of fire men, remember these guys are all volunteers, would suit up in the fire fighting garb and man the hoses. There are always two men on a hose and one commander along side to direct their efforts. After checking the hoses and operating them so the crowd got a little wet the two teams would step back from the hoses and assume a "get ready" position. Upon the signal from the chief they would run to their respective hoses and turn them on, Then, from a distance of maybe fifty feet blasted the hell out of each other. The men on the hose were usually so inundated they could not see so they had to look to the side to their commander for signals on which way to point the hose, or they would have to try and head of a team as they stepped out of the spray and tried to sneak up on the opposition. Sometimes helmets when flying, glasses when flying. Once and a while a man would lose his balance and slide down the road from the force of the water from other team while the other man tried to corral the high pressure hose by himself. Finally, by whatever rules that I certainly did not understand one team was declared the winner of the round. Then the teams would take a break, reset the hoses, line them up and take a breather. After a few minutes it was back to the "at ready" position and away they went again. Usually the water fights lasted about half and hour. I think that is about all the pounding a man could take. At the end both teams ganged up on the chief and tried to flush him down the road. It was all in good fun, and I was always so impressed by the bravery these mean exhibited just for entertainment.

The evening began to settle in town. People still stood in the middle of the road talking with old friends while cars drove by. Some who had camps in the surrounding lakes regions headed back to camp to cook dinner and enjoy the peace and quiet of the woods after a day of hectic, noisy fun. Night came late this time of year. The longest day of the year was only about thirteen days past. So often the sun was not down and dark in place until 10:30 = 11:00 PM. Then the fireworks. They were, and still are launched from the dock sticking out into the bay at Bay Shore Park. The people who are going to watch start assembling, often about 7:00 PM to get a good vantage point. I loved the fireworks. I am sure they aren't much to those aficionados of fireworks, but they are ours. The cannon shells still reverberate in a special way through the hills surrounding our lovely little town. The sparkling lights flashing off the dark waters of Lake Superior add a visual dimension lost in large cities, or where fireworks are launched over a golf course. In 1976 my family and I were treated to being on the waters of the bay in my father-in-law's eighteen foot craft. The sound and sights were unbelievable. Every year the bay comes alive at night with small water craft assembling near the dock to listen and watch the show.

Thus, the Fourth of July, or da forty julie, ended for me. Even as a young child of 8 or 9 I tended to be on my own. That is the advantage of the year and the place a small town offers families. Assurance that people will watch out for your kids. I was often gone from the house in the morning for the parade, eat lunch with my mom and dad at the dock at noon, then to the nearest activity to watch that. Finally, when the fire works approached I reunited with mom and dad, we went to the park, sat on a blanket and I was tired. My father smoked these big R.G. Dun Panatellas at the time, and he would sit there with his head wreathed in smoke, talking with those he knew passing by. I would cuddle up next to my mom as often the evenings would get a little chilly, even though it was da forty julie. I came alive when the fireworks started, and then dad would light my sparklers and I would write my name in the air, wave them around, light another sparkler from the one that was about spent and then throw the dying sparkler into the air wishing I had some real firecrackers like the big kids did. When the fire works were over, the crowd struggle en mass to their cars, often parked downtown, and headed home. Another set of memories, another day of celebration, and there was always the day after when the rest of my neighborhood playmates and I would gather and talk about what we did on the Fourth.

The celebrations I'm referring to here took place in the fifties and early sixties. You know what though, they still go on today. The parade isn't as classy, the high school band is down to maybe twenty-five members, they don't even march in step, and there are no majorettes, but it doesn't matter. You see, it is our, no it is my forty julie! God Bless the U.S.A. and thanks to those who served, and blessing to those who gave it all. It is still a pretty good old country.