1776 Redux: We Must All Hang Together. . .
or We Shall Hang Separately
The Spirit of July 4th Past rests lightly upon my shoulder. . . My siblings, cousins and I take turns racing around the worn circular path from my house past Grandma's front porch, toward her east yard facing the barnyard and onto the narrow paved cement passageway between Grandma's back step and the cellar, on through the head-high ferns and the raspberry bushes, finally rounding the lilac bushes in our backyard, and reaching Grandma's porch once more. The goal: to arrive before the last embers of our sparkler flame out. After exhausting our meagre supply of contraband sparklers, we begin chasing fireflies. My brothers capture a few in a Mason jar and release them later.
We never ventured far from the farm during the July 4th holiday. Hay and oat crops mature in complete disregard of any three-day get-away. The livestock don't condone our absence at their mealtimes, either.
So we mounted the flag on our front porch, and settled in. We kids didn't feel deprived; we grew up celebrating our birthdays – and our country's birthdays – with our cousins at home or at their neighboring farm. A few miles down the road at Holly Springs, our families would spread blankets on the ground for us kids to watch the fireworks launched across the school baseball diamond.
The years passed, replicating these familiar summer patterns of farm and family life. One 4th of July morning, my older brother crawled out on the roof, and set off firecrackers outside my bedroom window. That was a rude awakening, but I forgave him decades ago. Little did I know that one day internal fireworks would ignite within his brain, explode, and end his life.
But as a child, I couldn't imagine such loss. I was lulled into thinking that life would flow in a seamless continuum and I could return, at any juncture in the future, and easily recapture the best moments of our lives.
However, those long-ago times only seem perfect when submerged within the soft cushion of memory. Below the unblemished surface, deep fissures were forming that would upend the ground beneath my carefree feet.
One 4th of July, during a lull in the fireworks at Holly Springs, my cousin whispered a secret that pierced my 12-year-old psyche: times had been tough, and year by year, his parents had been losing their financial foothold on their three-generation farm. They would be forced to quit farming and move to a house in town five miles away.
Within a few years, the Holly Springs school was closed and the two story brick building where Mom and her cousins had graduated was razed. The gym, built in 1941 as part of the Works Project Administration (WPA), was converted into a manufacturing plant. By 1996, flooding from the West Fork of the Little Sioux River engulfed the tiny town, and most residents accepted a FEMA buy-out. Holly Springs was removed from the map.
Spirit of July 4th Present
Today the Spirit of July 4, 2024 weighs heavily upon me. Sometimes, it sits on my chest, making it hard to inhale deeply. It returns to haunt me when I read a casual comment by a Facebook acquaintance describing the United States of America as a constitutional republic. The word, democracy, isn't mentioned. Didn't we learn in school that our government derives authority from its people (demos is the Greek word for people)?
I'm dismayed by the argument that the Founding Fathers never specified the separation of church and state in the Constitution. That's why it's perfectly fine to fund private schools with public tax dollars. What about the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment, and Thomas Jefferson's words in an 1802 letter: "building a wall of separation between church and state". The Supreme Court has ruled on this multiple times. However, its decisions are becoming a dime a dozen.
Many state, federal, and Supreme Court rulings today are based on originalist thinking, meaning the text should be interpreted as it was understood at the time it was written. What was the understanding of birth control, pregnancy, LGBTQ rights, civil rights, women's rights, and semi-automatic weapons when the Constitution was written? I don't believe our Founding Fathers ever envisioned a government that intrudes into every facet of our private lives. Congress has abdicated its role, making the judicial branch of government The Decider.
As democracy loses favor with one political party, we see the rise of authoritarianism, with its promise to return us to a perfect country and society that never was. Unless you're viewing history through rose-colored glasses, this country never has perfectly lived up to its promise. Inequities, injustice, discrimination, and denial always have cheapened our ideals.
Somehow, until 2016, we Americans were lulled into thinking that our democracy was invulnerable to attack from within. While we expected our democracy to continue in perpetuity without exacting any personal pain, loss, or sacrifice from us, Heather Cox Richardson states in her book, Democracy Awakening, we overlooked that "a small group of wealthy people were making war on American ideals".
