WORCESTER: I WAS A TEENAGE GRAVEDIGGER Pt II

WORCESTER-- I WAS A TEENAGE GRAVEDIGGER Pt 2

 
I lived in the main south part of Worcester within Clark University’s “Master Plan area.” ( See my homage to 3 deckers @ this blog site)

I would catch a bus in front of Chrystal Park on Main Street and begin the bumpy, smelly, clammy ride down Main Street towards City Hall. I can recall the heavy glass windows ( no shatterproof composite material back then) bordered by sheet metal bands that would defy any attempt to open them. You had to dip your right and left digit fingers into small button like apertures on both sides of the window and then force/press outward simultaneously. Unless you had the exact tempo and pressure correct for both fingers, it would not open. Ever. It was a bitch.

The bus stopped every few hundred feet and brought on passengers but as we neared downtown you would see an arm reach up and yank on a thin brown cord that dangled along the top of the windows. A buzz sound was heard and the driver angled the bus to the curb. A passenger was getting off. Usually though by the time we reached City Hall it was near to capacity. At City Hall the bus creeked to a stop and exhaust seeped into the seating area ;waffles of acrid smoke just seemed to permeate everything. Even today I remember those bus rides whenever I smell a gas driven golf cart .

Passengers stood and headed out both the front and rear side doors. I would stay on the bus, for this route took me directly in front of Rural Cemetery on Grove Street where I worked as a gravedigger and crematorium assistant. A short buzz and I’m out the rear side door sandwhich bag in hand ready to fulfill my cemetery duties. ( And if Tom the bartender is working at the pub across the street I’m ready for a glass of beer. But only if he is on duty. I’m not 21 and he never asks for my id.)

A few short steps and I enter the tall black iron gates rich with ornate filigree and walk to the Kennedy Memorial Chapel and enter the office which is attached. I remember my Worcester history; the chapel was started in May 1929 and held its first memorial service in May 1930. And unless some unelected Fire Marshall deems otherwise the nondenominational chapel could seat 70 people.

The small crew gathered in Louis’ office, standing and smoking cigarettes. Seems kind of odd today, but back in say, 1970 almost 47% of all adults were smokers. We awaited for our marching orders. There were no burials scheduled for today, so I was directed to sweep and clean the various mausoleums through out the cemetery. It was a duty not particular relished by any of the crew members. Being that close to sarcophagi was not a comfortable experience. The other crew members headed out to mow grass, trim hedges and do the customary stuff of outside work.

“Jack, “ The old man would bark as he dangled a huge ring of church keys before my face. “ Do not loose these damn keys. I will kill you if you do. “ He would shoot his head towards the crematorium oven door. The keys were straight out of a Boris Karloff movie and most likely opened the doors to the Tower of London in 1500. The keys were numbered and lettered according to the mausoleum’s cemetery street address. I was heading to Evergreen Way. I guess every cemetery has its own street names; Heaven, Peaceful, Righteousness ( in the case of a Baptist cemetery.)

With the keys clunking in my hand I headed out the door to collect my cleaning tools. “ You lose those keys and you die,” the old man reinforced. Jesus I thought, its not like I’m heading for Logan Airport. My cleaning tool kit was pretty standard ( no paper towels back then;) tall floor broom, dust broom and pan and a bottle of green liquid for the doors. Doors first, then you start at the farthest corner of the room and work your way out. “And be sure to dust the name plaques, for God’s sake. Dead dates are important!”

I arrived at #23, a small two casket building and angled the the brass church key into the metal door lock. With a firm twist to the right, the square brass lock set slipped away and with both hands I pried the metal grated doors open. I proceeded to set my utensils aside and begin cleaning. I brushed off the plaques, dusted the marble sarcophagi and then began the floor sweeping. Sunlight was scattered through trees and intermittent sunlight shafts fell into the room. Not very happy with shadows at this moment in time, but shadows were all about. Nothing is as concerning as a darting shadow across a marble sarcophagus, especially if you are an impressionable teenager. ( Thank God my cemetery career occurred before the film “Exorcist” was released.)

I should have heard the silence of the trees. I should have sensed the danger that was brewing all around me. No wind; the shadows movements had ceased. I should have known that the deceased had vowed to return from the dead. But alas I did not. Instead I went about my work, and as I bent down to sweep the dirt pile in the far corner of the room, my back to the door, I think I felt the movement before the sound. Something heavy was grinding , stone against stone like a platonic subterranean shift. I stopped. I listened ,and the sound continued, only now it was getting louder as though gravity was assisting.

The doors were behind me as were the marble casket caps. And they were moving. The dead were coming to Rural cemetery and very much alive.

I froze. The marble coffin caps were sliding off of their base. Withered hands which had been lifeless for decades were now coming to life and ...kinda pissed off I assumed. The hands were gray, fingernails long and pointed and soon as they sat up, their withered, scarred and skinless faces would either kill me or command me. (I liked following orders I thought.) Maybe they were after the hip joints in the old man collection?

The grating noise grew louder and then suddenly a “BANG!” The coffins were opened! The apocalypse is upon us. The bodies began to climb out of the caskets. I knew I would see a John Carridine zombie, Dr. Karol Noymann from “ Invisible Invaders.” All my Catholic guilt came rushing before me. It was brief but disturbing.

  Time
was not on my side. It never is when the dead are awakening and walking towards you. With fierce but unmeasurable fear I wheeled around and bolted for the door. And like Michael Phelps dove head first , arms forward and somersaulted out onto the pavement. And I ran, I ran like Kevin McCarthy’s Dr Miles Bennell in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I ran until I was breathless, and practically void of faith. I ran to the office and jumped in front of the old man who was busy at his desk. He looked up.

“ They are… they’re coming...”

“ What?”

I couldn’t talk. I was inconsolable. The end of mankind was upon us and the only one happy would be my sophomore religion instructor, Sr. Mary Elizabeth.

He looked in my face and then at my hands. “ Where’s those damn keys?”

The world is ending and he’s worried about those god damn keys! I stood there with palms outstretched. My hands were empty.

“ Go get em!” he barked.

My fate was sealed. I couldn’t wait to see his face when the undead stormed his office. A little guilt perhaps? I made my way back to the mausoleum and approached it from the rear of the building. I heard nothing, no screams of death; I heard only the trees shuffling. And I saw no pathway of human destruction that I was sure to follow in the undead’s wake.

I inched my way along the building’s side and slowly peered inside. I could see the keys just behind the doors exactly where I flung them in utter desperation only a moment ago. The marble esophagi lids had not moved. Not a millimeter. Instead I had rested my metal broom handle against one of the marble tops and as it slowly slid, angling its-way to the floor…   my imagination certainly took over.

In hindsight I thought I had managed the incident with great skill and well, aplomb. I mean I was charged to alert mankind of the looming apocalypse  and did just that. And I got his damn keys, too.

And as I handed the keys back to the old man , he asked: “ Who’s coming?”