When October Comes

These days I keep hearing about an "October Surprise." I don't think that's a special dessert addition to a Halloween Party, is it? No, its supposed to be political, and it's supposed to be bad.

I never liked surprises. They tend to be an insidious form of conspiracy that's pulled like wool over the wide-eyed, innocently oblivious folks like us who have trouble dealing with the tenuous
matters of everyday life. Gee, we'd be pretty easy to fool if we were really like that. Here's the news. We are.

"I never liked Mondays," observes my friend, Tayo. "It's not that Mondays mean that you have to go to work -- although for so many, it means just that. It also often means that's the day that you have selected to quit something." Quit smoking. Quit the hooch. Quit pouring Ouzo over your corn flakes, and quit dropping Nembutal into your blender drink. Or quit the husband. Or quit the mistress. Or quit yelling at the mistress, and quit yelling about the wife, and the dog,
and Katie Couric, and that damned "October Surprise," whatever it's supposed to be,

I can't say I quit the hooch because it was on a Monday. Actually, it was a Friday. But that thought isn't all that revolutionary or iconoclastic. Or brave. I simply did not know what day it was -- except that I knew that it was time to quit. No surprise for me. Actually, I was going to quit town so I wouldn't have to make a big deal about how I'm going to change my life -- but I had to stick around here so the medical experts could check up on me, and make sure I stayed quit for awhile. You see, quitting is one thing. Staying quit is another. They wanted me to be in top shape when the "October Surprise" comes. We'd better be ready for it, whatever it is.

Nixon used to mutter, "I've never been a quitter." He mumbled that just before he quit the Presidency. He was a duplicitous quitter -- not my favorite kind. I always been quitter, and I hope I stay that way. Particularly when things get real dicey. I'll be ready to ship out -- so I can lend a hand to the other quitters who got there ahead of me.

I used to love October. That's when I'd kick up piles of leaves, and catch the scent of the wood burning in the chimneys all along the wooded lane, the twilight splashed in October's rich, shameless colors. A naughty exuberance would come over me.

There are no real surprises this year. None that I can see. Just the laughter of kids who are bundled, who are safe, who are in love.

"When October Goes" is a Johnny Mercer lyric that Barry Manilow came across a few years ago, and set it to a tune. I wanted to include it here.

"And when October goes, the snows begins to fly above the smoky roofs/I watch the planes go by/The Children running home/Beneath a twilight sky?Oh for the fun of them/When I was one of them./And when October goes/The same old dream appears/And you are in my arms/To share the happy years./I turn my head away/To hide the helpless tears/Oh how I hate to see October go.I should be over it now I know/It doesn't matter much/How old I grow/I hate to see October go."

So I don't want to know about an "October Surprise" unless it means that it will bring a few of those we loved back here again so we can say we never quit them, never would -- whether October and its surprise comes or whether it goes.

Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, which is currently, and ostentatiously on sale at Naomi's shoppe for dinnerware, and domestic treasures. "Naomi is the second biggest pot dealer in San Francisco," says the ever-attentive Armistead Maupin. His store is located at 1817 Polk Street, S.F. (415) 775-1207.