RSS
Home
Fourth of July fireworks will explode over the Hudson River rain or shine
Print
Email
RSS
Subscribe
_opt_opt-2.jpg)
Fireworks over Manhattan. Photo copyright Macy's, Inc.
This year, for the first time since 2000, Macy’s fireworks will explode over the Hudson River on the Fourth of July. Their return to the Hudson, after nine years on the East River, will commemorate the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson’s voyage up the river that bears his name. Fireworks will be shot from six barges anchored in the water between 24th and 50th streets. For the occasion, the West Side Highway will be open only to pedestrians. NBC-TV will broadcast a score of patriotic standards and newly-composed music, synchronized to the pyrotechnics.
Many long-time New Yorkers are happy to hear that the Macy’s fireworks are returning to their West Side roots. After all, they began on the Hudson River in 1958.
There are many who can still remember that night, 51 years ago, when close to a million people lined the banks of the Hudson from 42nd to 125th Street and the summer sky glittered with golden stars, rotating diamonds, exploding bouquets of roses and—for the grand finale—a giant, slowly unfurling, American flag.
My own first memory of fireworks over the Hudson, however, is a wet one—less Norman Rockwell than Hokusai—a misty night when sheets of fog drifted over the river and droplets hung on the pale green leaves of the trees in Riverside Park.
It was already dark, and I held my father’s hand as we walked south on Riverside Drive toward 96th Street, looking for a view between the foliage. Suddenly, just as we found an empty spot, there was a muffled, crackling sound and, in the distance, a deep, red stain spread across the sky. It hung there for a moment, then dissolved into darkness. Next, a green tendril sprouted through the mists and shivered over the river before dissipating like a drop of ink in a glass of water. Next came a violet blossom, unfolding like a tissue paper flower for a few, unbearably beautiful seconds, then melting into the night.
I do not remember how long the fireworks continued. Probably, they were cut short by the weather. I do remember the rain that finally came in torrents—and the big, gloriously cool drops that skidded off my nose and trickled down my neck. My father buckled me into my Macintosh and pulled up the hood. Then we ran for the bus.
In those days before air conditioning was common, July in New York was as hot and sticky as it now—but around the clock. Somehow, we settled into the heat and accepted it. When the rain came, it was a wonderful refreshment.
Most evenings, after dinner, my parents and I would go for walks in Riverside Park. Usually, we’d see all of our neighbors there, out for the whisper of a breeze that blew off the river. We children would play on the swings or in the sandbox, while the grownups sat on nearby benches, exchanging gossip.
Often, while a big red moon hung over the Hudson, there was informal music in the park. Puerto Ricans brought their cuatros and maracas. Eastern Europeans brought accordions and Jews Harps. Anyone—hailing from anyplace, from Alabama to Budapest—might show up with a harmonica. My father, who was born in Massachusetts but with an Old World soul, sometimes brought a small black ocarina, on which he improvised wistful melodies.
In that era, before iPods and Walkmans—even before boom boxes—live music, often unrehearsed and invented on the spot, was part of the essential cement that connected us with our history, our neighbors and our own secret hearts. Fireworks over the Hudson—in the years when it didn’t rain, which was most—was another happy opportunity for families and neighbors to gather with picnics and music … to connect, celebrate our nation, and feel part of something that was more intense than everyday life.
Over the years, the Macy’s Fourth of July programs have become ever bigger, more astonishing and technologically complex. Today, while a few million of us watch from the streets and roofs of Manhattan’s West Side—and New Jersey’s parks and Palisades—it’s possible for many millions more across the country to watch our local fireworks on TV or the internet and hear the synchronized score performed by the New York Pops. Technology has made the definition of community so much bigger and more diffuse.
Of course I’m happy that millions more can enjoy our shimmering sky show now than ever glimpsed Macy’s Fourth of July debut in 1958. But for me, flatscreen fireworks and broadcast scores can never compete with the real experience. The actual sky (cloudy or clear), the glittering stars shooting overhead, and the sounds of New Yorkers, oohing and aahing, talking, laughing, singing… maybe even playing a guitar or a conga here and there. That’s been my Fourth of July since the 1950s. It always will be. And, if it rains—so much the better. Bring it on! The sight of red, green and violet stars falling through the mist can be as poetic and beautiful as childhood itself.
Macy’s Fourth of July Fireworks will begin at 9:00 PM on Saturday evening, rain or shine.
For more details, visit the Macy’s website.
Ilia Panganiban's story: Have a blast on the Fourth of July
Check out these websites about New York City, past and present:
_opt_opt.jpg)
Related Articles:
Comments
