Celebrating the Fourth of July
By Marian I. Doyle
http://usinfo.state.gov/usa/holidays/july4/celebrat.htm
There once was a time in America when the year was marked by two eagerly awaited
high festivals -- Christmas and Independence Day. Asked to pick which was best,
even children might have chosen the Fourth. From country to city it was a day
of fluttering flags, passionate emotions, and bombastic pleasures commemorating
a freedom so recently won it was not yet taken for granted.
A first description of how this anniversary of our nation's birth was to be
honored came in a July 4, 1777, notice from Thomas Wharton of the Philadelphia
Committee of Safety to the city Justices. The true friends of Liberty, he told
them, had expressed a desire to hold public rejoicings and illuminations. A
fireworks, therefore, had been ordered for the town common and the aid of two
hundred soldiers was being requested to restrain the ardor of those who imbibed
a bit too patriotically.
After the war, the average American found the cost of imported European fireworks
much too high. Not until after 1816 and the start of a home industry would fireworks
once more become a common feature of the celebration. But towering bonfires
were lit the night before and bells, guns, and cannons broke the morning. Liberty
poles were raised and capped. Children hung Benedict Arnold in effigy until
the memory of his treachery faded. Graying veterans reminisced while overseeing
heroic reenactments of their town's great battles, and, as it was said, made
the eagle scream.
The 1820s became a time of huge Independence Day banquets accompanied by orations
and a multitude of toasts. Thirty-two were proposed at the 1828 gathering of
the Armstrong Guards in Kittanning, Pennsylvania: The day we celebrate. Sacred
to liberty and the rights of man. Four cheers! ... The surviving officers and
soldiers of the Army of the Revolution. Three cheers! ... The President... The
Governor... The Fair Sex... . The Pennsylvania canal! One German immigrant was
moved by the fervor of the movement to call out his own toast -- Freuheit und
JS! our genuge! a mix of German and English that translated as "Liberty
and plenty of flour!" It was roundly applauded. Also drawing applause was
a final toast to the Jacksonites on the other side of the river! Partisan politics
had found its way into the country's great anniversary, and the divisions of
an election year had sent the "Jacksonites" of Kittanning to hold
their celebration on the opposite side of the Allegheny River from the "Adamites."
Large-scale public spectacle was added to city festivities in the 1830s. A
typical Fourth of July in New York City began with the roar of cannons and the
unfurling of flags, pennants, and streamers from the masts of hundreds of ships
around the harbor. Banners waved as far as the eye could see in streets thronged
with people. Children in plumed hats flourished tin swords and pranced happily
to marching music punctuated by blasts of artillery fire from the military exhibition
park.
With darkness came the glimmer of a thousand lamps along avenues of booths
selling gimcracks, ginger beer, and nearly every digestion-threatening delicacy
known to man. Clusters of small explosions from strings of firecrackers heightened
anticipation that turned to cheers when an illuminated balloon rose gleaming
gold in the sky and a rocket exploded in silver above it. Fiery serpents followed,
twisting through the air, fountains of fire showered down; and streams of light
eclipsed the stars until, with a shuddering bombardment of sound, the show ended
for another year.
Though their celebration would be far less spectacular, country folk of the
time looked forward just as fervently to Independence Day as their sophisticated
city cousins. Spring and summer had been spent plowing, planting, and hoeing,
and soon there would be haying. But for one glorious festival day there was
the Fourth, when families from all the neighboring farms gathered at a favorite
picnic grove to enjoy a holiday from wearying responsibility. Children had their
popcorn and firecrackers. Grownups had their catching-up to do after long weeks
or months of isolation. Speeches made up in patriotic zeal for what they lacked
in polish. There were food and whiskey and games and dancing to the tunes of
a fiddle. After dark there would be a bonfire and maybe a skyrocket or two before
the drowsy ride home.
Those who lived in a village or town in the 1830s could expect a day of dizzying
activity that from a child's point of view was nearly magic. Every boy with
gunpowder in his veins got up before dawn to hear the chorus of ordnance, bells,
and voices that greeted the sun. He fretted his way through a breakfast he was
too excited to eat, then drilled his younger brothers and sisters in military
maneuvers until it was time to leave.
The entire town soon emptied into the streets that had been watered the night
before to keep down the dust. Women set out a feast on tables under massive
tents. Men busily checked arrangements, donned uniforms, and tuned musical instruments.
The children ran wildly back and forth until shooed off to watch the militia
form up on the green. There they stood in open-mouthed awe or wheeled noisily
in disjointed regiments of their own until the bugle sounded, the drums rattled
their irresistible rhythm, and the procession to the church began.
Once inside they settled down. Militia and honored guests took up the front
rows. Young folks claimed the balcony where they could look down on the sea
of white muslin dresses and waving fans and miss nothing. The pastor rose first
to commend the country, the company, and their fate to God while boys stared
in envy at former playmates grown old enough to stand at proud attention in
new Guard uniforms. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the martial clash
of the band. "Hail Columbia" sent everyone into a foot-stamping ecstasy
that even trumpet and bass drum couldn't drown out. Hearts thrilled, eyes turned
to the flag, expectation soared as the orator stepped forward.
He might be the son of a man who had known the strife of battle, seen Lexington
and Concord, heard the exaltation of freedom's first hymn in the peals of Philadelphia's
great bell. He might be a townsman who had distinguished himself in law or politics,
flushed with the enthusiasm of a generation born to the rights of citizenship
in a young nation. But whoever he was, he would speak in ringing tones of sacrifice,
courage, the nobly won past, and the shining future until the crowd believed
and shared his vision of an America yet unrealized. When the long speech ended
in an explosion of applause and tears there would be heartfelt songs, a final
benediction, and an exodus back out to the sunshine of a day of picnics, excursions,
races, games, and laughter. The night would end in a child's fantasy of fireworks
put together by the men -- Roman candles, torpedoes, and wheels and stars of
flashing fancy.
It was a magnificent way to spend a birthday, and closer to the manner in which
John Adams once predicted the Fourth of July would always be celebrated than
we would ever see again. In another twenty years the meaning of the day had
diminished, "flown away in villainous saltpeter, exploded in firecrackers,
and whizzed to the empyrean in skyrockets," the editor of Harper's Monthly
complained. The patriotic orator now competed with a sideshow of peddlers, circus
acts, and crackling disruptions. Young men no longer scrambled to top a pole
with a liberty cap, and no one remembered the old, old songs once sung throughout
thirteen colonies longing for self-determination.
"In Freedom we're born, and, like Sons of the brave, Will never surrender,
But swear to defend her, And scorn to survive if unable to save." Now adults
dreaded the noise and confusion of the day. Yet even in the midst of the chaos,
philosophers found hope in the very exuberance that made it all so trying, "Not
all the money of all national treasuries could buy the youth, the health, the
hope, the carelessness, that makes our festival so fair," Harper's editor
wrote. After all, something must be pardoned to the spirit of Liberty. And somewhere
in the distant reaches of a clear sky, far beyond the smoke and furor, he believed
he could still hear an eagle scream.
Date/Time Last Modified: 7/2/2003 6:38:13 AM
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