Mother's Day parade

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and also the annual celebratory parade for the Social and Pleasure Club Original Big Seven. As I stood on St. Bernard Avenue waiting for the parade to cross Claiborne, the crowd was full of mothers and children, holding hands. Many mothers were wearing corsages, and the children were wearing hair-bows. Everyone was wishing one another "Happy Mother's Day!"

The sound of revved motors split the air, and around the corner came a fleet of women on sleek and fancy motorcycles. They wore helmets adorned with bright pink mohawks. They made a pass up the Avenue, made a U-turn through the neutral ground, and circled back, parking their bikes in formation at the curb.

Treme Sidewalk Steppers came out Sunday

Rolling in the Treme.

Wonderful times.

My turn

This one's for Jack and Uncle Earl.

When Jack died, just a few days before Christmas, I was lucky to have the support of friends. My friend Scott helped me by carrying Jack's 65 pound body out of my house and putting it in my car to take to the vet; my friend Linda helped me by driving me to the vet, taking me out for food, cleaning my house and putting away all dog-reminder items while I showered, and then taking me out to Vaughans's Lounge and getting me drunk.

In passing

This seems to be a time of people passing. Here in my neighborhood, yet another loss. I did not know John Sipos, but if you read his obituary at the link, you will feel, as I do, that you wish you had.

His memorial, held at Vaughan's Lounge yesterday, drew a huge crowd of friends and family that spilled out into the street, danced and sang, and marched around the block.

Big Chief Honey Bannister of the Creole Wild West led the throng, who waved white handkerchiefs through the streets of the infamous "Barmuda Triangle" in the Bywater.

There was food, drink, joy and laughter. What could be better?

Cold but hot

Saturday it was so cold in New Orleans - 31 degrees Fahrenheit, even during the day! It was also crisp and clear, with a hard breeze blowing.  It was the annual second line parade for the Social Aid and Pleasure Club Perfect Gentlemen, and the cold didn't hold them off.

I stood on the corner of Simon Bolivar and Martin Luther King, Jr. and felt the wind whipping at me. But on marched the Gentlemen!

And Ladies, dancing!

The cold of the day was belied by the warmth of the company - people were happy to be out on a joyous day.

A lady festooned with Mardi Gras beads stopped and saw me taking photos. She pulled a handful of strands over her head and handed them on to me.

Another lady was strung with feathers matching the colors of one of the marching groups. She unclipped one strand and gave it to me.

The capacity for joy and generosity of my fellow New Orleanians never fails to amaze me.

Oaxacan second line

It was about 9:00 o'clock in the evening - pretty early in this socially active city. The streets were packed due to the annual yuletide Noche de los Rabanos festival. I was sitting at the bar with my three companions in a mezcaleria on Calle Cinco de Mayo.  A mezcaleria is a little place where you can sample mezcal by the glass and buy it by the bottle if you like. Some places are part of restaurants, and serve cocktails like any bar, but this little place only served mezcal.

We were sitting at the bar comparing different pours, sipping the smooth smoky liquor. There was a guy from New Jersey crowding my shoulder. He was drunk, and he was checking my Jersey bonafides by asking me whether I knew which town exit number 115 was.

"Turnpike or Parkway?" I asked him.

When suddenly from outside was a loud boom, following by the unmistakable sputtering squeal of a bottle rocket going off.

The drunk paid for his bottle and, twirling a set of BMW car keys on his finger, headed out the door.

"I sure hope he's not driving," said my friend Alice.

"Oh, he's driving," said the young woman behind the bar. "Look." We watched a black BMW roll slowly down the narrow cobbled street.

The fireworks continued, increasing in frequency and proximity, and suddenly there was one going off right out in the street. We could hear music. "What's going on?" said Janet.

"It's a calendaro," said the woman behind the bar. She explained it was a private celebratory parade people give for weddings and other occasions.

The mezcaleria was a tiny place, the bar just inside the door. We only needed to take a few steps to be out onto the sidewalk for a look.

A man had an apparatus set up in the middle of the street, and as we watched, he shot off another bottle rocket. The sparks glowed orange in the dark, the streets here being far more poorly lit than streets in the United States. The music grew louder, and in the darkness we could see huge fantastic shapes floating toward us.

They were papier mache puppets and spinning globes, held aloft by marchers. They headed up a cortege of parading people - women in flowered and feathered headdresses and others carrying glowsticks. Behind, a brass band blared, clarinets trilled, and cymbals crashed. Crowds of spectators ran alongside.

