Celebrating the Fourth of July

*By Marian I. Doyle*

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.

-   This article has been cleared for republication in English and in
    translation by U.S. Embassy Public Affairs and the press outside the
    United States; it may also be carried over the Internet. Credit to
    the author and the following note must appear on the title page of
    any reprint.

-   Reprinted courtesy of *Early American Homes Magazine.*