AND NOW FOR THE WEIRD EVENTS OF JULY FOURTH 1968:

The town is set up for our annual fourth July parade. American flags hung out from neighbor's yard and the smell of kids lighting M80's, assorted firecrackers and sparklers tell you that the mania of the fourth is upon this little burb. From my tiny room on the second floor, I spot my old man is in the attic brushing off his Marine Corp uniform. I see him sweating and struggling to move the boxes of memories and crap that accumulate with middle-class life. Mom is chuckling and laughing at this ritual of trying to fit into a uniform that gets harder and harder every year. It would be like seeing poor fat Elvis fit into his 1968 leather pants before his last concert.

“Fred you can't fit in that uniform anymore, and you don't need to march down the street just to have a beer at the VFW.” Bingo, Mom nailed the old man once again. Funny even the little kids would laugh when all the World Two vets in the parade would march into the VFW and then stagger out after one too many beers. It was sort of sad seeing the beer bellies hang over a veteran's belt no longer lean mean fighting machines. Their lives were no longer fighting for freedom

unless you count their arguments with their wives. Some of those fights seemed almost as loud as world two.

The old man's lip begins to pout knowing that he has been checkmated into not marching with his wooden rifle into his beer bliss. Mom now felt guilty about bursting the old man's beer dreams and hopes of internal youth. She knew that the old man did need something to make his middle-class life a little more exciting. “Fred, you got Schnerdloff's movie camera. You can film the parade.” The old man now perked up. Everyman thinks damn I could have made a better movie that crap I just saw. If only fate had placed my old man in Hollywood who knows maybe he could have made something better than Attack of the Killer tomatoes. Being truthful, the old man did have an eye for filming. His films never featured boring family stuff, mainly his exploits flying model airplanes, which had some excitement involving crashes and combat involving two planes chasing each other trying to cut off a ribbon from the tail. He even captured the time the propeller came off his friends Stanley's plane and entered my Mother's foot and caused my Mother to swear like she was Marine drill Sargent. “You better use it one more time before Hank Schnerdloff takes it back.” This statement was true, as the Schnerdloff's were cheap Germans whose loyalty to friends and country was always suspect. During WWII, their families kept sending care packages to Germany even though the FBI was watching them. Their love of the fatherland seemed to have

no cut off for good taste, and later we suspected them of being Nazis. The Schnerdloff's at least were confirmed to be die hard Republican fans of Nixon. Nixon's tape showed him to be a bigoted, troubled and corrupt President whose personality mirrored a very dark side of human nature and the future of Fox news. The Schnerdloff's other fault was when we experienced their cheapness, as the only food gift they gave us was spoiled quarts of Ice cream.

The ice cream looked good until you tried and then it tasted it. It had the texture of cement and the flavor of moldy yogurt. “DAMN, THOSE SCHNERDLOFF'S NAZI'S SCREWED US AGAIN.” My old man wailed. Dad never liked the Schnerdloff family, but it was Mom who forced the friendship that would later turn out to be her Waterloo.

It was now set the old man to film the great event, the fourth July parade that actually went down our little street.This was the last hurrahs for my town, as budget cuts were coming and the American booming economy would be facing the realities of paying for fighting in Vietnam, but for now; everything seemed golden that day. Walking down the old man sniffed the air. “Holy crap, Teters have started the Pig fest already.” “SURE DOES SMELL GOOD!” Mom shakes her head in disgust. “I don't mind them roasting a whole pig, but the drinking and party go on for three days and NIGHTS.” Yes, pre-Woodstock the Tetters invented a porcine and drinking festival that rivaled that hippie festival in

consummation of drugs. BOOZE the legal drug for the middle-class and whole pig the drug of choice of many cultures around the world, including our Hillbilly natives. The first time I saw the whole pig on the spit head and all rotating around like that movie Lord of the flies was a scary sight to a boy. “HOLY CRAP, IS THAT WHAT A WHOLE PIG LOOKS LIKE COOKING?”

