Except for the "Live free or die" state of New Hampshire, fireworks stores have been a rare commodity in the northeast, so when a defunct gas station was converted into a black powder emporium in southeastern Connecticut on the Rhode Island state line, we had to stop and check it out. Unfortunately, it was a few weeks after the fourth of July and the place had already gone, er, bust, but they still had their sign up and a truck parked out front with their spectacularly tasteless name emblazoned on them. Was this place really called "Three-Finger" Eddie's? Really? Yes, yes it was. This reminded me of the fact that a name alluding to accidents or mental illness seems to be a requirement of most retail explosives outlets. An internet search won't turn up any Harvard Educated Mike's or Better Safe Than Sorry Betty's, but you will find Krazy Kaplan's, Crazy Carl, Crazy Herb's, Dizzy Dean, Wild Bill's, Wild Wilma's, Fireworks Frenzy, Pyromaniac Fireworks, and Angelo's Fireworks and Sno-Cones. For sheer tacky fire-power, though, "Three-Finger" Eddie's still has them beat by a sky-high mile. When a customer pays good cash money for retail pyrotechnics, he wants to know he'll potentially lose a digit or two.