"Hey," I realized. "It's a goddam Second Line!"

The video I took is very dark, due to the darkness of the street, but the sound of the parade rings true.

I think I like this place!

Sending her home

CJ was a beloved person in my neighborhood. She and her late husband held a place in the hearts of so many people that lived, worked, and played in what is known as the "Barmuda Triangle" of the Bywater - a three-block area housing Vaughans Lounge, BJ's Lounge, and the J & J Sports Lounge.

I never met CJ. But I was sitting at the bar at Vaughans last week when people learned that she had passed, and I could tell by their reactions how much they loved her.

Saturday, a celebration of her life was held, and because this is New Orleans, it was marked by a second line parade that started at Vaughans, and then snaked around the block, stopping at the other two watering holes.

Presiding over this was Big Chief Honey Bannister of the Creole Wild West. CJ's friends spoke and related their memories of her. One woman said:

"Here to celebrate our sister as we begin to come and to gathering today.
Know that although her flesh part has left us, her synergy self spirit still circles round above.
Each of us that she touched she is with us in spirit
And let us know begin to give that life walking home for her.
And let us rejoice and live the life that she would have expected us to
Rejoice even in our sadness."

"She was a refined woman!" said one mourner.

"Yes she was," said another. "And funny, and smart."

Then the assembled company took to the street.

As we walked, under the grey December sky, beneath the towering cypress trees that line Lesseps Street, we sang, our song accompanied by the diminished chord-like horn of the train that punctuates our lives here in the Bywater.

"Here come the Indians! Hoo nah nay!"

Rolling with Style

Click on any photo to "embiggen"

Yesterday was the Second Line for the Sudan Social Aid and Pleasure Club. They were rolling through the Treme in New Orleans, one of the oldest and most historic African-American neighborhoods in the United States.

Spirit 2 Da Street

There was a lot going on in the Treme yesterday - in addition to the Second Line, there was a Gumbo Festival in Louis Armstrong Park, and also a production of Verdi's "MacBeth" at the Mahalia Jackson Performing Arts Theatre. The streets were alive with music and rhythm.

Rolling with the Sudan were subgroups, including the Spirit 2 Da Street Social & Pleasure Club, the Unbreakable Men Social & Pleasure Club, and the Versatile Ladies of Style.

Unbreakable Men

The parade wound through the narrow streets and past the historic shotgun houses and Creole cottages that make up this neighborhood. The joy and pleasure in the faces of the participants was such a wonder to see, following a week of shock and disbelief.

Ladies of Style

Enjoy.

Spirit 2 D Street keeping the "Baby Doll" tradition alive

Sudan gentleman

The Ladies of Style made a wonderful spectacle:

Their brilliant suits brought sunshine to a cloudy November day.

This week's second line

Just because it's Halloween weekend doesn't mean that other activities aren't important.

As usual, on an autumn Sunday in New Orleans, there are a lot of events to compete for your attention. This weekend was the annual Second Line for the Social Aid and Pleasure Club Women of Class, and they assembled on St. Charles Avenue right in front of the storied Ponchartrain Hotel.

Black Men of Labor rolling in 2016

My first experience joining New Orleans Second Line celebrations was last year around this time, when our good friend Matt took us to the annual parade for the Social Aid and Pleasure Club Black Men of Labor.

It was an amazing experience, one that introduced me to the traditions of authentic street celebrations, that drew me into New Orleans neighborhoods I had never visited, and that helped me understand the vital forces of family, music, tradition and celebration that abide here.

Celebrating a life

I got a message on Facebook - there was going to be a Second Line parade this Saturday to raise awareness of the need for more funding for the Public Defenders office - a shameful situation in the state of Louisiana and particularly in Orleans Parish. In the local office, only eight attorneys are available to handle up to 350 defendant's cases.

The parade was to start in the Treme, at Kermit Ruffins' Mother-in-Law Lounge on Claiborne. I parked past Esplanade on Villiere Street, and walked up to Claiborne; I heard the sound of a brass band and thought - Oh, I missed the start! So I hurried up and joined the throng parading under the I-10 bridge.

Class to order!

This Sunday was the Second Line for the Social Aid and Pleasure Club Men of Class. Around one o'clock the gentlemen emerged from the doorway of the Sportsmans Corner bar at Second Street and Daneel, dapper in blue suits, some waving fans of bright blue feathers.

Accompanied by brass bands, and led onward by the ladies and children, they rolled through the uptown streets on a bright sunny day.

The blue sky was the perfect echo of their raiment.