Sitting at home these days, Netflix has suddenly become a big deal. When we first heard of The Howling, we thought back to Dee Wallace and that awful '80s flick. Somehow, we're not in the mood for gory MTV-era horror movies just now.
But in some precincts in Arkansas, in the spring of 2020, this Howling has become something much different.
Bill Bowden--the northwest Arkansas reporter who gets all the good stories--reports of the Howling that occurs every night at eight in neighborhoods across Fayetteville. People get on their front porches and howl. At the moon? At the virus? In support of nurses and doctors? Who knows?
"The cacophony ends a few minutes later, as quickly as it started."
Why?
Why not?
"It's a lot of fun," says Rev. Lowell Grisham, who lives on Washington Avenue. "We've done it for several nights on this street. It's outside. It's social. It's exuberant and aerobic."
Some of us thought that the Howling came from something that had to do with Arkansas State. That maybe some Red Wolves cheerleaders had invented it. Or perhaps it was something akin to woo-pig-sooie. Without the "pig" and "sooie."
But no. Apparently it's a national thing. Originated in Colorado. And was spread by Facebook, of course.
Some Arkies have picked up the habit at dusk. Little kids are doing it. Older folks are looking forward to stepping on their front porches of an evening. Dogs are joining in.
One man in the neighborhood, Gary Weidner, told the paper: "I just follow the pack."
Why?
Why not?
I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect. . . .
Editorial on 04/08/2020