Stories From Under A Bootheel (Rants, Laughs, and Tears)

Chapter 3 My Friend Eddie Part 3. Lighting up the Night

One-night Eddie and I decided we wanted to play Tennis. There were only two lighted courts in town. One was on the air base and one was at the country club. The public courts in town were not lighted. We couldn't get hold of Bruce who could get us onto the base courts and I didn't want to go to the country club because I had had a game interrupted there once before due to their rule that guests have to give up the court to members. A crappy way to treat "guests." So, even though Eddie was a member, I was not and didn't want to be embarrassed again by those snobs at the country club.

Eddie said, "I know what we can do." Coming from Eddie, this was a phrase fraught with interesting possibilities. He went on, "I know where they are doing some road work near the public tennis courts. They have smudge pots out to mark the hazard."

A smudge pot is an oil-burning device usually used to prevent frost on fruit trees. Where I grew up, they were used in place of flares to mark road work. (Yes, my children, they had electricity in my day. They just couldn't afford the fancy electric signs.)

So, we went to the sight, stole one of the smudge pots, and took it to the tennis courts. It didn't provide nearly enough light. It was at this point Eddie and I invented the glow in the dark tennis ball. We extinguished the smudge pot and soaked our tennis balls in the fuel oil from the pots.

It was sooooo cool! I held the fuel laden tennis ball on top of my racket. I lit it and flung the fiery projectile over the net toward Eddie. At first, I worried because once it cleared the net the flame went out, but then when it hit the concrete court, a gush of fuel was released and it burst into flame again. The flame went out again just before Eddie hit it with his racket which caused it to light up again. Unfortunately, the balls only lasted for a couple of volleys. Also, it was rather hard on the rackets. (Kids, I hope I don't have to tell anyone not to try this, but it really was cool.)

And that episode wasn't nearly as dangerous as our annual fireworks wars. Every year Eddie's neighbor Dale sold fireworks for the fourth of July celebration. The retail markup on fireworks is over a thousand percent. In other words, hundreds of dollars of fireworks only cost Dale a few bucks. It was certainly not enough to justify the cost and danger of storing the leftover inventory from one year to the next; so, every year Dale would buy new inventory before the fourth and every year after the fourth we would get rid of the leftover inventory in a spectacular fireworks war.

The goal of our fireworks wars was no so much to inflict injury on our opponents but more to scare the hell out of them. But like in all wars, things tend to escalate.

I remember the year we found the site where they were digging for some large pipeline project. It was a deserted field where a ten-foot high, fifteen or so feet wide mountain range had been thrown up along the ditch dug for the pipeline. The dirt pile extended as far as you could see in either direction. It was the perfect location for a war. The rugged terrain was much more interesting than the boring usual flat land we were cursed with. Also promising more than usual excitement, we had a larger than normal supply of fireworks — dozens of strings of firecrackers, several Roman candles, sky rockets etc.

We divided up the fireworks and broke into two teams with three on a side. For once Eddie and I were not on the same side, probably because the others figured putting Eddie and I together would just be too dangerous. The only rule of our war was, no M80s or cherry bombs at close range. We were crazy, but not stupid

This is hard for me to write. Every time I think about it my eyes tear up — from laughter. Our normal war went as follows. We would hide in bushes, trees or whatever the chosen battlefield terrain could provide for cover. This time it was the nooks and crannies along the manmade dirt mountain range. We would make forays out trying to locate and sneak up behind someone on the opposing team. We'd then throw a lit string of firecrackers at their feet and take off running. They would then run after us while trying to light their own string to throw back. Then both parties would retreat back to find their comrades to report on their heroic encounter always concluding with, "And you should have seen the look on his face!" And then it would repeat, normally until all the firecrackers were gone. Then we would fire off the rockets and candles together but not usually at each other.

On this occasion, as I was saying, the war started out as usual. It was dark out and I was on a foray walking along the ridge of the dirt pile so I could see both sides and not be snuck up on. Ahead of me I noticed a break in our dirt mountain range. It was probably so workers could get from one side to the other without having to walk over the steep dirt pile.

Just in case anyone was down in the break, I got down on my stomach and cautiously crawled toward the edge. I peered over and was stunned by what I saw. It was Eddie. He had made a small foxhole down in the break. He was sitting in the hole on the ground in front of a bucket where his team had foolishly pooled all of their ammo. He had his back to me thinking any danger would come from either his left or right, never considering a threat from above. In his bucket there were multiple strings of firecrackers, a half dozen skyrockets sticking out the top, several Roman candles, and yes, no doubt, cherry bombs and M-80s in the bottom of the bucket. There were a couple of Roman candles beside Eddie. He was apparently inventorying their stock of explosives. He had no idea how close I was or what was about to happen.

I rolled onto my back and stared up into the night sky. I couldn't believe my luck. Sometimes, opportunities just drop in your lap. I could hardly control my glee as I imagined what I was going to be dropping into Eddie's. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Trembling with anticipation, I managed to get my string of firecrackers and matches ready. I rolled over onto my stomach and assessed the situation. I was about eight feet above and about two feet behind Eddie. It was a simple toss into the bucket, but I was only going to get one shot. My hand shook as I lit the fuse. 

He shoots (tosses)?

He scores (dead center of the bucket)!

You should have seen the look on Eddie's face as that string fell into the bucket in front of him. I had never before seen Eddie afraid of anything until that night, but as he looked to whence the firecrackers had come, his face was totally drained of blood and shown paler than the moon. His eyes were the size of half dollars. It was stark terror. I will never forget it. (Excuse me while I clear the tears out of my eyes and get my laughter under control. This may take a minute.)

Eddie comes flying out of his foxhole just ahead of a cacophony of explosions and two sky rockets that go screaming off into the night. At least I think the screaming was the rockets and not Eddie. Eddie was busy lighting up the Roman candle he had been holding before he was forced to evacuate. I was on my back laughing so hard I barely got up and away before the flaming Roman candle balls Eddie was firing at me came zooming by. Eddie chased me almost the entire length of that ridge and yes, my pants did catch on fire when he got a lucky shot at my butt. Luckily, jeans are slow burning and I got the fire out.

The second scariest part of the night was when I had to explain my burnt jeans to my mother. My mother wasn't really much of a disciplinarian, but she was a master of laying on guilt trips. "Do you know what a new pair of pants costs? Do you think that is the proper way to behave? How do you think it makes me feel as your mother when you do things like this?" Etc. etc. etc.

My father administered any physical punishment and that was rare. The threat of "the belt" and my mother's guilt trips were sufficient to keep me out of serious trouble. Honestly, physical punishment is short lived. Guilt trips can linger for a lifetime.

Still, all in all it was worth it.