Dave is…
Reporting from the midst of carnage.
Magnetic Fields – Pillow Fight
Like Billy Russell, Ernie Pyle and Geraldo Rivera before me today I ventured into the heart of conflict to bring the shocking brutality right into the placid living rooms of the American public. What follows will surely shock the conscience and horrify the senses but the world needs to know ere the mistakes of today be repeated.
Such wild violence couldn’t have fallen on a more appropriate weekend. Yesterday the Jews killed Jesus, tomorrow Christ rises in the ultimate FU, but today Holy Saturday, there is nothing to do but sit around and wait, and scheme to get out of tomorrow’s Mass, and it was inevitable that all that pent up angst and boredom would find release through violence. Leaving Union Square drenched in…well, feathers actually. I mean its INTERNATIONAL PILLOW FIGHT DAY!
The brainchild of some people in Toronto, International Pillow Fight Day (or IPFD for short) is part of burgeoning urban playground movement dedicated to reclaiming public space for fun. Apparently this event has been happening for a couple of years and has been growing.
In fact early reports said there was a strong police presence and even protestors, something to do with the way feathers for pillows are gathered. (Christ it’s getting like PCU people will protest anything)
But by the time I got there, a scant ten minutes before the battle was scheduled to begin there was little sign of either amidst the throngs of pillow waving savages. Like my savvy predecessors in the wartime correspondence gig I had already thought out my coverage and ducked into Filene’s Basement, a TJ Maxx like store across the street. From the third floor, the windows would provide an all encompassing bird’s eye view of the destruction that was now only minutes away.
As I hustled up the escalator I saw far more people rushing down clutching newly purchased weapons. The bloodlust was spreading.
The windows were already thronged with people both the wildly eager and the confused Saturday shopping variety but you make friends fast when in a warzone and we all cheered as, in response to some unseen signal, the packed masses below waved their feathery instruments of death in the air with wild abandon.
Then, in one of those pregnant moments loaded with a frenzied anticipation, Braveheart (yes Braveheart, in full on kilt and face paint. lower right corner) climbed to the top of the lifeguard stand that had appeared in front of the equestrian statue, and at the stroke of 3pm unleashed hell. (God I love mixing references.)
Instantly the huge mass of people filling the north end of Union Square dissolved into a mass of quivering white squares. Oddly enough the combatants appeared to be divided into two distinct groups with the smaller one separated from the mass by a line of observers three-four people deep. Later I realized this was caused by the concrete steps of the park where hundreds of camera tooting rivals and a few beleaguered passer-by’s were trapped.
From the outset I was impressed both by the number of pillow-fighters and the even larger number of curiosity seekers. The park was packed. The crowd covered the whole north of the park from the Gandhi statue on the west side to back past the subway entrance on the east and so deep into 14th street that the cops had to move the barriers out into the traffic lanes. And the crowd was so thickly packed that people in the middle could barely swing their weapons of choice.
And what a range of weapons. One would think the “pillow” in “pillow fight” would limit your options but then you are sitting soft and safe on your sofa and haven’t faced this kind of creative crucible before.
There were feather pillows, down pillows, sofa cushions, throw pillows (the under stuffed ones were particularly useful as they allowed you to securely grab one corner), a range of stuffed animals from Pikachu to Clifford and even a two person manned (from inside) mattress that we spectators on high could watch slowly work its way back and forth through the maze of battle. My favorite though was the guy who tied what looked (from this distance) to be a chain (though it couldn’t possibly have been a chain) to his pillow and was swinging in wild arcs like one of those monsters with a mace in Lord of the Rings that just cleaved through those in front of him.
Even so tightly packed, with such destructive instruments wielded so cavalierly it wasn’t long before we saw the first explosion of feathers indicating someone had gone down. Soon the evidence of exploding pillows could be seen all over.
Feathers began blowing across the street and even rising up past our vantage point on the third floor.
As the fight settled in and the first victims fell the lines of battle became clearer. You could see the areas where the fighting was the fiercest. The backside of the pagoda resembled a bedroom set reenactment of Spotsylvania’s Bloody Angle, with just savage hand to hand combat. Whereas the battle was pushed back towards the outskirts, where stubborn, or stupid, street vendors still attempted to see sell their crappy art, and the line between warrior and civilian blurred the fighting was almost congenial.
That said I found myself waiting for the wandering minstrel to get decked with a wayward shot.
Speaking of, here’s another appropriate tune. Widespread Panic covering the Talking Heads classic: Life During Wartime.
Everywhere though the flash points were the lampposts. Time and again someone overcome by adrenalin or bloodlust would clamber up the post to glory over the crowd and time and time again, acting as one, the crowd would turn and savage him till he was ripped from his perch and lost again at the bottom of a sea of cushions.
Elsewhere people would climb on the shoulders of their compatriots and wade right into the heart swinging wildly, some with pillows in both hands. They too while inspiring the noble tear with their valor were doomed to be quickly beaten down.
At this point the battle had been waging for a half hour with no sign of abatement. In fact other than was no sign of let up at all. In fact the only noticeable difference from its initial moments were the light dusting of feathers in the street and the absorption of the smaller battle by the larger group.
Thus the stage was set for the arrival of one half of the Bourbon-Beer Twins. Bonnie, formerly known as the fastest woman with a pillow south of the Mason-Dixon line came armed with a secret weapon, something so powerful that mortal pillows shed feathers in terror: an Empire Strikes Back pillowcase. Wielding it like a light saber she strode right into and laid a Jedi-ass kicking on all those foolish enough to oppose her.
Now 45 minutes deep into this, and with Bonnie lost in the heart of darkness I left my ivory tower and headed down to get my hands dirty. Cause the real stories of war are in the trenches.
