Recalling How Many Black Milwaukee Families Used to Celebrate Fourth of July

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Photo by Michael Barera via Wikimedia Commons

Kilbourn Reservoir Park in 2022

Kilbourn Reservoir Park in 2022

The Fourth of July has come and gone and, once again, I missed celebrating as I used to in the Black Milwaukee of my youth. Instead, I spent much of the day in New York watching TV coverage of the Nathan's Famous annual hot dog eating contest at Brooklyn’s Coney Island, and Manhattan’s mammoth fireworks display at night. 

My most cherished memory of the old days had everything to with the up-close-and-personal fireworks in tiny Kilbourn Park in a racially changing neighborhood. To me, sharing holiday sights and sounds with my family in this cozy setting was the cat’s meow.

Nestled between East Reservoir and East North Avenue—and known to many in those days as Reservoir Park—this was where near-north and east side-neighbors gathered on Fourth of July night to honor America. And for many in the Black, brown and white throngs, it was the only time all year they’d socialize with people of other races. 

Lots of Black people arrived on foot at this Milwaukee County park, nicknamed for the grassy water-storage hill sporting a huge American Legion floral display. As Milwaukee’s parks went, it was small, less than 35 acres. To children, however, it seemed to go on and on.

The wondrous, multi-colored pyrotechnics originated from a flat expanse of grass at the edge of a heavily foliated, multi-blocks-long incline we called “The Jungle.” As kids, this daunting thicket was our favored route for adventurous hiking to the park, which we did two or three times a week to play baseball and football. 

Mothers, Fathers, Sons and Daughters

To me, the next best thing about that night in our favorite park was the presence of so many Black family groups. Everywhere you looked, mothers and fathers and sons and daughters were curled-up on blankets—eating, joking and enjoying each other’s company, and that of other neighborhood residents.

For my Black family—living what seemed to be only a vigorous stone’s throw from this vest-pocket park—the short walk in the fading daylight meant sharing food, soft drinks, sweaters and blankets. Along the way, we’d meet other Black families and swap stories about past holidays, anticipating a great evening’s entertainment.

Once on the scene, we’d snake our way through the gaggle of early arrivals in search of a good spot to watch. Since much of this portion of the park was hilly, all you had to do was lie back and look skyward to enjoy the free show. It was so very relaxing.

As my parents gazed up at the stars and waited, I recall asking them all about the park and the fireworks and their holiday memories. I also recall dozing while awaiting the start of the festivities. Although never much of an outdoor enthusiast, I always seemed able to relax in the moonlight of a warm Fourth of July night at Reservoir Park.

Burst of Color

When the fireworks began with a burst of color, it brought a loud cheer from the hundreds of onlookers. Suddenly, the dark summer sky was lit up with iridescent oranges, sparkling blues, shimmering greens and fiery reds. Each brought oohs and aahs of surprised satisfaction in the voices and wide eyes of children and grown-ups. 

This was not the giant, Milwaukee lakefront variety fireworks of the decades since, or the far more elaborate pyrotechnics I’ve seen in New York. Yet, it brought Black and white strangers together in the pleasure of their mutual company, to celebrate the founding of the nation.

The evening’s grand finale always was the brilliantly lighted American flag display. As Old Glory blazed in bright red, white and blue, each youthful and adult face I saw bore an unmistakable glow of pride and flicker of hope. It was a fitting conclusion.

As a parent, I passed on this tradition to my own children, a son and daughter at the time. When old enough, my wife and I packed them into the car with us and drove to Reservoir Park for their first holiday fireworks, vying for a scarce nearby parking space.

As we lay there on our blanket, I watched my own wide-eyed kids as they cuddled up and asked me the same kinds of questions I’d asked my folks years earlier. As I answered them, I felt all was right with the world.

In the late 1980s as a Milwaukee Journal columnist, I occasionally invited visiting New York reporter friends to join my wife and I to watch the lakefront fireworks from the 11th floor of our Regency House condo, at State and Astor. We sometimes were joined by my North Side parents who loved the sight, especially my late mother, Juanita Carter.

These days, with my parents long gone and my four children all grown, I often find myself taking in the Independence Day fireworks on the East Coast via a panoramic view from my high-rise living room. As I peer out, my eyes are treated to the brightly lit, bursting sky over the dramatic, scenic cityscape. And it’s a grand sight.

Still, my heart and mind always seem to be back on the grassy slopes of Reservoir Park—an outdoor classroom of life. There, as a youngster, I learned that love of neighbors of all colors can go hand-in-hand with love of country on the night of Independence Day.

Nowadays, many people, Black and white, seem too busy to relax as families the way many of us once did in Milwaukee. And it’s a shame because families—like love—make the world go round, and make my special hometown memories such as this so very wonderful.