Marching with the dead

Photo by Faith Cathcart

A costumed procession gives Day of the Dead a Portland twist
http://www.oregonlive.com/living/index.ssf/2009/11/a_costumed_procession_gives_da.html
By Gosia Wozniacka, The Oregonian
November 02, 2009

Fog wrapped around buildings as they gathered -- skeletons, ghosts, an angel, a king with a sumptuous headdress straight from the Brazilian carnival, Marie Antoinette's parrot in epoch laces and a curly white wig, and other creatures...

Two bicycles arrived, one carrying a witch with a broom, the other a sorcerer and a child witch seated in a casket. A devil with red flashing horns blew giant bubbles.

They lit candles for a procession to honor the dead that would take them 15 blocks up Northeast Alberta Street, on this cool Thursday night.

"It's something we don't do a good job of in our culture and something we all need -- to remember those who have passed over and remember that we, too, will die," said procession organizer Stella Maris, who describes herself as a spiritual community leader.

It was inspired by the Mexican Day of the Dead, during which people commune with their dead relatives, but was an unusual American interpretation by mostly non-Latino Portlanders, Maris said, an event to which people bring all kinds of creative expressions.

"It's just magical," said a masked skeleton, aka Betsy Aldrich of Portland, who participated in the procession for the second year. "We're the only culture that doesn't honor the dead. So this is a way to do that."

As a maiden in white handed out marigolds and the scent of incense rose through the air, Maris shook her gourd. It was time.

"Before you go," she said, "we're going to call them in. We're going to walk with our beloved ones."

And the skeletons, ghosts, and witches called out the names of their dead: Uncle Jerry, Tom from Vermont, Nina, grandpa Joe ...

"Beloved ones ... sisters, neighbors, teachers, ancestors," Maris intoned. "We've come here to march with you."

The crowd let out high-pitched yelps, then moved as one to the wail of accordions. A troupe of gypsy skeletons swayed to the music, gliding down the street. Death with a scythe marched down in the company of ghosts. And skeletons in white dresses floated down on stilts.

As the procession passed by a drum circle of Native American chiefs, the thud of drums and the chiefs' cries blended in, as if they were calling their own dead.

Then the procession turned into a dark alley, where a masked creature waited under a tent, rattling a tambourine, summoning the skeletons, witches and ghosts to an altar.

It was lit with dozens of candles, displaying photos and names of the dead.

The rowdy crowd hushed. They stood quietly, holding candles and incense. They wrote the names of their dead, pinned them to the altar, to be remembered by the living.

-- Gosia Wozniacka