ERROL FLYNN, GHOST

ERROL FLYNN, GHOST

CARICATURE #002

Drawn 1982-04-05-097

      As he burst out of the elementary school doors in 1983, one Fifth Grader caught my eye. The resplendent pigmentation of his skin was like a king in all his power and authority. His face and entire body was a bright, shiny purple. Here and there were dull patches where there were obvious attempts to wipe it off. Nothing could have bespoken more eloquently that here in body, soul, and mind, was an adventurous spirit that is seldom equaled. He was ready for Halloween.

      His green eyes glinted like daggers in the dark as he took up his position as the leader of a pack of boys, fully fifteen strong. His small jaw was squared as he lifted his baton, and without a backward glance to see if anyone was following, splurged ahead with a wave of his baton and a cry of “Charge!” to frighten the wits out of anyone who would dare oppose him.

      The north wind was particularly cold, and it briskly buffeted everyone mercilessly. Not so, my “Errol Flynn” caricature. His jacket was unbuttoned, being used as a dashing robe, as he continued to run in the face of the wind, finally turning around to see his loyal “crew”, and championing a fierce grin on his face, again cried “Charge!”

      What kind of spook was he portraying, that he had to be painted in purple? I would never know. It was enough to know that he stood out like a sore thumb, he knew it, and he didn't care. He was different. He was a leader! His visage would have embarrassed someone more timorous, but it only served to embolden him the more.

      “Daddy! Daddy! Let's go!” My daughter's words finally reached my awareness, as I daydreamed of the conquests “Errol” had made. The traffic light had changed, but I just had to sneak another peek at my rapidly vanishing hero. Now he was brandishing his baton like a sword, as a Band Major might. He waved it over his head, twirled it, and slowly brought his hand to a forward position. The last I saw of him, he let out another blood curdling “Charge!” It sounded as if he were right by my side.

      I chuckled to myself as I almost wished I were young again, following a leader such as he. A leader who, without his purple face, I would never be certain I would ever see again.

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      the wordmaster says:

  ❝He really looked the part.❞

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