All those Maydays
Today is Mayday.
As a child I was confused by the wildly differing associations the word conjures up. It’s a distress signal, for example, apparently derived from the French for “come to my aid.”
That was the first meaning of the word I ever learned, from watching the World War II movies that were so ubiquitous on TV when I was a tiny child. The pilot would yell it into the radio as the fiery plane spiraled down after being hit, or as the stalling engine coughed and sputtered. On the ship the guy in uniform would tap it out in code and repeat it (always three times in a row, as is the convention) when the torpedo hit and the ship filled with water.
But on a far more personal level, it was the time of the May Féªte (boy, does that sound archaic) in my elementary school, when each class had to learn a dance and perform it in the gymnasium in front of the entire student body’s proud/bored parents. The afternoon was capped by the eighth-graders, who were assigned the only activity of the day that seemed like fun—weaving multicolored ribbons around the maypole.
Ah, the maypole. Who knew it was a phallic symbol? Or that maypoles were once considered so risque that they were banned in parts of England by certain Protestant groups bent on discouraging the mixed-gender dancing and drunkenness that seemed to go along with them (not in my elementary school, however; only girls were allowed to wind the maypole ribbons, and the mixed-gender dancing the rest of us had to do was decidedly devoid of frivolity)?
The other meaning of Mayday was/is the Communist festival of labor, or International Workers Day. In my youth the big bad Soviets used to have huge parades that featured their frightening weaponry. It seems that Putin is nostalgic for those good old days, since apparently the quaint custom is being revived.
Back in the 20s and 30s the Mayday parades in New York City were fairly large. I know this because I own a curious artifact of those times—a home movie of a Mayday parade from the mid-1920s. I’m not sure who in my family had such an early and prescient interest in movies, but the film features my paternal grandparents on their way to such a celebration.
They’d come to this country from pre-revolutionary Russia in the early years of the century. Like many such immigrants, my grandfather became a Soviet supporter who thought the Communists had a chance of making things better than they’d been in the Russia he’d left behind. Since he died rather young, only a few years after the film was made, I don’t know whether time and further revelations of the mess the Soviet Union became would have changed his point of view. In the film, however, the family goes to view the Mayday parade, which looks to be a very well-attended event with hopeful Communist banners held high and nary a maypole nor a Morris dancer in sight.
The footage of the parade seemed archaic even back when I saw it as a young girl, although it was fascinating to see the grandfather and grandmother I’d never known (not to mention my father as a handsome seventeen-year old). But the most puzzling sight of all was the attention paid to the Woolworth building. Whoever took the movie was fascinated by it; there were two slow pans up and down its length.
Why the Woolworth Building? Opened in 1913, it was a cool fifty-seven stories high, the tallest building in the world until 1930. It had an elaborate Gothic facade and was considered a monument to capitalism—the “Cathedral of Commerce,” although the Communist-sympathizing photographer of my Mayday movie didn’t seem to let those two offending words (cathedral, commerce) get in the way of his awe for the building.
I never noticed the Woolworth building myself until the day I went to see the site of the World Trade Center a few months after 9/11. There were still huge crowds coming to pay homage, and so we had to wait in a long line that snaked around the nearby blocks.
And so it was that I found myself in front of a familiar sight, the Woolworth Building, still Gothic after all these years, and still standing (although it had lost electricity and telephone service for a few weeks after 9/11, the building itself sustained no damage). No longer dwarfed by the enormous towers of its successor—that new Cathedral of Commerce, the World Trade Center—the Woolworth Building even commanded a bit of its former dominance.
Although it’s still dwarfed from this angle:
And to bring this hodgepodge of a post round full circle, there exists a book of photos of 9/11 with the title Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!: The Day the Towers Fell, a reference to the myriad distress calls phoned in by firefighters on that terrible day.
[NOTE: This is a repeat of a previous post.]
(Ahem) not to be critical because I really enjoy the nostalgia, but…..(an editorial correction). The scene on the ships with the guy banging away at the Morse coder was NOT mayday, it was …—… SOS, for “Save Our Ship”…. Thanks to so many WWII films put out by the more patriotic producers and directors in Hollywood there was a lot of authenticity with the exception of blowing people up or shooting them. But I could be wrong and your memory could be correct as to what you registered. Me my mind wanders a lot especially when it comes to nostalgia. For instance I constantly feel like Yogi Berra”s expression ” Its like deja vu all over again”
Again this is something Conservatives (Classical Liberalism) should own and embrace — what could be better that the celebration of workers. It doesn’t have to be defined as Leftist — champion the rationale side with “No Union Handouts, Work With Dignity”. … something like that.
