Fourth of July in East Harlem was very different from how we celebrate it today. It was a war between the neighborhood groups and who could shoot off the loudest firecrackers and last the longest into the night. Each area of the neighborhood would have their own domain and this is where they would set up their blast area. There was First Avenue, Pleasant Avenue, 115th Street to name a few. There was no beautiful spray of colors or shooting stars that burst in the sky. It was who could make the most noise and for how long. My area was the First Avenue crew. There was an island in the middle of First Avenue (see photo) that separated the north and southbound traffic. 
The streets back then were not paved, but made of cobblestones. This is where the “wise guys” from the sugar bowl and the social club, which were both on the east side of the street on First Avenue, would set up their rocket stations. Muzzie (Frank Greco if you recall from my Father’s Day Blog) and his brother Harry had a candy store right next to the social club. The guys would line the fireworks up on the island every 10 or 12 feet and someone would man each post. When they were given the go ahead, they would light the “cherry bombs” and they would go off at about the same time. They would do this every 15 to 20 minutes. Between the trailer trucks, fire engines, and fireworks, you can imagine how noisy everything was. It was like a war zone. Of course the firecrackers were illegal and they would have to look out for “the bulls” or “polizia” to make sure nobody got pinched. In most cases when they saw who the “wise guys” were, they just gave them a warning.
The fireworks would usually start at 9:00 pm when it got dark and last into the wee small hours. Who could last the longest and make the most noise was the objective. It was funny, but not funny, when an 18 wheeler would pass through and the driver would nearly jump out of his skin when the cherry bombs went off. Have you ever heard an 18 wheeler moving along a cobblestone road? First Avenue was another route for the trucks because they couldn’t go on the East River Drive (also known as the FDR) to get to the Willis Avenue Bridge to Route 87. We would jump out of our seats or our beds if we were trying to get some sleep. I remember one year my mother yelling out of the window about 2 am “Don’t you think we’ve just about had enough!” They were quiet for a little while, then we would hear an occasional cherry bomb going off.
The next morning when everyone woke up, it looked like there was a ticker tape parade in the street the night before. All of the debris from the fireworks would be scattered all over the cobblestones. 
In fact the entire neighborhood had confetti like debris throughout the streets. The sanitation men weren’t too happy. I can’t really remember when they took away the island or the cobblestones. I guess it was somewhere in the early 60’s.
After I got married and moved to “Da Bronx,” it took me a while to get used to the quiet at night so I could fall asleep. The crickets were a far cry from the noises I was used to on First Avenue in East Harlem. It was a different world.
Funny thing is, after all the new housing, highways, and people moving up the line over the years, Da Bronx is now just as loud as East Harlem used to be 60+ years ago.