Think your town has the best darn 4th of July bash in all of Illinois? You’re not alone.
Amid the feel-good flag-waving and happy back-yard picnics of today’s festivities, towns and cities have launched an all-out arms race, a heated contest — always ending with explosives — to see who will have the finest, loudest, brightest, most awe-inspiring fireworks display on this, the most patriotic of holidays.
Take the long-running feud between Streator and Peoria. For years, each city has claimed “the biggest fireworks display in downstate Illinois.” In late June, the two cities eye each other as they gather their rockets. On a recent day, as they prepared for detonation, each boasted loudly and taunted the competition.
“I would put our show against their show any time. Bring it on!” bellowed Randy Rundle, who orchestrates Peoria’s “Red, White and Boom” celebration. “We’re telling people to leave their socks at home because they’ll be blown off anyway! You can tell the people in Streator it’s on!”
To which the Streator organizer, Craig Bodznick, answered: “Ohhh? The guy in Peoria said, ‘Bring it on?’ Well you can tell him ours still has a nicer atmosphere! And better fireworks! And if he comes to our show, we will learn him something about fireworks!”
Fourth of July has become a fireworks fisticuffs, and Streator and Peoria aren’t the only red-white-and-blue fighters. Americans have turned Independence Day into what can only be called a battle of the booms, as towns and cities fortify themselves with cherry bombs, firecrackers, sparklers and various low-level explosives in an effort to out-blast their municipal rivals.
Battle for bragging rights
Nearly a dozen towns and cities lay claim to what they say is their region’s “best” or the “biggest” fireworks display. Tourism ads for Murphysboro boast the largest display in southern Illinois — despite the protests from nearby Carbondale. The Quad Cities profess to have “the largest display in the two-state area,” just don’t tell the folks in Chicago. Arlington Heights brags theirs is the “biggest suburban display” — much to the chagrin of Bolingbrook and Lisle, two suburbs making the same declaration. And watch out for the folks in Itasca, who are amassing large munitions piles for their own shock-and-awe offensive.
“Everyone is trying to top the other for bragging rights,” said Jay Armstrong, 50, who started the fireworks in Streator about 20 years ago, raising approximately $8,000 the first year and quickly increasing the budget to an annual $35,000 through a raffle of cars and, one year, a home. “It is nice to hear people say, ‘I went to Peoria and yours are better.'”
Who has the best show? The answer is elusive. Measuring a fireworks display is a tricky endeavor. The number, size and quality of the shells must be considered, along with the length of the show, music synchronization and enormity of the crowd. And — to the disappointment of some — size doesn’t always matter.
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For example, Chicago is commonly known as the best display in the state, boasting $100,000 worth of explosives — 5,500 top-quality shells — which are shot skyward and synchronized to a live orchestra. Yet the Chicago show lasts only 20 minutes. Those are intense, spectacular minutes to be sure. But many other towns have fireworks shows that go on much longer. Rockford’s display, for example, lasts 30 minutes. Evanston and Arlington Heights hit the 30-minute mark too. All of which leaves plenty of room for argument.
Melrose Pyrotechnics, the largest fireworks display company in the Midwest, shoots 800 shows the first week of July. Company officials say that when it comes to fireworks, every display is a good one. “It’s not the amount of shells that are shot,” said Bob Kerns, director of operations at Melrose. “It’s how each individual shell is used to create a scene in the sky. The fireworks tell a story when they work with the music.”
European-made shells are famous for the way the move and spin. Chinese shells resemble flowers, opening up like dahlias, chrysanthemums and peonies. Japanese shells explode into glittering sprays that linger in the sky. Putting it all together is like painting a masterpiece or choreographing a ballet, said Kerns.
Still, towns inevitably ask: ‘How we do rank?’
“We can say things like, ‘You’re in the top 10 percent,'” said Kerns. He keeps it vague. “Everyone thinks theirs are the best.”
And fireworks aren’t just for the 4th of July anymore. Indoor fireworks are shot off during Chicago Bulls games. They explode across the sky for every White Sox home run at Cellular Field, and bloom like perennial flowers over Navy Pier every Wednesday and Saturday night. All of which have inflamed the public’s desire for explosive entertainment.
Fireworks sales nearly doubled nationwide between 2000 and 2006, up to 278 million pounds last year, from 152 million pounds in 2000, according to the American Pyrotechnics Association. Experts say the loosening of state regulations, an increase in the sale of back-yard fireworks, along with a rise in patriotism post-Sept. 11, 2001, are fueling the explosive trend.
