Dad's Stories: Meridian Fireworks

FIREWORKS IN MERIDIAN (written Sat, 5 Jun 2004)

When I was growing up in Meridian, there were no official city fireworks. It was just what you could put together as an individual. The only fireworks available to my best recollection was what was sold at the Meridian Hardware. To my knowledge there were no city ordinances against any particular type of fireworks. We had sparklers, M2’s, baby giants, cherry bomb, sky bombs, roman candles and various other types of rockets, fire wheels and spinners. Oh yes, and the little round, silver grenades that exploded upon impact. If I left any important fireworks off my list, I apologize.

The small grenades came packed in a box of sawdust. When they came packages that way, you knew those little babies needed to be handled with care. The best way to use these small grenades was to catch some poor unsuspecting kid out in the open on the street and rain several of them all around him. The primary detonator in the grenade was small rocks and these would fly out at a terrific speed and pelt the living heck out of your arms and legs. The intent was to throw four or five of these up in the air and when they came down they would explode and fire small rocks all around. You didn’t know where to run, because they were exploding all around you.
I’m glad no one got an eye put out. Like they say, "God watches out for idots and drunks."

Then there was a little thing we called, a roman candle fight. You would choose up sides and back off about fifty feet or so and fire roman candles at one another. You didn’t need a judge or referee. When someone got hit they nearly always fell to the ground screaming and rolling in agony. I vividly remember a boy named Jack Hannah, showing everyone at school where he had gotten hit by a roman candle. The fireball had gone down his shirt and burned him pretty badly. Everyone, including Jack, thought it was funny. I’m not saying everyone participated in such fireworks wars, but there were more than you would think. Poor decisions seem to come easy when you’re a teenager.

Of course, there were the usual stories about firecracker fights where one had gone off right next to someone’s ear. I recall John Oliver Baxter, had poor hearing in his right ear, because someone else had good aim and immaculate timing. Your intent was for the firecracker to go off while it was still in the air… not on the ground. Most of the firefights were done with “black cats” and they weren’t as loud as some of the others. Once in a while someone would sling a “baby giant,” but they had a rather intricate fuse that would even work under water and were difficult to time properly. Besides they were against the rules. Anyone caught throwing a cherry bomb or baby giant was immediately expunged from the battle field.

The big thing was to be man enough to let a “black cat” explode in your hand. I’ve only seen it done a couple of times and both resulted in second degree burns and limited function of that hand. I had this tremendous urge to see what it was like to hold a “black cat” and let it go off in my hand. At home one day, by myself, I decided to experiment a little. We had some very small firecrackers that we could hold and let them explode. It would give you a considerable sting, but nothing serious. I saw a kid, who will go nameless, to protect the innocent, let one of those pee-wee firecrackers explode between his teeth. He won! Nobody wanted to duplicate that feat. He said it didn’t hurt much, but the tears in his eyes told the real story.

Anyway, back to my story. After much ruminating and planning, I decided that I would light the firecracker and hold my hand around behind a tree. That way, the paper from the explosion wouldn’t put my eyes out. Going through life with one less finger was one thing, but I didn’t cherish the thought of walking with a cane the rest of my life. I looked around, to make sure no one was in sight. I chose a firecracker from the bunch, struck a match and lit the fuse. I immediately slid my hand out of sight around the tree and waited for the explosion. More than once I thought about dropping the firecracker to the ground and chickening out. While entertaining a similar thought, the firecracker went off.

Problem one, I was holding it between my forefinger and my thumb. It would have been better if I’d just let it lie on my fingers. The second problem was, after it had detonated and my fingers felt like they’d been blown all to pieces, drawing my hand back and looking at the damage. I must tell you that it felt like I’d been hit by a hundred pound hammer. There was no numbness or shock, just raw, throbbing pain. Suddenly I knew that I had just done the dumbest thing in my entire life.
I stood by the tree with my hand still on the other side of it. I had to look, I couldn’t just stand there until I could get a passerby to survey the damage and give me the bad news.

Excuse me, could you check my hand and see if my fingers are blown off. I just exploded a firecracker in my hand! No, that just wouldn’t work at all. I slowly pulled my hand from around the tree and looked at it. My throbbing fingers were black from the explosion, but there was no blood and I still had five. Things were definitely running in my favor. My poor fingers hurt so bad I though I would pass out. I finally went into the bathroom and ran cold water on them.

When I could finally touch my fingers, I attempted to wash some of the black from them. I needed to hide any signs that I had exploded a firecracker in my hand. Next, I applied some butter to the blisters and went back outside and walked around the yard holding my hand. Thank goodness I’d had the presence of mind to destroy my left hand. I could still write my name and feed myself. I made a covenant with myself that I would never tell anyone about my strange experiment. It wasn’t something that was going to be purposefully repeated, anyway. If I remember correctly, it was two or three days before I could use my damaged fingers again. I’m only telling the story now, because if there is anyone thinking about exploding a firecracker in their hand, don’t! It’s just not a good trick at all.

