Indian Red, Indian Red...

Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013

"He won't bow down

Down on the ground

Oh, how I love to hear

Him call Indian Red"

My Indian Red by Danny Barker

I so wish I could say I'm an authority on the Mardi Gras Indians...but alas I am not.  I do however know the community in which the Mardi Gras Indians live, is one steeped in an incredible history.  One in which I know, just on the surface. 

Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013

The Mardi Gras Indians hand bead (tiny seed beads) the incredible patches covering their suits, taking between 6-8 months to plan and create.  The suits could cost thousands of dollars and may weigh as much as 100 pounds.  Each Indian designs and creates his own suit; elaborate bead patches depict meaningful and symbolic scenes.^[3] Beads, feathers, and sequins are integral parts of a Mardi Gras Indian suit. Uptown New Orleans tribes tend to have more sculptural and abstract African-inspired suits; downtown tribes have more pictorial suits with heavy Native American influences.^[4] Their are approximately 38 tribes and are loosely organized as the Uptown Indians and the Downtown Indians. 

In the early days of the Indians, Mardi Gras was a day of both partying and bloodshed. “Masking” and parading was a time to settle grudges.^[5]  This part of Mardi Gras Indian history is immortalized in James Sugar Boy Crawford's song, "Jock O Mo" (better known and often covered as "Iko Iko"), based on their taunting chants. However, in the late 1960s, Tootie Montana, "Chief of Chiefs", fought to end violence between the Mardi Gras Indian Tribes.^[6] He said, “I was going to make them stop fighting with the gun and the knife and start fighting with the needle and thread.”^[7] Today, the Mardi Gras Indians are largely unplagued by violence; instead they base their fights over the “prettiness” of their suits.^[5]



Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013

In the 15 years I've lived in New Orleans, I've taken a  couple thousand photographs, primarily on Super Sunday.  Which is always the closest Sunday to March 19th, which is St. Joseph's Day.

Mardi Gras Indians have been parading in New Orleans at least since the mid-19th century and possibly before. The history of the Mardi Gras Indians is shrouded in mystery and folklore.

According to Wikipedia: In 1740, New Orleans’ Congo Square was a cultural center for African music and dance. New Orleans was more liberal than many southern cities, and on Sundays African slaves gathered to sing folk songs, play traditional music, and dance.  ^[1]   The lively parties were recounted by a Northern observer as being “indescribable... Never will you see gayer countenances, demonstrations of more forgetfulness of the past and the future, and more entire abandonment to the joyous existence to the present movement." [2]    The idea of letting loose and embracing traditional African music and dance is a backbone of the Mardi Gras Indians practice.

Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013

It has been said, on Mardi Gras in 1885, fifty to sixty Plains Indians marched in native dress on the ^[1]
streets of New Orleans. Later that year, the first Mardi Gras Indian gang was formed; the tribe was named “The Creole Wild West” and was most likely composed of members of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.


Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013

As usual, on Super Sunday I spent 5 hours in the amazing presence of the Mardi Gras Indians. As usual, I ran into my friend Ali and we discussed the fact that the Indians is one of our favorite Mardi Gras traditions. A sunburn and a couple hundred photographs later I went home exhausted. 



Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief - Amy Loewy, 2013

This year on St. Joseph's Day, Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief of The Guardians of the Flame (who is one of my neighbors) "came out the door" for the residents of Blue Plate Artist Lofts.   The Guardians of the Flame continue to mask in a tradition that rivals a spiritual utopia.  As a performing group, the Guardians of the Flame have attended the biggest pow-wow in North American, the Gathering of Nations. In 1993, the group was the pow-wow's first Mardi Gras Indian guests. The Guardians have also traveled to Miami, New Mexico, and Texas. In 1993, fourteen performers, ages 5 to 60, graced the stage at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.


St. Joseph's Day - Amy Loewy, 2013

As far as the Mardi Gras Indians go...this my friend is the tip of the iceberg.  Y'all need to be here to be amazed and awed by the incredible art, music, and tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians.

 Compliments of Big Chief Brian Harrison Nelson

 

 

From Wikipedia:
[1] Smith, Michael, and Alan Govenar. Mardi Gras Indians. Gretna: Pelican Pub. Co. 1994. Print.
[2] Flint, Timothy. Recollections of the Last Ten Years. Boston: Cummings, Hilliard, and Company, 1826.
[3] Bragg, Rick. "Another Battle of New Orleans: Mardi Gras," New York Times (Feb. 19, 1995).
[4] Moser, Margaret. "My Gang Don't Bow Down: Mardi Gras Indian Chief Kevin Goodman leads his tribe to Texas," Austin Chronicle (May 5, 2006).
[5] Gaudet, Marcia, and James McDonald. Mardi Gras, gumbo, and zydeco: Readings in Louisiana Culture. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. 2003. Print.
[6] Salaam, Kalamu. “He’s the Prettiest”: A Tribute to Big Chief Allison “Tootie” Montana’s 50 years of Mardi Gras Indian Suiting. New Orleans: New Orleans Museum of Art. 1997. Print.
[7] Baum, Dan. Nine Lives. Spiegal Paperbacks. New York: 2010. Print.

