Lowering the boom on my love of fireworks

I was a ninth-grader in the 1970s, approaching the U.S.-Canadian border on our way back from Montreal as we headed to New York.

We had some serious contraband in our bus.

It was, indeed, a different time.

But back to that in a moment.

First, the four boys in my French class, including me, had loaded up on fireworks, which we weren't supposed to bring across the border. I don't think the eight girls in our group had done the same, but, hey, they were, after all, girls.

Now not being able to take fireworks across the border seemed rather silly to us since the fireworks stores were lined up as you approached the border, and nobody batted an eye as our school bus pulled up in front of the store.

Back in the day, my favorite fireworks were the M-80s, and they were everywhere in that store. M-80s are illegal in Canada now, but they must not have been at the time, because there they were. M-80s contain a charge in excess of 50 milligrams of pyrotechnic flash powder, which requires a license for U.S. civilians to use. Despite what you have been told, they aren't equal to a quarter stick of dynamite.

So we each got about 20 of them, and didn't think much about it as we boarded our bus and approached the border.

We figured we were all clear when a border official waved our bus through the security check, and on we went. But that feeling of escape changed a few miles down the road, when a New York Trooper's car came screaming after us. As our French teacher's husband, the driver, pulled the bus over, we all had visions of going to the big house.

Fortunately for us, our driver had misunderstood the border official's directions, as he was trying to wave us into a different lane for buses so we could undergo an inspection. It must have been a busy day, because our driver and the trooper shared a good laugh, and we went on our way.

So back to the fact it was a different time.

Consider the 1970s, as our French class was a bunch of 14- and 15-year-olds and our only chaperones were our French class teacher and her husband. In Montreal, when the girls in the class went to the botanical garden with the two adults, the four of us boys were released to wander Montreal on our own. Yes, on our own.

We eventually went to the Montreal Expos-Philadelphia Phillies baseball game June 26, 1972 at Jarry Park. The Expos are now the Washington Nationals and Jarry Park doesn't exist. But that day was a special one in baseball history, because Phillies pitcher Steve Carlton beat the tar out of Expos Manager Gene Mauch.

Carlton hit Expo Tim Foli with a pitch on the helmet in the fourth inning, in retaliation for a beanball in the top of the inning. Mauch charged Carlton, probably not thinking that the pitcher was a karate expert. One writer described Mauch's condition as a "beaten up tomato" after the one-sided brawl. But we were there, watching the whole thing. The Phils won 1-0, one of Carlton's 27 wins that year for last place Philadelphia.

We saw history, but we didn't think much about that as we drove back to Orange County in New York. We were thinking about how we were going to use those M-80s.

It all was so many years ago, I can't remember firing off most of them, although I do remember it gave the pyrotechnic in me many thrills. I do, however, remember shooting off two of them, two years later when I had my driver's license.

My friend Scott Williams and I stopped in front of the house of our buddy Eugene Sales (yes, we called him Soupy for those of you who have lived a little) around 2 a.m. on July 5. His dad and mom treated Scott and I like family, and we figured we would give everyone a big laugh that night. I tied the fuses of two M-80s together and we snuck to the side of the house — and set them off.

We had tied longer fuses to them so we could get back to the car, and we were ready to drive off when the boom rocked our car, and of course, the house. It was an incredible explosion.

We were laughing as we drove away, looking back to see the lights going on at Soupy's house. Soupy later told us that his dad came down the hallway with a shotgun, then fell when trying to sit in a living room chair. We never admitted our part until years later.

Every year, when July 4 rolls around, I think back to to Montreal, Steve Carlton, M-80s, the chase at the border, the assault at Soupy's, and more.

I have a little harder time enjoying those memories these days because of the social media frenzy that accompanies the July 4 holiday, saying our sick desire for the big boom haunts pets, damages wildlife and causes serious injuries.

Sure, I know people have lost fingers, and worse. KISS drummer Peter Criss had a temporary hearing loss due to an M-80 being thrown on stage in 1976 and singer Steven Tyler and guitarist Joe Perry were both injured by an M-80 thrown on the stage in 1977.

Deaths because of fireworks have occurred. The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission says fireworks were responsible for eight deaths in 2023.

These are things that I know. And yet, I do love fireworks. It's not just because of patriotism, either. I love fireworks on Feb. 6, or June 7, or July 4, or Sept. 23. People love all kinds of odd things that aren't particularly good for them. I guess fireworks is a weakness for me.

There I was as an adult, supervising my teen son as we set off fireworks together on our court in our California neighborhood. It was illegal then, too, but those remain good memories.

I continue to applaud Nathan Benderson Park's Fireworks on the Lake, and the combined effort of the cities of Bradenton and Palmetto to put on their annual fireworks show over the Manatee River.

I can't explain to you why I enjoy the boom, boom, crackle, crackle, BOOM, so much

I guess it was something that got into my blood from the first time I was handed a sparkler at a campground when I was a little kid.

Even then, I was taught which end was the hot end, and to make sure it was completely out before I threw it away (something those kids in Greenbrook who burned down the pavilion last year obviously didn't learn).

At this point of my life, I am not going to change my fondness for fireworks. It's like the many things we do in life that aren't always healthy for us, or that can have negative consequences if we don't take care while participating.

I ask that those who enjoy fireworks, take the utmost care in handling them. And for those of you who can't stand them, Please have a little patience with me on the July 4 holiday.

I can't help myself.

(If you have opinions on the subject, please send them to me at [email protected].)