Batman

1

         I fail to understand how the purchase of a cap, the simple baseball type, can generate any interest at all, let alone the “widespread” variety. But podnuh, in at least one instance it did, and has caused an endless showering of ridicule and snide remarks to come raining down on my head.

         Just recently I made the dangerous journey to New River Valley Mall, a perilous motor trip o’er precipitous mountains, the infamous Blacksburg bypass, and the death-defying stretch of macadam from Montgomery County Hospital to route 114. I’m tellin’ ya’ right now people, potential disaster lurks at every bend and twist of that highway in our neighboring county. Motorists foolish enough to travel that road daily should be awarded “hazardous duty” pay.

         Really though, getting’ to NRVM is a piece of cake compared to the Mall itself. A harrowing experience awaits the unwary driver who enters therein. Operators of motor vehicles must be extremely vigilant while wheeling around on shopping-center properties, The probability of fender-benders is astronomically high. Man, it’s akin to a demolition-derby in there!

         How do you prefer your crash? Many drivers opt for a grinding crunch from the rear. Yet others show preference for a jolting thud from the front, that much bally-hooed “headon collision.” More than a few like gittin’ blindsided from the flank.

         One note of observation about the latter type. I believe drivers should be honest with their passengers. That’s why, when entering a shopping-mall parking lot, I glance around and tell folks ridin’ my junkheap: “There’s an excellent chance we’ll git broadsided in here. If it must happen, here’s hoping it’s your door that comes caving in.” Truthfulness…practice it always and feel yerself a much better person!

         The pitfalls on those exterior paved acres at New River Valley Mall are merely the beginning of my woes. Once inside I encounter a whole multitude of problems. That ultra-modern grouping of buildings can cause a country bumpkin to get lost with the greatest of ease. Each and every time I visit that puzzling maze I “git turned around.” At which time I must seek assistance from security personnel in helping to recover my sense of direction. These are well-intentioned people who are sincere in their efforts to render a valuable public service, but alas, servants who can offer little or no help. Hell, they’re lookin’ for an exit from this gigantic jigsaw puzzle too! One uniformed fella,’ complete with walkie-talkie, told me he’d spent 72 hours searchin’ for an egress but was still trapped inside. No doubt his spouse was mighty worried as to his whereabouts.

         Back to the theme ( caps ) of this written work. I thought it a simple business transaction …plunked hard cash down on the counter-top and purchased myself a black cap. I could see no significance in this particular headpiece, and still can’t determine what, apparently, sets it apart from millions of others.

         Unless maybe it’s the emblem featured on the front, a truly beautiful piece of art. There, in glaring gold set against an eerie backdrop of midnight black, are the outstretched wings of that nocturnal flying mammal, the bat. Centered between those leather-like webbed appendages is the silhouetted head of the Dark Knight of Gotham City, none other than Batman himself. Yeah, the Caped Crusader!…

2

         Let’s say you’re privy to a bit of info and would like to share it with the world. How best to spread the news?

         Well, them thar satellites up yonder can get the word out to all corners of the globe in mere seconds…like in the blink of an eye. Television is fast too. Put yer glad tidings on the “idiot box” and the world will know within minutes. Don’t count radio out. A newscaster fillin’ a microphone with hot air is still a fine media fer spreadin’ important information.

         More than a few people, myself included, think our trusty Pony Express is the most reliable method for relaying data from one point to another, and there is valid evidence to support such thinking ( suppose a world-wide electrical storm were to hit without warning and bring down every one of those unsightly overhead wires. All this modern-day junk wouldn’t be worth a cotton-pickin’ hoot-in hell. But man, them ponies…they’d keep right on galloping! ).

         One fact must be given careful consideration here. Each of these mediums, except for the swayback nags, have a serious flaw. They’re expensive beyond my means. Poor people standing on my rung of the old totem-pole simply can’t afford these means of communication.

         This means we needy folks who might have messages to share with faraway friends, and everyone else, must turn to the one thing we’re really good at…improvising.