All Because It's Carnival Time



Commander's Palace

The Sunday prior to Mardi Gras Day is known as Bacchus Sunday, for some.  As you might guess, this is the day the Bacchus Parade rolls.  It is also however, the day the Krewe of Drunken Whores don their chemise, bloomer and corsets and does what we lovingly call the Commanders Strut.  This is our third year in existence and also the third year we've second lined through all of Commander's Palaces dining rooms, courtyard and kitchen following the jazz band.  Here's  a picture of us in the courtyard afterward, courtesy of Kimberly Edwards.

 







Krewe of DrunkenWhores 2013 by Kimberly Edwards





Mardi Gras Day began...early and then became a series of wardrobe malfunctions until I was out the door at about 6:10AM.  That's right folks, my beloved Pete Fountain has been leaving earlier and earlier these last few years, so disregard the online listing that says he leaves at 7:45AM.

I had my alternate costume for the day ready...my original costume involved a large amount of cardboard and with impending rain, I would have been clearly close to dressing as Lady Godiva.

90% dressed and hooking a silk corset that is yet to be worn...one of the stainless steel hooks sliced my finger and there was blood all over the corset and my white chemise.  I began ripping clothes off and grabbing everything gold I could find to go with my gold cape.



I rushed out the door to find a parking spot on the "home" side or lake side of St. Charles Avenue. I found one on 6th and Baronne and proceeded to fast walk to Washington Avenue and Commanders Palace Restaurant. On the way I ran into four frat boys all of which had clearly been out all night.  They applauded me for costuming and proceeded to follow me down St. Charles Avenue singing American Pie"...I sang along.  My fast walk had me arriving at Washington Avenue right around 6:30AM.  I could hear the pastor giving the blessing as I raced the two blocks down Washington.  No pictures, no hanging and waiting for Pete, no music to tease my sister in Michigan with, they were starting the parade. 

Pete Fountain and the Half-Fast Walking Club have been parading starting from Commanders Palace Restaurant for 52 years, since 1961 (he missed 2006 due to illness). Most of those years Pete and his friends in the Half-Fast Walking Club march into town, playing as they went and scattering doubloons.  Yesterday they were scattering more than doubloons, and I ended up with so many beads I could hardly walk.  I acquired the most incredible throw that I ever gotten...a metal enamelled medallion from Pete Fountain and the Half-Fast Walking Club.

 

Roberta (my cohort) and I met at St. Charles Avenue and Washington Avenue...she had made a sign that read "Fast Women Heart Half-Fast Men."  Believe me when I tell you every man in the walking club wanted his picture made with one or both of us and this sign.

After wandering with Pete and the guys for awhile we headed back Uptown to fill our belly's and meet up with my neighbors Rick and Jamie.  We hung out with them watching Rex at St. Charles (lake side) and Sixth Street.  There were lovely people there that kept giving Rick and Jamie bags of beads since the are Mardi Gras virgins.  Some sweet children with their parents AND some unusually rude women. 

 

A few times the Rex Parade was stopped with a float directly in front of us (because the parade before it had broken down, yet again). The rude women kept jumping and grabbing throws meant for the kids and when the guys on the float stopped throwing in that direction one woman flipped them the bird.  Seriously, parades are for the kids...there is nothing they are throwing that any adult needs.  The guys on the float had the kids come to the side of the float and they handed them treasures. 

 

Then the weirdest incident involving these women occurred...one of the women had her daschund in a baby stroller and walked off.  Her friend then denied she knew her and was looking to me to tell her what to do with the dog.  I just told her "Y'all are hanging out together...I have no idea who either of you are."  About five minutes later the first woman showed up and rummaged around the basket under the stroller containing her dog and pulled out a glass doornob and stated "This is the key to my house!" and walked off again.   People if this isn't weird enough, it was just the doornob itself, no connecting rod - which means that the connecting rod is hanging out her front door for anyone who cares to twist it and enter her domain. 

 

Not long after that the parade stopped it began to rain...and I was on my way to my car.  Not before getting pretty wet and cold.  But it was a great Mardi Gras and I love this city, unusual people and all.

Sweet Home, New Orleans

HOME: the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.

I'm sure at some point in everyone's life a significant other has broached the subject of having “the conversation.” It can be a conversation about just about anything, but when you hear, “We need to talk” - you know it's going to be a tough conversation.

Our conversation was to take place while Rich, my long distance boyfriend was home from Seattle for Christmas. But Rich's conversation was foiled when a very dear friend of mine, Joey Bonhage, became very ill prior to Rich returning home. My holiday was spent in the hospital, culminating with my dear friend passing on Christmas day and me doing a second line in my kitchen to “I'll Fly Away.” Needless to say, when Rich got on the plane to Seattle he tagged me with, “You need to think about moving to Seattle.” When we finally had “the conversation,” I told him, bottom line, “I do not need to move to Seattle, since New Orleans is my home and will be for the rest of my life.”

