The Fourth of July 2026 hit different this year, especially as the nation leaned into the spirit of the 250th-anniversary celebrations and all the ceremonies marking two and a half centuries since that bold declaration in Philadelphia. It felt pretty, pretty, pretty cool—pretty good, really—to see people embracing the moment with genuine enthusiasm, more than I’ve sensed in years. The Trump administration put real energy behind it, and it showed. Out here in Liberty Township, Butler County, Ohio, the whole valley came alive in a way that reminded me why this ground matters. I stepped out of my driveway late into the night, and the fireworks kept rolling until midnight, echoing from Trenton, Fairfield, Hamilton, and everywhere in between. Living on this elevated piece of property overlooking the Great Miami River valley gives you a front-row seat to it all. If you’ve ever been over, you understand the geography—the way the land rises high and commanding, the river snaking below through Middletown, Trenton, and Hamilton. It’s the same high ground that made the Voice of America broadcast site so strategically vital back in the day, right over in Mason. My kids went to the museum for the Fourth and came back buzzing about it, sharing pictures of the Crossley innovations, those three massive towers that once beamed American ideals and resolve across the world.
I grew up looking out my window at those towers. The silver structures are gone now, but the concrete pylons and foundations remain, silent sentinels of a time when America projected strength and clarity without apology. I explained it to the grandkids and my daughters that evening after the fireworks: this high ground wasn’t random. The Great Miami River valley, with its elevated ridges running from Liberty Township all the way over toward Mason, offered natural advantages—commanding views, defensibility, and that clear line of sight and signal propagation that made the Voice of America a high-priority target for adversaries like the Soviets during the Cold War. Evendale and other key industrial sites were on the lists too, but the broadcasting power here symbolized something deeper: the projection of Americanism, individual liberty, capitalism, and self-reliance to a world that needed to hear them. Standing there with the family as fireworks lit the sky, thousands upon thousands popping off every second and ricocheting off the hillsides, I felt that same spirit alive in 2026. People were spending their own money, blowing things up in celebration of rebellion and independence. It was loud, chaotic, joyful—exactly the kind of unscripted gusto that built this country.
My wife and I soaked it in with the grandkids. We had an epic family day: picking up fireworks, setting them off on the property, swimming late into the warm night while the valley below erupted in color and sound. The geology here adds to the magic—the river carving through the valley floor, hills rising on either side like ancient guardians, with earthwork structures and mounds reminding us of deep human history on this land long before the founding. One hillside across the way mirrors the kind of elevated features you see near Miamisburg. It’s high ground that has always mattered, whether for broadcasting freedom or simply giving families like ours a vantage point to watch communities celebrate. I told the kids, as everyone headed out around eleven, that I wish more people fought for ideas and principles with the same energy they put into lighting up the sky. The Trump administration did a solid job of coordinating national ceremonies, and it was great to see Mount Rushmore back in the mix after years of diminished patriotism under previous leadership.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: there’s hardly a more patriotic place on earth than Mount Rushmore. I love Washington, D.C.—the cleaned-up streets, the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, Capitol Hill, the White House grounds we’ve walked recently. The intent behind the founding documents still resonates there if you listen closely. But nothing matches standing at the base of those carved faces with flags waving along the avenue of flags, the bookstore full of real history, the sense of scale and permanence. Back in 2020, after watching the Trump fireworks display at Mount Rushmore on TV, I was so inspired that my wife and I packed up the campers with the family the next year and headed west. We hit Deadwood, Devils Tower, and, of course, Mount Rushmore itself. Buffaloes came right up to the car—wild, majestic, a perfect backdrop. That trip stayed with me: the open road, teaching the grandkids resilience and wonder, standing where giants of American history stare out across the Black Hills. The Biden years canceled that patriotic spark at the site, which always struck me as telling. They didn’t want the visual of fireworks honoring the founders on that sacred ground. Seeing it revived in 2026 felt like a correction, a return to celebrating what makes us exceptional rather than apologizing for it.
