Fireworks show wows fans

For a quarter-century now, this city's residents have poured into Rosenblatt Stadium, plopped a lawn chair in a nearby yard and swarmed the streets of south Omaha in search of the perfect spot to view the World-Herald fireworks show.

They haven't found it.

Only a chosen few, the family of friends of Jim Krance, can obtain this primo pyrotechnic real estate. Only these people -- around two dozen per year, almost every year since the World-Herald fireworks began in 1985 -- get to watch the fireworks from the roof of what they all call the Fourth of July building.

For the past 22 years, they have arrived in pairs and fours at the two-story brick building Krance owns at 16th and B Streets.

They park their cars in Krance's gravel lot and ascend an old ladder, balancing a six-pack or a package of hot dog buns as they go.

They grill. They watch the neighborhood children twirl sparklers. They wait for nightfall. And just like they did again on Friday night, they count the minutes until yet another World-Herald fireworks show begins.

The company is good. The beer is cold. And the view is second-to-none: trees to the right and left frame Rosenblatt Stadium, allowing guests to stand on the corner of Krance's roof, high above the other spectators, and watch the explosions from a view fit for a king.

“I didn't buy the building just for this,” says Krance as he stands on the roof and shows off the view a few hours before showtime. “But it definitely entered the back of my mind.”

Krance, the head preservation administrator for the city's planning department, bought what were two buildings, merged them in 1987, and worked for years to renovate the century-old, previously abandoned property.

He has salvaged some of the original woodwork, knocked out walls, and turned what was once a corner grocery store into a gorgeous three-bedroom apartment.

He has also exploited the building's roof to full advantage: In 1988, he hosted his first fireworks party.

Seventy-five people showed. It was 103 degrees. The tar roof sizzled to the touch. The group ran through six cases of beer and ran out before the fireworks even began.

“That was a little much,” Krance said. “I scaled back after that.”

Friday, the crowd is way down because of the imminent threat of thunderstorms.

He and Lyn Tiller stand on the roof as the sun begins to set, wondering whether or not the storm will hold off.

About 8:15 p.m., the neighborhood starts to come alive. Teenagers fire Roman candles into the air. The ice cream truck drives by, dinging its bell.

Krance decides it's high time to fire off some from his own stash: He lights a Dragon Artillery Shell. The boom turns heads for a block. Then he lights a Saturn Missile Blaster, which fires 100 whining shots all over the neighborhood.

“Now its starting to feel like the Fourth of July!” he yells.

Since 1985, it hasn't been the Fourth of July weekend in Omaha without the Rosenblatt fireworks show. Friday's show marked the 25th anniversary of what's become a city tradition.

It was another anniversary, The World-Herald's 100th year as a newspaper, which inspired the paper's leaders to first sponsor the show in 1985.

The first annual World-Herald fireworks show drew an estimated 50,000 spectators and caused the first annual fireworks traffic jam -- the newspaper story the next day duly reported that cars were backed up for nearly two hours following the pyrotechnics.

A different adversary, rain, arrived as an uninvited party guest in 1986. The show was postponed and then marred when the final fireworks barrage, dampened by the rain, failed to fire into the night sky.

And so it's gone.

The crowds have grown ever larger, up to an estimated 150,000 in recent years, though no one is exactly sure how those estimates are estimated.

The tunes haven't changed much: Neil Diamond's “America,” Lee Greenwood's “God Bless the U.S.A.” and a little Springsteen thrown in for good measure.

Fireworks by Grucci choreographers have attempted to outdo themselves each year, shooting fireworks that look like Disney characters, peace signs and palm trees into the south Omaha sky.

World-Herald reporters past and present have attempted to outdo one another describing the pyrotechnics. At various points, the fireworks reportedly have glittered like a sequined dress under spotlights, burst open like exotic flowers and hung in the air like a golden lattice curtain of fire.

The audience has used simpler words: Oooh. Aaaah. Wow!

Interviewed by reporters, they have repeatedly declared that they've never seen anything better.

“I challenge you to find a city the size of Omaha that has a better fireworks show,” said Jared Olson, then 29, in 1993.

But few Omahans have seen the fireworks show like Krance's friends and family.

The group of nine retires to the living room when it begins to drizzle a little before 9 p.m. They are watching the movie “Gettysburg” on television when the rain comes down sideways in sheets.

From the safety of the indoors, the group watches the front-yard sitters and sidewalk squatters sprint for cover. Soon cars are honking at each other on their way out of south Omaha. The neighborhood is deserted. It looks like there's no chance of fireworks tonight.

Then, at just before 10:30 p.m., they begin to explode. The group hurries to the roof. From the perfect perch they watch the exploding red, the sparking gold that does, in fact, look like a sequined dress, and the bursting purple flowers.

They watch 5,000 fireworks set to '80s tunes like Springsteen's “Glory Days,” Madonna's “Material Girl” and a medley from the recently departed King of Pop.

They all agree: The best ones are the boomers, the one that set off car alarms up and down 16th Street.

“It sounds like the Civil War!” Krance yells after one of these.

And then, too soon, the 24-minute show is over, and the fireworks aficionados at 16th and B will have to wait another calendar year.

Krance isn't positive this is actually the best spot in the city -- he mentions a choice perch on Bob Gibson Boulevard, a bit closer to the stadium.

But Lyn Tiller is having none of it.

“You have the greatest view in Omaha,” she says.

Contact the writer:

444-1064, matthew.hansen@owh.com