Suited
“There’s no way it’ll be as good as last year.”
Last year’s New Year’s Eve countdown was a first. The city dropped a half-naked man in shiny pants out of a box. An instantly infamous joke, I declared it, “My favorite thing that has ever happened in Marietta.”
In January I ordered sequin slacks as a tribute. In October a dear friend came to our Halloween party wearing nothing save a spray-painted box with a pair of golden Speedos underneath. In November the committee installed the Winter Wonderland on the Square — complete with two towering, inflatable nutcrackers gating the Northeastern corner of Glover Park. For a week after Christmas, traffic signs along the loop warned of street closings and asked in bright, bulb-formed letters, “What will come out of the box??!”
“I hope it’s TWO half-naked men.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be much less controversial.”
Christmas Day was 75 degrees. New Year’s Eve is 40 degrees and rainy.
Eager for the evening, we arrive at 7:59 for an 8:00 party. We order gin and tonics and stick the folded tongue of a paper party blower under the foot of a wobbly high-top near the windows. The hostess puts a football game on the giant touchscreen TV. A server gracefully offers hors d’oeuvres.
“Liver pâté with cranberry jelly?”
“Yes, but we need plates.”
We find a stack of mismatched china on a table nearby. My plate has a wreath of pink roses. While we scarf down sliders and shrimp toast I overhear the friendly house manager quietly correcting our server, “It’s not jelly; it’s gelée.”
“Jell-ay?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
From our spot in the window we can just make out the bright green box hoisted above the street. We watch the slow trickle of couples in plastic ponchos making their way to the bandstand. We see the congregation of reserved round tables, their folding chairs collecting rainwater.
“It really is a shame about the weather.”
We see our friend working what appears to be the only street vendor tent that hasn’t closed up for the night.
“A monopoly.”
Pharrell Williams’ Happy tinkers obnoxiously over the dull drone of sports announcers.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Rain drives people off the streets and into Lumiere, a silent film themed piano bar on the second floor of The Strand. Situated between an Allman Brothers tribute in the auditorium and a VIP party on the terrace, the bar hosts a crowd of people without other plans. At the piano, a rakish man with long eyelashes earnestly sings Part of Your World from Disney’s The Little Mermaid. Two dancers perform a sort of swing-waltz in about four square feet of space between two black-and-gold-flocked sofas. Everyone here knows this one’s a sing-a-long.
“What’s that word again?”
“Streeeeet.”
“Up where they walk / Up where they run / Up where they stay all day in the sunnnnnnn.”
The dancers dip. The room sighs and applauds.
“Wandering free / Wish I could be / Part of that world.”
With midnight approaching, we grab our coats and brace to rejoin the soggy streets below. Outside we find our dearest friends safe and dry under a white tent. Impatient parties form around us. Something sounding vaguely like Sinatra croons from the bandstand. Someone’s mom is lit and shaking her groove thang under the marquee lights. The emcee thanks the crowd for putting up with the weather.
“Look at ALL the people…”
And we start what seems like the slowest countdown in history.
“Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…”
At approximately 9 seconds before midnight, an object emerges from the bottom of the box.
“It’s a chicken.”
A Big Chicken. Technically, it’s a little Big Chicken wearing a suit. With an open yellow beak and lifeless eyes, it dangles clumsily from a cord, spinning a bit in the wind, while the mob cheers on.
“Happy New Year!”
Only in Marietta is a chicken the most obvious choice in a game of intrigue.
See, we have this animatronic chicken building. In 1963 a man named Tubby built it to attract publicity for his Chick-Chuck-‘N’-Shake restaurant on Highway 41. Later his brother turned that Chick-Chuck-‘N’-Shake into a KFC and he kept the chicken. In 1993 some folks wanted to tear that Big Chicken down because it was falling apart, but everyone had a fit so they fixed it up and gave it a new coat of paint instead. Today when you ask anyone in Marietta for directions, they route you according to the address of this steely old bird.
“Harry’s? Go straight through the Square and it’s on the right past the Big Chicken.”
Now that you know about the original Big Chicken, you need to know that a miniature replica of the Big Chicken isn’t exactly a novelty around here. We have Big Chicken coasters and refrigerator magnets and stained-glass Christmas tree ornaments. A few years back, the Junior League thought it would be cute to “hatch” a whole bunch of little Big Chickens to place around town. They decorated each one to represent a local business. One was covered in a mosaic of mirrored glass. One featured a depiction of puppies. And, one wore a doctor’s lab coat — which means that this New Year’s Eve Big Chicken in a suit wasn’t even the first li’l Big Chicken to sport a jacket. Now that I think of it, my friend’s office has a painting of a Big Chicken dressed up like Clark Cable and it’s also wearing a suit. I guess that dressing chickens in suits is a pretty common practice.
Last year, in the wake of the Dude Drop, my neighbors took to Facebook, clamoring:
“Should have been a Big Chicken.”
Even today, the popular posts are resolute:
“The Big Chicken is a good thing for Marietta.”
Yes, it was an over-correction, but it was the choice of the people. They wanted a change. And if, in 2017, the most disappointing public figure living up to my expectations is a Big Chicken in a suit hanging from a rope, then I’ll say we’re having a spectacular year.
