The first official Mardi Gras parade -- actually five parades rolled into one -- in Orleans Parish since Hurricane Katrina was, in the spirit of the new New Orleans, downsized.
There were fewer floats, not as many marching bands and nowhere near the usual number of bawdy, beer-stoked spectators, old-timers said.
"Normally, you couldn't get a front row seat like this," said Heather Neitzer, 42, who has been coming for 10 years. Her son, William, 12, sat right at the curb on a Mardi Gras ladder -- a stepladder with a seat attached to the top that is popular among seasoned parade watchers.
Crowds were remarkably thin along the route at the downtown end of St. Charles Avenue and up and down several blocks of Canal Street. Latecomers could walk straight up to the steel barricades along the streets, hold their hands in the air and snag plastic beads, plastic go cups, bouncy balls, Frisbees and other trinkets, known as throws, tossed by riders of the floats. At times, it seemed as if there were more folks on the floats than off.
Poor weather
As has recently been the case, the weather was no friend of the city. As the noon starting time neared, temperatures fell, winds rose, and gray clouds rolled in slowly like the floats. Rain spit from the sky. The thermometer dipped into the 40s. The dreary day matched the muted and bittersweet mood of the crowd.
There is much talk of consolidation -- of government, of institutions, of just about everything in this incredible shrinking city.
The parade featured a consolidation of krewes -- the Mardi Gras word for social clubs. The first, Krewe of Pontchartrain, had a prayers-of-petition theme. Floats asked God to bless Louisiana, its seafood industry, its music and other aspects of the state's distinctive cultural heritage. Other krewes -- Shangri-La, Pygmalion, Knights of Sparta and Pegasus -- followed with float riders tethered to poles to keep them from tumbling off.
The first performing band, appropriately, was called the MAX band. The letters stood for three high schools that have combined their resources for the rest of the year: St. Mary's Academy, St. Augustine High School and Xavier Preparatory School.
Marvell Goodo, 35, said that her 17-year-old daughter, Taisha, a flag twirler in the band, wanted to participate in this particular Mardi Gras because most of her friends are seniors.
Mardi Gras "is something that has to be done," said George Schindler, standing in front of the Knights of Columbus club on St. Charles Avenue. An analyst for Murphy Oil company, Schindler, 52, said that he had gutted his home in Metairie because of flood damage.
He said that he will probably support Lt. Gov. Mitch Landrieu (D) if Landrieu runs for mayor. Landrieu announced later in the day that he would join the race on Wednesday.
As the floats eased past, revelers wearing glittery masks, funky hats, feather boas and lots and lots of bead necklaces, cheered and applauded the float riders. And begged them for more swag.
Carrying a sign reading "Cameras $5," John Paul Smith, 33, walked along the barricades, occasionally selling a disposable device. "Fewer people, selling fewer cameras," was his terse assessment of the situation.
He's a postal worker from Lexington, Ky., who takes a two-week vacation to come down and hawk his wares.
He said this was his fifth Mardi Gras. This year, he said he noticed that there didn't seem to be as many local people with children. And there were a lot more construction workers. "I'm going to have to learn to speak Spanish to increase my business," he said.
Alice Lazarte, 74, was up from Corpus Christi for her first Mardi Gras. She and her husband, Frank, took a break from playing the slot machines at the newly reopened Harrah's casino to catch the festivities. "I like the beads, the music and the girls. They are gorgeous," Alice said.
Many not enamored
Many New Orleanians were not so enamored of the idea of a celebration while there are still so many people in need of financial and psychological relief. Patrick Kelly, who is in his forties and lives near the Mississippi River, said he wasn't planning to participate in any Mardi Gras mania. "Not the way the last year has gone."
In Slidell, a suburb of the city, Linda Stadler, 45, was putting up signs for the Slidell Gun and Knife Show before the rain set in. "With all the things we have to do," she said, referring to the rebuilding of homes and lives, "Mardi Gras is the last thing we need right now."
The carnival "trashes the city," she said, "just when we're beginning to get it cleaned up."
She said that police officers need a break.
But many others believe that Mardi Gras is a grand symbol. Emilie Taylor, 25, an architecture student at Tulane University, said, "New Orleans is all about defiance of death. Mardi Gras is the epitome of that lifestyle."
Coming home
Displaced New Orleanians Thomas and Kim Beaver, living in Tallahassee now, drove the 397 miles with their son, Eric, 12, and his new Florida friend, Taylor Cook, 13, to give Eric a taste of the old home.
A card dealer at a Bay St. Louis casino, Thomas Beaver didn't mind the hour commute he used to make from Arabi. He and Kim, who worked at a seafood restaurant in the French Quarter, enjoyed living so close to New Orleans. They have gutted their house and have been waiting for a FEMA trailer since January.
Thomas bought his truck two days after Katrina hit, and he has put 19,000 miles on it already, shuttling back and forth.
The Beavers want to come back, but Eric is making friends and is in a good school. They miss the French bread, red beans and rice, and the New Orleans Saints. But what really ticks Thomas off: Tallahassee doesn't let him shoot fireworks in his yard.
And it doesn't have anything that comes close to Mardi Gras.
