Fireworks misfire burns islanders
That wouldn't have been a big deal, though, because island resident Dwight Walters seems to walk on water around these parts. A state-licensed pyrotechnician, he choreographs a Fourth of July display so spectacular it draws more tourists to the island than the 2,600 people who live here.
For 18 years, the show has been the island's summer highlight, providing an economic boost to local businesses and a sense of civic pride for residents. One night out of the year, the island's Republicans, environmentalists, retirees, gay couples and young families turn their heads skyward, singularly focused, in awe of Walters' work.
"Twenty minutes, in your face" is how Walters describes it. "Our whole show is like a finale."
Three weeks ago, however, the fireworks lasted only three minutes before the Fire Department told Walters to halt the show. For the second straight year, errant sparks had ignited a brush fire, threatening four homes fronting the bay's north shore.
In 2003, it was a shame. This year, it was a shambles.
Last year, Walters and his crew shot off the remaining fireworks the following night. This year, the show didn't go on — and that set off a panic in the community.
Rob Miesen, chief of the volunteer Fire Department, says he and other community leaders called off a July 5 do-over because of a forecast for strong winds that could have blown the fireworks beyond their designated debris field — and again put homes at risk.
Yet rumors ran rampant, with many locals accusing Miesen of everything from handling the fire incompetently to sabotaging the most anticipated festivity of the year.
In only his second year on the job, Miesen already has learned that for many on Lopez Island, fireworks are more important than fire safety.
Since the Fourth, Miesen and Walters have been working to keep future fireworks shows safe — and the community sane.
The island's sniping began to slow after locals first saw Miesen and Walters about town.
"The first day we went to lunch together, you could hear the silverware drop in the restaurant," Miesen says.
Creating an art form
A full-time resident of Lopez for more than 25 years, Walters possesses a '69 Corvette Roadster he keeps garaged and a lingering disdain for Bill Clinton he lets out. The bug shield on his pickup sports the Stars and Stripes, and the back window bears a sticker:
"I [Heart] fireworks."
He's got a devilish grin probably perfected while firing off cherry bombs as a child in southwest Washington. Now 60, he is all grown up and a master of his craft.
"To me, fireworks is an art form," Walters says. "And it's the only one I can think of that uses all of the senses. You can see them, feel them, hear them, smell them and taste them."
On the big night three weeks ago, Walters had stationed himself on the opposite side of Fisherman Bay from where the fireworks were being shot off. That way, he could call the shots and get a good view of them, too.
At exactly 10:30 p.m., he radioed his all-volunteer crew to start the show. It began innocently with a dozen red strobes flashing along the shoreline for 60 seconds. Walters then called for the first real shots to be fired — 50 shells that were supposed to be thrust high into the air. But at least two didn't get the proper lift and instead of exploding at their high point, went boom during free fall.
Showers of silver and red sparks designed to resemble a weeping willow still were burning hot when they struck water by the boats, making a sizzle so loud it could be heard on shore. On the north shore, the burning debris landed uncomfortably close to the four waterfront homes, igniting a row of wild rosebushes and several patches of dry grasses.
Walters knew instantly. As he looked toward the four houses, he uttered an unholy expletive followed by, "Here we go again."
Richard Marcy was watching the fireworks from his deck as the sparks fell on all sides of his cabin. He brushed embers from his gray hair and thought: "We're in for a good one."
Next door, Gordy Mitchell went for the garden hose, doing his best to shield himself from the thick smoke.
At the house farthest from the flames, Tom and Debbie Collins were hosting a party for about 30 friends and family members. Tom got scared. Debbie wanted to cry. Mostly, they were disappointed that the show had to end like this.
The two love the fireworks. And no fires, not even ones that threaten their home, are going to change that.
"That's why you have fire insurance," says Tom Collins, emboldened by the passing of time.
"The fireworks here, they're nonstop. Your adrenaline is pumping. The noise, it hits you in the chest. Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Marcy also thinks the fireworks are neat. He is willing to listen to ideas that would allow the show to go on while also protecting his property.
"I'm 100 percent against having my house burn down."
Fast-paced tradition
They don't call Lopez "Slo-pez" for nothing. The island, the first of the San Juans reached by the ferry from Anacortes, is an expanse of tall trees and pastures, best explored by bicycle. Locals take the time to ponder why the blue heron crossed the road in front of them.
On the Fourth, though, the island operates at a fast pace with thousands arriving by boat, car and foot to watch a fireworks show that is getting so huge it was the subject of a public-TV documentary. The island's tiny business district, Lopez Village, buzzes with a parade and salmon barbecue. The lines at the Village's market are rivaled only by those at the ferry terminal.
The nonprofit Lopez Community Fireworks Association raises about $20,000 each year to put on the show, most of the money through a solicitation letter to 800 full-time or part-time residents. Walters says he can parlay the $20,000 into the equivalent of an $80,000 commercially run show because his is an all-volunteer effort. This year's show would have featured more than 3,000 shells, most of them made in China.
The tradition of fireworks on Lopez Island began in 1987. For decades, newspaper publisher Jim Scripps, who owned part of a small island near the southern tip of Lopez, treated the locals on each Fourth of July to his own fireworks show. Rather than let the tradition die when Scripps passed away in 1986, the locals took it over and moved it onto Lopez.
Walters, a retired oil-industry geologist, got involved in 1988 and secured his pyrotechnician license in 1992.
"It's an affront to my manhood not getting this to work," he says of this year's show.
The show will go on
No one on this island, particularly not Fire Chief Miesen, would dare suggest there may not be fireworks on Lopez next Fourth of July.
For all the diplomacy of the past three weeks, there still is negotiating to be done. Miesen and Walters agree that the fireworks could be shot 200 to 300 yards farther from the four homes.
Miesen goes even further, suggesting that the fireworks be shot next year in the opposite direction — away from Fisherman Bay and toward San Juan Channel, perhaps off a barge. Walters, a stickler for aesthetics, thinks that would push the show too far from the people.
To keep the grasses from catching fire again, Walters suggests a weeklong dousing before the show. Miesen says a better solution is one in which burning debris from the fireworks doesn't have a chance to fall there.
Before next year's show can take place, the San Juan County fire marshal will have to issue a permit stating that the fireworks will not threaten property.
"I think it's really clear there are going to have to be changes made," Lopez Island Fire Commissioner John Goekler predicted.
He's probably right. But on Lopez Island, such notions are incendiary.
Stuart Eskenazi: 206-464-2293 or seskenazi@seattletimes.com