But competition between towns and cities also contributes to pyro proliferation. “We live in a society where we always want bigger, better, more,” said Julie L. Heckman, executive director of the American Pyrotechnics Association. “Every town wants to say they have the best fireworks show in their community. The fireworks shows each year get kicked up a notch. So that every year, people say, ‘That was the best ever.'”
Spending encouraged
In Illinois, the number of displays has grown by 20 percent in the last decade, according to Melrose Pyrotechnics. The fireworks industry encourages the spending surge, with advertisements such as one recently posted on the fireworks.com Web site: “My roman candle is bigger than yours.”
In tiny Arthur, Ill. — population 2,000 — the escalation has led to the patriotic purchase of an “End of the World Fireball,” which is so big people say it looks like “an Atomic Bomb.” When fireworks officials first detonated a similar device in 2000, folks in Arthur ran for their lives, thinking they had witnessed a horrific accident.
An incredible sight
“They thought the whole show had gone up and we had all killed ourselves,” recalled Mark Jones, 56, the local fireworks commissioner, his voice full of pride and delight. As the fireball dissipated, a lone horseman, carrying a large American flag, appeared through the smoke. It was a signal to the frightened crowd that all was well. “As soon as people saw that, the cheering, I can’t tell you how loud the cheering was. People just went crazy.”
While many cities and towns hurtle toward what seems like fiery Armageddon, other places keep it simple. South suburban Lansing puts on a “Grande Ole Fourth” celebration, with old-fashioned events including a watermelon eating contest, sack races and a ballon toss. “We don’t try to makes ours bigger or better,” said John Wilson, director of the local parks and recreation department. At dusk, families gather in a local park for the small but respectable fireworks display. It is not the brightest, nor the loudest. But that’s fine with Wilson, who said, “we need to remember why we’re here and that’s to celebrate America’s history.”
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The contenders
Chicago, July 3:
$100,000
worth of fireworks, a total of 5,500 shells, which are 3 to 10 inches in diameter.
Crowd estimated at 1 million. Running time of 20 minutes. Synchronized to live symphony orchestra. Challenging other cities’ claim to the biggest area fireworks, Cindy Gatziolis, spokeswoman for the Chicago office of special events, said: “They’re all wrong. Chicago is the best.”
Peoria, July 4:
$50,000
worth of fireworks, a total of 5,500 shells, ranging from 1.25 to 8 inches in diameter. Crowd estimated at 175,000. Running time of 22 minutes. Synchronized to music broadcast by local radio. “The largest single-day event in central Illinois.”
Rockford, July 4:
$60,000
worth of fireworks, a total of 6,000 shells, ranging from 1.25 to 10 inches in diameter. Crowd estimated at 125,000. Running time of 30 minutes. Synchronized to music broadcast by local radio. “The finest display in the state,” said fireworks chairman Joe Marino. “And the largest finale with 2,000 shells shot off in 3 minutes.”
Itasca, July 4:
$60,000
worth of fireworks, with more than 5,000 shells, ranging from 1.25 to 10 inches in diameter. Running time of 24 minutes. Crowd estimated at 40,000. Synchronized to music broadcast by speakers. “The biggest in the suburbs,” said fireworks chairman Rick Staback. “Other towns started shooting earlier because people watching their shows were turning their heads to watch ours [on the horizon].”
Streator, July 7:
$35,000
worth of fireworks, a total of 3,500 shells, which are 1.25 to 10 inches in diameter. Running time of 24 minutes. Crowd estimated at 20,000 to 30,000. Synchronized to music broadcast by local radio. “The biggest fireworks in downstate Illinois,” said Ed Brozak, director of Streator tourism.
Sources: Melrose Pyrotechnics and local fireworks officials.
Who wants to picnic?
I do! Picnics are all about people, food and fun.
Pull out the wicker basket. Pack the cooler. Put the blankets and tablecloths in the car. We’re going on a picnic!
As a kid, there were few mornings of anticipation as great as those of Memorial Day, 4th of July and Labor Day, when my family — parents, sisters, grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins — would attend Assyrian picnics at Linne Woods in Morton Grove. The excitement began the night before when our mom would pull down the wicker basket that contained the picnic silverware and pull out the “shish” from a lacquered canvas bag. The metal skewers needed to be cleaned for shish kebob.
