The four finest sign shleppers: Trinity Thessier, Abby Paro, Macy Schnauber and Gabby Lamer. (Provided photo — Bob Seidenstein)

Feb. 10 marks two anniversaries of note.

One, in 1837, was the day Alexander Pushkin, Russian poet and playwright, proved the pen is not mightier than the sword. He did it in the most obvious and ironic way, by getting killed in a duel over his wife’s honor.

I don’t know how much honor gets defended by turning your wife into an instant widow. But I suspect it’s a lot less than by making some other fool’s wife an instant widow.

(A note of correction for any sticklers reading this: Strictly speaking, Pushkin proved the dueling pistol, not the sword, was mightier than the pen, but I’m sure you can still see the flaw in the metaphor).

On a more pleasant note, the other noteworthy Feb. 10 anniversary took place right here in My Home Town. It was the 15th year The Brothers of the Bush strutted their bad selves down the main thoroughfare in our fabulous Winter Carnival parade.

Here’s the thing about me and our Winter Carnival themes: All too often, when they’re announced I have no idea how to relate to them. This would pose no problem if I was a parade spectator, but I’m not. To the contrary, when it comes to our parade, I’m the supposed leader of The Brothers of the Bush and I’m involved right up to my mesmerizing baby blues.

To clarify: I referred to myself as “the leader” of the BoB, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Making that claim is about as ridiculous as claiming to have been the leader of a volcanic eruption.

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From thought to reality

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So yeah, I thought up a bunch of the props and shticks we did, but that was about it. Thinking is always the easy part. But getting those ideas to be put into play, in real time and in The Real World, is a whole different thang. It also requires a whole different set of skills — none of which I have.

But being wholly unskilled has never been a problem for me, and for a very good reason: I’ve always been blessed by having lots of skilled friends. And beyond being skilled, they’re also responsible. So not only can they make almost anything, but they can do it how and when it’s supposed to be made.

For example, take our stunning artwork. First, there’s our money, fondly known as Bubkes Bucks. This year’s bill was, to be entirely modest, brilliant. Then again, they all are, so what the hey.

If you didn’t see them, you missed one of Carnival’s great aesthetic experiences. Pictured on both sides are the ice palace, in an appropriate state of deterioration. I say “appropriate” because standing in front of the palace is America’s Favorite Family of Weirdos — the Addams Family — with half of them on one side of the bill, and the other half on the other side. The bill had other delights, both visual and verbal, which you need to peruse yourself. But how did the bill go from idea to reality? By the efforts of one person — our staff counterfeiter, Br. Mike Cochran.

Next is our new BoB logo, so proudly displayed on our T-shirts and parade banner. While I had some input into the design, the final product hit the light of day only through hours and hours (and even more hours) of drawing and redrawing by my favorite uber-skilled and ever-patient R. Crumb aspect, Br. Bruce Young.

The banner is a 4-foot-by-4-foot beaut, with the logo printed on both sides so it can be seen coming and going. Originally, I thought it could be carried through the parade by two people. But when I picked it up from Brian Goetz at Wicked Signs and Graphics, I realized it was, to use my legendary understatement, more than a tad unwieldy. Or to put it in plain English, it’d be a real pain in the prat to shlep.

So what to do?

I did what I do best — fobbed the work off on someone else. In this case it was Br. Ron Burdick, The Titan of Transport, Tie-downs, and Zip Ties.

“So what I want,” I told him, “is for the banner to be above your truck cab, readily visible fore and aft, from a good distance away.”

“How do you want it constructed?” he asked.

“Listen,” I said, “you might as well ask me how to construct a cantilever bridge over Mt. Marcy.”

“OK,” he said.

That’s all he said (he knows me and my methods well by now, since he’s been in full Bro-hood since its start), and a few days later he’d built a full frame in two-by-fours. And that’s why our banner flew so dashingly — and securely — for all to see and admire.

This year our group’s parade theme was “Bring Out Your Dead.” But how do ya turn that into physical props? I had what I thought was a good idea: Take our last year’s chariot (from the Roman theme) and convert it into a cadaver cart. As usual I had no idea how it could be done, but I knew who would — Br. Joe Dadey, our Count of Creativity. He did (as he always does) come up with a brilliant version, complete with a cadaver so pitiful it woulda made stone eyes weep.

The list of chores went on, with everyone carrying their share of the load.

Br. Russ DeFonce, the Wizard of Wood, cranked out a fabulous hand-held casket for me, perfect for an ongoing gag I did in the parade. Our candy coffers o’erflowed, thanks to various folks forays into the dollar stores. Costumes ran the gamut, from Sr. Mysteria’s Steampunk Goth Glam to Br. John Gillette’s Bigfoot, from Br. Piedrito Walnut’s skeleton to Br. Miles Gillette’s Cthulhu.

The cadaver cart was hauled by Br. Miles Gillette and Br. Nate Casaregola — sans complaint.

Four of Paul Smith’s College’s finest Fish and Wildlife students (perhaps using us for research into local wildlife) led our way carrying our big sign (see photo).

We had two new additions to the crew this year — my oldest friend, Robin Smith (we’ve been pals since we were three, and still like each other) and his better three-quarters, Bobbi Frederick.

And there was of course more time and effort expended by our little band of loons, to the tune of several hundred man-and-woman hours. Beyond that, our material costs, while not sultanic, still put a bite on our piggy banks.

And all of it was well worth it for the fun all of us had … and the fun we gave others.

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The big picture

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But here’s the real parade story: It wasn’t about us. Yeah, sure, we planned, worked, and did our thing, but guess what? So did the 67 other entries. And many, if not almost all of them, invested a helluva lot more time, effort, and planning and moolah.

So our hundreds of hours of work pale in comparison to what it took for the parade to take place en toto. I’d bet the total number of hours of all the groups wasn’t in the thousands, but the hundreds of thousands! And everyone did it not only sans complaint, but with joy in their hearts.

As a final note, I’ll say if you see any of the peeps in the other entries, give ’em a pat on the back, a hearty Well done, or any other compliment you want. None of us seeks such things, or expects to hear them, which will make them all the more appreciated.