Friday, 6:26 a.m. It's early. A day early for fireworks and a bit early for Barbara Zach to be awake.

But there she is - the executive director of the Lincoln Symphony Orchestra, wearing a red dress and tired eyes in front of a Channel 10/11 camera.

A clip is airing from last year's Uncle Sam Jam at Oak Lake Park, the symphony dressed for a picnic playing the "1812 Overture."

"That's what Lincoln residents will see tonight," the morning anchor says.

That's what everyone is hoping.

It takes planning and money and more planning and more money to put on a fancy fireworks show set to the tune of one tuba, three trombones, three trumpets, four horns, 12 wind instruments, 40 strings and a chiming, thrumming, gonging percussion section.

But the city has partnered with the symphony for four years now, and they've got it down to a science.

All except the weather.

Zach finishes. The forecast flashes on screen.

Could be loud at Oak Lake tonight.

And wet.

7:17 a.m. A Parks and Rec pickup pulls up to the island at Oak Lake. Two joggers move past, pulling a gangly black lab.

Jim Portis carries a folded American flag. He walks in the mist. The flag goes up.

Thursday, city workers, symphony contractors and pyrotechnic wizards spent the day setting up. A stage for the orchestra. Two rows of wooden boxes filled with sand and firepower.

Trash barrels were emptied and grass mowed for the thousands who come to play, eat, relax and watch.

But right now, it's Portis and the flag and the ducks.

7:23 a.m. The Zambelli Fireworks guy from Santa Fe and his local crew roll in carrying breakfast from McDonald's. All they have left to do this morning is finish the flaming Pepsi sign (big corporate sponsor) and float four rafts - loaded with fireworks - to the middle of the lake.

But it's raining.

John Stubbs has set up the Lincoln show for seven years. He likes the live music. As good as the Boston Pops, he says.

He points to the back of the truck.

"That's Larry the Cable Guy's fireworks."

Stubbs is setting up the Memorial Stadium show for Saturday night. The comedy show is the reason the Uncle Sam Jam is going a day early.

Rain won't stop his show, he says, pulling on a jacket. But too much wind might.

11:09 a.m. A U-Haul is filling up behind the Westbrook Music Building on the

UNL campus. Chairs. Music stands. Powerade. Water.

"OK. Bells," a voice inside the truck tells symphony staff members outside.

As the orchestra's production manager, IV Dickson makes sure everything gets where it needs to go.

"Xylophone."

"Bass drum."

He contracts for this gig. Meets with Zach to get things going. Talks to the city. Hires the stage and sound and lights. Takes care of the little things musicians need. Like dinner and porta-potties.

He's a music guy, too.

"I love the patriotic orchestra music. You don't hear 'Stars and Stripes' all the time."

He'll be at Oak Lake until 3 a.m., helping tear down and haul back.

Now, though, it's time for the gong.

Up the ramp. The door closes. "Was it last year I fell off the truck?" Dickson asks.

2:07 p.m. The floating fireworks are anchored in the middle of the lake.

Stubbs and his crew fill tubes with flash powder.

The fireworks are set to begin at 10 p.m. The orchestra will be playing the "1812 Overture" and, when it's time for the cannon shots in the song, percussionist Jeff Nelson will push a button instead of pounding a drum.

There will be a boom.

It's time to practice the boom.

Fire investigator Chuck Schweitzer is here. Dickson is here - he'll assist Nelson.

Stubbs gives instructions. A key to turn on an instrument panel, a button to push - 17 shots in all.

But just two for now.

"Fire in the hole!"

Boom!

Ears plug. Six men look like little boys.

"Nice smoke ring!"

Another boom. Another ring of smoke.

More happy faces.

5 p.m. The chance of rain has risen from 60 percent to 80. And now, a severe thunderstorm watch to boot.

7:17 p.m. Maestro Ed Polochick and Zach have just left Haymarket Park. The Maestro nailed the opening Saltdogs pitch in his tux.

Across the road at Oak Lake, things have changed since the flag went up 12 hours ago.

Cotton candy, Uncle Sam hats, camp chairs. Lines for nachos and pizza. Screams at the playground and lots of looking up.

Buses filled with musicians - with expensive instruments that can't get wet - are on their way.

7:46 p.m. Nelson, the principal percussionist, is here. Ready for his chance to let the firepower fly.

"It's the best fireworks show I can never see," says the man, who'll sit facing away from the show.

The dark sky lets loose. A fireworks display of another sort.

8:10 p.m. The mayor is on the phone. The Maestro is in the huddle. The police get on board.

The hordes are in their cars. B-107.3 can't broadcast - too wet. The musicians can't warm up. They eat cookies and fruit in the tent. Rain drips between the seams.

Stubbs, the pyrotechnician, sits in his Ryder truck across the lake. It doesn't look like he'll get to wear his fireproof suit tonight.

8:40 p.m. The mayor and his people arrive. They discuss. And discuss.

Finally, the Maestro and Zach emerge.

The rain has let up but the park is nearly deserted. Two guys play Nerf football in the wet grass.

We've decided to postpone, Polochick says.

"The whole point is to do it for the people."

And then the people who remained - wet musicians, soaking fans - head home.

In the distance, a boom, and lights in the sky.

Reach Cindy Lange-Kubick at 473-7218 or clangekubick@journalstar.com.