There is a statue in downtown Nashville, four stories tall, called "The Naked People." That's not really its name; the white-wine sophisticates prefer its proper title, "Musica," and it is located in the middle of a roundabout on heavily-traveled Music Row. The statue depicts nine bronze nudes - each figure is about 15 feet tall - dancing merrily and usually all the figures ever wear is a thin coat of greenish patina.

But when St. Patrick's Day dawned on Wednesday - faith and begorrah! - each statue wore an elaborate plaid kilt and Celtic necklaces. The bosoms of the female form were covered in ruffled peasant blouses and - blimey! - one of the males even had a huge broad-sword strapped to its back.

What is wonderful is that no one has yet stepped forward to admit the caper. No witnesses have come forward, from even as far away as Gloccamorra, and Metro police who routinely patrol the area swear they never saw a thing. C'mon, do you have any idea how you would dress nine 15-foot figures without drawing notice?

Quinn O'Sullivan, who owns a fun-filled place nearby called Dan McGuinness' Irish Pub, has become a "person of interest" because his eyes twinkled brightly when he soon told reporters, "Rumor has it they were hemmed by leprechauns and raised on high by fairies!"

The kilts were hardly tarpaulins. No, each was hemmed and pleated and sized perfectly in an effort that would normally require a garment factory in some Third World country almost six months to make. You can't just order a ruffled blouse or a kilted shirt for a 15-foot tall woman!

The case became more centered by late Wednesday night when several of the pub's barkeeps, their tongues perhaps loosened by draughts of green-tinted beer after their shifts, whispered that the fabric and sewing alone cost nearly $4,000, but proprietor O'Sullivan wasn't budging, only adding with a giggle, "It is probably the coolest prank ever pulled in Nashville."

The statue, which was commissioned in 2003 from a Tennessee sculptor named Alan LeQuire, was instantly controversial. The righteous were indignant, saying it was "too nude" and some predicted it would "cause wrecks." The local moniker is "The Naked Statue," you know, where one cabbie says to the next, "Yeah, buddy, drive down Demonbreun Street 'til you get to The Naked Statue and then go right..."

But others call the "work of art" The Naked People and, in a great story written by Gail Kerr of the Nashville newspaper yesterday, she recalled that when Lee Thomas Miller wrote the country music song, "Hillbilly Porn," the statue itself was included in a lyric that went, " ... why they chose naked giants we'd all like to know."

In 2005, a demonstration by activists for some group known as the Pure Life Revolution, which is said to embrace "purity," was held around the Naked People statue where everybody wore blindfolds and all their mouths were taped shut. Gail noted it was a very quiet demonstration. She also wrote the protest leaders later explained, "The line between art and pornography is really becoming muddled."

The next year the Tennessee Cabaret Association, which is hardly a ballet ensemble but rather a group protesting restrictions on local strip clubs, held a different protest, pointing out their live exotic showgirls were held to a more rigorous standard than the 15-foot naked people, made of bronze they may well be.

"They (the statues) are dancing," yelled one protestor, "There are clearly male genitals in public! Obviously the city of Nashville endorses naked dance, or they wouldn't have put it in a public statue." Needless to say, the city ordinance didn't change much.

But on Wednesday everything changed. One pub celebrant, Larry Smith, told the Tennessean, "It's hilarious. Whoever did this is a genius. They should dress up (the Naked People) every holiday!" And ever since, as the media has alerted the delighted public to the prank, laughing carloads have stopped at the traffic roundabout to take pictures of the now-covered nudes.

Both the spokespersons from the mayor's office and at police headquarters are also joining in the fun, marveling at the sheer ingenuity behind the caper, and one hysterical reveler on Wednesday begged to be let in on the secret. "I want to know where those clothes came from! Sure, I think it was a leprechaun, yeah!"

Thus far no one has stepped forward, but it affirms one of Wednesday's sayings may well be true: "There are only two kinds of people in the world - The Irish and those who wish they were."

royexum@aol.com