Folks,

It is a toasty 19 C./66F here at 9:30 AM Thursday, May 1. I look back on 60 odd May firsts and they all seem to have been much hotter than today. We used to hold very warm May Day pageants in our schools, but that was before the cold war froze them out. I can remember one in particular. It was in two parts and all the parents and local dignitaries were invited to both. Part one was inside in the auditorium. Each student including me had to walk onto the stage at our appointed time and make a little speech, then bow and leave the stage, that's it. Piece of cake.

Part two spilled out onto the very large playing field where a portable grandstand with huge speakers was set up. Here, the dignitaries would be seated and all the major speeches would be made by the mayor and 'bored' of education members. I was much impressed. Don't read too much into that though. My classmates and I had been greatly impressed by that big boil a 4th grader had on his ass.

There were fewer students participating in the outdoor portion of the festivities. Only one student was chosen from every class. I guess I was not paying much attention on the day that I was given the honor for, somehow, against my wishes, I was tapped to represent my own class.

We specially chosen kids had to troop out onto the field and stand to attention out in the broiling sun in our pre-assigned locations holding a national flag of one country or another and do a silly little dance when our country name was called out. Then we had to do some intricate marching about and flag waving in a circle before marching back into the school as the loudspeakers bleared out a scratchy "Simper Fidelis". Great fun on a hot day. Had it not been for the high honor, I'd rather have been buried in an ant hill with honey poured over my head. Such comes from not paying attention in class.

No, I had not been paying much attention on the eventful day that I was chosen to represent my class in the event. Had I been paying attention I would surely have done something, anything to get un-chosen. When the astonishing announcement came, everyone around me gave me that look that the zebra herd probably gives their slowest member during a lion attack. I swallowed hard several times and accepted my fate. You can rationalize and accept most anything no matter how fraught with danger when you are young and you have no real experience with personal tragedy.

Most kids had store-bought or professionally made-to-order costumes. Grandmother sewed my costume and when I wore it for the first time and looked at myself in the big mirror, my mouth dropped to my ankles. What it lacked in fashion it more than made up for in color. The silk button up shirt with wide collar and handy pocket was a bright yellow and the short pants were a shiny grass green. I looked like a lemon with a pink face and I kinda hated it. However, on the day of the dress rehearsal I was most relieved to discover that I could wear my homemade costume and I did not actually have to wear a dress... as one of the big sixth graders had recently assured us.

My dear grandmother (who reared me) could sew anything, cook anything and grow anything. She was a marvel and I will regret to my dying day that I did not do more to help her when I was a kid.

Anyhow, back to the great May Day festivities of 1954. As I said, I was volunteered to represent my class in the outside portion. There were many classes in our grammar school from first to sixth grade. Almost every student had some part to play during the inside, auditorium portion of the event. On the day of the event we found ourselves lined up in the hall outside the auditorium. Stern teachers patrolled the long line of fidgety students keeping order. Soon the music began and the line began to snake perceptively toward the dark entrance to the stage area.

One student after another disappeared with a stricken look on their face into that yawning gloom. After a few moments that same student came right back out the same door with a huge smile of relief on his or her face. For some idiotic reason we were not put in line according to order of appearance. No, indeed, and that along with a short attention span was my ultimate undoing.

We had to listen for our cue in order to know when it was our turn to walk out onto the stage and say our piece. I do not remember what my cue was and most unfortunate of all, I did not remember it then. Hell, I must have walked out on that damn stage 4 times before I got it right. Yes, I was egged on by several mischievous pals to go on when they knew it was not my turn. They were a sadistic bunch.

Finally, none other than the principal himself grabbed me by my yellow collar and shook the hell out of me before slipping me my cue and making sure that I finally got it right. My brains were still rattling about inside my noggin from all the shaking when I passed once more through that dark, yawning maw.

It was not easy my friends walking out onto that stage at my tender age to the incredulous snickers and laughter that greeted my fifth and mercifully final arrival. I did my bit and then I fled. I do not remember any tears only great relief that the ordeal was finally over. I was met by my treacherous pals with much glee and many pats on the back. Soon, all the humiliation was forgotten. On to the playground and the more important stuff. All of the chosen were given a flag of a different country to hold on the playground and, with a stern look directly at me, the principal lined the several of us up and pointed us outside. My flag was that of Switzerland. I have never been to Switzerland, however on that particular day, and I suspect, entirely unbeknown to them, I proudly waved their flag and represented the more deserving Swiss the best that I could.

The second portion of the event, the one that was held outside, went on without a hitch. It had been choreographed so well that even I could not screw that one up. All went well indeed throughout the speeches and most of the flag waving. Then a bee flew up the skirt of one of the young ladies and she ran off the field screaming leaving two boys flat on their backs where she had run right over them in her haste to get rid of the bee. They just continued to lay there, still waving their flags in time with the music.

The rest of us were also down by now but it was laughter that laid us low. The music stopped with an audible scratch and a bellow from the grandstand got us all back into the spirit of the May Day celebration in a hurry. Soon, we found ourselves trooping off the field right past the young lady who had been attacked by the bee. She was still upset. Her mother was attempting to get the bee out of her layers and layers of bright green crinoline. We all gave her a big thumbs up and a wink as we marched by. She did not seem to notice.

Lucky for me, in days to come after that memorable May Day celebration, most of the inevitable ribald comments were made about the incident with the bee and not my series of unfortunate processions to and from the stage. My brain eventually unscrambled itself from the terrible shaking that I had received (more or less) and, to my secret but profound relief, there were no further May Day events to come in my future.

How about you Dux? Is there any May Day excitement that you wish to share?