Immersed now in the thick of it, I began to notice all kinds of things invisible from the removal of three floors. The fight was all ages. I saw kids that couldn’t have been more than three or four going toe to toe with middle aged businessmen dressed casual for the weekend. I saw with old enough to know better than to wear trucker hat hipsters fighting it out with shirtless frat boys.
I even saw one incredibly brave guy go in there in his electric wheelchair gamely swinging his pillow so hard at one point he nearly flipped his chair.(look to the left of center in the background)
In addition to Braveheart, who true to inspiration, seemed to race through the crowd impervious to the attacks on all sides, I began to notice others dressed in similarly outlandish garb.
I had seen the cadre of Santa Clauses from on high (these boys are everywhere) but down here I noticed for the first time the guy dressed as a bumblebee. Drawn by his costumes like he would be to honey he seemed to spend most of his time being absolutely pummeled by everyone around him. In a rare break from the action he did offer me some free advice, “Don’t do this in costume.”
Not everyone would agree. Bonnie’s rat friend seemed to be relishing in his role as a target as did the guy in the chicken costume.
Few were as popular a target though as the mask of George Bush being waved on a stick by one of the regular protestors temporarily displaced by the melee.
Numerous others, while not opting for costume were decked out in everything from hockey goalie masks, to bandito style bandanas to snow goggles to homemade duct tape armor. Hell there was one guy in a full on gas mask (vintage of course). The reasoning for it became a lot clearer the deeper into the struggle I pressed.
In the heart of it, where the feathers flew heaviest it was almost impossible to breathe.
What I also realized was the light dusting of feathers visibly floating up to my previous vantage point were only the barest hint of the widespread feathery devastation that was even now 4-6 inches deep throughout most of the arena. And more pillows were dying spectacularly every minute adding their contents to the mounds beneath us.
It made things damn dangerous, trying to avoid slipping on feathers while fighting other photographers for clear shots and praying you don’t accidentally end up in the middle of a dust up if the battle shifts. Luckily, this isn’t Nam; this is bowling, er, pillow fighting. There are rules. One of which is don’t hit someone who isn’t armed and that credo was followed enough that I avoided most attacks. Still I was risking a cheap old camera still full of sand from Morocco. Some idiot there was waving his laptop around right in the middle. I dunno what the fuck he was doing.
What was great though was that as the battle progressed people began seizing opponent’s pillows and chucking them up into the air. This led to several instances where innocent passerbys, or spectators, got drilled by a thrown pillow, inspiring them to grab it and start swinging.
Still my only real attack came just as things began to ebb a little when I was attacked by a girl with the remnants of her once proud weapon. I am not sure what made her choose me as I was standing back from the rabble at that point but she ensconced my head in fluff and was gone before I removed it.
By now this war, like our less pillow friendly one in the desert, had lasted way longer than anticipated. I expected to see it out in about 15 minutes and here I was an hour and 15 minutes later with the battle weathered by attrition but certainly still enthusiastically in progress.
Around the edges though, the physical strains and collateral damage of open warfare were everywhere evident.
The dead and dying lay where the fell. Bodies everywhere.
Even in trash cans.
Sad little children sat distraught. Innocent refugees driven from…well from something.
Even sadder, some callous militants forced the enlistment of child soldiers doing the kind of psychological damage that no kid should ever be subjected too.
Even the animals suffered.
Yet still the battle raged on.
Then as the clock moved inexorably towards 4:30 an enforced armistice was proposed. Brokered and backed by the might of the much bemused NYPD.
And so came the last great hurrah.
Those that survived threw up their weapons into the sun in one final gesture of defiance and glory.
Not a moment too soon either. As apparently the NYPD stepped in because the Tibetan freedom protest march was set to end in Union Square and they were a block away leading to that uniquely New York moment when thousands of feather covered, pillow carrying wounded warriors stood out of breath and bemused as thousands of flag waving, thoroughly confused advocates for Tibetan freedom marched by.
As their legions marched by, to be set up at the far end of the park, we turned back to look at the damage. And it was substantial. A layer of feathers and foam ranging from 2-10 inches thick covered the entire northern side of the park.
Everyone, myself included were covered in feathers that seemed to have no interest in coming off.
Still we were joyous. Well, I spose that guy wasn’t joyous.
But hey Braveheart stuck around to clean up (in fact Braveheart found someone’s keys while sweeping. Sucks to be whoever lost those). The rest of the tired combatants staggered off to lick their wounds and plot for next year.
I confess Bonnie and I were among them. We saw a lot of ingenuity here but a lack of (dare I say it?) vintage pillowcases. So next year I am showing up wielding my He-Man pillow cause who could stand against He-Man? And then I will rule the day.
Till then gentlemen in the US now-a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks,
That fought with us upon International Pillow Fight Day.
Coda: Later I was reflecting on this insanity and I was struck by something. For the last couple years New York City has been gripped in a panic over bedbugs. I mean you would think it’s the second coming of the 1932 Cholera epidemic the way people talk about them. Yet here were hundreds if not a thousand people wildly intermingling old dirty pillows, ripping them apart and then traipsing through their innards. You’d think this would be the bedbug equivalent of a 1000 person orgy without a single prophylactic. No one seemed concerned, but mark my words if the bedbug thing explodes in the next few months you can be damn sure it’ll be traced back to this.
I was wondering what that protest was about. I saw them when I was leaving town walking up 5th ave. nice job on the elephant post too.
Have you considered the possibility that you missed your calling? You’re a born storyteller — the pillowfight prose and pictures are amazing!
A most inspiring post, I can be the Nicholas Cage of light arms for next year’s pillow fight. I will be watching the lipless wonder Branagh do his Henry V & dream of pillow fights tonite, “from this day until the ending of the world but we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few.”