No Fire Works!

Back then, the town had no fireworks. Folkshad to travel to Peoria or Henry to see fireworks. My family always went to Henry, a faraway northern city. Dad had no faith in the old 1955 Ford. He seldom ventured out of Chillicothe with it. Usually balding tires and a blue smoke-producing vehicle was restricted to vital travel only within the Chillicothe city limits. Vital travel was to church, baseball games, the bank, and Kroger’s which was downtown, and of course barber shops and Skinny’s Tavern. 

My grandfather had a well running 1953 Pontiac. We always took the Chief (as Grandpa called it) on long trips like that Big Day on the 4th of July. In total, we had eight people crammed into the car. All girls were in the back seat and three of us guys were in the front seat. My sisters were all young and quite small. Grandma brought a tiny turquoise toilet for the sisters. It was about the size of a basketball. Little girls had little bladders and Grandpa would have to pull off the side of the two-lane road and create an instant rest stop as other cars sped by. Us men in the front seat looked straight ahead making no eye contact with passing vehicles. When “business “was finished Grandma would screech, “Okay Ed you can get going.” Grandpa would punch the accelerator and spin his tires to get the air moving in the hot boiler we called the Chief. Grandma would put her foot on top of the turquoise toilet lid to keep it from tipping over. These long trips to Henry required deep planning and a steady foot. One time the Chief blew a tire and all the backseat people screamed because Grandma lost her foot grip from the tiny toilet. Everyone had to crawl out of the Chief and sit down way off the road (it looked like we were all under arrest) while Grandpa muffled his language and said strange words. 30 hot minutes later we were northbound and almost breathing normally. We had arrived at the Henry fairgrounds and us kids would hover around Grandma jumping up and down. Grandma had the money!  

Grandma saved up money all year for this grand and holy day. She was determined to blow the wad on her four darling grandchildren. She did.

It was an island of dusty delight at the carnival. Every sweet culinary carnival treat was devoured. Every ride was tried. At the end of daylight, we were all dirty little pigs. My father and grandfather trailed along behind us 50 yards. I don’t know what their problem was. We all made it to the river bank and waited until the big aerial shock bombs announced the beginning of the fireworks. As a kid, this was very close to Christmas. 45 minutes later it was over and we trudged back through the dusty trail along with hundreds of other sweaty people to find their vehicles. We found Chief all dusty and hot just the way Grandpa had expected. The long ride through the darkness always put us kids to sleep and the turquoise toilet was kept in the trunk on the way home. The bladders were empty and so was Grandma’s purse. 

Hug your sweaty kids and love your sweaty neighbors. Thank God for our small town... and Henry!