Pranksters try to lighten up rat race
	By John Flinn
	San Francisco Examiner, Sunday, January 2, 1994

A clown with a briefcase?  Hey, no problem.  If he wants to ride a
Muni bus, who's even going to notice?  This is San Francisco, after
all. 

But then, two stops later, a second clown boards the 38-Geary.  Next
stop, two more clowns.  They've all got briefcases.  Soon the bus is
half full of clowns.  They're reading the paper, gazing out the
window, checking their watches.  They don't seem to know each other.

Waiting at the next corner is another clown, briefcase in hand.  By
now the Muni driver is thoroughly rattled.  He veers past the bus stop
without even slowing down.

Glancing nervously in his rearview mirror at his red-nosed passengers,
he yells: "I'm tired of messing with you goddamn clowns!"

Score another one for the Cacophony Society, an underground network of
merry pranksters, street thespians and guerrilla performers dedicated
to throwing a monkey wrench into the grinding machinery of everyday
life. 

A loosely knit group of about 600 pranksters, Cacophony prides itself
on having no leaders, no bylaws, and no organization.  It is
steadfastly nonpolitical, nonreligious and, according to its
newsletter, "often nonsensical." 

Old-timers are still chuckling over a classic...prank from the late
1970's.  Slipping into the elevator at the posh Sir Francis Drake
Hotel, they stripped off their clothes and donned shower caps, back
scrubbers and suds.  When hotel guests tried to use the elevator they
found themselves  unwittingly barging in on this group taking a
"shower." 

Every few years, taking advantage of a massive underground bunker
beneath a closed factory complex in the East Bay, the group stages an
event they call "the Atomic Cafe." 

Members dress in Mad Max or Blade Runner garb for a "post-apocalypse,
end-of-the-world" party, complete with a live band and an A-bomb
pinata.  They are greeted at the entrance by a man who is naked and
glowing green, and dine on that bomb shelter staple, Spam.

"All this is patently illegal," said member Harry Haller, 43.  "But we
have a strong belief that we don't damage anything or leave a mess or
take anything.  We always leave the place as clean as we found it, so
no one could ever tell we were there."

While many pranks involve trespassing and other infractions, they say
no member has ever been arrested during a Cacophony event.  Still,
police generally are not amused - although they stop short of calling
the group a menace to society.  

The authorities who know them best are the Golden Gate Bridge police,
who are called out each year to break up the group's annual formal
dinner party, held next to the span's north tower.

"They're not a serious problem, but they're nonetheless a problem,"
said Sgt. Daniel Brown.  "They're blocking the sidewalk and disrupting
traffic.  If some-one was involved in an accident, they'd be held
liable." 

It's not the Cacophony's fault that the public sometimes misses the
joke.  Such was the case in 1991 when the group organized a protest of
the movie "Fantasia."

One set of protesters, calling itself Sensitive Parents Against Scary
Movies - or SPASM - decried the film for being frightening to small
children.  "Calorically challenged" people blasted the use of dancing
hippos.  And the Bay Area Drought Relief Assistance Program - BAD RAP
- criticized Mickey Mouse for wasting water during his sorcerer's
apprentice scene. 

Time magazine took it seriously.  It cited the protest in an essay
about America becoming a nation of whiners and complainers.  Examiner
columnist Rob Morse also got taken in, calling the protesters a
"fringe pressure group." 

In 1990, for the MacWorld Expo, the group created a fictional company,
Rosebud Technology, complete with business cards, T-shirts, product
literature and press releases.  At a press conference, they unveiled a
modem that could supposedly transmit data faster than the speed of
light.  It got a brief mention in the publication Micro Times. 

One of the group's most popular events is a tour, in formal wear,
through the sewers of Oakland.  Members wear tuxedos or formal gowns
above the waist - and hip waders below - to slosh through the stinky
underground catacombs. 

The route is well planned, but sometimes things go awry.  Once,
finding a key passage blocked, the group got lost, wandered through
the system for quite some time and eventually emerged from a storm
drain in a vacant lot in East Oakland. 

Neighborhood residents watched in amazement as 40 elegantly dressed
people climbed out of the hole, eyes blinking in the bright sunshine.
Someone got the idea that this was a Ku Klux Klan gathering and phoned
the police. 

The two Oakland officers who arrived had no idea what to make of the 
situation.  Jaws agape, they stared in silence for several moments
before one nudged the other and told him to get back in the patrol
car. 

"Forget this, Joe," the cop said, shaking his head.  "Just forget
this." 

The Cacophony Society's phone number is 415/665-0351.