March 15 (yesterday), known as the Ides of March, is a date familiar to anyone who’s read Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” probably in high school. Most also remember that a soothsayer warned Caesar to “beware the Ides of March.” Because of arrogance, stubbornness or partial deafness, the Roman emperor eventually dismissed the warning and was assassinated by Brutus and other conspirators.
The conspirators called themselves “liberators,” the same term Dick Cheney used in rallying support to invade Iraq: “We’ll be welcomed as liberators.” I’d never paid much attention to the derivation of “Ides.” Until now.
“Ides,” which means division or part of a month, occurred in every month, like phases of the moon, but in March it was the 15th. For some other months, the Ides occurred as early as the 13th day. Some theorists posit that Caesar assumed the Ides, the day in which he was most vulnerable, fell two days before the 15th. Therefore, he may have felt confident in going to the senate, not realizing his assassination was imminent.
“Assassin” is a Latin word that describes a “hashish user,” the drug being the reward for disposing of particular prominent people. After passing through French or Italian, the word came into English and is recorded in 1603 with reference to the Muslim Assassins.
Some historians say the soothsayer-prophet was an astrologer, Spurinna. According to the historian Plutarch, Caesar originally decided to remain at home on the Ides of March but changed his mind after being properly flattered by a conspirator.
“Ides” apparently had no classical significance other than of being the date of the planned execution of the Roman emperor.
All of this concern over Ides and assassinations came to me during a conversation with my friend Bruce Wertz, whose jokes are even wertz than mine. For example, Bruce will ask, “Why should one never fall in love with tennis players?” “Because “love” means nothing to them.”
Once, when I inquired into his well-being, he replied, “I’m O.K., I guess. Nobody’s tried to assassinate me this week, and if someone had been successful, I wouldn’t be telling you about it.”
Good point. But I was less concerned about any after-death pontification than his choice of words. In short, is it possible to assassinate Bruce, or me, or most other people?
Assassinations can happen only to prominent people, not ordinary folks. So, who can be assassinated? A pontiff? A head of state? Nobility?
Doesn’t the word itself connote violence and suddenness? Aren’t assassinations usually committed with bombs, bullets or knives? If, in a perverted expression of courtly love, a queen sprinkles a few grains of arsenic in her lordship’s morning Ovaltine, and he eventually succumbs, is it really an assassination?
Yet, the term for the doer of the deed, assassin, refers not only to someone who slays a high-ranking official but to any hired gun. Spanish literature refers to such people as “asesinos,” and classical literature calls assassin any slay-for-pay performer, one who kills ordinary folk as well as kings and queens.
There’s a 275-pound professional wrestler, Jody Hamilton, who calls himself The Assassin. Does this mean he pins only courtly figures? And Pro-Bowler Jack Tatum, who joined the Oakland Raiders in 1971, calls himself The Assassin. Now does that mean he turned only offensive players named “King,” “Duke,” “Lord” or “Earl” into ectoplasm?
But back to Bruce Wertz: He remains the recognized expert on local tennis, another kind of court, and there’s quite a large chapter when it comes to Vegas High and Robertson tennis. Go ahead. Ask him anything. Yet, even with his knowledge, Bruce still doesn’t qualify as one who could be assassinated. Therefore, Bruce, you’re safe for awhile, the 15th having just passed, and your status lacking a wee bit. Remember, you need to be eminent for an imminent assassination.
But wait, there’s more:
If you re-read Shakespeare’s play, you’ll notice that in Act II, Scene I, as Brutus, Cassius, Trebonius and others conspire to assassinate Caesar, Brutus interrupts to say, “Count the clock.” It strikes three.
Trebonius, for one, could have said, “We heard the clock strike three. By the way, what’s a clock? Here we are, 44 years before Christ, and those gadgets haven’t been invented yet.”
And Brutus might have added, “Ya know, our Appian Way chronographic equivalent of the Bank of Las Vegas time-and-temp sign is yon sundial. We’re a part of quite a literary anachronism, but our sundial at least is not always, seven minutes fast, like thou-knowest-what.”
Much blood has flowed on the capitol steps of Rome in the past 2,049 years since Caesar died asking, “Et tu, Brute?”
A few hours ago, I felt confident the Ides of March had passed, but after this research, I’m thinking today could be the real Ides of March. If the Romans can be a day or two off, and if they hear the chiming of clocks not yet invented, what’s to stop them from declaring the 16th as the Ides? That’s today, so maybe we’re not so safe after all.
Bruce: If you’re feeling extra important today, I suggest you stay indoors and avoid men in togas and swords. And by all means, if Dick Cheney shows up at your house, armed with an invitation and a quail-shooting iron, don’t answer.