         Usually a hundred ideas come instantly …most are nixed just as quickly. I toyed with the notion that impoverished citizens might use smoke signals as a means of communication, but soon realized this would clash with EPA rules and regulations. Besides, the outrageously high cost of firewood and blankets rule out the use of  smoke signals completely ( existing treaties guarantee the redman this right, therefore our government is powerless to prevent Indians from filling the atmosphere with puffs of smoke. Any such attempt will surely result in them Injuns calling a tribal council and sitting down in carpeted wigwams to discuss this latest blatant infringement of their rights. Injuns are wise in the ways of palefaces. Them thar Chiefs wouldn’t dream of taking up tomahawk and goin’ on heap big warpath. They’d immediately file a billion-dollar lawsuit! Any court in the land will rule in favor of the Indian Nations.).

         I thought long and hard about utilizing homing-pigeons as a tool fer gittin’ poor folk’s messages out to a world that desperately needs all the help it can get. A few years ago homing pigeons could’ve served us well in this field, but no longer. Lately hawks and other birds of prey have staged a dramatic comeback from the brink of extinction. The whole durn sky is full of these winged predators with their voracious appetites. Eagles, falcons, owls and hawks are blotting out the sun. And their favorite food?…pigeons! Man I’m tellin’ ya,’ a pigeon’s life is in jeopardy every time he flies from his perch. We can’t use pigeons…the message might never get through

         Caps. Caps are the best thing that’s ever happened to poor people, and in the coming months will prove to be our salvation. They are an effective method of gittin’ our message out, and I have irrevocable proof…

3

         Wear a cap with a logo and watch in amazement as your message spreads far and wide. This method of transmitting your views is by far the most effective known to mankind. Much better than trans-Atlantic cable, or even communications satellites positioned way up yonder in outer-space.

         Caps with messages come in a million colors, and a like number of communiques. Some messages are serious, others downright silly. Plain caps bearing no messages can be purchased right off the shelf. But these are sorely lacking in warmth and personal touch. Caps with words and pictures are mass-produced , stitched on at remote assembly-lines somewhere out there in the boondocks. This leaves them cold, vague, and a worded message not quite the exactness you’d like. Boys I’m tellin’ ya,’ “store bought” logos ain’t no good.

         The very best way is to buy unadorned caps, the plain type with nothin’ scrawled on ‘em. This allows a considerable measure of leeway and, in a manner of speaking, enables one  to “start from scratch.” Thus a myriad of options are opened , offering unlimited panoramas and choice of messages ( surely most citizens have  more than one opinion to pass along to a world holding it’s breath and waiting in suspense. So buy yer caps by the gross lot ).

         Perhaps you are a meticulous person and prefer, even demand, every little detail just so-so. You like your stuff professional. No problem, such services are available fer nit-pickers!

         Ya’ merely walk down to one of those shops that specialize in “cap messaging with  a professional touch.” These trained people can give yer baseball caps a pretty stenciling job, letter for letter and verbatim as you so dictate. This allows originality to come shining through.

         Being non-professional, I just settle for somethin’ not quite so fancy, but every bit as effective. My method requires the stockpiling of a few supplies, but even so no great expense is involved.

         I merely slap a strip of masking tape up there on the old cap, then sit cross-legged in a 2 hour “period of meditation.” This is known as the “route of the gurus” and allows thousands of ennobling ideas to form in yer mind…conjured-up images come rushing to the forefront.

         At this precise moment ballpoint pens come into play, as does chalk, crayons, a sloppy mixture of whitewash , gallons of paint, rollers and brushes; any tool that can inscribe a message. Scrawl, scribble or daub on the desired lettering , don yer headpiece , then walk around the equator to let the human masses know  ( when using paint fer lettering, apply two heavy coats ).

         Old Jim McMahon of the Chicago Bears didn’t even need a cap. That creepy oddball tied a white rag around his ugly head (ala Geronimo and Crazy Horse ), wrote his freakish views on the cloth strip, and that wuz it. I never could imagine Jim as a football player. I could, however , imagine him as a refugee from a mental institution.

