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 Flashback
to the first Fourth of July
By
John Breneman
Had to dash down to the Library of Congress
this week because I realized I had an overdue book ("Curious
George Plays With Fireworks"). While I was there, I began
snooping around and stumbled across a document that sheds
startling new light on our nation's very first July
4th celebration.
The year was 1776. Thomas Jefferson threw a
barbecue at his house and all the founding fathers were there,
along with everybody who was anybody during those heady days
before the Revolution.
The
Washingtons -- George, Martha and little Denzel -- stopped
by with some of Martha's famous lo-carb cherry pie, considered
to be the tastiest in the Colonies.
John and Abigail Adams brought a crate of lobsters
and their 9-year-old son John Quincy, who did nothing but
complain that little Andy Jackson, also 9, kept knocking his
glasses off.
Adams' older brother Samuel, wearing a stylish
puffy shirt and brown vest, hauled along plenty of his famous
"hand-crafted" beer and kept urging people to try
his Bunker Hill Pale Ale.
 Young Aaron Burr brought some pistols in case
anyone wanted to duel and Benjamin Franklin had a box full
of kites festooned with an array of stripes and stars.
Once most of the guests had arrived at Jefferson's
Monticello estate, Paul Revere galloped up on his horse, Tea
Biscuit, screaming, "The British are coming! The British
are coming!"
"Just kidding," said the patriotic prankster, who
then wandered off to ask Sam Adams for a Valley Forge Lager.
Meanwhile, Jefferson was playing the consummate
host. He had set up a dunking booth with an unfortunate Tory
dressed up like the King of England and the children hollered
"Taxation without representation!" as they hurled
stones to knock the hapless "king" into the water.
Garbed in a chef's hat and an apron embroidered
with the words, "All menus are NOT created equal,"
Jefferson flipped burgers and hot dogs at the grill and ladled
tankards of East India Company iced tea out of a barrel.
"Hey Jefferson," shouted fellow Virginian
Patrick Henry, "Give me another corndog or give me death!"
Spirits were high because there was a growing
sense that the Colonies were sick and tired of being bossed
around by King George III, who little Andrew Jackson kept
calling "King Georgie Porgie Fatty."
After everyone was stuffed, Jefferson gathered
the whole group and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper
with some fancy writing on it. He cleared his throat and began
reading. "When in the course of human events," he
began, "yada, yada, yada... We hold these truths to be,
um..."
 "Self-evident?"
suggested Ben Franklin.
"Yeah that's it, self-evident ... that
all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their
Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these
are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of …"
"Beer!" shouted Sam Adams.
"Naked chicks!!" exclaimed Paul Revere.
"No, Happiness," said Jefferson, who
droned on for about 20 more minutes until Revere said Jefferson's
"Declaration of Impudence" was right on the money.
John Hancock grabbed a pen and Adams spilled
a little of his beer onto the edges of the document, saying
it would help give it that "parchment" feel.
Then the celebration really started to get lively.
Thomas Paine implored the revelers to use common sense, but
Hancock and Franklin began lighting off crude rockets packed
with gun powder and various minerals that produced colorful
streaks when ignited.
As Hancock lit the fuse of a Red Glare Whistling
Aerial Repeater, he was distracted for a moment by an attractive
young slave and the charge detonated, blowing off both his
right hand and his favorite powdered wig.
 Fortunately,
a young seamstress named Betsy Ross dropped what she was working
on, grabbed Hancock's hand and began sewing it back onto his
arm.
Despite the accident, John
Adams suggested -- for real -- that henceforth we
should celebrate our independence each Fourth of July with
"pomp and parade ... guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations
from one end of this continent to the other, from this time
forward forevermore."
So that's the story of our nation's first Independence
Day. I still can't believe that I found it where I did --
scrawled on the back of a 230-year-old, corndog-encrusted
cocktail napkin in the shaky but unmistakable hand of John
Hancock.
Humor Gazette editor John Breneman is believed
to be a direct descendent of Denzel Washington.
Posted on July 3, 2006 10:59 AM
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