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DEAD MAN'S BOOTS - "Thus the old world perished in November and a year later a new era commenced in the same month. Both of these facts are indelibly enshrined in the memory of the human race. To many people around the world November brings the Day of the Dead. In a number of ancient and primitive calendars November also brings a New Year at a time which has neither solstice nor equinox nor astronomical event to justify it." (Frederick A. Filby, B.Sc., M.Sc., Ph.D. (University College, London): The Flood Reconsidered, Zondervan, 1977, Fifth Printing, p.106)
Many civilizations developed occasions to commemorate the passing of the days full of life and the rebirth that comes in the New Year and, obstensibly, a new life.
Egypt: the seventeenth day of the month Athyr, when 'nights were growing long and the days decreasing.' [Note that Athyr is a variant of Hathor the goddess who was guardian of the tombs of the dead.]
Assyria and Babylon: Ceremonies for the souls of the dead were in the month Arahsamna, which is Marcheswan or the month of Heshvan on the Jewish calendar, which is mid-October to mid-November. In Arahsamna the Sun God became Lord of the Land of the Dead [S. Langdon: Babylonian Menologies and Semitic Calendars, London 1934 p.36]. The month was held sacred to the-rain-and-thunder-god, while in Babylon, Marduk was called, in connection with this month, 'Lord of the Deep' and also 'Lord of Abundance who causes plenty of rain to fall'.
India: The Hindu ''Durga puja' - festival of the dead - was originally connected with their New Year which commenced in November.
Iran: The Persians commenced their New Year in November in a month which was named Mordad - the month of the angel of death.
Aboriginal Australians paint white stripes on their legs and arms to resemble skeletons at this time of year.
French Polynesia: the inhabitants pray for the spirits of departed ancestors at the end of their New Year celebration in November.
Peru: the Inca New Year commenced in November and the festival called Ayamarka - carrying of a corpse.
Mexico: the Aztecs kept Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead , now celebrated November 1 & 2.
Christian Europe: November 2 is All Souls' Day - the Day of the Dead.
No matter what you call it, many folks get very weirded out about the emphasis on death and dying. Folks at this site, which is a heavy Christian fundamentalist offering, are downright scared (and scary) on the subject of Halloween.
Me, I have always enjoyed the ghost stories and other tales of "things that go bump in the night" that are pulled out at this time of year. Yes, the short days with their brooding clouds, cold winds and the death of the plant life from the change of the seasons is eerie.......but then again.....many things are.....like an old pair of Dead Man's Boots.
There they sat, next to a heavy wool trench-coat: "Old Man Peterson's" combat boots. Those boots had carried the little Swede through combat and back - WWII. But now that he had passed away, his widow had started setting his things out to the curb, a little bit at a time. Seeing as how Old Man Peterson had been one of my favorite customers on my newspaper route, I thought it would be kinda respectful to put his old boots back into service. And they fit me!
They were good boots, carrying me safely through thousands of miles of hitch-hiking up, down and across the United States, through a few jobs. They also developed a possibly minor connection to a few dead bodies along the way. To a teenage boy in a working class neighborhood like mine, they looked like a gift from heaven, but there always seemed to be something brooding about the boots when they were sitting empty; sometimes, it seemed they placed a dark shadow over those who requested to wear those... Dead Man's Boots.
Tubs
He was huge, a blob of a pimple-faced teenage boy. His mom was divorced and worked a late afternoon shift. It was a house free of adult supervision. We'd party in his bedroom, smoking grass, drinking wine that we'd convinced one of the shop-rats (assembly line workers) to buy for us up at the neighborhood party store.He was feeling down that evening, people had been hassling him about his size, he was in trouble with his mom, and the school was going to kick him out for truancy.
I was wearing "the boots." Since most of my friends thought it was kinda creepy, they were my favorites. He, Tubs, started talking about suicide. Back then, nobody told 14 year old kids to alert some adults when your friends started talking that way - you just tried to talk to them, "Naw man, don't talk that way, this shit'll pass".
He was adamant. "I'm gonna kill myself tonight, why don't you let me have them dead bastard's boots to die in?"
Tubs could get awfully dark like that.
