Malcolm’s Memories: They Don’t Seem to Make July Fourths Like They Used To

Ed Morrissey and I were talking on his podcast over at our sister site, HotAir, this week about this 2026 July Fourth celebration. At No. 250, it might just be the most important national anniversary ever. 

We kinda felt like things around this annual holiday have changed during our lifetimes — and not for the better. 

Ed is much younger than I am, but he shaves his head. That discussion about change between longtime friends prompted me to dig out my notes from another July Fourth, the 210^th anniversary in our nation’s history.

On that day I took my family to Ellisville, Ill., about 200 miles southwest of Chicago. It’s a bucolic small town, like many across the Heartland getting smaller all the time, the kind of place immortalized more than a century ago in the “Spoon River Anthology” by Edgar Lee Masters.

I’ve shared a memory here before about one of that town’s wonderful citizens, Helen Myers, the self-appointed town librarian determined to lure a few young people away from screens and back to books.

What I experienced in Ellisville exactly 40 years ago today was simple, very simple. No fireworks, no big names, just familiar ones. But it was very good. You can leave your own judgment in the Comments on what changes you’ve perceived over the years.

It was hot and humid that day, temperature in the 90s with matching humidity. That sticky hot is great for growing corn. But you know what? No discomfort could spoil a thing for what they called ”Ellisville’s First Old-Fashioned July Fourth Celebration Saluting the American Way.”

No big marching band for the parade. No little band either. Just the continuous applause and cheers of parents and grandparents and a few visitors.

Four United States flags were flying by the abandoned buildings along the way, plus the flag George Lipper carried at the front. The proud marchers started at the school in very bright sunlight and proceeded all the way down Main Street to the Skelly gas station. 

The Big Parade contained a total of 46 people, one float, three wheelbarrows, a baby buggy, two wagons, a real fire truck with flashing lights, six bicycles decorated with red, white, and blue crepe paper, two sheep, two cats, and a couple of dogs (for part of the time). 

”We kind of wanted to bring back a little of what July Fourth used to be,” said Kay Van Tine, an organizer, ”And hope, you know, maybe it carries on.”

The entire procession was the largest in town history. It traveled three blocks and lasted nine minutes. 

But because it was so well-received, the adult leaders turned everyone around at the gas station, and they paraded back the same three blocks to an equally enthusiastic response. Like an instant replay, only live.

”That was quite a parade!” said a thrilled Martha Chatterton, who had six grandchildren in it.

When all the excitement died down a little, Bonnie Powell, the postmistress, announced that the parade judges, if there really were any, had deadlocked. So, she handed out 46 blue ribbons to the participants. 

More applause.

The entire town, all 143 residents, then adjourned to the tiny park. Ellisville used to have 400 residents. But with the factory and mine closures, and the farm financial crisis, many families with youngsters had been forced to abandon the Ellisvilles across the Midwest and seek work elsewhere.

”A lot of folks have gone,” said Postmistress Powell, who had rented out only 78 of her 125 post-office boxes.

To encourage families to remain residents, town organizers had staged community fundraisers, pancake suppers, and square dances to improve community amenities. 

After the parade, Mayor Bill Goldring dedicated the new children’s slide. They had already obtained two picnic tables and a basketball hoop. If the town raised $600 more that July Fourth, the plan was to get a teeter-totter and merry-go-round.

As of noon, they had $218.

Music came from the Tracey Brothers, although only three were brothers; one was a nephew, the other just a friend.

They played for the cakewalk and square dancing. They played while folks ate. They were paid in cold pop.

In between songs came the sack races, horseshoes, hot dogs, and the softball throw. There was a hunt through a straw pile for candy (everybody found some). 

And contests for watermelon-seed spitting (14-year-old Matt Marinich won with a remarkable spit of 25 feet 6 inches), bubble-gum blowing (Matt won that too), and paper-plate tossing (Crista Barker took first in that). 

Margaret Powell won the senior ladies’ basketball free-throw contest, while the mayor captured the men’s side — to jeers of ”Fix! Fix!”

After the 94-degree heat had plunged all the way down to 90, the talent contest came with gymnastics, songs, and a recitation or two. Everyone got applause.

Then came Vic, one of the Tracey boys, the fiddler actually. He’d been caught tasting the icing on a cakewalk prize. His job was the balloon count-up. 

”One-two-three-four-FIVE,” he shouted, and 28 colored balloons sailed off into the cloudless blue sky to mark the country’s birthday. Only 27 made it into the cloudless blue sky; a red one got caught on the phone wire by the gas station.

Helen Myers, who opened the one-room library for two hours every Saturday morning, was walking around handing out free, used books, trying to infect children with that old-fashioned pastime, reading.

Myron White, a former farmer, was there too for his 85th July Fourth. He kept apologizing for retiring so early at 83. He’d been missing the old days. ”You don’t neighbor so much anymore,” he said. But he thought that July Fourth was the best one ever. 

”It’s a wonderful day,” he said, watching the sack races. ”This town has gone through some powerful changes. Today makes you feel all together again.” Even Fulton County Sheriff Walt Fleisher showed up. 

Inspired by the Traceys, almost everyone was dancing or singing and laughing before heading for the evening barbecues with sparklers for the children to wave around.

Even the disappointing fund-raising couldn’t dampen the festivities. When Rhonda Carr counted up all the dollar bills, quarters, nickels, and pennies, she got $338.22. But she was still swaying to the music.

At one point, the day’s non-stop excitement simply overcame Grandma Chatterton. “Look!” someone shouted, “Grandma’s on a motorcycle!” 

Sure enough! There was the elderly woman, grandma of six, riding up and down Main Street on the back of Todd Becherer’s motorcycle, laughing and waving like crazy. 

This is the 42nd in an ongoing series of personal memories. Links to all the others are below.

Malcolm’s  Memories: The Joy of My Father’s Joy

Malcolm’s  Memories: Me and Huck Down by the River

Malcolm’s Memories: Making Oscars & Johnny’s Toilet Paper Joke

Malcolm’s Memories: She Loved Books So Much She Opened a Little Library

Malcolm’s Memories: The Day Bill Buckley Asked My Help; Small Town Etiquette 

Behind Johnny’s Desk, Before Ford Was POTUS, and a Dog Makes Her Rounds

A Hooker in the House, Whistle War, and Ann Landers’ Worst Mistake

More Neat People and a Nuclear Sub I’ve Met Along the Way

Malcolm’s Memories: A Toddler’s First Fourth  

Malcolm’s Memories: Train, Streetcars, and Grandma  

The True Story of an Unusual Wolf, a Pioneer in the Wild

That Time I Wore $15K in Cash Into a War Zone 

I Fell in Love With the South, Despite That One Scary Afternoon

Wildfires I’ve Known 

More Memories: Neat People I’ve Met Along the Way 

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