One of my earliest July Fourth memories is from the New York housing projects where I spent my early childhood. A few days before the holiday my friend Larry and I ran into a man selling fireworks and we wanted some sparklers. I had a $5 bill and the man told me he couldn’t make change. Disappointed, we walked away and then spotted another man who was usually our nemesis, the housing policeman. To us, his job seemed to be yelling at us, keeping us off the grass, and chasing us out of parking lots and into the huge field of weeds by the Bay where we liked to play. Perhaps this time he could do us some good, I thought. I ran up and asked him if he could change the $5 bill. He asked why and when I told him he said, “Show me where that man is.” The man soon saw us approaching and ran, the housing cop right behind him. It was illegal to sell fireworks. Who knew?

Craig Wiesner

A favorite July Fourth memory is when our friends Oscar and Margaret took us to a small town that had a tradition where someone would climb onto the back of a flatbed truck in the town square at noon, spend a few minutes saying anything he or she wished, and then read the Declaration of Independence.

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