My generation of baby boomer was used to pre-package foods like, Swanson frozen dinners; McDonald's meat patties never looked like it came directly from the beast. Those that never lived on a farm were clueless that food, especially meat products had bones, a head,feet and mostly likely a better personality than the neighborhood bully.The sight of the pig with his grin and apple could have turned me into a vegetarian early, but I have to the admit the taste of meat is groovy and greasy. In these days, many a man broke our Weber and made their ode to the caveman that entailed starting a fire that removed off their eyebrows and turned the meal into a charcoal offering to the gods of fire.My old man like most men thought his artistry with the Weber was beyond approach; however, most of the family realized that the chicken was cooked unevenly, burnt or pink and raw. The old man was now getting ready for his turn at the grill, and Mom sighed. “Make it simple with burgers, not chicken, remember last time you tried to impress my Swedish cousin with the rotisserie.” Ouch! A verbal assault by Mom. She just reminded the old man of his biggest cooking flop while trying

to impress Mom's cousin, a very sexy Swedish girl who was studying to be a doctor. Dad broke out the Weber and filled the basket for the rotisserie with the lovely antibiotic filled farm processed chicken. The true American taste of barbecue turned into a failure of American technology. Dad was nervous, as if he was cooking for Julia Child. Everything seemed fine as he had the motor turning the chicken basket for golden slow cooked perfection. Then it happened; Dad had put the cover on the grill and was serving the nectar of good old American beer, Old STYLE, to our Swedish cousin when his technology disaster occurred. Smoke started billowing from the Weber. The old man knew that the chicken shit had just hit the fan. Opening the Weber cover revealed the basket holding the chicken had sprung open and the chicken now was a dark mix of charcoal bones, fat and meat gelled into an inedible mass. Our Swedish cousin decided to stop her free-loading with us and found an eligible or maybe not so eligible married American doctor with convertible, and she exited stage left. Mom blamed Dad's chicken for her cousin's early departure. “Don't worry just simple burgers and hot-dogs for us and the guests.” Granny and Mom now off the hook and put together a salad and the potato salad. It was now time for the get together with the Muehfellars, friends of both my parents who weren't as uptight as the Schnerdloff's. Ed Muchfellar was also a fellow devotee of Beer and a good time. The drinking was normal during an American Holiday, and Ed poured beer on the hamburgers and hotdogs when he had gotten into the spirit of patriotism.

America was founded in a Tavern so maybe this type of behavior is just a reflex to getting carried away. The Muchfellars left early, way before the parade and fireworks, as Ed was boat devotee and promised his family a boat ride on Foxlake. Poor Nerida Muchfellar had to endure her husband's drunken boat buying binges. Ed after a hard day of running his bricklayer business would stop in for adult soda pops at the Bluebird Tavern. Ed's consuming much to much beer and schnapps would end up in a drunken agreement to buy another patron's boat. The following morning, Ed would wake the next day with a hangover and a large boat in his front yard. His wife looking out the picture window in shock to find a Chris Craft parked once again in their front yard. Ed then had another new boat that had fixed used and then sold at a giant loss. Buying a boat is one like trying to swim with anchor tied around your waist. Nothing but money and problems when you buy that dream nautical machine.Sadly, these boats had their problems along with Ed's pounding headache. His last boat had a large hole in the stern.Ed patched the boat and now had to make up for this drunken purchase by taking the family on a sanctioned boat trip to make amends. Sadly, they missed the greatest parade in my town's history. It was now the time to line up with lawn chairs and kids running around hoping to get the free candy that the local clown/ car dealership threw from their float. Yes, the sound of the marching band was growing bigger. It was now time. The old man now excited ready the movie camera to start his filming of this epic in our little town's history.

Looking around the older kids were lighting off firecrackers to scare the crowd until some the local police showed up as part of the parade. Old people gather in clumps right next to the young couples all looked on, along with the kids running about in a sugar high flitting about like annoying insects. It was the day that was a perfect suburban day, the temps in the seventies. Noise of the July fourth celebration grows louder when the parade gets into gear. “ Putt, putt, putt, is the sound of those Shriners are driving around on those little motorbikes, and the crowd goes nuts seeing adults riding motorcycles fit for a two-year-old. Wow! It's the movers and shakers of the town. Now we get into the political commercial of the town, sort of like the Mafia guy showing that he has the best toys. The big wigs in the town are sitting in the back of a new convertible Caddie. Busse realtors sponsor that one of course, as the Busse family sits in the back of that caddie and wave like the queen of England back to her subjects. The Busses actually had that Kennedy's family mystique in our little burb. They basically owned the town and are polite Protestant version of success and royalty. Like the Kennedy's the Busse's are known for hanging onto every nickel.I witnessed years later when being a bag boy and the local grocery, where most customers would tip you a quarter to carry their bags to the car, the Old man, Busse would give you a dime while carried his groceries to his realtor office. The crowd was still and lined up like at a rock concert. People huddled and craned their bodies across the lawns right

