The second time I went to a fireworks show was about 30 years ago. It was at Rosenblatt stadium. I had forgotten how cool fireworks were. It was an amazing spectacle of light and color. We weren't actually in the stadium. We were just a bunch of hippies sitting in the grass to the northeast of the stadium.
The only other time I'd seen a fireworks show was 15 years before that at Fontenelle Park in North Omaha. Even though it was probably nowhere near as spectacular as the Rosenblatt show, it will always be the most thrilling show I've ever seen. I hope. You wouldn't want to see anything more thrilling than that. You'd probably die. We almost did.
~~
There was this thing my dad always used to do at movie theaters, sporting events, PTA meetings or any other sort of place where lots of people were gathered.
He called it "beating the crowd."
Knowing my dad, the first time I heard him say he wanted to beat the crowd, I wasn't surprised. I just sat there when he got up to leave thinking he was going to go over and start randomly punching some people in the crowd and stuff.
But no. He meant we should miss the very end of the movie or game or church service so we could hit the road before the traffic gets all thick and slow.
Just kidding about the church service. Dad didn't care if we stayed until the very end of church because dad loves to socialize. Also, he wasn't there (at church) so as far as he was concerned, the rest of us could stay as long as we liked.
The one time we stayed at a movie until the very end was when we saw "The Champ."
It starred Ricky Schroder and John whatsizname (Angelina Jolie's dad) from "Midnight Cowboy".
We stayed until the end of "The Champ" because it was a real tearjerker and dad couldn't go out into the daylight with his face all wet and his eyes all red like a little girl and such.
Whenever dad wanted to leave a place and we didn't, he had a special way to convince us. He'd look at us with his mean face. The face said, "I'm going to kill you right now." It was kind of like how The Fonz used to shoot a gaze at people - except nobody laughed when dad did it.
Anyway. My grandpa took us to the fireworks show in Fontenelle Park. He was kind of a fireworks show expert. He knew to bring a big blanket so we wouldn't have to sit in the grass like a bunch of hippies.
I was 6 years old. Steve was 4. We were absolutely thrilled by the spectacle of the fireworks. Clapping, squealing with delight, etc.
Every once in a while, grandpa would ratchet up the thrill by injecting some tension.
"Oh, that one was a little too close for comfort," or "cover your eyes boys. It's coming straight for us!"
We did as he said. He was a WWII veteran after all. He should know.
Then came the grand finale and we saw almost none of it. At all.
Grandpa wanted to "beat the crowd." Surely that's where dad got it from. But grandpa's way to get buy-in from us was infinitely more sophisticated than dad's scary face technique.
Grandpa didn't just say, "Ok. Right now is the part of the show called the grand finale. It is the absolute highlight of the show. You've never seen anything like it and you never will because I want to get home 2 minutes earlier than everyone else. So pick up your shit and let's go. And don't look back at the finale. We're going to beat the crowd."
That's what dad would've said. Then scary Fonzie look and we'd go no matter how much we wanted to stay.
When the finale began, grandpa said in a steady, quiet voice that we could somehow hear over the show, "Something's not right."
Looking at his face you could see a man on the edge of panic. To be a little kid and see an adult that scared is more than a little unsettling.
"They've lost control of the show," he said, louder now. "Look! Everything's on fire down there!"
We looked to where he was pointing and sure enough, the ground was in flames all around where the finale was being set off.
"We'd better get back to the car boys, before it's too late!"
He picked up the blanket and threw it over his head. Then he grabbed us each by the hand and said, "Quick. Under the blanket. Run back to the car as fast as you can. This is not a game! Don't let go of me because I won't have time to come back for you. If you have a god, now would be the time to pray. But also run!"
The show was getting louder and more violent. The explosions seemed to be getting closer. We weren't running fast enough. If we fell back, grandpa would leave us. I was worried for Steve. He was smaller. Could he keep up? Would we have to leave him and save our own skins?
And so we prayed. And ran - terrified of being blown to bits or engulfed in wildfire. We ran past all of the bemused hippies sitting on the grass, flashing us peace signs as we bolted away from the scene of the grand finale.
Once we got to the car, grandpa tossed Steve and me into the back seat. He fumbled with his keys. "C'mon, C'mon" he urged his shaking hands. We were pleading with him too, "Hurry Grandpa! Hurry."
Finally, he got the engine turned over, threw the old Ford into gear and we were off like a rocket, leaving the thousands of deadly explosions in our wake. Only then could we breathe easy.
The whole way home, Grandpa didn't stop talking about how lucky we were. He was my biggest hero that night. His quick thinking saved our lives. I was so grateful for his military training.
"What about all those people who thought it was part of the show?" we asked grandpa.
"We'll read about those poor S.O.B.s tomorrow," is all he said, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his face and maybe a tear from his eyes. I couldn't be sure.
I didn't think about that narrow escape again until 15 years later at Rosenblatt. When the finale started, the old memory returned all at once. But for the first time I saw it for what it was. A brilliant "beat the crowd" move.
A few days after Rosenblatt, I went over to my grandpa's and asked him about what he did that night at the fireworks show. He didn't say anything. He just smiled at the memory.
Not unlike what I'm doing right now.
Good one Grandpa.
~~
Bonus:
These are the words to the "Glorious Victorious" cadence as my grandpa sang it:
Glorious, victorious
Ten pounds of meat for the four of us.
Glory be to God that there are no more of us
'Cause one of us could eat it all alone
{short interlude to ...}
Be .... cause
we are the members of the fat family
the fat family is a good family
a whole lot better than the thin family
Then he'd just kind of trail off and ask for somebody to pass the potatoes. And gravy.
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