University of Virginia Library

Cellophane Prophylactics And Shirley Temple

By GREG TILTON

Carnival, 1973- the
celebration that they said
would never be. First, there
were rumors that New Orleans
had lost money on last year's
extravaganza. Added to this
was the fear that the hippies
and tourists were taking over.
Even worse, whispers of mass
violence, foreshadowed by the
Howard Johnson's sniping
tragedy, caused local officials
to consider canceling Carnival
this year.

But still, planning
proceeded, and all looked
bright for the Shrove Tuesday
climax. Then the rains came all
day Monday with more of the
same predicted for Tuesday.
Indeed, the clouds loomed
ominously overhead on the big
day – Zulu, Rex, Comus, those
magnificent parades honoring
New Orleans' patron saints
might be canceled. However,
Zeus calmed his ire finally and
the rains never came. The
impossible took place; the
wild, orgiastic excitement of
Fat Tuesday went unimpeded
Chaos reigned supreme.

What is Carnival?
Originally, it was a Catholic
Creole custom of celebrating
before Lent. Growing from
spontaneous affairs, to small
modest processions, to
extravagant parades and balls,
Mardi Gras today means Fat
Tuesday, the last wild fling
before the somber incursion of
Lent. In recent years, strict
observance of Lenten rituals
has declined, and observance of
the Carnival rituals has
heightened

For ten days, New Orleans
is caught up in a frenzy that
astounds the mind. Masked
riders board floats to toss
doubloons and beads into the
crowds, and bands march in
between the floats. People
from all walks of life and from
all parts of the world throng the
streets, catching the booty thrown
by the masked revelers
clapping to the sounds of the
bands, and drinking incessantly
and excessively.

After a parade the
members of the organization
that sponsored the parade
usually gather for a ball, which
is presided over by the king
and queen of that particular
Mardi Gras Krewe. These balls
are usually exclusive affairs,
mostly for the enjoyment of
native New Orleanians. But the
main action is on the streets,
and this part of the show is for
all.

With 20 friends, I returned
to my native New Orleans last
week for the first time in three
years for Carnival. Saturday
night we immersed ourselves in
the throng at the French
Quarter. An endless sea of
people flowed through the
streets, through the bars, and
through the strip joints on
Bourbon St. At times the
people were ridiculous, at
others entertaining, at times
disgusting, but always drunk.
There is so little time to see
and do so much.

We stopped at Preservation
Hall, a rundown shack that still
houses New Orleans jazz. Then
on to the Napoleon House,
where overhead fans, classical
music, and a haunting
courtyard evoke the past. By
three a.m., we decided to end
the evening at Cafe du Monde
with beignettes and cafe au
lait.

On Sunday, we hit our first
parade, Thoth. But this was
only a warm-up for Sunday
evening, when Bacchus would
really roll. Bacchus is the
newest parade and one of the
most popular. It's namesake is
an appropriate one, connected
not only with the wine so
plentiful during Mardi Gras,
but also with the impending
spiritual death and rebirth of
Lent.

But the main show comes on
Fat Tuesday with Zulu, the
first parade and the most
famous black krewe. This show
is indeed unique. Riders wear
the most haunting outfits,
embellished with frighteningly
painted faces. One can feel the
pulsating, ritualistic side of
Mardi Gras in this parade   the
masked riders sway
rhythmically, the bands jive,
drawing the crowd into the
spirit of the parade. To top it
off, Zulu throws coconuts to
the crowd.

After Zulu comes Rex, the
most prestigious parade of all,
since its monarch is "King of
Carnival." For Rex, everything
is precision. The bands wear
extra colorful costumes and
march just a bit snappier, the
floats move without delays and
a long procession of gleeful
riders showers the crowds with
doubloons and beads.

Rex is followed by a string
of trucks, each decorated with
a different theme. About 250
trucks roll by, providing the

most greedy of beadmongers
with opportunities aplenty.

However, even more
enjoyable, if possible, is the
array of costumes that the
street people wear. If you
enjoy losing your identity or
immersing yourself in some
weird fantasy, St. Charles Ave.
or Canal St. on Mardi Gras day
is the place to be.

Try to imagine a man
wrapped in cellophane with a
rubber top in imitation of a
prophylactic, an adult wearing
coat and tails with long john