Summer's Magic

It was July 4th 1965, and in the grandest fashion, America celebrated the birth of its freedom.

Jake Evans and his best friend Sal stood on the corner of South Main Street. It would prove to be a day that sparkled with summer's magic.

Both sides of the barren street were lined with flag-waving spectators. Shop owners were closed for the day and smiling policemen patrolled on horseback, keeping the swaying crowd on the cobblestone sidewalks. Screaming children sat atop the shoulders of short-sleeved fathers, while women huddled in tight groups to talk about those very men. There was a sweet smell in the air, perhaps a mixture of street vendor delicacies and national pride. Old Glory crackled and popped in the summer wind. Suddenly, a siren wailed in the distance. All eyes went big. The parade was finally underway.

Leaning in to steal the first glimpse, a squeal traveled down the line. "They're coming!" someone announced. And so they did.

The horn of a Model A Ford led the way. Evidently, Mayor Jonathan O'Shane had appointed himself Grand Marshal and was propped up on the back seat, waving furiously and working hard toward his upcoming campaign. By the look on his wife's sour face, she hardly shared his enthusiasm. Other politicians marched behind their leader, shaking hands and kissing babies. When possible, a few promises were even thrown out along the way. Jake wondered why the robotic Mayor hadn't decided on sending the pretty girls first. That would have definitely insured him more future votes.

Jumbled groups of every culture followed suit. They proudly displayed the colors of their native countries. Italian, French, Irish and Portuguese flags bobbed along. Again, on America's Independence Day, it didn't make sense. Thankfully, the worst of it had passed.

BANG!

Everyone jumped, but not nearly as high as the policeman's horse. Some delinquent had tossed a firecracker at the poor animal's hooves before melting back into the thick crowd. Once the cop's spotted partner calmed down, they took chase. To Jake's surprise, the crowd cheered them on.

Oblivious to the heart-thumping interruption, milk trucks and farm tractors, transformed into creatively decorated floats, crept along. Uncle Sam and Betsy Ross waved and threw candy to the crowd. As children scurried and wrestled each other for the sweet loot, Jake waved back at Miss Ross. She was a real looker.

A Boy Scout troop marched in synch, while other rougher-looking boys, dressed in little league garb, moped by. A line of antique cars was carried in their wake. The cars' paint had been buffed so diligently the reflection from the sun actually hurt the eyes. Inhaling the exhaust fumes, a small group of young girls halted the procession. While they performed a brief tap dance number, Jake hurried back from the hot dog cart. He was just in time to catch the high school marching band play When The Saints Come Marching In completely off note.

Just then, a bright red fire engine opened up on the crowd, playfully dousing everyone with a powerful stream of cold water. Women screamed in delight, while drenched children waited for the handfuls of candy to be thrown. The firemen nearly laughed themselves off the rear of the truck before pouring their generosity into the crowd of victims. Buckets of twist-wrap candy rained onto the black glistening street. Jake laughed at the spectacle. He felt so alive.

When the fire engine's siren moaned down to silence, the haunting sound of bagpipes took its place. Grown men, dressed in skirts, played a melancholy tune. Sal chuckled openly at their chosen outfits, causing a stranger with a peculiar twitch to tap him on the shoulder. "That's the police band," the man pointed out in a rasp before returning to the statue he'd been earlier. Jake laughed again. Sal's face was as bright as the fire truck that soaked them.

A roaming band of clowns followed the police, as they played with tiny dogs to jump through hula-hoops. The slapstick comedy that followed had even the most rigid men holding their sides. At the conclusion of the hilarious show, the big-shoed jokesters dumped buckets of confetti on everyone. With the water from the fire truck, the confetti stuck like feather to tar. For one reason or another, people really loved throwing things on the Fourth of July.

In search of the opposite sex, Jake scanned the mass of people across the street when a convoy of military vehicles returned his attention to the parade. Giant green trucks rumbled along; their billows of heavy smoke painting the blue sky black. One, towing an enormous cannon behind it, forced the twitching statue to speak again. "That's a Howitzer," the stranger whispered hoarsely, "and when she sneezes, the Gerrys and Japs soil their trousers." He finished with a twisted grin and returned to his stoic stare. Jake and Sal looked at each other. Without a word, they shuffled down the sidewalk a few feet. The commentating was getting a bit too spooky.

Behind the odd-looking vehicles, a drum and bugle corps echoed an ancient march into battle. Groups of men marched in step to every beat. Some wore uniforms; others, rows of colorful medals pinned to their swollen chests. Banners read: V.F.W., AMVETS and the wars in which they served. The oldest of them; the trench warriors of WWI, took the lead. Upon their passing, for an eerie moment the crowd stood silent. Then it happened. As if on cue, the street exploded with spine-tingling cheers. From the sidelines, old men saluted, while fathers pointed out the decorated heroes - many of them taking the opportunity to explain the meaning of respect to their children. The men who fought in 'The Big One' or WWII, however, stared straight ahead - never acknowledging the deafening applause. Neither did the Korean War Vets who brought up the rear. Though they were so much younger than their predecessors, it was tragically clear: they had suffered equal amounts of torment. Some of the warriors pushed their buddies' wheelchairs, while others saluted the crowd with the only arm remaining. Through it all, people fought to conceal their tears.

