Merchants of Brookings on the Fourth of July in 1880 sponsored foot races, a baseball game, a not-so-perfect fireworks display and barrels of ice-cold water set out at downtown intersections. 

Despite concerns from the health board, thirsty Brookings celebrants shared a common dipper at each barrel. 

Recreational imbibing from tin cups or glass mugs tinkling with ice in any of the three watering holes on our main drag wasn’t at all encouraged.      

Warned The Brookings Register editor:

“Let any chap who comes to Brookings on the Fourth and imbibes too freely of the vile stuff called snake juice, tangle-legs, barbed wire or forty rods be taken to the village pump and everlastingly ducked until he owns up that he loves water.”

But even with ice-cold water at every downtown corner, Brookings’ first Fourth of July in 1880 was a bit of a bummer.

The fireworks show accidentally fired off en masse rather than in sequence, much to the embarrassment of the volunteer firefighters who had carefully planned the show’s fiery synchronization. 

Fortunately, no one was injured.

On that same day in 1880, about 400 miles away in Deadwood the Fourth of July didn’t have a parade, baseball game, fireworks or barrels of ice-cold water. 

But it did have wagon loads of other liquids available in the town’s more than 50 saloons, whose doors never closed. 

While the Brookings editor wrote about the evil of drink, the editor of the Black Hills Dairy Times had a good time waxing poetic about a couple of placer miners who celebrated a little too enthusiastically on ice-cold snake juice and forty rods:

 “Deadwood didn’t have a square shipped-up Fourth of July celebration, but still it had a big crowd and as many boozed celebrators as though it had,” wrote the Deadwood editor.

“The stinkingest fight we ever witnessed was among the attractive exercises of the evening. About 9 o’clock a brace of Hibernians became entangled in an animated discussion on the walk in front of the City Brewery Saloon when a large Teuton rushed out and pushed them into the gutter, which contained at that particular spot just about 20 inches of mud of the most filthy odoriferous character.

“One of the disputants landed under the other, and together with his own and the weight of his antagonist, was sunk out of sight in that reeking cesspool of rottenness.  

“The fellow on top concluded he had drowned his man and got up and skipped. Soon after the under man arose to the surface and after gaining terra firma, declared his ability and intention of cleaning out the camp. But owing to his slippery and stinking condition he was allowed to stampede in any direction he chose. He was absolutely unapproachable – he stunk so.”  

Brookings and Deadwood have progressed in the 137 years since those first Independence Day celebration.

We no longer have one-dipper barrels of ice water on street corners, and the odoriferous mud on the streets of Deadwood dried up long ago.

Next Wednesday our little civilized flatland community celebrates with a wonderful parade. The cavalcade is nothing fancy or audacious. It’s just a nice, friendly ice cream and apple pie slice of Americana.

Deadwood will probably roll out something similar on its now-paved streets.      

And its Hibernians have long since sobered up and are resting peacefully in Mount Moriah Cemetery. 

If you’d like to comment, email the author at cfcecil@swiftel.net.