Gary: I was a mere infant when I watched those movies. But I agree with you. I believe I was mixing two memories: the ship and the Morse code were confused with the spiraling fighter-pilot (maybe radioing down to the aircraft carrier—that would put a ship in there somewhere).
Yes I remember those films as well.
The pilot a personified Errol Flynn or Tyrone Powers type having been strafed by a Japanese fighter along the side of his fuselage , several rounds slashing the oil line, causing the engine to flame up and inundating the canopy with smoke. Making it all but impossible for our hero to see through his “Snoopy on top of the dog house type goggles, scarf and all.”
The May Day goes out !..as our hero struggles to gain control of his machine and limp back to the mother ship awaiting his return. The radio operator jumps up and yells, Captain, Captain, Ace is in trouble!!
Ace suddenly realizing he’s not going to make it, he finds Mary’s picture attached to his flight panel, grabs it in hand, pops the top, and plunges into the wild blue yonder as his two seater Corsair piles into the Ocean just in front of his oncoming carrier.
How any red blooded American male could not have jumped up and enlisted in the Navy instantaneously I’ll never know. I would have. But alas ! I too was not much more than out of diapers.
Today you sang the international, or else you went to the camps… that was one of the extra things i was taught by family…
after all, its international workers day…
wiki is funny since the dominant definition is that and LABOUR day, which confounds americans with their LABOR day, which is not the same thing.
basically the socialsits have no religions and such, so like the christians to the pagans they try to co-opt the cultural things that went before. which is why they pick may day, or some other holiday for things. it puts hegel square up against religion and other issues of culture that people like and love.
the U.S. Congress designated May 1 as Loyalty Day in 1958 due to the day’s appropriation by the Soviet Union
Gary, I did. Only it was actually the Bridges at Toko Ri that sealed the deal.
One minor quibble; there were no two seat Corsairs.
Mayday meant the Mayday festival. I remember in about 5th grade the city had one in the muncipal football stadium. All of the grade schools had a maypole. We practiced tirelessly to do the maypole dance. Pretty exciting stuff. Fifth grade was a great year. World War II ended. We won the 5th grade basketball championship, although I was suspended for the first half of the championship game for being a smart mouth in class. At the end of my suspension my battle-axe of a teacher put me in her car and drove me to the site of the game. Her husband was in the Merchant Marine and to the best of my knowledge, he never came home. I had her in sixth grade also, and she initiated me to the concept of the paddle. I think we were getting on each other’s nerves by that time.
Neo, you unlocked a flood of memories.
Yep your probably right on the Corsair. The only real experience I’ve ever had with them is when some were recommissioned to fly air support in VN. They classified them as the A1E’s and hung 500# pound napalm bombs under them. They would drop these little goodies for us when we needed um in major firefights and were quite effective. My only regret is that I never seemed to have marshmellows handy when they were delivering.
When we were on the other side of the fense and needed air resupply a sorty of three A1’s would come in, two with gel and one with rounds, food, and meds, packed in styro. Man these guys were good., Never had to hunt long to find the Easter egg as it was called.
Oh my my “how long ago” the wiles of youth, ah to be a spook again.
Oh yes I almost forgot to mention to Neo-neocon. My memorial springtime experience with Boston is strolling down from my grandma’s home on Aspinwal Ave, and on over to Jamaica Pond. We’d watch all of the mother duckies with their new feathered chicklets launching off of the grassy shore on their maiden voyages.
Went through a lot of bread back then.
We used to get all these freebie mini loafs wrapped in red and white. I think they were “Wonder Bread” but the cob webs aren’t that eradicated.
I had an uncle by marriage who drove a delivery truck and his step daughter (my cousin) was about 5 years older than me. I was pained with a tremendous crush on her.
After feeding all of the newly launched nautical’s that we could. My cousin, my sister and I would hop on the MTA and go on down to the Common and do the same thing over again.
Except down there we would usually be deluged by the massive number of drakes who hung out waiting to pillage little people like us. Then there were the pigeons oooooh the pigeons, how I hate the pigeons.Talk about good bombardiers.
Just cleaned out a web. It was Evergreen St. not Aspinwal.
I was always puzzled by the Soviet May Day parades on tv. I kept thinking, why would they want to display all those vehicles that are obviously 40 years behind American advancement.
Their 1980 truck fresh off the assembly line could have been right at home in a Timmie and Lassie episode.