the best darn 4th of July in America, part 2

The Wenonah 4th of July has an odd effect on people. Like a magnet. People move out of town, out of state...and they still come back for the 4th.

The mug line forms early, because the mugs will sell out if it's a popular design, as is this year's Vulture mug. I'd venture to say that this was one of the most popular designs ever; usually it's a depiction of some old boring historical building or another. Residents and ex-residents have been collecting these things for decades.

The mugs come with 3 tickets for beer. Technically, when you've used your tickets, you're done drinking; with most people, this is easily within a half hour. In reality, people trade tickets back and forth, so there are always plenty of black-market tickets floating around.

The beer lasts a couple of hours.

And it's always the hottest day of the year. Out on the apron of the firehouse. With no shade.


The fine ladies of the Ladies' Auxiliary handle the hot dog duties. Nothing tastes quite so delicious as a Ladies' Auxiliary hot dog--with kraut!--wrapped up in tin foil for an undetermined length of time, scarfed down on the hot apron after quickly downing 3 mugfuls of beer in a half hour on the hottest, sunniest day of the year.

Once the buzz kicks in, people start to look like this:

And you'll see horrifying footwear like this:


After standing there for an hour or two, drinking beer, talking to old pals, new pals, your new best friend's mighty attractive 24-year-old son, guys with plates in their heads, women formerly known as town sluts, ex-hippies, current hippies, friends' parents, uptight Republicans, Harley riders, old teachers, kids you babysat for who have kids of their own...the sun and the heat work their magic and create a sleepy lull over the crowd, blanketing everyone with a slightly dazed, beatific expression that says "Yes. I've made it through another 4th. All is right with the world."

The saddest part of the day is when the kegs are emptied, the firehouse garage doors shut down, and people shuffle off hoping to crash one of several private parties in town, where usually everyone's welcome anyway. Or they make their way to the lake, to sail in the relatively new Anything That Floats contest (this year's winner: a Chevy Blazer cap turned upside down.) Or perhaps to the softball game, although I'm not sure anyone really does that anymore. Some traditions have to die to make room for new ones.

Some take well-deserved naps.

In our case, we hit a party, got caught in a thunderstorm, and in a sacrilegious act of near-treason, headed off to another party in our own town.