July 4th

In my childhood, July 4th was always a special day. We went to my Uncle Herbie's in Framingham, Massachusetts. We watched the parade of floats and firemen from neighboring Natick, and then returned to Herbie's for a cookout. He would read from the Declaration of Independence and other patriotic documents (we all booed at the depredations of King George), and my brother would play the Star Spangled Banner on his trumpet. In the evening, there were wonderful fireworks, on a human scale -- fireworks in frames, depicting Abraham Lincoln and the Liberty Bell, not at all like the artillery barrage we get these days. Now, Herbie -- my favorite uncle, who introduced me to Thomas Mann and Beethoven -- is long dead, and only the hot dog remains to commemorate him.

Long live Herb. Long live the memory of the 4th.