Seems like every year at around this time, we at Coyote Radio are asked just what exactly is the Day of the Dead anyway? Is it:
a) The weakest entry in George Romero's classic "zombie" cycle, which also includes "Night of the Living Dead," "Dawn of the Dead," and "Land of the Dead."
b) A traditional Mexican holiday to honor the spirits of those who have passed before us.
c) Just another cynical "Hallmark Holiday" designed to sell greeting cards for dead people.
or
d) A unique event combining aspects of all three.
If you answered "D," you are correct, sir. Yes, there is nothing quite like "Day of the Dead" as celebrated by those wily coyotes. The event is in its seventh year, and we're going to be headed right back to where the whole thing started- to the cozy and intimate Smoki Museum Pueblo.
If you've been to a past show, you know what to expect- delicious southwestern cuisine, music, poetry and of course the warped (and slightly morbid) comedic shenanigans of Coyote Radio Theater. If you've never been to a Day of the Dead Dinner Show, well, we promise to go easy on the "hazing" rituals which we normally inflict on the newbies. (One tip for fitting in- experienced Day-of-the-Deaders always wear a raincoat for the Gallagher-style pumpkin-bashing finale.)
Very few people know the history of the event. CRT's "Day of the Dead" has its beginnings in the previous century, when Coyote patriarch Norman McFanny fled the U.S. by hot-air balloon during the first Bush administration. Hoping to find work as a manual laborer or agricultural worker, Old Norm went South of the border to Mexico. (He always was a little confused.)
Falling in with a gang of rodeo clowns, Norm awoke from a tequila-soaked weekend of debauchery to find that his pants, wallet and mustache had all been stolen. Adding to his surprise, he found himself in the midst of some kind of bizarre parade. Noisy celebrants danced and marched about him, dressed as skeletons and devils. At first, Norm assumed he had just fallen asleep in the Wal-Mart stock room again, but a kindly old woman pulled him aside and explained that it was the annual Day of the Dead parade.
Unfortunately, Norm's understanding of Spanish was sketchy at best. He thought "muertos" meant "monkey" and believed that the parade would end in a sacrifice made to a giant ape, like in "King Kong." Apprehensive but naturally curious, he followed along and was both baffled and disappointed when they wound up at the cemetery.
Finally grasping the true meaning of the festival, Norm said to himself: "What an amazing visual spectacle. I must get home and put it on the radio."
Norm's journey home could fill an entire blog post of its own. Suffice to say it involved a hasty marriage, a brief stint as a test subject in a hair-growth laboratory and a whole lot of postage stamps. Immediately upon his return to Prescott, Norm organized the first annual Day of the Dead Dinner Show.
The debut show was broadcast, but because of a freak atmospheric anomaly could only be heard in the extreme western region of Paraguay, and in parts of Liechtenstein. An Orson Welles-style panic was started among the four English-speaking residents of Paraguay, who sincerely believed that the "zombie apocalypse was nigh." However, as all four resided at the local insane asylum, an international incident was averted.
Norm's not with us anymore (he moved to Paulden,) but his show lives on. From those inauspicious beginnings, the Day of the Dead Dinner Show has grown to a spectacle which puts Barnum & Bailey to shame. (I'm referring of course to Chuck Barnum and Fritzy Bailey, and their rather unimpressive flea and tick circus.)
Watch this space for more information!
-CS
