HISTORY: Sly Fourth of July, by Marie Templeton and the Rimrocker Historical Society

By Kathleen Sly Wares

The Fourth of July holiday caused me to take a trip back in time – a pastime which my grandchildren edge away from if the recognize the symptoms in time. But if I can get them cornered long enough to listen to one of my Fourth of July childhood memories, I think they will be impressed, even if they think nothing but the present is relevant.

On this particular day our family rode in a farm wagon to the fairgrounds to participate in the usual annual celebration; only it turned out to be anything but usual.

First our team, which Dad had unhitched and tied to the wagon tongue, got scared when a bucking horse in the bronco-riding contest bumped into them. They lunged around, breaking the tongue, then staged a first-class runaway-horse exhibition. Scary and embarrassing.

Then came the baseball game. Dad, one of the star players, won a baseball bat—a feat equal to winning the Heisman Trophy today, no doubt. Our whole family was crushed when the proudly displayed bat became the victim of an over-zealous-would-be athlete who took a beefy swing with it and cracked it against an unnoticed tree; a crack as tragic to me as the crack in the Liberty Bell.

After the last contest we hurried home – as fast as one could hurry in a farm wagon – to do chores and get ready for the big community dance in the Town Hall and to watch the fireworks on Main Street for a grand finale.

I was playing outside the corral where Dad was trying to get the bridle off one of the still skittish horses before feeding it some oats, when the horse tossed its bony head and whacked Dad on the side of the head.

Dad stood there for a moment, then sank slowly to his knees and lay down. I was surprised – I had never seen him lie down in the barnyard before, but I decided he must be tired from the ball game and needed a rest. I went on playing until Mother called me to see what Dad was doing – supper was ready and it was getting late.

I couldn’t believe my normally calm mother’s reaction when I said, “He’s lying down in the corral.”

She threw down her dishtowel and ran to the barnyard just as Dad was getting to his feet.

He had a knot on his head, a skinned nose and a headache, but I saw no logical reason for their decision not to go to the dance. In those days the kids went along to the dances where there were benches we could sleep on if we got tired.

“How about the fireworks?” I whined, in a last ditch effort to keep things going.

“We’ll wake you at midnight and we can watch them from our front yard,” said my parents.

And they did, but the fireworks were barely visible above the treetops! Some Fourth of July!