Fireworks fascination will never be defused
Sgt. Ray Kelly, a spokesman for the Alameda County Sheriff ’s Office, says he lost half the hearing in his right ear while on duty 10 years ago.
The incident happened on the Fourth of July, the time of year when fireworks become one of the most aggravating problems in our lives.
For a few days, the sound of fireworks is more irritating than potholes, which are a year-round nuisance — at least in some East Bay neighborhoods. On social media, Oakland residents make it clear they think fireworks are a bigger problem for their city than, say, homelessness. They’re not. But potholes and even homelessness are solvable problems, at least in my opinion. That’s not the case for the pyrotechnic bou-
quets that burst in the air, over and over again, every year in early July. Don’t even talk about New Year’s Eve.
Promoting safety is about all law enforcement can do when it comes to minimizing the nuisance of fireworks, because they know they can’t stop people from shooting fireworks at all hours of the night.
A decade ago, Kelly was on patrol in Cherryland, an unincorporated area north of Hayward, when he saw the sky light up from a barrage of fireworks.
Illegal. He veered onto Meekland Avenue to search for the origin and saw a group of teenage boys.
“As I rolled in, they scattered and started throwing stuff, I think, probably just to get away,” Kelly said.
One teenager tossed an M1000 — a firecracker known for its loud blast — straight at Kelly’s car. Boom! The explosive detonated just as he stepped from the vehicle, knocking him back like an uppercut to his jaw.
Kelly told me he saw stars before he recovered and chased the teenager down to arrest him.
Now, you’d think Kelly would be against the Bay Area’s rambunctious, dayslong celebration of America’s birthday. But he’s not.
“Fireworks are an American way of life. They’re just part of our culture,” Kelly said. “No matter what culture you are from, when you come to America, you do fireworks.”
It’s true. Fireworks are a celebratory tradition in the country that crosses cultural boundaries.
I think most of us can agree that at one time in our lives, we’ve marveled at the sparkling and colorful rockets and streamers shot into the sky on the Fourth of July.
Many of us have bought bottle rockets to make our own fireworks show, preparing to annoy our neighbors with each flick of our lighters. Fireworks, over hours, are obnoxiously noisy. The car alarms triggered by the window-rattling bangs are just as annoying.
The fusillade frightens animals, and it can trigger panic attacks in people. One person’s most entertaining night of the year is another person’s night of terror.
But what can we do, especially when some Bay Area neighborhoods begin their fireworks fun a few days before the Fourth and end it a few days after?
This is something we discuss every year, and the answer is always the same: You’ll do better asking your neighbor to stop than you’ll do calling the police.
“It is the Fourth of July, and we’re not foolish enough to think that we’re going to stop fireworks from going up in the sky,” Kelly said. “There’s nothing worse than rolling up to a family and there’s little kids around and you go up to dad and you take all their fireworks.
“You feel horrible doing it, but you’re looking out for people.”
In California, it’s legal to shoot the “safe and sane” fireworks — fireworks that don’t fly, explode or move uncontrollably on the ground. But they’re boring. The fun stuff to shoot and watch — Roman candles, sky rockets and firecrackers — is illegal.
Nationally, people spend more than $1 billion on fireworks each year, according to the American Pyrotechnics Association.
Because the flashy fireworks are illegal, people buy in bulk like they’re shopping at Costco. And then they shoot them until the stash runs out. That can take days, weeks or months.
In Oakland, police issued 56 fireworks-related citations and 12 warnings on the Fourth, the same day the Alameda County Sheriff ’s Office confiscated 325 pounds of fireworks.
That’s nothing, because last month, the Oakland Police Department seized 2 tons of fireworks from a storage unit in San Leandro. That’s 4,000 pounds.
The bust didn’t stop the show in East Oakland where I watched a dazzling display over the palm trees on Ninth Avenue. But some of the poppop-pops my friend and I heard weren’t followed by an explosion in the sky.
I wondered if it was gunfire camouflaged by fireworks.
“You’ve got the gunfire, what we call promiscuous shootings, where people are just shooting guns up in the air,” Kelly said. “That really is a much bigger problem than the fireworks.”
I agree.