The Grandest Fourth Of July - 1976

As a child, Fourth of July used to mean going to the drive-in to see a live-action Disney film, always something along the lines of The Apple Dumpling Gang. A foam mattress was plopped onto the roof of my parent's station wagon and we four kids followed, along with a lone bucket of popcorn and two sodas between us.

After the movie, there was a spectacular display of color and light followed by a crackly rendition of the "Star Spangled Banner" over a few hundred box-speakers dangling precariously from the windowpanes of all the cars. It was a wonderful, but relatively meaningless tradition until years later when my parents announced different plans for the holiday.

The best Fourth of July I've ever experienced was during the opening ceremonies of the Bicentennial celebration at Cessna Stadium in Wichita, Kansas in 1976. Following an unprecedented number of heartwarming, patriotic performers was an equally unprecedented fireworks display, the likes of which Wichita had never seen. The sky lit up such that one could see for miles away if one could even take their eyes off of the layers upon layers of color and light. All of this synchronized to Wichita's first ever radio music show broadcast in perfect timing with the fireworks displays both in the air and on the ground.

But that wasn't the grandest part.

Before the festivities began, the stadium was called to its feet as the color guard from nearby McConnell Air Force Base began its march across the length of the field. Everyone, including the thousands surrounding the stadium up and down Hillside and stretching for many blocks along 21st Street, was silent. The color guard had gone about 20 steps when someone in the stadium began to sing "The Star Spangled Banner." I don't mean someone had been hired to do so nor was the person anywhere near a microphone. I mean a random someone began singing.

By the fourth line of the anthem, the swell of voices had reached me and my family way up in the cheap seats. Too, there was an unseen wave of emotion that gently rocked every row as it made its way up the bleachers and into the high risers. The faint echo of those on the street could barely be heard but soon it was strong and I was completely taken aback by the scores of people who knew every word of every verse.

By the second verse, several square blocks and hundreds of thousands of people were singing in near-unison, loud but not shouting, proud but not pious. No color guard has ever been so accompanied. We had all come singularly to celebrate in this, our day. And here we all were, together, to rejoice in this, our country.

It was the single-most splendid day of my life as an American. I've since measured every patriotic event against that day, and all have fallen depressingly short with their histrionic, half-hearted, hyped-up attempts at externally prompting that which can only be internally felt.

Years later, I would send my children from by my side to greet their father upon his return from six months in Iraq and Liberia. I always made sure I was last to greet him because my hugs took the longest. Not long before that deployment, I'd sent them to greet him upon his return from the Adriatic Sea and Croatia. Before that, Turkey, Norway, and Okinawa. Before the planes would land or the busses would pull in, the Commands would have set up an area for families to gather, enjoy refreshments, and listen to patriotic music.

Article Author: Diana Hartman

Diana (nee Gulick) Hartman is the Culture and Tastes Editor for Blogcritics.org. She is a freelance writer, mother of three, and a (Ret.) US Marine spouse. She is a Wichita, Kansas native, having also lived in the California desert, Southern California, and eastern North Carolina. …

Visit Diana Hartman's author page — Diana Hartman's Blog