Bombs Bursting in Air

Celebrating Independence Day in the Dam Town

Hwy 2 bridges the South Fork River where it flows into the Flathead. It’s the gateway into Hungry Horse. Although it was about half a mile downhill from my house to where the bridge crossed the river, I had been warned early on not to go down there. Tents and cardboard box encampments filled the riverbank and from the highway homeless men and their tents could be seen under the bridge. Thefts and break-ins in Hungry Horse had increased with the homeless population. Not long after I moved in, Montana Highway Patrol descended on the river tent town en masse. Half a dozen black MHP sedans flashed red and blue lights as the troopers swooped into the encampment. I later learned that several wanted felons had been apprehended in the raid. The area was cleaned up and a week later no one could tell there had ever been a homeless village there. I was shocked when one of my neighbors called the MHP the “goon squad” but personally, I was happy they had arrived and cleared the area.

My home was on the north side of Hwy 2, in the nicer residential area of town. South of Hwy 2 east of the post office was known as “felony flats” and included a small residential area. On that side of town about half a mile behind the post office lay the remains of the government units that housed the dam workers who built the Hungry Horse Dam, when Hungry Horse was known as the “Dam Town”.

Building the Dam

Some foundations are left, but no housing.  It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out the layout of the homes. A grid pattern is visible due to the huge Ponderosa Pine lining the dusty streets, along with patches of overgrown juniper. During the day it’s a good place to walk a dog or collect the long Ponderosa Pine needles and cones.

The Hungry Horse Post Office and surrounding area was ground zero for celebrating the Fourth of July. Rather than set the forest on fire, long ago it was decided that all fireworks would be set off in one area instead of in people’s yards. Most likely that plan was put in place by the nearby ranger station. After the dam was completed in 1953, the Forest Service moved into the Bureau of Reclamation buildings, repurposing them for administration offices and housing. It included a dorm, a cluster of dwellings, a conference hall, cement-testing lab and a building that became the Hungry Horse Ranger District office.

The Hungry Horse community took their fireworks seriously. Since the town was unincorporated there was no limit to what could be considered “fireworks” and included anything and everything that could go boom, including pistols, shotguns and rifles fired into the night sky. Anything prohibited in an incorporated city could be fired off here. Needless to say it grew a crowd and residents loaded their arsenals and headed downtown early to get a good spot. Of course, it wouldn’t be a celebration without consuming copious amounts of alcohol in order to be well oiled by sundown. Given the number of Vietnam vets who lived in the area, many with PTSD, I was surprised at the huge turnout. One home across the road from mine flew both the American and MIA (missing in action) flags all the time.

I am one of those who enjoys the “pretty” fireworks that boom once and then crackle as the colorful patterns unfold. People gather to watch, say “oooh” and “ahh” and then go home when it’s over. Call me a curmudgeon, but large firecrackers I can do without. So my choice was to stay home, keep the dogs as calm as possible and have a hose handy. I wasn’t sure there was a fire department, volunteer or otherwise. I would watch the celebration from my deck.

The popping of firecrackers started early a few days before and continued until sundown on the fourth. Once the sun dropped behind Teakettle Mountain and dusk fell the real fun began. Rockets fired, M-80s cherry bombs and what sounded like a canon boom shook the windows. I could hear gunfire. I dragged a rocking chair onto the deck along with a lap robe and watched bursts of color as they spread into the night sky. Thick clouds of blue smoke soon shut out the stars and the pungent smell of spent gun powder burned my nose. Except for the lack of bullets whizzing by, it was easy to imagine the chaos, smells and sounds of real battle. It lasted until well after the bars closed at 2 a.m. Actually, I’m not sure they did close. It was a July 4^th like no other I had witnessed.

The next morning was deathly quiet. No birds sang. No dogs barked. The streets were empty. The odor of smoke hung in the air. My neighbor’s flag was still there.

I ventured downtown. The area around the post office was littered with huge piles of fireworks skeletons. The only people visible were working at the gas station and grocery store. Much later in the day groups of people gathered to sweep up the mess and carry it away.