One final story about fireworks. I saved up my money and bought a piece of fireworks called the Sky Bomb! Now, that was a piece of ordinance that you certainly didn’t want to trifle with. When I bought the thing, Hal Gill, manager of the hardware store where it was kept told me, “We haven’t sold too many of those. Be careful Sammy, it’s got a low of explosive in it.” Oh yes, that’s exactly what I was looking for. I kept the beautiful explosive device in a paper sack for a couple of days before actually setting it off. I would take it out of the sack in the privacy of my bedroom and fondle it with loving curiosity. It was almost a shame to fire it… one explosion and it was gone. The sky bomb cost me about four bucks and that was a lot of money back in the early fifties.

For not particular reason, I got up one Saturday morning and decided that this was the day! I ate breakfast and laid around in my bed reading a Hardy Boys’ book and then had an early lunch. The fine folks in Meridian were as unsuspecting at those in Hiroshima, back on August 6th, 1945. It was just another day. I was the only one in town that knew the peaceful little community was about to be rudely surprised by a fireworks mega bomb. I asked my good friend R.L. Clark, if he would like to join me in shooting off some fireworks. He said, “Sure, let’s do it.” Little did he know that I had bought the mother of all sky bombs.

I decided zero hour would be around four in the afternoon. There was no particular reason for that time, but it was convenient. R.L. and myself walked across the street and into a vacant lot filled with Sun Flower stalks. It was a favorite place to play. We had tunnels running all over the place and would hide in there and play soldier games. I walked in and found a wide enough spot to set up the sky bomb. This was it. The sun was shining brightly, traffic was moving normally, birds were singing and I could even see a couple of scissor tail birds frolicking in the wind currents over head.

I advised R.L., to get ready to run when I lit the sky bomb. With nervous fingers I struck the wooden match against the side of the match box and saw the fire jump to life. I checked to make sure that the sky bomb was vertical and sitting steady… it was, we definitely had a go for it. I gently touched the flame of the match to the fuse at the bottom of the explosive. It sparked and started burning. I turned around and yelled, “Run R.L., she’s lit! We ran back across the street and stood in my front yard.

Everything was still routine and peaceful when suddenly there was a sharp report, much like clapping your hands together in an empty room. A small package tumbled into the air. It gained altitude and upon reaching about fifty feet or so, paused momentarily and then exploded with a tremendous boom! Our dog, funny face, tucked his tail and ran for cover. Several cats in the area rapidly vanished. The loud explosion had a numbing effect on my ears and seemed to reverberate all around the neighborhood. R.L. and myself never moved an inch. We stood still and watched the developing cloud of smoke in the sky. What a blast!

I was shocked out of my mesmerized state by my grandmother Smith calling my name, “Sammeeee!” Evidently upon hearing the enormous explosion the first name that had popped into her head was mine. Grandmother had no idea what had happened, but somehow connected me with the terrific eruption. I answer, “Yes mam.” I trotted over to the kitchen window where she was looking out and tried to look unconcerned and more importantly innocent. I said rather nonchalantly, “Hi grandmother. Did you want me?”

She answered, “What was that explosion? It shook all the windows in the house.” Playing it cool, I said, “Yea, we heard that, I’ll check it out.”
Grandmother obviously wasn’t buying into my act. She asked, “What did you do? Did you explode something?” “Yes mam, I did. It was just some fireworks I had.” Looking quite skeptical, she exclaimed, “Fireworks! What kind of fireworks, it sounded like a stick of dynamite.” I was still trying to play it off as no big deal, “It was a sky bomb that I bought at the Hardware Store the other day, that’s all.” “Do you have any more of those?” She asked. “No mam, just the one.” She scolded, “You children be careful and don’t set anymore of those things off, you hear?” “Yes mam, we won’t.” I turned and walked away from the house. People were beginning to mill about in their yards looking in the air for some alien space ship and surveying the entire neighborhood for any damage that might have occurred.

Our neighbors talked about the explosion for several days and couldn’t for the life of them figure out what made such a terrible amount of noise and no destruction that they could determine. Several thought a hot water heater had exploded. Others thought a plane had broken the sound barrier. That one event satiated my desire for loud explosions. From then on I decided to stick with the smaller stuff. Later in the week, a friend of mine, Jimmy White, who lived at least three miles away from my house asked, “Hey did you hear that loud explosion the other day?” I answered, “Yea, I did.” I didn’t elaborate further.