Parson Brown and a Lifetime of Torment
By: Drew Elliot
Tags: Comedy, Satire, Horror, Humor, Christmas

When a crime is committed within the confines of a song lyric, there is rarely retribution or justice. There is no answering for wrongdoing, punishment for the actions of the criminal at large. Bob Marley shot a cop, for Jah’s sake, and I don’t remember hearing about a trial or sentencing, do you? It’s not to say legal actions never take place. Snoop Dogg rapped about the murder case he was given. Johnny Cash spent some time in Folsom Prison after a full-on psychopathic break in Reno. But for the most part, from hip hop verses to rock operas to backwoods country sob stories, prosecution of crimes almost never occurs.

Until now.

At this point, no one pays close attention to Christmas songs. They show up in November, usually far too early, and blast our ears bloody in every grocery aisle, department store and office lobby we visit. Idiots are rockin’ around the Christmas tree, incessantly jingling bells and carelessly riding in sleighs (you don’t even have a license to drive that thing, Dan), all while the rest of us simply try to survive the economic toil of a massively-commercialized, gift-giving pressure cooker that is the holiday season. Most of us agree that holiday tunes are terrible, but for one unfortunate Christmas character, they’ve all but destroyed his life.

“Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” was written in 1937 by Boop Crosby (no relation) and is one of the most beloved Christmas songs in America’s overstuffed catalog of snow-covered crap jingles. The lyrics are expectedly lame. There’s a good amount of glistening, listening, and (ugh) moderate exercise. But, the mysterious character we find in the middle of verse two is what’s always grabbed my attention.

As the song goes:

“In the meadow we can build a snowman,

and pretend that he is Parson Brown.

He’ll say ‘are you married?’

We’ll say ‘no, man!’

But you can do the job when you’re in town!”

As a sad, unmarried man shunned by society for being alone myself, my focus has never been on the of unwedded despair in the verse, but with this Parson Brown character. Is his name really Parson or is that a title? Isn’t a parson a reverend? I think I read that once. That would explain the marrying stuff. So his last name’s actually Brown? Of the New England Brown’s of Westchester? If so, holy shit. The Browns owned much of the northeast in the 30’s. What kind of connections did Boop Crosby have? Are we talking about Illuminati stuff here? Ok, I’ve gone off course.

After some light internet research, I found that Parson Brown was, in fact, a real reverend based out of Cleveland, Ohio, the hometown of Boop Crosby himself. Not only that, but the events depicted in the song actually happened in the winter of 1935 when Brown was a young man of God in suburban Mill Creek. When he came upon a group of children chanting and building a snowman, they told him they’d named it after him. He, in turn, shamed them for not being married yet and went on about his day. But life would never be the same again.

Thanks to that snowman.

Brought to life with a Satanic ritual expertly performed by the children, and inhabited by the soul of a demon named A’hant, the snowman became more than just a frosty novelty. From that day forward, and to this day still, Parson Brown is not just a reverend from Cleveland, but a wretched, possessed snow creature that terrorizes the eastern United States. For over 80 years, the icy hell beast has glided from frozen town to town, destroying communities with its soulless evil.

Feasting on the mortal bodies of innocents is bad enough, but the economic toll on the REAL Parson Brown has been just as substantial.

“He’s used my social security number several times,” a now broken, 93-year-old Brown quakes. “He’s taken out loans in my name, bought cars and homes. My credit rating is basically dogshit at this point.”

A tear runs down Parson Brown’s liver-spotted cheek. The nursing home attendant tells us, “that’s enough for today.”

The saddest part of the entire story is that none of it had to happen. Those Satanic children didn’t HAVE to give a name to the embodiment of evil they created. Their wicked compulsion to brand a seething, murderous demon snowman with the same moniker as their community’s newest preacher man was completely unnecessary. The only saving grace is that a lifetime of death and destruction being done in his name didn’t break the real Parson Brown. Sure, he’s not the man he once was. He certainly wouldn’t qualify for a Discover card at this point. But he’s kept his faith through it all, and that’s a miracle in and of itself.

As the nurse wheeled his chair down the hallway of the north wing of the Resting Willow Assisted Living Complex, I couldn’t help but wonder how he survived it all. How a man whose piety had been dragged through the sinful mud could have soldiered on knowing that thousands of people were being raped, tortured and killed by someone calling himself Parson Brown. But he did. Somehow.

I guess that’s the real magic of the holiday season. Merry Christmas, Mr. Brown, and for everyone else, try to avoid children in meadows with pentagrams drawn in the snow. Just to be on the safe side.