The last time I was at MD Anderson, I negotiated with Dr. Fossella to reschedule my February treatment saying “I never, ever miss a Mardi Gras!” (You know, priorities, priorities.)
With that Dr. Fossella reached for the hem of his scrubs, lifted his top and asked “are you one of those girls?” After I finished sputtering, I explained that those girls were only sophomores and tourists on Bourbon Street. But in reality, I’m not sure anyone has done much boob baring this century.
At this year’s Mardi Gras, I exposed friends who’d never experienced it to our annual bacchanal. In many ways I felt like Margaret Mead, explaining the many layers of the celebration, the Orleans-centric vocabulary that’s employed, and the varied ways that different socio-economic and racial groups mark the season. But the common thread they noticed through all the festivities was the friendliness. They saw it as a celebration of connections.
This universal theme is evident throughout the carnival season, which stretches from Epiphany (Jan. 6) until the day before Ash Wednesday. Well, there’s also music, creativity, humor, food and joyousness, but what my friends focused on was the ubiquitous bonhomie.
I’m told that David Brooks publicly laments that in American cities no one knows his neighbors. The exception he mentions is New Orleans where everyone knows theirs. During Mardi Gras, it seems as if the populace expands the definition of neighbor to encompass whomever is in their vicinity at the moment. Multigenerational families along the Uptown parade route make friends with the folks around them. Since one tends to return to the same location year after year, when familiar faces fail to reappear, their absence is lamented.
Once “Deep Gras” (the Wednesday prior to Mardi Gras until the following Tuesday) arrives, there are three evening parades in a row along the traditional Uptown route most nights. Folks arrive hours early in anticipation. There is a lot of time to socialize.
When families arrive along the parade route their paraphernalia is likely to include a ladder with a box on top to hold their toddlers; a rolling cart to carry small children to the parade and then haul the throws they’ve caught plus the kids back to their car thereafter; food in prepared form or barbecue pits to cook onsite (which may well be shared with a passerby); tarps to cover wet spots on the neutral ground (aka median); tents….
Oh, my goodness, I almost forgot to add booze and go cups. Carrying a glass container in public is strictly prohibited, but other than that, do what ya wanna. (Priorities, priorities.)
I love the array of people of all ages out having fun. It’s rather like a football tailgate party, but no one is hating on another team.
At the pinnacle of the social order in New Orleans are the members of the oldest, most exclusive krewes. These organizations put on balls, present their debutantes and many also parade. They are savoring the opportunity to be with old friends and to fold their deb daughters into adult society. Other krewes, with more open memberships also parade and have celebrations. Contrary to my guests’ assumption, each of the 30 odd parades have twenty-five to thirty-ish floats which are the production of that one krewe. All of these elaborately decorated floats appear in the krewe’s one parade annually, and then are rebuilt to suit the next year’s theme. And, since corporate sponsorships are prohibited, all costs associated with the krewes’ parades, balls, throws, and philanthropic work are borne by the members.
Even watching a parade becomes a social interaction. The most fulfilling way to partake of the passing pageant, whether as a rider or a member of the crowd, is to make eye contact, viewer to float rider, wave in exhortation for beads or other thrown items, make the catch then look back at the rider to say “thanks.” Riders feel as if they are distributing great largess. The viewer, feels gratified to have made a connection. In truth, some throws (colored pencil sets, mittens, purse mirrors from the women’s Krewe of Muses; children’s angel wings from Hermes; aluminum drink glasses from Rex) are reusable. Plastic beads - not so much. Glittered shoes from Muses and painted coconuts from Zulu are the real prizes of Mardi Gras and likely to have an honored place on the recipient’s mantel, perhaps year round.
A person may be a rider one night and in the street with his kids, standing on the back of the family ladder, begging for throws and drinking a beer with the next guy the following evening.
A number of marching groups have sprung up since Katrina. These groups include the mostly pot-bellied 610 Stompers (“Ordinary men with extraordinary moves”), the Laissez Boys riding in tarted up BarcaLoungers, and the Amelia EarHawts (“Can you handle the turbulence?”). The crowd loves them, and organization members form tight communities among their themselves as they rehearse for Mardi Gras parades.
Of course the marching bands are as vital to parades as the floats. The St. Augustine Marching 100 is everyone’s favorite, but each high school, junior high, and Roots of Music band plays a role in showcasing these young talents. The bands also create a community to nurture mostly minority students, and to prepare the next generation to carry on New Orleans’ musical tradition.
Balls and riding in a parade may strengthen one’s ties with longtime friends. Celebrating in the street is an opportunity to enjoy those you’ll never fully know.
Mardi Gras Indians, Black “tribes” who work all year on feathered, beaded outfits to wear Mardi Gras day, honor native Americans who aided their ancestors’ escape attempts from slavery. Their elaborate costumes will only be worn twice: once on Mardi Gras, again a few weeks later on Super Sunday. Then the costumes are put away and work on the next year’s outfit begins. The passing of this tradition, which glues one generation to the next, has become increasingly important since Katrina. The labor-intensive efforts to create gorgeous, enormous costumes are awe inspiring. The product of their labors is absolutely amazing.
In the French Quarter, a different type of celebration is going on, to say the least. Floats are too large for the narrow streets, but they are clogged with people. Traditional parades are supplanted by smaller scale efforts from the obscene Krewe du Vieux, to the parade of dogs in costume known as Barkus. As Mardi Gras Day approaches, more and more people in costume appear. They include elaborate drag regalia or pointed digs at New Orleans’ mayor, our pot holes, too-frequent flooding issues, or the currently hapless Saints.
At a Saturday morning parade, an Uptown lady named Susan extended her hand and said she’d moved back to New Orleans two years ago after many years away. We talked and laughed and exchanged some throws. We also met a Black family who’d come in from Charlotte for Mardi Gras. One of their cute young daughters was wearing the angel wings she’d caught the night before at the Krewe of Hermes parade. She modeled the wings for us and we took pictures.
My visitor asked “is everybody always this friendly? Or is it just during Mardi Gras?”
We assured her we were hospitable all the time. People almost always make eye contact and speak or nod when passing on the street or in the park. And, Lord! The grocery store line! If you’re not chummy with your checkout clerk or the person behind you in line, if you have not inquired about an item in someone else’s cart and asked if they’d recommend it, if you’re not calling people “Honey” and “Sugar” and “Baby” without fear of recrimination, you’ve flunked New Orleanian 101.
By the time we went to our neighborhood grocery, my friend had gotten into the local vibe. When we left, Ann was good friends with Chakeshia, our checkout lady.
I think it is this gregariousness, whether the encounters are for a moment or far longer, that makes ours the kind of place New Orleanians-in-exile long to return to. Yes, there’s the architecture, the music, and the food. Add the humor (so much pun-ishment) and the overflowing creativity to the mix. But most of all it’s the warmth of the people that make Mardi Gras and all the other seasons uplifting.
The theme of the Rex parade on Mardi Gras Day this year was The Two Worlds of Lefcadio Hearn; New Orleans and Japan. Hearn was a prominent writer at the end of the 19th Century, but is now largely forgotten, except in New Orleans. In a long ode to New Orleans he decried all the things that are wrong with the Crescent City. A lot of those complaints have yet to be addressed. Then he ended his description of this hellhole with:
“It is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes than to own the whole state of Ohio.”
Christie - BRAVO - the best description of NO and Mardi Grad ever!!!❤️❤️❤️
I LOVED sharing Thursday lunch with you all!! It’s always a pleasure to be in your company. I’m sorry we both got banged up on Muses night, but thankfully we both prevailed!! Love you!! K