Andrew J. Lederer

I've been to the Union Square pillow fight as many times as I've been to the Easter Parade -- twice, as of this weekend.

Last time I went to the parade, it was well into a rainy afternoon by the time I got there and the only people in front of St. Pat's were gay guys in campy hats, not the MGM musical-style assemblage of rich folk in attractive bonnets I had hoped for and perhaps expected. (I gotta say, this sort of evidence would cause some observers to assume gayness was less a matter of sexual orientation than public ostentation.)

This time, the sun-dappled street was filled with nice-looking, everyday people from 57th St down to Rockefeller Center, with colorful flowers, balloons and other hat-adjuncts occasionally visible above the mob.

Many of the more extreme head-coverings were better viewed in this fashion, 'cause when you got close enough to see who was wearing them, the frequently demented faces tended to put a crimp in one's joy. I did, however, love the face of one bird-covered chap, who had a Langdonesque look of sweetness and sadness that was even more poignant in real life than in a silent move. (Of course, I'm not sure that I've ever seen one of Harry Langdon's silent movies.)

I didn't have an Easter-style hat, only a black, cold-weather stocking cap, but what did it matter?

When people filed into St. Pat's, they made you take it off, whatever it was.