         My cap featuring the likeness of Batman got enviable results…truly astounding results. I wuz left both dumbfounded and flabbergasted.

         I’m tellin’ ya,’ Batmania is at fever-pitch level and still rising…

4

         Batman’s career began in 1939 when young millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne became fed up to the gills with crooks runnin’ free and unchecked thru the streets of his town, that teeming metropolis called Gotham City. Folks who lived there  were overwhelmed with with feelings of despair. Helplessness was the prevalent mood throughout the city. Danger and violence lurked at every street corner. Mr. Wayne looked down on his city, felt a sense of urgency and knew something had to be done. Hellsfire, Gotham wuz headed fer it’s Waterloo!

         Before going one step further  let’s pause for a moment to clear the air of a widely-held misconception. Bruce Wayne has long been referred to as being a PLAYBOY. This is a gross distortion of the true facts. An erroneous claim that has disturbed me for many years, and finally an opportunity presents itself to right a great injustice.

         It’s true Bruce is filthy rich, with huge reserves of cash to draw upon in case of a rainy day. But the word PLAYBOY presents a stereotyped image…a well-heeled dude who indulges in wine, wild women and song.

         Now listen here pal, Mr. Wayne ain’t into booze, has never chased skirts, and can’t distinguish between Mozart and rock-and-roll. Quite the contrary, this man gives lotsa’ money to the poor and downtrodden. Fer goodness sakes man, Bruce Wayne ain’t no playboy…he’s a philanthropist!

         Wayne cared deeply for  residents of  crime-infested Gotham, was greatly concerned about their health and well-being. However, health-related matters didn’t fall within his field of expertise and were better left in the capable hands of doctors and other elements of the medical profession.

         The most perturbing thought racing thru Wayne’s mind was the physical safety of Gotham’s 15 million citizens. Good people, but their days and nights were spent huddled behind bolted doors, living in a stifling aura of fear. The homes of these fine folks were not really their castles, but more closely resembled arsenals and fortifications…to keep the bad guys out!

         The streets of Gotham were crawlin’ alive with human vermin; rapists, holdup men, con-artists, murderers, professional thieves and pickpockets alike. Old Gotham had the whole dirty lot, corruption and evil flooded it’s streets and avenues ( as for taking shortcuts thru dark alleys, forget it. Tomorrow a priest would say nice words over yet another cadaver). The scene was rapidly  deteriorating, a city coming apart at it’s seams. Unless someone acted fast all decent law-abiding citizens were gonna’be run outta’town. Mr. Wayne didn’t like that idea one iota. If anything, them there outlaws and gangsters should be sent packin.’

         One night Bruce gave prolonged thought to this rather alarming situation, mulled it over for hours, then finally arrived at an obvious conclusion…some extremely drastic measures were needed!

         The hour was nearing midnight when the muscular young billionaire strolled over to a mirror, gazed intently into the glass and made a decision that would turn the tide: “A way must be found to strike fear into the hearts of crooks. I will become a creature of the night. I WILL BECOME A BATMAN”…

5

         I’ve always known Batman rated high in the popularity polls here in America. As a matter of fact, this mystical figure of the night ( he’s definitely gifted with supernatural powers ) sits atop the pinnacle in the celebrity sweepstakes, far more popular than movie stars, athletes, rock musicians or even Presidents.

         But I was mildly surprised to learn his fame has blanketed the globe. Make no mistake, the Caped Crusader is a world-wide phenomenon. Though he vcalls Gotham City home, we can safely assume the welcome mat would be out for this “champion of the oppressed” anywhere on earth he might hang his hat ( uh…make that “hand his cowl” ) Surely this crime-fighter extraordinaire would receive warm acceptance in Cairo, London and Moscow.

         Or even lesser known hamlets such as Poplar Hill, Lurich, Staffordsville. Shucks fella,’ Batman might also find vast throngs of well-wishers waiting to greet him in Glen Lyn, Berton, Niday and Round Bottom.

