RUDIMENTS . pt. 1,080
(face it, dodo, you'll never get this done)
It's a sorrowful world; yes,
on the whole that's true.
There were no more
sorrowful funerals than
the ones I used to see in
Chinatown. In the area of
the old Mulberry Bend, one
of the more feared, notorius,
and old sections of the old
Itlian quarters from the
era of 1900, a number of
old Italian funeral parlors
stood. Facing nothing now,
except Chinese Columbus
Park. The reason I say that
is because - like the rest of
Chinatown - it once was Italian.
An enclave of immigrants way
before the Chinese got it or
took it over as Chinatown.
So, 'Columbus Park,' honoring
Christopher Columbus, was
switched over from Italian
to Chinese over the years
in all but name. You won't
find an Italian there, hard as
you may try. The string of
funeral parlors, in like fashion,
were turned over to Chinese
funerals. And the buildings
themselves, still may have
the old Italian funeral names
carved in the granite, but
with Chinese banners or new,
modern signage, draped over.
Chinese funerals are quite
Mournful, and I seen a number.
They usually have the hearse
and a flower car, yes, but in
the confined streets of the city,
at perhaps one mile and hour,
this strange, 2-car procession
sets out, usually towards Canal
Street,and that walking pace is
then accompanied by horns,
small Chinese drums, and
other instruments, all being
played by, to my eyes, oddly
uniformed men. As if, perhaps,
and I don't know, they are a
hired specialty for these mournful
parades. The mothers, wives,
daughters, sons, husbands,
fathers, etc., also walk along,
apace with the cars, and they
demonstrate their sorrow. It was
always as if the odd claustrophobia
of the tightly-congested Chinatown
streets and lanes needed an outlet
for the small grief, as if in a very
crowded yet large house where the
only open space to mourn was in
walking the hallways. As I think
of this now, I realize the only open
space luxury luxury these people
ever got, in a way, was the wider
expansiveness of graveyards.
-
The surprising visuals of these
procession were stunning. The
extra respect the Chinese seemed
to hold for their elders and their
traditions was overwhelming, and
to see and hear the dirge-like
processions of death wend their
ways through those tiny streets was
,m-boggling; at least to my mind.
They gave new meaning to most
everything connected to death nd
family, tradition, mourning,
wealth, station, and poverty too.
-
It's certainly a weird world, and
a place to live in, when condition
are so that graves and cemeteries
can represent spaciousness and
room. Places like NYC, New
Orleans, Paris and others, have
what they begin calling 'Cities
of the Dead,' as their teeming
hordes eventually all wind-up
in teeming, historic graveyards.
New York City already has
Greenwood and Woodlawn.
And Calvary, known as the'City
of the Dead,' With multiples of
the deceased by the thousands
piled in (one of my lost-grandfathers
is stuffed in there, third man in a
mysterious three-person grave,
and with his 'Italitanate' name
version slightly different from
what was actually used). The
Brooklyn-Queens Expressway
support pylons, as it brashly runs
high overhead, crowd his grave).
One January, on two cold, icy days,
some years back, in a quest to find
this grave, I rented, in his 'honor,'
a new FIAT car (Italian runabout)
and spen hours rambling around
in there to find him. All I had to
go by were the descriptions by an
old aunt, who had been a small
child at that funeral. One of my
cooler excursions, indeed.
-
Of course, yes, it little mattered
and probably too had an element
of foolishness, but what else then
is this crummy life about? Why
try to re-jigger a badly cut puzzle:
a jigsaw puzzle at that, with enough
missing pieces as to make you pass
out sick. Face it, dodo, you'll never
solve this puzzle, nor ever get it done.
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