Sal glanced at Jake to catch a salty droplet roll down his friend's face. It was the perfect fodder for teasing, but Sal never said a word. Both friends understood: freedom was anything but free and if it weren't for the sacrifices of the men who marched before them, July 4th would be no more than another hot day in hell. The crowd continued to roar. Patriotism was alive and well in Fall River.

Submerged in a daydream of serving his country in Vietnam, Jake looked up and saw her. The sight nearly pulled him to his knees. He knew right away that this strange effect wasn't due to the raw excitement of the day, the sheer respect felt for the older soldiers who marched, or even the unseasonably warm temperature - it was definitely caused by the angel who stood across from him. She had curly blonde hair that blew recklessly in the breeze, while a closer look revealed a perfect row of teeth and two adorable dimples. When Jake finally caught his breath, he glanced up to find a police horse approaching. He hadn't realized it, but he'd wandered out several feet onto the parade route.

"Get back on the sidewalk," the smirking cop ordered.

Jake shook his head, but a racing pulse had his thoughts all boggled and hazy. With another stern look from the cop, he finally did as ordered. Sal was smiling.

"She is some beautiful, huh?" Jake's friend confirmed, speaking of Miss Fall River; the pageant queen who'd just ridden by on a '57 Chevy convertible.

"You're not kiddin'," Jake managed. His giant pupils were still hypnotized by the stunning creature before him.

"And the car's not too shabby either!"

Jake's forehead wrinkled and for the first time, his eyes returned to his friend. "What car?" he asked.

The carnival's midway was attacked by an onslaught of parade-goers. Between the blinking lights, greasy smells and overexcited squeals of children, the lure was no match for even the strongest-willed. Jake and Sal never fought it. They just followed the stampede in.

A junk food junkie's paradise, smells of popcorn, fried dough, candy apples, French fries and everything you'd never find in Ma's kitchen filled the air. The boys bought an early lunch and started on their quest for the pretty blonde.

It didn't take long. Jake had just stuffed the last half of a corn dog in his gob when he spotted her. She was standing near the dunk tank with her friend. Wiping a sleeve across his mouth, he grabbed Sal and rushed over.

It took six throws of a baseball and almost all his pride before Jake submerged the heckling victim into the water. But, it was well worth it! The beauty clapped almost as hard as her cute friend. Jake quickly fought past the fear of rejection and introduced himself and Sal. The angel smiled. "Nice to meet you guys. I'm Lori," she giggled, then pointed at her friend, "and this is Emma." For whatever reason, Emma was blushing.

Small talk gradually led to an awkward stroll. Jake and Sal took it upon themselves to escort the young ladies through the child-like heaven where one stop at the ticket counter cost three weeks of a potato picker's wages. Once spent, though, the girls were all but obligated to tag along. Jake had to smile. The day was filled with such hope.

There was a giant bouncer set up for little kids and though Jake and Sal would have surely tackled it without the girls around, they dared not. Instead, a walk through the haunted house had the girls screaming so hard that at one point, Emma landed in Jake's arms. The shock of it lasted all the way down the magic carpet ride; a long yellow slide that caused the corn dog to tickle Jake's throat.

Men in striped shirts and flat-brimmed hats, who worked the various freak shows, eventually beckoned the four new friends. One hoax after the other waited behind each drawn curtain. There was a dwarf who performed horrible magic tricks, an elderly man who hadn't shaved his face or clipped his fingernails in decades, and a miniature pony professed to be the world's smallest horse. Each peek into the bizarre cost a quarter and these tips earned peddling newspapers were quickly wasted away. It didn't matter though. Everyone knew they were being taken and surrendered to it. Whether it was the air, the way the sun was quietly setting over the Bay, or the sweet notes of the massive calliope, people embraced the rare feeling that if only for the day- everything in the world was good. For Jake, however, the spirit of curiosity and the desperate hopes for love carried no price. He couldn't remember feeling more alive!

The flashing lights finally lured the four toward the crooked games of chance. Within seconds, two whole dollars were spent trying to land a plastic ring on a bottleneck that was obviously too small. No teddy bear! Another dollar was flushed into the narrow neck of a milk can that never fit a softball in its life. No Cupie doll! Again, it became a matter of pride, or more precisely, a matter of losing it. Alas, Jake threw three dull darts, popping three half-deflated balloons. The Carnie rang his bell, hollering, "We got another winner here!" Jake felt like he'd just won the lottery. "Pick whatever you want," he whispered to Lori.

Lori froze. "Emma wants the green turtle," she answered coldly, and then walked away. The dirty carnival man never paused. He plucked the big stuffed animal from the wall and threw it to Emma. She caught it on the run.

To be continued...