In the late 1960s/early ‘70s, Fourth of July was a major holiday for my family. July ushered in the summer season. Crops were planted, and the farming community took a collective sigh of relief. As a communal body we readied ourselves for lighter entertainment after intense row crop planting and the wheat harvest.

The Adams and Cedar Hill communities jointly sponsored a patriotic celebration on the Bell Elementary School grounds. As a child, the event always had a carnival-like atmosphere. Booths for games and concessions were set up with bales of fresh wheat straw from the just-completed harvest. They served as buffers to partition off the areas. Large tents were erected for adult games like bingo or for people to simply sit under, visit, and catch up on family events. Large wooden box fans stirred the warm summer air constantly. Hay wagons became make-shift stages for politicians to make long-winded, promised-filled speeches. Occasionally there were talent shows for public participation or local musical acts entertained the crowd with a concert.

During the evening, an intense, hard-fought Little League game between the Cedar Hill and Adams all-stars was played. Fireworks sprinkled the night sky. We sat on my Grandparents' front porch, ate homemade ice cream or cold watermelon, and watched the show. Explosions of bright, vivid colors thrilled our young hearts. There were years I wished the day wouldn’t end.

Every 3rd of July we prayed the egg gathering would be uneventful the next day on my grandparents' Wix farm. We held our breath hoping there weren’t any major breakdowns with feed chains or cloth gathering belts. Hands were folded, eyes closed, and heads bowed as we uttered requests that rain would hold off. We didn’t want it to dampen our summer fun.

When I was about eight or nine, I walked up to a most unusual booth at the Bell School festivities. There were what looked like 20 to 30 large plastic bottles arranged bottle-against-bottle in a square on a sheet of plywood. I asked the operator what these bottles were and what the objective was. He said for a quarter I would get three chances to throw a ring around the neck of the bottle. If the ring stayed on the neck, I would win a 2-liter of Coke. I had just one question. “Shoot,” said the carny. “What is a 2-liter?”

Up until this time my experience with soda had been drinking it from a twelve-ounce glass bottle capped with a metal top. The cap had to be removed with a bottle opener to drink the ice-cold carbonated sugary beverage. He laughed and said this was the latest packaging idea for soda companies. Plastic was cheaper than glass, and plastic bottles didn’t have to be returned and washed for reuse. I told him that was the first I had heard of 2-liters, and that they looked more like a half-gallon of soda. We both laughed as I handed him my only quarter. With careful aim and a flick of the wrist, I tossed all three rings individually like a frisbee. Magically, two of the three landed on bottlenecks. The operator smiled as he handed me my winnings. With a wink, he said, “You're pretty good at this.”

I didn’t know what to do with my bounty. So with one in each hand, I walked to find Mother and my grandmother ‘Mama Wix’ who sat under the big top tent by a fan. I showed them what I won and explained how I won them. They were both amazed and delighted at my good fortune. They each gave me a quarter and told me to go and try it again. I repeated the process until I won ten 2-liter bottles. The booth operator soon tired of seeing me in line. As he rolled his eyes he said, “You, again?”

After success with the 2-liter toss, I tried my luck with another attraction. The bingo tent was close to where my grandmother and mom were seated. I wandered over, placed a quarter down and picked up a card and a handful of corn kernels for markers. I sat down with Mama Wix who followed to show me how to play. I soon found myself standing and shouting BINGO! I can’t remember what I pulled out of the prize box. Mama Wix mentioned that she liked a piece of costume jewelry. I wish she had told me before I made my selection. If only there had been a lotto for me to play that day I might have won us a thousand dollars.

Steve Haley spent his childhood in Guthrie, KY during the 1960s and 1970s. He loves to recount the stories of his extraordinary ordinary upbringing in a small Southern town with his many friends. If you have any comments or suggestions you can email him at Setsof4Haley@ATT.Net or call/text him at 615.483.2573