28
MY
ROUSES
EVERYDAY
JANUARY | FEBRUARY 2014
I
n most parts of the world, January 6th
routinely passes without fanfare. Less
than a week after New Year’s, it marks
the breaking of most well-intentioned
resolutions and the clearning of annual
champagne hangovers. A few folks might
celebrate Nigella Lawson’s birthday, New
Mexico’s statehood or mourn the passing of
bebop godfather Dizzy Gillespie.
But in New Orleans, the sixth day of the
first month marks Twelfth Night, the
Catholic feast of Epiphany and the low-key
start of the extended Mardi Gras season.
On this night, the different species of
Carnival fan kick into high gear. King cake
aficionados dig into the year’s first slice of
sugar-crusted indulgence. The fancy-dress
crowd finalize their plans for balls and
debutante presentations. High school band
directors mop their brows and double up
on after-school rehearsals. Indian tribes
burn the midnight oil working with beads
and marabou feather. And across the city,
ambitious revelers plan this year’s costume
for Fat Tuesday proper over dinner tables,
bar counters or glitter-strewn craft tables.
For me, the fun stuff is still a few weeks
away, as the serious parading season kicks
off. Smaller parades ( Joan of Arc, Phunny
Phorty, Krewe du Vieux) provide a fantastic
warmup, but when the bigger traditional
parades
roll
underneath
Uptown’s
mountainous canopy of live oaks. When
the floats creep up Napoleon and down St.
Charles. When the marching bands warm
up for a nightly 6-mile gig. When shiny
beads and plush toys rain from the sky.
Since moving to New Orleans, I’ve mostly
lived within easy walking distance of the
city’s main parade route that runs from
Rouses Uptown to the border of the Quarter
(Napoleon Avenue/St Charles/Lee Circle/
Canal Street). And if you live within about
10 blocks of the route, the whole world
changes come parade season.
While folks who live in other neighborhoods
have to travel to see the trappings of Mardi
Gras, folks near The Route just need to
sit still as the show rumbles around us.
We grow accustomed to the constant
presence of dayglow traffic barricades and
interlocking metal NOPD crowd fences.
We expect a late-afternoon procession of
flashing school busses and towing tractors
a few hours before parade time. We arrange
our late afternoon errands to accommodate
street closures and repark our cars before
the curbs get too crowded.
Pre-parade logistics consistently amaze
every year. Neighborhood folk get a parade
preview if they venture down Tchopitoulas,
where soot-belching tractors pull the
colorful floats to their designated staging
zone. After months of hearing distant
drumlines marching down the side streets,
we see the bands gather on Napoleon’s
neutral ground, goofing off rnad running
scales as they wait their turn in the lineup.
Neighbors watch for the mysterious trailer
that carries the old-school flambeaux and
the night-parade ritual of firemen lighting
the diesel-dripping torches one by one. We
see the krewe members dressed in satin
take their places, hang their throws for easy
access, and take one more swig from the
flask or go-cup.
We watch the spectators arrive and take
their positions for the seasonal festivities.
The Route Stuff
by
Pableaux Johnson +
photos by
Pableaux Johnson
