Sausage fest: In New York City, the Hot-Dog-Eating Contest has become a July 4 tradition / Eduardo Munoz Alvarez, Getty
It’s the day of the year that people across 50 states celebrate abstract concepts of “Liberty”, “Democracy” and “Fireworks”.
Since it was first proposed in 1776, the American founding fathers declared it self-evident that the new country needed some “wondersome” event to mark Independence Day.
Future president John Adams declared the event should be the “most memorable Epocha in the History of America”.
Although the date would change from July 2 to July 4, there would not be independence until 1783 and it would not become a public holiday until over a century and a half later, in 1941 - the intention was clear from the beginning: there should be some sort of party.
Original plans in 1777 outlined “Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations” but it seems fitting that the firework became the defining symbol. With little time for introspection, July 4 is one big pyrotechnic “yippie!”
In Philadelphia, city of brotherly love, every July 4 people visit America’s most famous broken bell. At 526 Market Street, Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell is a landmark from 1741 that still bears dramatic cracks.
It got these war wounds not from revolutionary action but from being rung too hard in February 1846, celebrating the birthday of George Washington.
Each year on July 4, famous burghers are invited to tap the bell 13 times, once for each of the original 13 colonies. But only gently, nobody wants any more cracks. Those invited to touch the bell must do so wearing kid gloves.
Nathan Handwerker’s hot dog eating contest
The “famous” hot-dog-eating competition was allegedly started in 1916 by Polish immigrant Nathan Handwerker, who was freshly arrived to seek his fortune in “Ameryka”.
It supposedly began as a patriotic wager between friends, to see who could eat the most hotdogs in 10 minutes. Taking place within view of the Port Authority, where new arrivals came ashore, the contest unites generous eating and folksy advertising schmalz.
It’s a story that has grown with the retelling. The eating contest in Brooklyn’s Coney Island is now broadcast live on TV.
Although an interview in the New York Times with a press agent for the hotdog company claims this backstory was invented in the 1970s “in Coney Island pitchman style”, the competition is very real.
The Lobster Race sees the 18 heats of sea creatures pitted in a dash through four plixiglass containers. For $1 attendees of the charity event have a chance to win one of the prize shellfish.
The crustaceans aren’t known for their speed or elegance. Spectators often remark on their lack of pace. Fortunately the event on Bar Harbor takes long enough for you to prepare your hollandaise sauce and seafood picnic.
San Francisco’s tug o’ war
One of the genuinely historic events taking place on July 4 is the century-old rope wrestling contest between the communities of Bolinas and Stinson Beach. The tug of war is a good-spirited and wel- attended event but bring your swimmies.
On the shore north of San Francisco, contestants chuck a rope across the stream that separates the two beaches and attempt to pull the others into the water.
Idaho’s road apple roulette
Don’t let the name deceive you. Unlike the others, this tradition has nothing to do with food.
A road apple, or “horse egg” is Western slang for dung dropped behind carriages. At the annual 4th of July Parade in Hailey, Idaho attendees raffle out lots of the 10,000 square metre parade path. At the end of the parade, those lucky contestants whose grid square is blessed with a “road apple” stand to win prizes.
In Hannibal, Missouri - the birthplace of author Mark Twain - residents re-enact a passage from their town’s most famous work of fiction: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
In the book the wiley 12-year-old Sawyer convinced locals to do his chores by setting up a competition. Each year teams line the streets to see who can paint their section of picket fence the fastest.
Californian marshmallow fight
A celebration of gooey mess and gross excess, there’s not much behind the annual tradition at Ocean Beach San Diego. On July 4 attendees gather for what the LA Times describes as a “spontaneous, leaderless event”.
In 2014 it was abandoned after town council leaders told locals to “mallow out”, saying the competition often became violent and uncontrollable. Support was withdrawn for the gathering but the smore-standoff reliably flares up each July 4. Despite being officially ended a decade ago, there are some militantly attached to this tradition.
A survey in community newspaper the OB Rag, found that 69 of respondents wanted the Marshmallow Wars tradition to continue. Others vowed they would never surrender their confectionary. That’s the true meaning of liberty