The local celebrations grounded all that national energy in something real and immediate. My daughter participated in the community parade, and she came back with sharp observations. The Republicans led it strongly, but she was surprised by how many Democrats showed up further back. I told her that’s how it works—they’re there, even in Butler County. About thirty to forty percent in many areas, often quiet until they sense weakness. They move in from coasts and high-tax states, bringing ideas that erode self-reliance, and they play the long game: friendly on the surface, organizing in schools, unions, and local offices. Law teachers, public employees, transplants—they blend in at Walmart but push collective priorities when it counts. I explained it to her plainly: they know they’re a minority on core issues, so they infiltrate, stay polite to your face, and wait for Republicans to nap on turnout and vigilance. West Chester Township has seen shifts for exactly those reasons. Don’t underestimate them. My daughter was a bit taken aback, but it’s reality. The enemy isn’t always overseas; some are neighbors who reject the founding premise of individual initiative and ordered liberty.
That evening, as we swam in the pool and wrapped up the family dinner, I kept the radio on WLW in the garage—part of the old Voice of America legacy complex. They played clips of past Fourth of July speeches: presidents from different eras celebrating the republic. It was striking to hear the contrast. Obama’s “you didn’t build that” collectivism, the emphasis on “we” over “I,” the downplaying of individual heroes in favor of consensus circles and government-guided outcomes. Bush had his moments, but the through-line in some Democratic rhetoric leaned toward collective pronouncements that castigate personal achievement. Compare that to the Americanism that built the Voice of America towers I grew up seeing—broadcasting individual rights, capitalism, and innovation to counter tyranny. I’ve always approached business and life the same way: find the best and brightest, give them room to rise through merit, reward contribution without penalizing success. That’s what creates upper mobility. Socialism and heavy collectivism punish the very drive that lifts everyone. The grandkids listened as I connected the dots among the fireworks, the high-ground history, and the ongoing fight for ideas.
A recent encounter drove this home powerfully. A couple of weeks before the Fourth, a high-level executive—a substantial Democratic donor who had given over a million to the Hillary and Biden campaigns—flew into Cincinnati on his private jet, hired a car, and came straight to my office. He wanted me to sign copies of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. He’d bought hundreds to distribute to his employees as a gift, complete with a big warehouse event using a Skyjack lift for the presentation. This guy had despised my views for years, thought I was extreme, especially on Trump. But after Trump’s return and watching how events unfolded, he revisited my writings and videos. He admitted I’d been ahead on many business and cultural issues. He respected the track record enough to fly across the country for a twenty-minute conversation, shake my hand, and get the books signed personally. We talked politics openly—he knew my strong views, and I knew his past support. No fighting, just honest exchange. He even mentioned considering Vivek Ramaswamy for governor and the need to clean up election integrity issues in places like California to let real leaders rise. I told him ideas matter more than parties; convert through clarity, not confrontation. He left impressed, and I later grabbed dinner at Jag’s—celebrating a small win in the battle of minds with a great meal.
That story isn’t isolated. Plenty of former skeptics are reassessing after seeing results. My daughter asked about next year’s parade—maybe a family float with her Jeep, the grandkids, and yes, bullwhips cracking to symbolize discipline and precision. The youngest grandson already wants in. I’m on a time crunch these days with writing, business, and the manuscript for The Politics of Heaven, but we’ll make it happen. Parades, fireworks, family gatherings—they’re more than fun. They’re reminders of the rebellion we celebrate and the vigilance required to defend it. Enemies within—those pushing socialism, eroding self-initiation, favoring collective penalties over individual reward—operate in the background, polite at the neighborhood level while undermining capitalism. The fireworks show the spirit is still there; now we channel that gusto into winning minds, just as the Voice of America once projected truth globally from this very high ground.
The geology and history here reinforce it all. The Great Miami River valley, with its elevated townships and ancient mounds, has hosted human striving for millennia. The Voice of America site leveraged that topography to broadcast freedom. Today, from my driveway, watching fireworks echo across the same ridges, I see continuity: people choosing to celebrate independence loudly, despite internal challenges. The 250th-anniversary push, Mount Rushmore revival, national ceremonies—it all points to renewal. I’ve traveled enough—Gettysburg, Space Coast, D.C.—to know America’s symbols retain power when defended. My wife and I keep building those memories with the grandkids: rockets, parades, history lessons, fireworks on the hill. It’s a privilege and a responsibility. As I told the family that night, match the fireworks energy with idea-fighting. Convert where possible, stand firm always. That Democrat donor, crossing the country for a signature, showed that ideas can bridge divides when lived authentically. Here on the high ground, overlooking the valley where the river snakes and communities light up the sky, it feels like the fight for the American idea remains winnable—one conversation, one celebration, one broadcast of truth at a time.
