BOWL SHOWS A FLARE FOR THE DRAMATIC

Early in July, 1776, John Adams wrote excitedly to his wife about the glorious day he had just witnessed:

It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forevermore.

Of course, Adams was referring to the Second of July, when the Declaration of Independence was formally drafted. Other than that minor detail, he hit it right on the nose--particularly the reference to “illuminations.”

Fireworks, the term more frequently used of late, remain an indispensable component of this national day of celebration, for which the folks at Astro Pyrotechnics in Norwalk can thank their lucky stars, Roman candles, rockets and gerbes.

The company, the performing division of Freedom Fireworks, has been a major producer of Southern California fireworks shows for 15 years. “We can handle about 20 to 30 Fourth of July shows,” boasts Jeff Marsh, display foreman with Astro Pyrotechnics, and second in command to Gene Evans, director of special projects. This week, Evans is in New York, coordinating the massive show he designed to accompany tonight’s Statue of Liberty celebration, reportedly the largest pyrotechnic display in U.S. history (live at 6:30 p.m. on CNN; on tape delay at 9:35 p.m. on Channel 7).

And where will Marsh be tonight? At Hollywood Bowl, for the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s annual Family Fireworks Concert. During the past 15 years, Astro Pyrotechnics has sent off every rocket and lit every pinwheel at the Bowl.

Strolling among the pipes, flats, launching mortars and electrical equipment at his Norwalk headquarters--all explosives are stored safely out in Rialto--Marsh talks openly about the care taken in producing a show, while keeping tight-lipped on details of planning and execution.

“We’ll use a carefully worked out script designed for each production.” Marsh refuses a request to examine a script, explaining, “This is a very competitive field, and besides, we don’t want to remove the element of surprise.”

How detailed is a Bowl script? “Mr. Evans works out everything to a quarter-second. I’m not kidding. He’s a perfectionist.”

Fortunately for Marsh, a computer console at the Bowl allows him to execute each cue amazingly close to launch schedule. “If something isn’t on the money, we’ll know--and often the audience will, too.”

Though the Bowl has its unique advantages as a theater for fireworks (“That beautiful arch adds so much”), Marsh stresses the deadly serious problems of safety. The surrounding hills are covered with acres of dry brush and the audience is unusually close to the action. All rockets are sent skyward “at a slight angle” away from onlookers, and a 12-man crew remains on active duty on the lookout for potential hot spots. In addition, each time Astro Pyrotechnics visits Cahuenga Pass, a fire inspector tags along.

While there’s no way of knowing for certain whether each rocket will go off as planned, a test to check electrical circuit hook-ups is part of the pre-concert routine.

The safety record, Marsh boasts, is unblemished: 15 years--no accidents, no injuries.

He quickly becomes more guarded when the conversation turns to the Bowl concert tonight. Marsh pleads ignorance on such specifics as the numbers of rockets, the amount of explosives or the cost (Bowl managing director Robert Harth puts the figure at $7,500-$10,000 per night). Such details apparently don’t interest the pyrotechnician: “That’s Mr. Evans’ department,” he says with a shrug. Evans, who evidently loves the firelight but hates the limelight, refused to be interviewed.

Planning any Fourth of July display requires at least two months. “Not just the scripting and set-building,” explains Marsh, “but we have to secure insurance and any special permits well in advance. It amazes me how many last-minute calls we get asking us to put on a show. We’re now taking reservations for next summer.”

The actual setup at the Bowl is a two-day job. The first day consists only of trucking the equipment, set pieces and fireworks from Rialto to Hollywood. The day of the concert is devoted to loading, checking and double-checking, “from 8 a.m. right up to curtain,” says Marsh. If a Friday-Saturday pops program calls for fireworks finales each evening (such as the perennial “Tchaikovsky Spectacular” in August), the process will be repeated for the second night.

“I get butterflies before each show,” Marsh confesses. “It’s theater. When our moment comes, when the lights are dimmed, we’re on.”

This sense of the dramatic harkens back to Marsh’s roots in theater. After graduating from Cal State Fullerton in radio-TV 10 years ago, he found himself looking for work. “There was an opening (with Astro Pyrotechnics), and I thought, ‘Why not?’ Understand, I wasn’t a backyard bomber.” Now, he can barely contain his enthusiasm.

“When everything clicks, it’s a thrill. We realize that the joy of watching fireworks is a fleeting, intangible experience. Crowds want to see a big aerial show, they want to see color in the sky and hear a lot of noise. It sounds simple, but we have to constantly work to avoid repetition so no one will be bored.

“For instance, we can pace things by starting off with a lot of razzle dazzle and then come soft and gentle.” Soft and gentle fireworks?

“Sure,” he replies without hesitation. “Gold in the sky is more gentle than silver. At the end, of course, we’ll always finish big. Everyone expects that. And everyone expects the smoke. They may not like it, but it’s part of the personality of the fireworks.”

No show follows the identical pattern. Although the average Bowl display may only last 10 minutes, Marsh says his company is fully agreeable to an even shorter presentation.

Astro Pyrotechnics also puts on regular displays at Magic Mountain and Knott’s Berry Farm, plus the occasional convention or out-of-town engagement. Yet, for the millions of people who will gaze skyward and let out a non-stop series of “oohs” and “aahs” tonight, there is only one day for fireworks--this day.

“The Fourth of July,” Marsh says with a boyish grin, “is my Christmas.”