Eventually, I had to go, it was late and the cold October sky looked like a mass of black wool ... storm clouds. "Just go to bed man, I'll see you at school tomorrow."
As I started out for home, it started to rain. A bottle of sleeping pills and the rest of the wine later, Tubs went to sleep, for his last time. The rain was frigid - I ran for the warmth and safety of home, splash, splash, splash; the boots felt secure against the wet pavement.....
Gary
December 1976. I decided to hitchhike to Florida, to visit a girlfriend who had moved away. I thought the holiday travelers would be benevolent and pick me up. I wore "the boots" for good luck."Gary" picked me up outside Nashville, Tennesee, where I was standing on the side of Interstate 75, holding a crude sign scrawled on a board I had pulled off the back of a TV set that was abandoned on the side of the highway. "Tampa" was all I could scribble with the remaining ink of the marker I had brought for just this purpose.
"Gary" was on "the run", having left a 14 year old girl pregnant (he was about 30) back in Ohio. He was a wild guy, with filthy, sloppy car, but he was willing to drive me into Florida if I could pitch in on the gas.
No problem, my last ride had slipped me a twenty spot as they dropped me off. The kindness of strangers.
"Gary" noticed my boots. "Wow, some old-timers you got there! Ya get'm at one of them army surplus stores?"
So I told him about the boots.
"Creepy, dude. I'd give ya twenty bucks and some tennis shoes for em."
"Naw man, these are my lucky boots.."
We drove on until late in the night, Southern Georgia, and then located a secluded road in a swampy area where we thought we could sleep in the car undisturbed; after polishing off the bottle of cheap whiskey
"Gary" had the forsight of picking the bottle up before we hit a "dry" (alcohol sales prohibited) county.
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I walked to the nearest house. The lady wouldn't even open the door to talk to me. However, she did call the Sheriff.
I explained to the deputy as he squinted at me, that I didn't know "Gary", showed him my identification.
Yeah, taken to town in the back of a squad car (and wishing my hair was a little shorter.)
After about 6 hours of my sitting in a holding area the deputy came back. "Come on kid, the coroner says that guy had an aneurysm, so I'm supposed to drive you out to the State line."
As I got out of the car with my backpack, the deputy "suggested" I get me a haircut before I visit Georgia again. It was getting dark, and as I crossed over into Florida,the "Sunshine State", it started to rain.....
Jeff
I met Jeff around the time that Tubs died. He was a wiry, fire-haired Irishman about 8 years older than me. I was taken to his apartment by two older friends of mine to buy some pot.Jeff was a heroin addict, as was his (then) wife. I was intrigued by their bohemian lifestyle but scared by their friends and their "drug of choice."
Jeff liked "the boots." " Those are too cool man, them fuckers are ancient - what'd want for them?"
"Naw man, I like these boots, they ain't for sale."
He bothered me a few more times about the boots; eventually I quit making "business" visits and lost track of him. Almost. I'd see him or one of our old cronies every so often. Jeff was steadily going downhill: fights, prison, alcoholism, and back on the needle. At one point he beat a girlfriend to a pulp while in a drunken rage, leaving her blind and deaf on one side, and kind of "retarded". He did a few years for that.
When he came out of prison, he began his final decline, dying of a heroin overdose last week.
I went to the memorial service. It was brief, there's not much a minister can say, under the circumstances, other than "We say goodbye to a lost soul...".
As an elderly lady with a thin, reedy voice sang "Amazing Grace," I couldn't help but think: Pearly Gates? More likely the gates of Hell opened wide for that old boy - "Come in Jeffrey, we've been waiting."
I don't think it would scare that ole boy. He lived a hell on earth.
As I left the church the wind was blowing and a bright red, but dead, leaf stuck to the side of my wing-tips; the sun even broke through the clouds.....
Yeah, not exactly a ghostly mystery, but it was damn crazy how people who had shown interest in them boots passed on.
Admittedly, "Jeff's" demise was a bit delayed(extended torture, only the good die young?). My ex-wife set the boots out for the trash while I was at work one day; she said a teenage boy had stopped and put them on......
This week's Poll: After the USA Presidential election, I'm...?
RDR RECOMMENDED SITE OF THE DAY: The folks over at Mother Jones magazine think we need to have election observers in the United States. Go here to read why.
