Kirby Neumann-Rea: O say, can you see rockets’ red glare?

About the writer: Longtime Oregon journalist Kirby Neumann-Rea retired earlier this year as managing editor of the News-Register. But he keeps his fingers nimble on the keyboard, his mind nimble at the library and his legs nimble on the basketball court. He blogs regularly on his subscription-free Substack.com newsletter, “Burn the Ax Handle.”

On June 27, a week before Independence Day, someone began setting off illegal fireworks a block away. It started about 10 p.m., the same time as the night before.

I figured we’d probably hear it again the next night, and the night after, and so on, running to midnight, if not 2 a.m.

Such has been the practice in this neighborhood each of the six years we have lived here: From late June through mid-July, someone sees fit to infringe on the nightly peace with a staccato barrage of noise.

Who do they think they are?

I know this neighborhood is far from unique. That’s the problem. It’s in other parts of town and other towns and everywhere.

Who do they think they are?

Light the fuse on any pejorative you choose when picturing the person who feels it is their right to create this kind of racket. Plenty of unkind terms come to mind, for, after all, no reasonable and respectful person would do this kind of thing.

This all-hours ear-rattling firing of incendiary devices is what passes for patriotism?

How has this twisted expression of “love of country” evolved to acceptability? Why do polite people, in the 100 houses surrounding the two or three responsible for this, put up with it?

So, where are the police?

To that question, yes I get it: The police are dealing with plenty of situations. I realize the limitations. A little Fourth-related foolery is, I want to say understandably, not the highest of their priorities.

Yet I hesitate to say “understandably,” because I don’t understand any of this.

Why do we put up with it?

Who suffers? On a sliding scale of annoyance to anguish, I count average folks, pets and people experiencing PTSD. Do the (insert plural pejorative here) think about these potentially traumatic impacts — the sudden, jarring, heart-thumping and perhaps even traumatic effect of illegal fireworks?

In this neighborhood, I’ve deduced by the carriage of the sound that the noise-makers live roughly two blocks away.

The street debris is further evidence of the location, if not the exact scofflaws. So they’re litterbugs, and that’s another problem.

If the noise is bad at our residence, what must it be like to live all that much closer?

Presumably, life next door to these (insert plural pejorative again) is never easy, no matter the time of year. My guess is that Neighbor B loves it, and is probably in on the action, but Neighbors C, D, E, F and so on hate it.

As far as speaking up, yeah, I’d be afraid of anyone with a cranial screws loose enough to set off acoustic offenders at odd hours on a late-June night. It’s why my wife is right in imploring me not to walk two blocks over and say something to the yahoos.

No, I am not likely to go over. At least, I still didn’t intend to as of this June 29 writing.

This kind of mentality is not going to respond to a valid request to stop making noise at inappropriate times. For one thing, this shattering behavior feels mean-spirited, full of high-decibel bellicosity.

A sheriff’s deputy friend, a few years ago in another county, once told me of responding on Thanksgiving night to a home where a man was firing off illegal fireworks. Asked why he was doing so at that time, he replied, “How else am I gonna teach my son how to celebrate Thanksgiving?”

For some, July 4 is just an excuse to engage in the juvenile delight of illegal fireworks.

Patriotism? In this case. it is just the cheap decal the perpetrators slap on their disruptive antics: “Celebratin’ our freedom, man! Fourth of July only comes once a year!”

I guess every night for a week before and a week after is thus equally justified, only coming around “once a year.”

In order to not be a total wet blanket, I say: Go ahead. Shoot ‘em off. But only on July 4. That way all the neighbors can brace themselves, along with their pets, and not have to worry about it every night for a full week or two.

I get it. That’s the holiday. Go for it.

Just have your hose and bucket ready, as airborne fire hazards are a whole other matter. And keep the kids out of the way,

Hoist those M-80s and ignite a “rack-a-tack-a-tack” minute-long string of firecrackers at midnight. Raise that ruckus. Give yourself that potassium perchlorate buzz.

But just do it on the Fourth. Do it Independence Day, if you must, but don’t cheapen an already commercially sullied national holiday by violating noise regulations on any other night.

Independence Day is not your excuse to go crazy at others’ expense for days on end. And don’t engage in that thinking you’re being patriotic. M-80s and their ilk are just noisy, irresponsible toys.

I know by the time people read this, leading up to the Fourth, someone down the street will finish off the night not with a bang, but a boom. We will hear M-80s and their shocking reverberations.

When that happens, I hope someone next door finally speaks up, finally comes out in pajamas to tell the dude in the driveway:

“Stop! Enough of the rockets’ dread blare.”