         It seems many people are confused as to the exact location of Gotham City. Folks are experiencing great difficulty in finding Gotham on the map. Here’s one clue that might be helpful. Look for the urban area with boroughs called Manhattan, Queens, Yonkers, the Bronx and Brooklyn. That’s the place! Now you’ve pinpointed Batman’s “theatre of operations.” ( I don’t believe Batman can be classified as a world-class traveler. So far as I can determine he’s seldom, if ever, ventured outside the corporate limits of Gotham City ).

         And another item has come to mind. Let’s discuss this “double-idenity” thing here for a minute,do some deep pondering and consider it’s wide-ranging implications.

         It’s a fairly well known fact , one might even say common knowledge, that Batman and Bruce Wayne are indeed one and the same person. Dammit people, let that sink in. The world’s foremost crime-fighter and one of it’s richest men as well…all in the same package! I mean if’n ya’ got one ya’ got ‘em both!

         I simply can’t believe our local bankers haven’t picked up on this. Seems to me some attractive inducements oughta’ be offered Mr. Wayne. There’s gotta’ be a way to lure this “loaded moneybags”  down here to our location. Without question his riches must be equal to Celanese and the Narrows Livestock Market combined. Think of the tremendous boost to our sagging economy if Bruce were to bring his billions and come live with us.

         ``Talk about walkin’ in high cotton…Wall street would transfer it’s globe-circling operations down here overnight. Tell ya’ right now neighbor, Bruce Wayne’s presence in this area could upgrade our standard of living like you wouldn’t believe!

         I propose we give him the whole damned County…

6

         Hopefully a lotta’ useful data has been passed along on these pages about Gotham City and it’s most famous resident, that man ( or is he really an ordinary man? I don’t think so ) who Police Commissioner Gordon summons via Batsignal flashing on the clouds when things get really tough.

         Frankly, until just a short while back I was terribly uninformed  about this subject we’ve been discussing. Downright ignorant, really. But that all changed when mountains of information came my way because of a simple, innocent act…that occasion when I wore a baseball cap featuring the image of Batman! Doors were suddenly opened!

         News do get around. Within hours of wearin’ that headpiece my phone was flooded with calls, buzzed it’s fool head off. Man, people wuz callin’from all over.

         The first caller was a Ubangi tribal Chieftain, dialing from somewhere deep in the Belgian Congo. He sounded very excited while exclaiming: “Hey man, heard you could put me onto some Batman caps.I have 600 warriors under my command, and they’d each like to have 6. Can you get my order out on Air Express?”

         I was somewhat puzzled by his request, but tried to humor the good man; “Why certainly, Chief. Any color preference? And how’d you know about my Batman cap?”

          “The jungle drums spoke of it in a rhythmic beat,” he answered, adding that a mixture of colors would be okay.

         This phone conversation had it’s distractions. An assortment of jungle noises were clearly heard in the background, prompting a question: “What the hell is that, Chief?”

         “Nothin’ to cause alarm. Just a pride of lions fightin’ over a zebra carcass right behind me.”

         “Chief, you be careful there.” I didn’t know the man personally, but nevertheless was concerned for his safety.

         “I’ve got the phone booth door closed. If’n them cats smash thru I’ll sue the phone company.” He might, however, have been terribly disfigured while filing the papers.

         “One final item, Chief. I sure hope you’ve grown up and gotten away from that headhuntin’ stuff. Ain’t it about time you started actin’ yer age?”

         He evaded my question , but for the next several minutes that Chief of all the Ubangis told me a lotta’ stuff about Batman. Indeed, much of what appears in this account came from his lips. We said goodbye on friendly terms, then hung up.

         Hey, an added note before I forget. Don’t wallow in despair thinking Batman’s good deeds are reserved exclusively for the citizens of Gotham City. His noble services are available to everyone, no matter where he or she may reside. His costume is a glaring clue…really says a lot. Note carefully his choice of colors…blue and gray. Yeah, Batman’s wardrobe sends a clearcut message. I see a symbolic meaning in his preference of hues.

         The gray my friend…the gray. It means the Caped Crusader will rush to the aid of redneck Johnny Rebs with the same vim and vigor he displays when helpin’ them damn Yankees…

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

October, 1984