Each year, a rather fantastic parade of wonderfully imagined costumes and impossibly constructed floats and contraptions helps celebrate Halloween in New York City’s Greenwich Village.

Or so I am told. I can’t remember actually ever going.

Regardless, this year there is a savage plan.

I had thought of other personas to go as in the past (Lupin III, Marx Brother X, Jason Thomas Kocher), but I’ve never been compelled as such to do the necessary costume gathering and preparation.

This year, I will be there as Doctor Who.

Not just any Doctor Who, mind you, but the best Doctor Who…the 2nd Doctor as irreproducibly portrayed by the great Patrick Troughton.

Although I pull off a fine, fine impersonation, the night may pass without anyone ever recognizing my character due to its general lack of popularity even in Doctor Who fandom. This is fine…I will enjoy it very much anyhow, sneaking about Sixth Avenue, being a genius.

However, the gamble is great and the reward well worth it. If someone happens to recognize my character…what instant friendship!

If such a recognition were probable to occur, I have a particular scene to carry out in order to make the moment even more memorable. I will have my fine lady friend purchase a kilt and blouse to dress up as Jamie, the 2nd Doctor’s closest Scottish male companion (televised platonically). Here, however, in New York’s West Village a passerby may view The Doctor pressing Jamie against a wall with a passionate kiss and a hand moving up his/her kilt.

Ho ho…what a fine time should someone be able to put 2 and the square root of 7,349 together.

Fevered, my expectations know no bounds and I imagine an even greater chance meeting. What great role playing and excitement there would be should I, the 2nd Doctor, muttering genius thoughts to myself, happen to lose my footing, tripping over some long piece of knitted fabric…which happens to be the ridiculous scarf of some less brave soul dressed as Tom Baker’s 4th Doctor.

“Oh my! What coincidence!“

Otherwise unattainable emotions will be had and scenes that never took place will be playacted. The excitement dying away, we will start to part ways only to be confronted by a rusty headed young man dressed in a sharp brown suit finished off with Chuck Taylors, a rather obvious soul dressed as David Tennant’s 10th Doctor.

We, all three, pause a moment…ready to slide down a slope of joy at this simple meeting , but we at once share a distraction towards an even greater, more amazing possibility …

We are nearly half way to 10…in a city of millions.

Together we are running, as best our characters can, searching the crowd through a montage of mistaken and found identities until by the stroke of midnight we have assembled all 10 Doctors.

Of course, much more of the same amazing feeling is passed around with pictures and poses galore. Jon Pertwee’s 3rd Doctor and I wander off to the side to enter into an endless Doctor Who version of the dozens.

Most of the other parade-goers have gone home, but we stand strong at one end of the avenue not yet ready to let go of the night. We are so smart in our obscure costumes. In the far distance, there seems to be some slumping collection of fools dressed as robots and aliens…common fare Halloween superficiality.

“Common fare….”

“Indeed…Hmm!”

Our conversations end, save the uninterrupted bitter barbs thrown between myself and the 4th Doctor. The rest take on a more serious look. The 1st, 7th, and 10th Doctors adjust their glasses, squinting to better make out the huddled creatures at the opposite end of the avenue.

“Robots and aliens…indeed!”

Rolling, creeping, slithering, stomping into are Daleks and Cybermen and Ice Warriors and Sontarans and Yeti and Masters…oh my!

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