I then reminded him of ALL our previous conversations...I grew up moving from place to place due to lack of money and then due to a father with relationship issues with not only his children, but his many wives. I have moved roughly 33 times in my life...and when I moved to New Orleans, I knew this was home.

Rich, however, is a serial mover - Detroit to San Jose, to New Orleans, to New York , back to New Orleans for six months, to Los Angeles, to San Francisco, to San Jose, to Seattle - 9 times in 15 or so years. He'll dump everything he owns (except clothes and computer) and leave. He doesn't like to be “known” in his place of residence? Therefore, no place is home. But for me nothing makes me happier than running into friends, customers and acquaintances at any given moment. It's the most happy and lovely experience to see the smiling face of someone you know.

When I moved here - my entire family thought I was crazy. I had been working in the high tech industry in Michigan and California for over 20 years. I was leaving a $70,000 a year job to move to a city I had visited once on vacation...to become a bookseller and to write. I sent my resume' to every book store in the city, every one giving me the same comment...”You're really over qualified.” I knew this, but working in a book store was a dream I've had since I was 8-years-old. And I could no longer fathom driving over an hour to work on a two-lane curved mountain highway bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles-per- hour, for remainder of my life, doing a job that seemed meaningless. Ultimately I was hired by, I think, the best book store in the city, Garden District Book Shop. My family didn't think I'd be able to live on the money I was making, and quite honestly, it has been a struggle.

But, nowhere I've ever been celebrates life and community like New Orleans. Nowhere have I met people, that no matter their circumstances will do whatever they can to help you. There are more musicians, artists, chefs, and writers that call this city home, than is imaginable. I read once: “Stay away from stingy people, they have small souls.” With New Orleanians, there's not a small soul among them. For instance, my friend, Lucy – a lovely woman who could be my mother, became my friend in the usual way – in my line of work. I'm a bookseller and she, my customer. Over the many years that I've known her she took notice that I loved vintage jewelry and clothing. One day she invited me to visit, she told me she had some vintage clothing her aunt had made in New York in the 40s. Lucy thought they might fit me. So I spent some time visiting and then she brought out a couple stunning pieces of clothing and presented them to me. One of them being a black wool crepe sequined jacket with scalloped sleeves and front. The sequins are so intricate and beautiful it looks as if the flowers are painted on the jacket. Various colors of rose, pink, taupe, and green are gently sewn to the front and sleeves of the jacket, making it look as if a garden was gently laid upon your shoulder. When I think of the jacket I smile. When I wear the jacket, Lucy's face and incredible thoughtfulness are never far from my thoughts.

With never a lack of things to do, you can live here and be happy at home, but just in case there are: farmers markets, the Saints, art festivals, art markets, galleries, numerous literary events, innumerable book fairs, jazz funerals, second lines, Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest, and many more music festivals, etc. I know that I've left out many events ...that could easily be an essay in itself. But, you name it and we celebrate it, and with more heart and soul than any place I've ever been.

And apparently I'm not completely off my rocker in making this my home and my muse...this is evidenced by the incredible amount of people I've met - that after volunteering in the city after Hurricane Katrina, packed up and moved here. Changing their lives immeasurably for the good in ways people living elsewhere could never imagine.

New Orleans is my muse. The food is my sustenance. I have experienced great authors, great people, great book shop, a great community. I dream of galleries covered in kudzu and I see this dream daily. I imagine trumpets and trombones playing music that lifts the soul and walk down the street or go to the park to hear this with my own ears. I write stories of people dancing down the street and jump outside at the sound of music to dance along with them in a second line. To celebrate life while, being my unadulterated self, is I believe the purpose of life.

New Orleans is not just a city, it's a community of wonderful people who will do whatever it takes to support their community and one another. So the people you see on the streetcar, driving down the road, walking their dogs, jogging in the neutral ground are not just people that live here, they are more than that – they're family. For instance, Claudia and Jim – family that invites you into their home for Thanksgiving and Sue – family that invites you over for Christmas dinner. And yet another that invites you to share their table at brunch. Sunday, I walked down St. Charles and decided I'd treat myself to brunch at the Columns Hotel on their wonderful porch. I asked the Maitre d' if I needed a reservation and his answer was, “You look like an angel, you would never need a reservation.” He asked if I was alone, and I said, “yes.” Immediately the three people at the table near us said, “Oh join us!” So I did! A beautiful golden-haired woman, name Kaylee and two handsome gentleman, Scott and Adam – offshore divers, all three and relatively new to the city. I spent a lovely morning with them at brunch and then wine tasting until early afternoon.

So yes, I've become a crazy cat lady of New Orleans and this is where I want to be. If my soul ever starts shrinking and I stop smiling at everyone I meet, I want the ghost of Mardi Gras past to smite me in my bed.