Neanderpundit

No, I’m not talking about the fear that someone you know is in danger, or the fear that you might have trouble making the bills, I’m talking about roller coaster fear- that instantaneous and particularly intense fear that you are going to die, the fear you experience when the evidence of your senses tells you that you have an urgent appointment elsewhere and your body attempts to dematerialize to make that appointment.

I stay away from rollercoasters, and no longer drive like an idiot, so I don’t have much opportunity to experience this fear, but I have felt it, nonetheless.

I used to go spend time at a friend’s hunting camp, up in the UP, eh? I drove up one weekend and started a fire in the egg-stove, checked that the draught was good, and hit the hay.

My friend had had some people break into the cabin, as well as raccoons, and one animal that did sufficient damage that it could only have been a bear. SO i made sure everything was secure before I bedded down.

Middle of the night, I get up to drain my lizard, and walked to the pipe in the wall used for that purpose. I pulled off the cap, stood and peed, stood a minute longer out of sheer inertia, and staggered back to the rack.

Unbeknownst to me, Cal, one of the guys who also used the camp, had hiked in an hour or two before, let himself in, and upon hearing me pee decided he needed to piss too.

Cal is a tall man- my face comes to the middle of his chest, and possibly the hairiest human being I know. In total darkness, in the middle of the night, naked to the waist, I bump into Cal’s hairy chest, and for a moment am trapped int he certain knowledge that a large hairy creature has invaded the cabin, and is moments away from making a meal of me, and my heart beat three years off the end of my life, and (according to cal) I screamed like a girl.

Now, I would be embarrased by this. I should be embarrassed by it. In fact, I am embarrased by it.

But not nearly as much as Cal. I’m not going to describe the loosening of cal’s bowels, nor the fire we had to build outside to burn his soiled long underwear, because he said he’d tie my legs in an overhand knot if I ever did.

Fear can be a powerful thing. I’m just glad I’d peed first.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I took a job walking the eight inch highway. For the uninitiated, it means ironwork. You spent your life walking six or eight inch wide steel beams, and you learned to be well balanced and alert. I have a lot of ironwork stories, but those are for another time.

On this particular day, I’d spent several hours tossing or catching rivets. Riveted ironwork went out in the thirties, for the most part, but there were still places where it made the most sense, and we used it on this job. Anyway, you had a pair of tongs and an acetylene flame, you heated the straight end of the rivet until it was red hot and tossed it to a catcher, maybe two or three floors up. The catcher had a sort of a wire-mesh pail, in which he’d catch the hot rivet, put it in the hole, and the guy with the air hammer would head it down, and as the rivet cooled it would draw those pieces of steel together tighter than a mallard’s ass.

At any rate, it was tedious work, my arms were sore, and I was beat by noon. Instead of taking my lunch, I sat down in a port-a pottie to crap, and promptly fell asleep.

To be awakened an hour or more later by someone beating on the door “you gonna be in there all day?” I jumped up, my arms like lead, pulled up my jeans, and opened the door- only to pitch facefirst, legs and feet sound asleep- into the mud and gravel of a construction site. While the whole crew watched, laughed, catcalled, and applauded.

I worked another couple of months, but to those guys, I was always “Sleeping beauty”.

I’m going to ask for as much help as anyone can give me on this, because this idea, I think is bigger than me.

I think in every community a list could be made and given to local funeral homes, of men (and women, if they desire) to do this thing. Churches would be a good place to start. Each community would have one person capable of making arrangements, and that person would call to find out who is available when. Lots of people might only be available weekends. Some might be retired and only too willing to help during the week.

No, I don’t have a catchy name. I was looking to see if Egyptians had any special name for palbearers, since they are most famous for funerals, but I could find no such information. I welcome sugestions.

I like to think of this being groups of six men who go to a funeral home to meet and practice, say, once a month. And drill, so they walk in union, left and right feet hitting the ground at the same time. Subtle and accurate enough that people say,”Wasn’t it nice that uncle Ted was carried by such nice and professional men?” I think someone with that training, a marine or an infantryman, should belong to each group to help with the training. Participants could be drawn from church groups, military units, fire/police departments. I think everyone needs to have a black suit that fits. Matching black ties. Spitshined shoes. Don’t need to be expensive, just dignified.

Comments/suggestions please, by all means.