Fourth of July

The Fourth of July was important for a number of reasons.

It was a holiday that made it possible to see friends during the summer. Early morning was full of getting ready for the parade. As a child you would "fix up" your bike by decorating it with colored streamers—red, white and blue.

My first Schwinn had this large tank instead of just a metal bar. With a new battery, I had a horn, something which I rarely used, but it was still a cause of wonderment for any eight-year-old to have a bike with a horn like that. At least it was for me at that time.
This picture shows Ann with the Smith Twins--Marilyn and Marlene--during one of those parades.

I was so lucky to have my Annie who still occasionally wears that same grin, but I only wish I could also have the '52 Chevrolet pickup in the background.

I remember one parade in particular. My bike was "fit" for the Fourth, with streamers and baseball cards of course. With the help of a few wooden pins, that my mom used for the clothes lines behind the house to dry her washed clothes, I attached five or six baseball cards. They made a motorcycle sound, at least in the mind of a young boy, when the cards flipped against the spokes.

After the parade, my mom and dad asked me to ride my bike home slowly with my two sisters, who also had their bikes. The trip was short, only a mile from the small town center at most.

Summer meant that any young boy new the sporting spots in a neighborhood. On the way home, we would pass two houses: one owned by the small town lawyer, whom the entire town of Malad refused to forgive because he foreclosed on many people during The Great Depression, and the house next door to him owned by his crazy sister.

She would stand by the sidewalk each day with a garden hose, squirting children. My friends and I began a passive protest that summer—we would drive by as fast as possible, while she was watching on the porch or from the front window of her house. Before her very eyes, we would "hit the brakes," leaving black tire marks that stretched at least six feet on the cement walk.

We knew she would be ready for the next attack. Giving the old woman at least thirty minutes to arm herself with hose and nozzle, we would all make another strafing run at the walk. She would squirt us, but she could never get all of us. And besides, during the heat of a typical summer day, it not only felt good, but it was better than just running through a sprinkler. And you could irritate and heckle the mean old woman at the same time.

On that Fourth of July ride home with my sisters, I spotted the old lady.

She stood feet away from the sidewalk, hose in hand and water dripping from the ready nozzle that was twisted into the off position. She stood confidently, knowing that with one quick twist, she could soak the perpetrators.

I started peddling at least a hundred feet before reaching her. I sailed by while the old woman fumbled with her weapon.

But I heard hysterical screams and crying behind me. She soaked my sisters. Streamers decorating their bikes hung limply and dripped red, white and blue on the sidewalk. They even stopped. Maybe it was the cold water on a hot day that took their breath away. I watched in wonder, not only did I see my two sisters get a good soaking, but I also irritated the old woman again. My sisters howled like Harpies all the way home. I smiled.

Neighbors came out to see what was wrong when they heard the tears. That was probably when I realized I was "in for it" when I arrived home. But after the initial moments of anger, I knew my mom and dad would be angrier at the neighborhood's crazy lady.

Additional memories are about playing in the high school band. The parade on the Fourth in Malad was a preparation for the big parade in Salt Lake City on the 24th of July. Our high school band had a fantastic music teacher, Mr. Don Castleton.

Preparing for parades meant marching practice at least once or twice a week for me. He made an allowance, since I was on the ranch in Snowville. Most band members, who lived in town, could not miss a practice.

Dad would let me ride to Malad with my mom and sisters on the day of the water turn. I would help my mom soak the lawn during the day, and then I practiced in the evening with the band.

For me, it was an additional day with friends. Usually there was only late Saturday night to be with friends. On Sunday evening after church, we returned to the ranch.

After high school, Ann and I continued traditions in our home town on the Forth. We would get up early in the morning, wash and shine my Ford Model A pickup, and prepare to drive it in the parade.

There were usually only a few vintage cars in the parade: a fantastic old car owned by Swede Hansen, the town newspaper owner and editor; and finally, one or several of the classic Thunderbirds owned by Lyle and Mary Thomas.

Mitchell Deschamps always drove old farm equipment in the parade too.

People who graduated from Malad High School always seemed to return for the Fourth. Many classes tried to host reunions during that time. It was fun to meet so many people.

Swede Hansen also initiated the Jim Bridger competition in Malad during the Fourth. After the parade and during the day's activities at Pioneer Park, individuals and teams competed. Winners would travel to Logan for a regional competition.

The picture below shows me in my team competing in Logan. Don Hubbard, J.D. Thomas and I were on the team, but I can not remember the others who competed. I do remember winning in Logan, although I don't remember how well we did.


















My last memory of the Fourth in Malad was not really on the Fourth.

In 2003, my mom wanted to have family pictures taken during that weekend, but complicated doctor's schedule meant that I had hip replacement surgery on July 3, so had the pictures taken on July 2, my dad's birthday.

Life was never the same after that family picture. Doctors diagnosed my leukemia AML by the end of July in 2003.

Ann and I celebrated the Fourth yesterday, July 4, 2008.

Cles is in Japan on business. My daughter-in-law Leslie is in Virginia, where she and Cles now live.

Jeff and Lydia spent a few days in Yellowstone Park at a Zollinger Family Reunion. Jeff will drive back to Rochester this morning, and Lydia and Tommy and Anna will remain with us for a short time before Ann and I travel with them back to Rochester.

Kristin and Jack watched the fireworks last night near the river. Jack was excited to tell me about it.

"The fireworks were way up in the sky," he said in the phone.

When Kristin asked me what Ann and I did for the Fourth. She laughed when I old her we went to Albertson's earlier in the day.

The fact is that Ann fried some chicken and made me a potato salad, two things that bring back memories of Malad and growing up there. It was fun for us to be together. I feels good to be here.

I will always miss the way things once were in Malad.

Fireworks were especially fun. Everyone would sit on the grass at the old football field while the local firefighters set off the annual fireworks display. Occasionally there was a dud. But just like in golf, when someone hits a ball into the crowd, it makes for excitement.

Fireworks in Malad were sometimes that way. A large firework would explode close to the ground, and at least once or twice, someone would catch a spark, and as a flame would ignite, the panic-stricken runner would race across the field, chased by one or two people. There was always applause after the saving tackle, when do-gooders not only brought the crazed sprinter to the ground but also smothered out the flames.

How can you enjoy fireworks when you've seen the real thing in Malad?