ustxtxb_obs_2001_04_27_50_00023-00000_000.pdf

Having just learned the word “caisson,” and aware that such an occasion required music, we worked up a reverent version of “Over here, Over there, and the casinos go rolling along:’ with the promise that we would play quietly so as not to exhibit any disrespect that the neighbors would notice. Turning momentarily from the TV, she made sure we had put scarves on so that we wouldn’t get sore throats. I don’t mean scarves as in mufflers, I mean cotton kerchiefs tied under our chins. As we do in so many photos, we looked like poor immigrant children on the steerage decks straining after our first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. My sister Anne was seven, I was six, and Susie was five. We didn’t have Dorathy with us because she was three, afraid of everything, and a pain in the ass. We understood that roller-skating was too noisy, hopscotch or jump rope too festive, and there was no one else around to play with, so eventually we decided to play funeral. We hauled out all our tricycles and Anne’s big twowheeler and attached miniature American flags to the handlebars with pipe-cleaners. Then we got out our wagon, having unsuccessfully auditioned the more serious-looking wheelbarrow for the role, and tied it to the back of the bike. Because my parents weren’t paying attention, we were able to rummage around where we weren’t supposed to be and find the big American flag that Dad put up on holidays, and draped it over the bed of the empty wagon. We tied another tricycle to the back. In front of the house we assembled our procession: two tricycles with riders; the bicycle would pull the flag draped wagon and the riderless tricycle. It was easy to maintain the proper slow pace going up the hill on Jefferson Street, but it took great skill on the way back down, and we admonished each other in whispers about going too fast. Having just learned the word “caisson,” and aware that such an occasion required music, we worked up a reverent and repetitive version of “Over here, Over there, and the casinos go rolling along.”We were so good that we needed to watch ourselves, so after a few passes, we removed one of the escort tricycles from the formation and took turns standing on the edge of the sidewalk playing the part of the mourner. It was best to pick a spot far enough from the corner so that you could experience the full glory of the approaching procession, letting your head turn slowly to watch it move past and recede toward the opposite corner. When you were the grieving citizen, you untied the knot under your chin and stood there bare-headed. Elisabeth H. Piedmont-Marton was living in Roanoke, Virginia in November 1993. She teaches in the English Department at Southwestern University. Sally Hardy 3/30/01 THE TEXAS OBSERVER 23