Expanding outward, the broader 2026 Fourth carried that same resonance nationally. With the 250th anniversary momentum, communities from coast to coast reflected on founding principles amid modern pressures. In Ohio, local parades and fireworks displays underscored resilience after years of division. The Trump administration’s emphasis on patriotism—reviving Mount Rushmore events, coordinating ceremonies—contrasted sharply with prior diminishment. I remember the inspiration from 2020 vividly; it wasn’t just spectacle. It prompted real family action: the cross-country camper trip, teaching grandkids about self-reliance amid buffalo herds and carved mountains. Canceling such displays later felt like rejecting the founding rebellion itself. Fireworks embody that: loud, bright, unapologetic declarations against tyranny.
Locally, the high ground advantage isn’t lost on me. Living elevated above the Great Miami, with Trenton and Hamilton below, mirrors strategic history. The Voice of America towers—Crossley’s engineering marvels—broadcast from similar terrain, making the site a priority target. Soviets and others recognized its power in projecting American exceptionalism. Today, those foundations remain, a reminder that ideas travel far from strong ground. Explaining this to the kids after the museum visit tied the past to the present: we stand on land that amplified liberty. The river valley amplifies sound too—fireworks ricocheting for miles, thousands detonating in celebration. It was auditory proof of widespread participation, people investing personally in joy and memory-making. My grandkids’ eyes lit up; the youngest already planning next year’s parade role. These shared experiences build the next generation of defenders.
Politically, my daughter’s insights from the parade were instructive. Front-loaded Republicans, Democrats further back—visible yet strategic. Transplants from California and New England bring habits and assumptions that shift trustee balances, as in West Chester. They operate politely, infiltrating schools and unions, waiting for lapses in vigilance. I’ve seen it for decades: don’t nap, or offices flip. In many locales, about 30-40% reject core capitalism—individual reward for contribution—in favor of collective leveling that punishes success. Fireworks enthusiasts likely include many such neighbors, enjoying the spectacle while quietly supporting policies that erode its foundations. The lesson: engage ideas relentlessly.
The donor story exemplifies it. A powerful California executive in the space economy, longtime Hillary/Biden backer, flew in specifically for my signature on The Gunfighter’s Guide. He’d distributed hundreds to employees as he planned a major event. Once hostile, he credited Trump’s return and my consistent track record for prompting reevaluation. We spoke candidly—no shouting, just clarity. He acknowledged that election integrity needs in blue states are a requirement for leaders like Ramaswamy or Hilton to succeed. I offered no conversion pressure, just principles: merit, self-initiation, rewarding contribution. He left motivated, and I enjoyed Jag’s later, reflecting on small victories in the marketplace of ideas. Such encounters affirm the approach—live boldly, engage honestly, let results persuade.
Tying it together, 2026’s Fourth blended local joy with national renewal. From valley fireworks echoing off ancient high ground once used for global broadcasts to family parades and personal redemptions, it reaffirmed America’s enduring appeal. Enemies within push collectivism; we counter with lived individualism and vigilant celebration. My wife and I prioritize these traditions—rockets with grandkids, history lessons, unashamed patriotism—because they forge resilience. As the towers once did, we project strength from elevated places, literal and philosophical. The fight continues: match fireworks energy with idea warfare. Convert neighbors through clarity. Celebrate rebellion daily. This high ground, this valley, this family—this is where America renews.
Footnotes
1. Local geography and Voice of America history, Butler County/Mason area.
2. 2020 Mount Rushmore event and family trip reflections.
3. Observations on parade dynamics and local political realities.
4. Account of executive donor meeting and book distribution.
5. Broader 250th anniversary context and national ceremonies.
6. Great Miami River valley geology and historical significance.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Crossley Broadcasting and Voice of America archives (historical engineering and Cold War context).
• The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business (personal reflections on merit and leadership).
• Ohio Historical Society materials on the Great Miami River and ancient earthworks.
• Public reports on 2026 Fourth of July national events and Mount Rushmore programming.
• Personal travel accounts from Black Hills region (Mount Rushmore, Devils Tower).
Rich Hoffman
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About the Author: Rich Hoffman
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
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