I couldn’t wait to jump in our black Oldsmobile and take that drive west on Dempster Street to the picnic grove. My sisters, cousins and I would climb trees, walk along little foot-forged paths in the woods and play softball on the wide-open fields.
My picnicking nowadays generally occurs only when someone else does the planning. Just tell me to bring the brownies or coleslaw, though, and I’m there. And that’s all right. At their core, picnics are about food, fellowship and fun, plus they are informal and held outdoors. That’s a hard-to-beat combination in the summer.
Picnics also are a perfect opportunity to indulge any inclination to be lazy — that lying-in-the-grass-looking-up-at-the-clouds kind of feeling that the term “lazy, hazy days of summer” evokes.
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By the late 1970s, after my grandparents had died, we stopped going to those ethnic gatherings which had always defined “picnic” for me. But others emerged: college football tailgate parties, outdoor concerts, fireworks shows, office picnics, family reunions, even neighborhood block parties and (no laughing, please) Taste of Chicago. So, whether your idea of a picnic is a romantic evening at Ravinia with wine and cheese, cookouts at the forest preserve with your ethnic tribe, or peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches at the beach with the kids, pull out a basket, pack the cooler and grab a blanket.
You’re going on a picnic.
— Maria Mooshil
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I don’t! Picnics are outdoor awfulness.
I wouldn’t mind picnics — if they didn’t have to be held outdoors.
That’s where ants, flies, wasps, bees and mosquitoes live, and they’re certainly not shy about joining any sort of al fresco dining, whether it’s slurping up the juice on the surface of a watermelon slice (while tiptoeing on tiny insect legs across that surface) or setting up a conga line through the grass to a spill of ice cream, or plunging a long, needle-like nose deep into the skin of my arm and draining off some of my life blood.
And then there’s the weather. Sometimes it’s too humid, and picnic is another word for sauna. Sometimes it’s too sunny, and I risk sunburn unless I wear long sleeves, long pants, a hat and several layers of sunscreen. Or it’s windy, and the umbrella table blows across the lawn. Or it rains.
Or some combination of all of the above occurs.
Way back at the dawn of time, picnicking was the only dining experience human beings knew. Then we built homes. And chairs. And tables.
I’ve never been a fan of trying to juggle a paper plate on my lap while sitting on the grass, and I’m much less enthralled by the idea now that my middle-age knees don’t bend as well as they should. Sure, I could schlep along folding chairs and a folding table, whether it’s to the back yard or the beach or Ravinia — but why schlep at all? Right there, in my house, is a whole array of chairs and tables.
There’s something deeply American about a picnic, especially on the 4th of July — about hamburgers overcooked on the grill, about mayonnaise-based potato salad baking in the sun, about warm bottled beer, about trying to cut your steak with a plastic knife while shooing away a horsefly. Is this a great country, or what?
Still, I must admit that it’s fun to see friends and to gather with the family. So I’m planning a picnic. My kind.
It’ll be inside my house, and the air conditioning will be on. We’ll sit on chairs around a table and eat food prepared in the kitchen and served at the proper temperature. No ants, flies, wasps, bees or mosquitoes are invited. And we’ll all have a happy 4th.
— Patrick T. Reardon
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The taste of the U.S.
When you sit down to your 4th of July picnic, you’ll be taking part in a feast of truly national proportions. The Census Bureau figures your picnic basket represents these states:
Hot dogs — Iowa
Of the 55 million hogs and pigs that were ready for market March 1 and have since been transformed into loin roasts, sausage patties and frankfurters, 15.5 million were from Iowa.
Steaks — Texas
Texas was responsible for 14 percent of the 97 million cattle and calves in the U.S. as of Jan. 1.
Chicken — Georgia
Of 9 billion chickens produced in 2006, Georgia accounted for
1.5 billion.
Baked beans — North Dakota
North Dakota was responsible for 27 percent of the $518 million of dry, edible beans produced in the nation last year.
Potatoes — Idaho
Of the $3.2 billion U.S. potato crop in 2006, $713 million (or 22 percent) was grown in Idaho.
Lettuce — California
More than 76 percent of the $976.9 million of head lettuce grown in the U.S. is from California.
Ketchup — California
California accounted for 95 percent of processed tomato production in 2006.
Watermelon — Florida
Last year, Florida produced 835 million pounds of watermelon.
— Patrick T. Reardon