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The bay area declares its independence from any fears - of weather or terror - to celebrate a special July Fourth.
By WILLIAM R. LEVESQUE, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times, published July 5, 2002
David Moore takes a drag from a cigarette. A Ryder truck loaded with explosives passes nearby. Lightning flashes in dark clouds. No worries.
Moore, the guy in charge of the fireworks on Thursday at the Pier in St. Petersburg, smiles.
He isn't worried about the fireworks 100 yards away. Only rain scares this man.
"This is my 32nd Fourth of July," said Moore, 47, who works for fireworks manufacturer Pyrotecnico. "I love Florida. But the summer rain will drive you crazy."
Thousands of people flocked to downtown St. Petersburg to enjoy daylong Fourth of July festivities and a fireworks display. Across the Tampa Bay area, residents kept a close eye to the skies but saw generally favorable weather.
Rain and thunder have become a Tampa Bay tradition at Fourth of July celebrations in recent years, like hot dogs and Old Glory. Rain early in the day and a waterspout between the Howard Frankland and Gandy bridges at 10:12 a.m. caused a few holiday jitters.
The National Weather Service issued a brief tornado warning. But the spout passed harmlessly away.
When darkness fell, the area near the Pier rumbled. This year, actual fireworks were to blame, not Mother Nature.
"It was beautiful. We loved it. She loved it," said Chris Richardson of St. Petersburg, pointing to his 3-year-old daughter, Asha, who was sitting on his shoulders alongside Beach Drive.
Earlier in the day, residents scouted out parking and fireworks viewing locations hours in advance.
Near Bayshore Drive, a burly guy with a stars-and-stripes bandanna wrapping his head eased a loud Kawasaki motorcycle (license plate: Zeebo) into a space.
Zeebo Moctezuma, 45, of Largo took a skyward glance to judge the rain. He waited for girlfriend Janet Blydenburgh.
He said fireworks are a necessary annual pilgrimage, wherever he views them.
"I'm proud to be an American," the maintenance worker said. "Since 9/11, everybody wants to show their patriotism. That's what being an American is all about."
Nearby, Brady Thomas, 48, played patriotic tunes on a violin as passersby threw money into a red-white-and-blue accordion folder.
"I just had nothing to do today, so I thought I'd play," he said.
Down the street, Rex and Orchid Reeves sat in folding chairs on a patch of grass off Bayshore that has been theirs the past four July Fourths. Their three children, ages 7 through 11, played nearby. They'd waited most of the day.
"We've got contingency plans if it rains," Rex Reeves said, unworried by dark skies.
The key to keeping three kids calm and happy through a long, hot day? His wife pointed across the street to public restrooms.
"Being right across the street helps a lot," Mrs. Reeves said.
Across the bay in Temple Terrace and Brandon, it didn't rain on residents' parade. Patriotism was the rule of the day.
In Brandon, Jim Webb secured his spot on the curb on Robertson Street. He'd never seen so many people in the 15 years he has come out for the parade.
"I think it's something needed for the overall country," he said. "It shows support in spite of terrorism."
For many who celebrated Independence Day around Pasco, the holiday meant more than just cookouts and fireworks.
With the terrorist attacks, many talked about a renewed sense of patriotism.
"This will be one of the greatest Fourth of Julys that we may ever see," said Dennis Holt, grand knight of the Knights of Columbus, Council 8104. The group was making take-out chicken dinners at a Land O'Lakes church.
"I don't think that any talk of terrorism or anything else will diminish the celebration."
Back in Pinellas, five friends enjoyed a cookout at Maynard Duryea Park and planned to watch both St. Petersburg and Gulfport fireworks from a nearby apartment tower.
"It's just good food and friends," said Cathy Cassetta, 32, an insurance agent from St. Petersburg.
Of course, a good celebration is never hurt when the guy at the grill is a chef.
"No, really," said Brandon Mannari, 31, of St. Petersburg as he turned a wing. "I'm a chef."
-- Times staff writers Ryan Meehan, Jennifer Goldblatt and Leon Tucker contributed to this report.