Gondor the Beast

 

The Story of Gondor the Beast

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

A strange creature  inhabits our backyard. He is a 350-pound concrete beast with fangs,  wings, and eyes that seem to glow in the twilight. After eight years, he has become an old friend who reminds us why we love to scare ourselves.

His name is “Gondor,” which is the term J.R. Tolkien used to describe the Middle Kingdom in his famous trilogy.  This moniker won first place in our own facebook contest, but our creature’s  formal name is a gargoyle or chimera.  The former term sounds like gurgle or gargle for good reason.   Gargoyles are the grotesque offspring of Gothic church architecture in the Middle Ages.  They are fantastical creatures who perch on steeples and steep rooftops.  Their mouths are spouts to drain rainwater off the roof and sides of a building.  

 On the other hand, chimeras seldom have spouts, but they are nonetheless nasty looking Greek mythological beings composed of animal parts – lions, goats, dragons (wings) with a snake-headed tail.  Gondor is one of those snarling hybrids, crouching on his haunches, resting on huge claws, and baring fangs.

 The Notre Dame cathedral in Paris is a favorite haunt for chimeras that were sculpted in the 1800s.  Hundreds of years earlier, so the story goes, a dragon-like beast would rise from the Seine River and eat terrified residents with grisly abandon.  Helped by a Catholic saint, enraged citizens trapped and burned the dragon.  However, his head and shoulders resisted flames, so instead his hide was nailed to the church to ward off evil.

Today the biggest numbers of chimeras and gargoyles can be found on Catholic churches. across France.  They also sit on city rooftops in places like New York City, Pittsburgh, and Chicago.  American horror novelist Stephen King insists that they are quite alive and always watching us from above.  

Our own story of Gondor began eight years ago when we visited our daughter in Albany.  She suggested antiquing at a downtown salvage yard.  There we discovered a demonic statue who looked like he might have flown in from the rooftop of a nearby Albany church or office building.  Fatefully, I remarked, “Wow what a birthday present he would be sitting in our yard back home!”

My wife and daughter mischievously hatched a plan to ship the creature 300 miles across the state to our rural home.  My son-in-law Bill arranged to have the beast hoisted and lashed onto the bed of his truck.  Out on the thruway gawkers would pull even, wave and laugh at his fierce cargo. I thought the chimera’s arrival was the best possible birthday.  Several husky friends wrestled my unusual gift onto a convenient concrete pad.  Today, years later, he stares balefully at anyone who passes by. 

In recent decades grotesques have become amazingly popular. Their shock value has diminished, but their entertainment value has skyrocketed.  They show up as Disney cartoon characters or beings that invade from other planets.  My favorite classic horror show is the 1984 “Ghostbusters”, starring actor Bill Murrey and friends. Two mythical figures, the keymaster and the gatekeeper, combine evil forces to occupy a city rooftop and unlock the gates of hell.  Like many other chimeras, the keymaster’s “terror dogs” break out of their shells and raise havoc.  Ultimately, they are exploded by the laser guns of the ghostbusters who rescue the city.  After four iterations, ghostbuster movies have become a cultural phenomenon.

From Gondor to Ghostbusters, the popularity of grotesques begs the question, why has it become such a thrill to scare us out of our wits? Monstrous characters have almost become our heroes and friends.  The spiritual message of repenting in the face of horror has worn off.   Words like enticing, mesmerizing, and addictive come to mind.   We have gotten used to real and fictional grotesque happenings all around us.  Still, we take comfort in knowing that Gondor is alive and watching for evil invaders.