In Today’s Journal
* Remembering the 4th of July
* Of Interest
Remembering the 4th of July
In the sunbaked heat on the late afternoon of July 4, 1964, I was a preteen standing with my mother Rosalie on the western side of the large Lea Lake at Bottomless Lakes State Park a few miles outside of Roswell, New Mexico.
She was in a flowered dress and white leather flip-flops, her waist-length black hair pulled up into a roll on the back of her head and secured with a silver broach. I was in jeans and a t-shirt, western boots, and a ball cap.
We weren’t alone. We were only two in a crowd of a few thousand other children, teenagers, and adults, mostly Anglo, Mexicano, and Mescalero Apaches, who’d arrived for the festivities on a dedicated bus from the reservation near Ruidoso.
In the crowd, most of the men were in jeans and boots, western shirts, and western hats. Most of the women wore sandals and dresses, the hems of which whipped in the breeze.
Of the other children, most of the boys were dressed similarly to their fathers, and most of the girls wore dresses or shorts and blouses.
A dozen or so pairs of the more energetic attendees were in swimsuits and paired off in rented paddle boats. Having enjoyed the shimmering surface of the lake, they were drawing close to shore.
One girl lost her balance as she stood up to step out of her paddleboat and fell overboard, arms flailing. The crowd cheered. Her partner, laughing, dove in after her. Two others from another paddle boat decided to take the plunge too.
The predominant smell was sunscreen. The underlying buzz of conversation, chuckling, and quiet laughter constantly punctuated the collective excitement. The anticipation was almost palpable.
Some had brought colorful beach umbrellas and lawn chairs, their aluminum frames occasionally grating against the rocks and sand. Roving vendors hawked cold drinks, water, and hot dogs from trays that hung before them, slung from their necks.
And the anticipation and excitement only ratcheted up as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The buzz of conversation dwindled and then died, soon to be replaced by gasps of wonder as the fireworks display started above the cliff that rose high above the eastern side of the lake.
It wasn’t perfect, and occasionally a firework fizzled. But the next two-plus hours or so were filled with “Oohs” and “Aahs,” occasionally punctuated with solemn introductory announcements from the mayor emanating from loudspeakers set up at various places through the crowd.
After the final announcement, which the mayor ended with a friendly, smiling “Ya’ll drive safe on your way home now,” came a huge burst of fireworks that culminated, minutes later, with a massive fireworks flag apparently unfolding down the face of the cliff. A truly “grand” finale.
As the sportscasters say, the crowd went wild. The applause was louder than the preceding fireworks.
Do I have to say the experience was exhilarating? It was sheer magic. As the old joke goes, if I’d died that night, it would have taken the undertaker three weeks to get the smile off my face.
As leaving always is, our departure was an anticlimax. The mass of cars and pickups parked in the desert covered well over an acre. But there were no arguments that I heard, no cursing or gunfire, no rude jostling for position, and no sounds of grating metal due to accidents.
My mom finally turned her ’62 Chevy Impala onto the nearby highway roughly a half-hour after we’d walked away from Lea Lake, and like cattle headed for the water trough at the end of the day, we calmly joined the procession of traffic back to Roswell, already anticipating next year.
Flash forward.
The grand show at Lea Lake is no more, replaced years ago by an annual influx of bored visitors to Roswell to purchase plastic or stuffed replicas of the otherworldly Greys.
Yesterday was also my bride’s birthday. My youngest son and his lovely girlfriend Cathy drove down from Flagstaff for a weekend visit that will culminate later today.
The four of us spent the day shopping antique stores and visiting over lunch. As we visited, in no particular sequence we each recalled memories and conveyed stories we could all relate to within the common atmosphere of family.
Late yesterday on my phone I came across and briefly watched a drone display of the American flag somewhere in the night sky. With its AI-guided precision, the display was flawless. Perfect. And bland.
There was no anticipation, no hoping everything worked as it should, and no awe-inspired excitement when it all worked out.
Later, I also read that Tucson, our nearest major city, will switch to all-drone displays for next year and on into the future.
Perfection, I suppose, has arrived at least with regard to 4th of July displays. But with it comes the absence of magic. And that’s too bad.
Talk with you again soon.
Of Interest
Dr. Mardy’s Quotes of the Week: Insight” Reprised