next to the curb to catch of glimpse of what would come next. Then it happened. There was a guy driving a jeep and dressed like Marlin Perkins the famous host of Mutal of Ohama's Wild Kingdom. Riding shotgun was a chimp dressed in a nice crisp outfit like a cowboy. The chimp actually was dressed better than most of the kids on my block, including myself. “HERE'S BOBO, THE WONDER CHIMP!” The man shouted from a weird sound system of a large speaker, and a microphone installed in the front of the jeep. Bobo now went into his routine; he twirled a larate like Roy Rodgers, the kid western star and then fired off his toy pistol, as his owner played dead. People of the burbs only had seen chimps in zoos and circus, but this was up close and personal. The old man was filming when something very strange happened. In a way, it was the equivalent of Darwin's observing those finches, Bobo then did something that suggested the dreaded word evolution, not fully taught in some sections of my little town. Nobody knew that science and are history of our true ancestors resided in this little parade. Bobo was being a professional, just like Ronald Reagan selling you borax soap on Twenty Mule Team. Bobo got distracted and stopped in mid act. It was this kid on the curb, about twelve years old who started waving at Bobo. He then loudly called out “Hello Bobo.” Bobo dropped his routine and stood looking directly at the kid. With that giant chimp grin, Bobo then ran with that chimp hand and foot gallop drumming down on the lawn toward the kid.

A gasp was heard from the crowd, as the chimp was still a wild animal running at full speed at a kid. At the time, the public didn't know how powerful a chimp really is? The kid could have been killed, but people were clueless and rules were very lax during the 1960s. The kid opened up his arms in a greeting and Bobo embraced the kid in a hug that lifted the kid off the ground. The kid hugged back and both now wrestled and laughed on the ground like they were long lost friends. The whole crowd laughed. Even the trainer was stunned. Dad kept on filming, and it was something out of Fellini meets Tarzan. Bobo and the kid now kept on playing and hugging as the parade kept on rolling. Now they were playing slap and tickle while the rest parade kept on moving down my street. They ran and played almost like kittens. The trainer started calling “Bobo, come guy we have to get out of here.” Bobo just kept playing. The trainer was stunned as he even now tried M&M's as a bribe, but Bobo didn't want to leave his new friend. The trainer held out the bag of M&M's and implored Bobo to get back in the Jeep. Bobo sniffed the air and smelled his favorite candy. With amazing speed, he grabbed the bag and hugged the boy. Next with his adroit hands and mouth he ripped open the bag and fed the boy his M&M's Bobo was laughing that great chimp wild laugh of joy and freedom.Bobo was now throwing M&M in his mouth and licking the bag.

“COME ON BOBO, WE HAVE ANOTHER SHOW IN DES PLAINES.” It hit me that Bobo's movements and mind were telling me we did evolve from Apes. His brain and his love of fun made me think that he wasn't much different then any fun-loving human biped on our block. In fact, he seemed nicer and more generous then most of the kids on my block. The trainer now implored the kid to help him with Bobo, or he might have to take a more aggressive tone with Bobo. “Kid help me walk Bobo back to the jeep.” “Sure mister, no problem.” Bobo did follow the kid as he walked back to the jeep. They walked hand in hand swinging their hands in perfect rhythm. This was a fourth of July; I would never forget. I walked up to my old man and asked him if he got this all down on film. “Yup! Meatloaf I got the whole thing.” We both now looked on knew we had seen the wonderful world of Darwinian science. The old man had the film developed just before the Schnerdloff's demanded the camera back. As the parades diminished in my town, the old man would break out that film, and we would watch it. It was the greatest parade ever. Sadly, that film was destroyed in one of the infamous floods my basement endured. I hope you believe as this really did happen, I swear on it as swear to the fact that Nixon was crook and liar.

WELL DEAR READER, ENJOY THE FOURTH. GO OUT SIDE AND SMELL THE PIG MEAT, WHETHER WHOLE OR AS A HOT DOG. SHAKE HANDS WITH ANOTHER BIPEDAL PRIMATE AND TAKE IN THE DAY WITH JOY.