Entry tags:
An upgrade of an old tale.
On the 25th of February, 2002, I was witness to perhaps the greatest funeral ever held. Forget the internments of kings and popes, forget Elvis, this amazing spectacle rocked my world and I was only able to view it from a distance. At the time I was horrifically under-employed as a security guard at 280 Metro Center, a shopping center with delusions of being a mall. My job was to wander around aimlessly, call the owner four times a shift to assure him that a Zulu war Impi hadn't sacked the place, and hide in the guard hovel writing meaningless reports. For nine bucks an hour.
The only good thing about the job was the fact that this sad shopping center was located in Colma. Colma, Ca, is the only city in the Western Hemisphere where the dead outnumber the living. It earned this title when San Francisco decided in 1912 to move all the cemeteries in the city, except for the one at Mission Dolores and the military graves at the Presidio Cemetary, out to make more room for living people. Colma, which up to that point was a sleepy spot on the San Francisco & San Jose railroad. Within ten years Colma was a thriving necropolis. This town is nothing but cemeteries and a couple of shopping malls. The mall I worked at backs up against Woodlawn cemetery, which is the final resting place of Emperor Norton, the true ruler of these United States.
So there I was on the bitter winter day, sitting in the car filling out my daily activity report when I hear John Philip Sousa's "Liberty Bell March" - better known by many as the theme for Monty Python's Flying Circus - coming from Woodlawn. I wander over to the fence separating us from the cemetery, and see an internment in progress . . . with a marching band in full regalia! And when the band reached the end, the assembled mourners all made the "splat" sound from the Python opening credits!
Later, while on rounds, I passed close to the fence and the band was playing the Addams Family theme. All the mourners are snapping their fingers in the appropriate places. And this was not a small crowd! I wasn't near that side of the mall when a rifle salute was fired, but the first volley made me jump! Two more volleys followed; the traditional three volleys of a military funeral.
I had a scheduled break and was trekking back to my car for a nap and I can see that the service is ending. The drum major forms his band up to exit, and they leave playing not a dirge, but the theme from Austin Powers! Boy, did they get down with it, dancing and waving instruments like a New Orleans Crewe at Mardi Gras! Utterly fascinated, I stood there and gaped like a tourist.
After the band comes a six-man honor guard, obviously old Nam buddies. They have the national colors along with the Marine Corps flag, and still know how to march. I know they were Vietnam-era Marines from what they were wearing. Then comes an Eastern Orthodox bishop accompanied by several priests and a nun. Behind them came what looked to be a Marine JROTC group bearing the flag in a 6-point carry. Then came the family and friends, and after them, the clowns.
I am not kidding. Five or six clowns. Bringing up the rear of this improbable funeral cortege as they made their way down to the parking lot of the cemetery. The band kept playing for several minutes to allow everyone, and there had to be at least seventy people not counting the band, to descend.
Impressed is not the word we are looking for here, I was awed. I was never so tempted in my life as I was at the moment. My desire to jump the fence, abandon my post, and race through the tombstones to ask someone, anyone . . . who was this guy? Did he plan his funeral? What was his life like? But I stood there transfixed as the music stopped and the sun began sinking behind the mountains.
It's possible I could have called the cemetery office, or scoured recent obituaries, or even gone exploring at Woodlawn looking for a fresh grave up on that hillside. But I decided that the glimpse I got of this man was enough. If you can judge a life by how you leave it, this guy led a life filled with fun and laughter. I mean c'mon . . . the Austin Powers theme? Brilliant!
The only good thing about the job was the fact that this sad shopping center was located in Colma. Colma, Ca, is the only city in the Western Hemisphere where the dead outnumber the living. It earned this title when San Francisco decided in 1912 to move all the cemeteries in the city, except for the one at Mission Dolores and the military graves at the Presidio Cemetary, out to make more room for living people. Colma, which up to that point was a sleepy spot on the San Francisco & San Jose railroad. Within ten years Colma was a thriving necropolis. This town is nothing but cemeteries and a couple of shopping malls. The mall I worked at backs up against Woodlawn cemetery, which is the final resting place of Emperor Norton, the true ruler of these United States.
So there I was on the bitter winter day, sitting in the car filling out my daily activity report when I hear John Philip Sousa's "Liberty Bell March" - better known by many as the theme for Monty Python's Flying Circus - coming from Woodlawn. I wander over to the fence separating us from the cemetery, and see an internment in progress . . . with a marching band in full regalia! And when the band reached the end, the assembled mourners all made the "splat" sound from the Python opening credits!
Later, while on rounds, I passed close to the fence and the band was playing the Addams Family theme. All the mourners are snapping their fingers in the appropriate places. And this was not a small crowd! I wasn't near that side of the mall when a rifle salute was fired, but the first volley made me jump! Two more volleys followed; the traditional three volleys of a military funeral.
I had a scheduled break and was trekking back to my car for a nap and I can see that the service is ending. The drum major forms his band up to exit, and they leave playing not a dirge, but the theme from Austin Powers! Boy, did they get down with it, dancing and waving instruments like a New Orleans Crewe at Mardi Gras! Utterly fascinated, I stood there and gaped like a tourist.
After the band comes a six-man honor guard, obviously old Nam buddies. They have the national colors along with the Marine Corps flag, and still know how to march. I know they were Vietnam-era Marines from what they were wearing. Then comes an Eastern Orthodox bishop accompanied by several priests and a nun. Behind them came what looked to be a Marine JROTC group bearing the flag in a 6-point carry. Then came the family and friends, and after them, the clowns.
I am not kidding. Five or six clowns. Bringing up the rear of this improbable funeral cortege as they made their way down to the parking lot of the cemetery. The band kept playing for several minutes to allow everyone, and there had to be at least seventy people not counting the band, to descend.
Impressed is not the word we are looking for here, I was awed. I was never so tempted in my life as I was at the moment. My desire to jump the fence, abandon my post, and race through the tombstones to ask someone, anyone . . . who was this guy? Did he plan his funeral? What was his life like? But I stood there transfixed as the music stopped and the sun began sinking behind the mountains.
It's possible I could have called the cemetery office, or scoured recent obituaries, or even gone exploring at Woodlawn looking for a fresh grave up on that hillside. But I decided that the glimpse I got of this man was enough. If you can judge a life by how you leave it, this guy led a life filled with fun and laughter. I mean c'mon . . . the Austin Powers theme? Brilliant!