They say it ain't over until the fat lady sings. There was no such dame belting out any tunes last night, yet it all came to a close for Zozobra around 9:10 p.m. Thursday.

Despite his gigantic size — 49 feet, 9 inches — Ol' Zozo couldn't withstand the pyrotechnics that engulfed him after a bolt of lightning hit him like a missile, and gloom burned away in the City Different. This annual ritual, which takes place at Magers Field at Fort Marcy Park, kicks off Fiesta de Santa Fe, a series of religious and cultural events commemorating the Spanish conquistadors' resettlement of Santa Fe following the 1680 Pueblo Revolt.

According to producer Ray Valdez, some 20,000 people flooded the field Thursday night to dispose of their gloom via Zozobra's demise. A New York woman who identified herself as Andrea summed it up for those feeling depression and pain: "It's been a tough year. I need this symbolism to move on."

The Sean Helean Band, the musical group Sol Fire, and the Santa Fe Indian School Spoken Word Team all provided pre-burn entertainment between 6 and 8:30 p.m. Revelers came prepared for rain, wearing ponchos, raincoats and protective wear.

Police roamed the site in small groups throughout the evening, and SWAT teams overlooked the field from the rooftops of nearby buildings — no doubt stationed there lest Zozobra break free and head into town to cause destruction.

Zozobra appeared to be in a state of suspended sleep until about 7:45, when he slowly came to life and gave the crowd a look that suggested he was very distressed. And with good reason. For 85 years Santa Feans have taken pride in igniting Zozobra, so the odds — and the torches — were really stacked against him.

The first Fiesta took place in 1712, but the burning of the bewildered-looking marionette began in 1924 as an offshoot of the religious traditions of the Fiesta. Many historians credit Zozobra's birth to artist Will Shuster, but other sources believe artists Gustave Baumann and Dorothy Stewart, New Mexican editor E. Dana Johnson and house designer Kate Chapman had a hand in his creation, too. Since 1964, the Kiwanis Club has sponsored the burning of Zozobra as a fundraiser for scholarships.

Around 8:40 p.m., Judge Sparkus Illuminus ascended the steps leading to Zozobra's support pole, and the crowd began to roar. Zozobra's eyes lit up, and for a moment it really looked like he was perspiring.

The judge read a list of charges against Zozobra, calling him a bogeyman who scares children and a goon who makes our dogs howl at night. He then asked the assemblage to choose a suitable punishment for the big fellow.

"Burn him!" they shouted. If the crowd's cries of "Burn him!" grew repetitious fast, at least they were heartfelt.

At 8:45, the fireworks went off, and Zozobra screamed in terror. Then the gloomies, who looked like little sheet-clad ghosts, surrounded him. Zozo made some feeble efforts to swat them, but had about as much success as King Kong did with those airplanes over the Empire State Building.

The Queen of Gloom, Rachel Martinez, and Firedancer Helene Luna Douglas, started doing their thing around 9 p.m. By that time, Zozobra must have known that the gig was up. He shuddered and shook with rage, but after that bolt of lightning came out of left field to hit him, his head caught on fire — never a hopeful sign.

As fireworks continued to explode around him, Zozobra burned for a good five or six minutes. And then he was just a pile of ashes, it was all over, and the crowd began to depart.

Zozobra arrived at Magers Field around 8 a.m. yesterday morning, Valdez said, making his life span about 13 hours total.

But don't be too sad. The nice thing about Zozobra is, he'll be back next year — just like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and income tax-filing day, which means your gloom will probably return, too.



Contact Robert Nott at 986-3021 or rnott@sfnewmexican.com.