Amidst the parades, barbecues, fireworks, and hot dog-eating contests, surely there's time to reflect this weekend on what our country's 248th birthday requires of us.
Spirit of July 4th Past Inspires
The July 4th that my husband and I brought our firstborn home from the hospital was memorable. In those days, Pilot Mound launched fireworks from "the mound" and we could watch from our front yard. We enjoyed homemade ice cream with family, and tried to wrap our minds around our new status as parents of the next generation of Americans.
Fast forward 28 years: We celebrated our country's birthday at Whiterock Conservancy, where our firstborn was married on one of the most beautiful 4th of Julys in my memory.
When my California cousin, Bill, asked permission to toast the bride and groom, I had no idea he'd use the occasion to connect the Spirit of July 4th Past with the Spirit of July 4th Present. His toast also speaks to us today of the Spirit of July 4 Yet to Come.
As he pointed out, it wasn't the first July 4 wedding in our family. Our daughter's great-great grandparents were married 141 years earlier on July 4 in Woodbury County. The bride's family had arrived in Maquoketa from Pennsylvania in 1857. When the Civil War broke out, her father, Alexander McClusky, joined the Iowa 31st Volunteer Regiment. He died in 1863 at the age of 36, following the Battle of Vicksburg. The story passed down by his brother-in-law who served with him is that his final resting place was beneath a tree near Young's Point, Madison Parish, Louisiana. His widow and their five children left Maquoketa by covered wagon, settling in western Iowa. Now, that's sacrifice.
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The groom's family had arrived there in a covered wagon caravan in 1857, with only a few possessions, including this rocking chair. They built a log cabin, and survived grasshopper scourges, prairie fires, and the harsh winter of 1856-57. His father built the first frame schoolhouse in Smithland, and the family put down deep roots in the fertile soils of Iowa. Now that's courage.
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Although western Iowa was no longer the frontier in 1873, history tells us that the young married couple's future was as uncertain as Americans today. Ulysses S. Grant was president during this incredibly difficult period in American history, when the country was faced with the challenges of rebuilding and reuniting in the aftermath of the Civil War. Progress toward ending slavery and ensuring voting rights was halting. The Panic of 1873, a four-year period of depression, bankruptcies, and unemployment was ruining lives. Many Americans, preoccupied by their own financial concerns, weren't very interested in the overarching values of "freedom and liberty for all". By the 1880s, it was common knowledge that the industrialists controlled the Congress.
Yet the 20-year-old groom and his 16-year-old bride set up housekeeping. They lost their first son, laid him to rest, and soon bought land 15 miles west, near Holly Springs. Now that's optimism – and faith.
Spirit of July 4th Yet to Come: America 250
Echoes of our distant past reverberate today. One lesson the Spirit of July 4th Past teaches us is that there was no Golden Age. The lives of past generations are a testament to that reality. They had fears. They had doubts. They felt overwhelmed by forces larger than themselves. For the most part, our ancestors responded with courage, optimism, faith, and sacrifice. We can't allow authoritarians to rewrite the history of this country, taking us back to some imagined glory days, or utopian existence.
James McHenry, a Maryland delegate to the Constitutional Convention in 1787, recorded this exchange between Benjamin Franklin and Elizabeth Powell, now preserved at the Library of Congress. "What have we got here, a republic or a monarchy?" she asked him. "A republic," replied the 81-year-old Franklin, "If you can keep it."
Above all, the lesson from the Spirit of July 4 Past is that our Constitution isn't self-correcting, and its defense demands our vigilance and active involvement.
In two short years, the United States of America will celebrate its 250th birthday. It's up to us, "We the People" to reclaim America, with all its imperfections, as a work in progress, and a country poised to stand the test of time.
America 250, here we come
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I’m delighted to be a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative!
Thank you, Cheryl. I enjoyed the way you were able to knit your family's past with the present and challenge the reader to protect the future for all of our families.
Wonderful column! I love the way you tied the past to the present.