Independence Day

As a child, I looked forward to the 4th of July.  My family's was the fifth house in a row of  eleven houses. On that day, the neighborhood came out for a block party.  The kiddy pools were filled for the kiddies, and the beer coolers were filled for the adults. The neighbors barbecued (with charcoal) and partied late into the night.  I don't remember fireworks.  We surely weren't driven to see any;  the picnic tables and barbecues blocked the garages.  And the adults were really happy plopped in their lawn chairs and downing their brews. We kids had ice cream, sparklers, "punks," and fireflies.  It was a good time.

As an older teen and young adult, we had moved, and I don't remember much of a big deal being made about the holiday. Sometimes we went to a parade where Dad marched as a Pearl Harbor Survivor. Many times there were picnics with "The Survivors" that followed.  Occasionally we'd hear of fireworks at Villanova University. Sometimes we went, most times we didn't.  

And then I was hired to teach in Harford County and I was introduced to a Havre de Grace Fourth of July.

I belonged to the Tidewater Players, a local theatre group.  Each year we built a float for the parade.  I think the first one I worked on was Hello Dolly.  We had a staircase from which Rita Hurst would descend wearing the magical red dress.  There were five or six tea tables with handsome tuxedoed waiters bringing trays of champagne glasses to the  beauties sitting at them and dressed in long dresses, hats, and  elbow length white gloves.  Those gloves looked great as we waved to the crowd.  Songs from the musical played from the cab, and the crowd loved us.   My favorite float was South Pacific.  Rita and crew built a paper mache mountain.  We had a keg and spigot with running water so Lilma could wash that man right outta her hair. We were dressed in Polynesian garb or sailor suits and the colorful float won a nice award. Harry Malin, our group's beloved founder, played a drunken sailor catching a nap in the dinghy.  He was in his glory.  Afterwards, we would picnic at Flossie and Harry's home.  We'd watch the fireworks on Ernie M.'s boat.  We'd hit the carnival, and round out the evening at an Aberdeen bar.  Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end.  

For the past thirteen years, my family has come from the Philadelphia area to give my sister's kids a real Havre de Grace Fourth ( or Fifth or Sixth depending upon the day the holiday falls) experience.  They check in at the VanDiver Inn in Hdg.  (One year I called my sister in a panic because I'd been to an event at the Inn and realized she probably hadn't made her reservations and it might have been too late.  No problem. When Helen called John, her rooms had already been penciled in the reservation book.) The day before the event we have a real Maryland eating experience, crabs and chicken at the River Shack in Chestertown, MD.  Our spot to watch the parade is guaranteed by the VanDiver. We like to sit on the porch for the great view, and because the fans blow and the food and drinks are close. Afterwards, we nap off our Sangrias or go to the pool. We'd then barbecue at Dee Ashby's house.  We no longer barbecue; we order food from Pat's and let them deliver it so we don't have to deal with the traffic. (Smart move, huh?)  We used to watch the fireworks at Dee's house, but the trees have grown too tall.  Now we hike to the hospital parking lot and watch from the top level. Perfect view, and no fighting the traffic to get out of town.  This year was an especially perfect holiday because the weather was crisp and cool; unheard of for HdG in July!  

I hope you had a joyous time celebrating Independence Day.  If you didn't, then next year you must plan a trip to Havre de Grace for a true small town USA flag waving celebration!  Stop by the VanDiver Inn, and I'll treat you to a Sangria.

Who needs Vegas?

Yesterday while floating in the pool (before a child pooped in it and closed it for the rest of the day), a few of us were talking about dollar bills and the chat turned to male strippers.  I chuckled recalling my favorite stripper story, so I decided to share it with you today.

Many years ago, it was a big occasion in Ceciltucky when the male strippers came to Port Deposit.  They had been booted from Perryville and were homeless before the PD VFW offered the show a venue.  It was a big event - lots of food and all the beer you could drink.  Remember that beer detail, as it plays a big part in the events of the night.

Cheryl, Cindy, and I arrived hours before the show began because we wanted front row seats.  We came armed with board games (these were the days before smart phones) and books to pass the time.  The weather was iffy, and threats of a huge snowstorm kept a potentially huge audience at bay.

When the time arrived to start the event, the food was plentiful and lots and lots of beer was imbibed.  Lots of beer.  More beer than I could even contemplate drinking these days.  The men danced.  And stripped. And stripped - down to string bikinis.  Oh my!  We each had a favorite dancer and being in the front row, we were pulled on stage to dance with the guys. We kept our clothes on, thank you very much.

It began to snow.  Heavily.  Some of the women left.  We just drank more beer and the strippers had to work all that much harder to make an honest night's wage.

There was lots of money to be had.

At some point in the evening, the media was admitted to the VFW in order to report the story.  When warned of their presence, many of the women scurried to the bathroom.  Others hid their faces.  But not me!!!  Oh no!  I had beer power!  In front of the cameras, I hooted and hollered and waved a fistful of dollar bills.  The cameraman loved me.

Eventually, the fun had to end.  They ran out of beer.  We ran out of dollar bills.  The snow was treacherously covering the back roads.  We said goodbye to our newly purchased buddies.  And I sloppily said goodbye to my former students who had been just as surprised to see me as I had been to see them. We promised each other that what happened in Port stayed in Port. (For the record, I was not driving as a mini-blizzard had covered the roads and I was beyond buzzed.)

Picture this.  The middle school.  Monday morning.  Homeroom.  A student says, "Ms. S.  My dad was watching the news Friday night.  He told me you were on it!"   I had previously prided myself on not lying to my students, but you can bet I told him that he must have seen somebody who looked like me.  He believed me.  Because we all know teachers have no life outside of the classroom.