Booth Shot Lincoln

Poor Lincoln then was heard to say,
And all has gone to rest,
"Of all the actors in this town,
I loved Wilkes Booth the best."

I usually remember my dreams. I blame a psychology class that I took in college where we had to keep a dream journal. I discovered then that once you start writing your dreams down immediately in the morning, you start remembering more than one dream that you had over the night, but I digress. I generally have dreams that seem to be a little Jefferson Airplane-psychodelic funk inspired. (For those of you not old enough, look up the album Surrealistic Pillow) You know the kind of dream I'm talking about, where you’re flying over a building, or swimming through the air, or morphing into something else. Not last night. Last night it was a page from Quantum Leap.

The dream started with my partner and I walking into a dimly-lit theatre lobby. Why was it so dark, you ask? The lobby was lit with gaslights. I pointed that out in my dream. As we walked through the lobby, we passed dozens of other theatre-goers all dressed in their finery. We commented on their clothing as we walked. “Oh, she’s not wearing a corset”, “Hmmm. That Zouave jacket fits her well.” (I was apparently channeling my friend Ericka in the dream.) We also saw our friend Dan there with another mystery woman, and remarked about how well we liked his linen suit. We continued to meander through the crowd and found our seats in the balcony, first row. A stout man, looking suspiously like the singing snowman of animated Christmas-specials, entered the stage and began to make announcements. It is important to note that I did not at this time know what the play was.

The sharp-vested snowman, …er, emcee looked up at us and asked if we were ready for the play to start. We nodded slowly, and the curtain began to rise. At that time we were only about 12 feet above the stage. As the play began, I got a horrible cramp in my hip and decided to get up and stretch. I walked by the folks in the balcony and went inside a side-door that lead to a small closet. I was looking for a plastic cup, but all I could find were glass. “Oh yes, THEY DIDN’T HAVE PLASTIC BACK THEN”, I said to myself. I grabbed a glass tumbler and poured water from a pitcher that was sitting on a dry sink. (Note: Are you beginning to see a pattern here? Stay tuned.)

When I finished pouring the drink I turned around and a handsome young dark-haired man was walking toward me. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt and black tie. In my dream, I thought if he had a smaller mustache, and straighter hair, he would look a little like Edgar Allan Poe. We chatted and he mentioned that his name was John and he and his brother Edwin were actors.I thought nothing of his remarks as I ended the small-talk and started back to my seat, when I saw that my partner was getting up to come find me.

In trying to get out, she disturbed the row, and a thin man with a beard, his stocky wife and another couple had to move. I recognized one of the men immediately. I said aloud, “Oh look, it’s Majorl Rathbone.” At this point, I was also beginning listen to the words of the play that was being performed. From here, the dream went into fast-forward. The movement of my partner had effected the entire row, and my talking had caused everyone to look back in my direction. What they saw was the man in black (not Johnny Cash, but rather the actor) pointing a gun at the thin man. Fortunately, the row disruption has caused him to miss, and I tripped him as he threw something over the edge and vaulted over the railing to the stage below. (Please note that at some point during this scene I clearly hear the phrase “you sockdologizing old man-trap”). As we all rush to the railing and look down, we see that the stage is now about three stories down, and the actor, John, is just landing on his feet. Interestly, he now has a pistol in one hand, and a knife in another, and begins fighting with a character on stage, vaguely reminiscint of Phantom of the Opera. I said “Wow, how did he do that? He landed on his feet.” My partner responded “Oh, it’s not real, he’s an actor”, and I woke up. Hmmm.

What does this tell us Sigmund? Perhaps that I had a fascination with Abe Lincoln as a child? I know way too much trivia? I spent too long living with someone who specializes in historic clothing? Dan likes linen and I think he is secretly dating someone? Or, do I desperately want to change history? You tell me.



* For an instrumental version try Malcolm Daglish & Grey Larsen's Thunderhead