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TIPS FROM A
MARDI GRAS PRO
STREET POSITION: Up for the floats,
back for the bands.
The “spectator boundary line” shifts fromminute
to minute, so make sure to clear the streets in
between floats. Fail to yield and you might catch
the business end of a trombone slide.
MARCHING BANDS: Cheer the Bands
and clap for chaperones.
Local marching bands are one of the great
joys of New Orleans Mardi Gras, and they
accompanied by a group of volunteer parents
that clear the crowds and help the kids
navigate crowded crazy streets. Make their
jobs easier by cheering them on and showing
the parents a little love.
PARENTS: Prepare for the Meltdown.
You know it’s coming. For ANY kid, the proper
response to hours of toys falling from the
sky is an epic case of sensory overload. And
there’s only two things that can happen: an
epic screaming fit or a deep, deep sleep. Brace
yourself for both eventualities.
CATCHES: Don’t be picky.
Sure, you might have your heart set on a
beautiful resin-cast krewe medallion, but no
matter how much you scream, the float riders
are already deaf from the folks yelling the
same request two blocks up. Try your best, but
catch what you get thrown, yell “THANKS”
back and see if you can do better when the
next float creeps by.
HORSES: Careful now…
Even though the noble steeds are well trained
and steady, they’re still BIG and might not want
to be petted. If you’ve got the urge to reach out,
always check with the rider first. And after they
pass by … watch where you step.
FITNESS: Screaming burns calories.
Think of a parade as a high-volume aerobics
class. With beer. And fried chicken. The more
you holler and hop, the more you can eat.
LADDER PLACEMENT: Leave room to pass
Some folks set up ladders, tables tarps and
sound systems on the neutral ground —
arriving hours before roll time in a pre-parade
land grab. And a few creature comforts are
fantastic. Just remember that it’s still a public
space and just because you showed up early
doesn’t make your tarp-covered area private
property. Leave room for folks to pass and
don’t be surprised when they do.
WEATHER: Check the forecast.
Always check the forecast.
Families make numerous trips from van to
curb ferrying the day’s essentials — ladder,
stroller, toddler wagon, ice chest, diaper
bag, blankets, ground tarps, umbrellas,
raingear and blinking jester hats. Residents
of elder housing complexes assemble for
the show. Streams of teenagers flow past
families who set up in the same place,
year in and year out, as part of their Mardi
Gras tradition. These traditions converge
as little communities spring up for the
parade season — communities made up of
families, neighborhood kids, neighbors and
walk-throughs — and we comment on how
much the little ones grow, if the rain’s gonna
come, or how early/late Mardi Gras seems
this year.
Invariably, there’s the picnic aspect to be
considered. It’ll be a few bags of chips and
a Rouses king cake laid out on a folding
table, a tray of sandwiches, flask of bourbon,
cooler full of beer and of course box of fried
chicken (required by local ordinance at
every night parade).
Then, with the traditional fire truck prelude
and a glance up the street — it’s time.
The floats and riders. The bands and flag
routines. The giant puppets and thundering
horse brigades. Military drill outfits, punk
bands on flatbed trailers and dancing
school performers with pasted-on smiles.
Glittering krewe royalty hanging on for
dear life and trying to graciously wave to
a crowd that never stops roaring. A crowd
that screams for throws and celebrates
when they catch something really, really
good. A city that comes together at the
curb to partake in the all-enveloping joy of
Carnival.
And then, when the kids are all screamed
out and the second firetrucks signal parade’s
end — the cleanup crew scours the streets
as well-beaded throngs gather their gear for
the long ride home.
Those of us who live near The Route take
the short walk back to the house — necks
rattling with beads and ears ringing just a bit
from the blast of marching bands. Once you
get home, it’s hard not to smile — knowing
that tomorrow it’ll start all over again.
