View from the float was something to behold

Follow on Twitter
on March 01, 2006 at 1:10 PM, updated January 07, 2008 at 9:49 PM

The ride of his life

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Angus Lind

"Unbelievable!" "Best ever!" "They wore me out!" "I never stopped throwing -- ever!"

That was the crowd report from the members of my Carnival organization -- whose bylaws prohibit me from identifying it -- after our thrilling ride Friday night.

Before the parade, here's the scene: You're on your float in the staging area on Tchoupitoulas Street and Napoleon Avenue, attempting to arrange your throws, trying -- usually in vain -- to create some order out of the sacks and bags of loot you plan to unload on the crowd. This is not an easy task. The float is crowded with beads and throws, food and drink, and your personal space is cramped so you better get along with the guys on either side of you.

We've done this for years, this same group of idiots, so we know what to expect from one another. But until you hit the parade route, you never really know what to expect from the crowd. We've seen receptive crowds, we've seen large crowds, we've seen enthusiastic crowds and when the weather is iffy or cold, we've seen the opposite.

For any organization that paraded this year, it was more than special. It was trailblazing into the Carnival history books. It was exhilarating. It was rewarding, it was emotional, very emotional. It was a feeling of "and they said it couldn't be done." And this was all BEFORE the parade began.

Here's what people who don't understand need to understand: Mardi Gras is all about standing in the street and bouncing off each other like bowling pins. The parade mentality lasts 52 weeks -- it's just that two of those 52 are a little more intense.

More importantly, Mardi Gras is about re-connecting with friends and family, even when it's not after a once-in-a-lifetime devastating tragedy. That horrific event made celebrating Carvinal this year even more important, more meaningful, more significant.

I'd seen all the Thursday night St. Charles Avenue parades from my regular spot under the oaks, and the crowds were good, very good -- as were the parades.

But it's not fair to compare the Thursday night crowds -- or, in a normal year, the Tuesday or Wednesday night turnouts -- with the revelers who show up on Friday night. That's because on Friday night, households with kids don't have to answer the alarm clock for school on Saturday morning. Same for the rest of Carnival, since schools are closed on Monday.

And for many years, any keen observer of Carnival trends will tell you, the Friday-Saturday-Sunday celebration has gotten almost as big, if not bigger, than Tuesday. It's the out-of-town college kids weekend. It's the playbox for visitors who don't have the stamina to hang around until Tuesday.

But with the post-K issues weighing heavily on everyone's minds and a modified number of bands and marching groups to fill the gaps between floats and a diminished number of tourists in town, no one knew what to expect along the route. And an hour and a half before the parade, there was a downpour, which certainly didn't make the night more enticing.

It took only a nanosecond, however, to sense the electricity, to realize how hungry for Mardi Gras the people were or how easily they dismissed a tentative weather situation. For some, this was their first time on the route this season. And as soon as the float turned onto St. Charles from the French emperor's avenue and hit Fat Harry's famed watering hole, the noise was beyond deafening.

No one can accurately count or estimate the size of a crowd. Some techno pollster guy with a skycam that travels the whole route might be able to sample a couple of key blocks and figure it out, like key precincts in a political race, but there's nothing like the eyes of a veteran rider to take a look at who's standing where and how deep onto a cross street the crowd spreads.

You see it year after year and when it's different, you notice.

It wasn't just the enormity of the crowds, though -- it was their animated faces, their body language, their desperate pleas for throws, their lunges to catch them. And their smiles and waves.

Those who ride have all heard thank-yous from the crowd, but it's for throws received. This year there were countless signs waved and vocal "Thanks for parading" messages shouted at the floats.

For those who said the season and the parades should have been canceled, I'll say this: I respect your opinions. Some of your points had validity. And I'm sad for those who always attend but for obvious reasons could not. But for those who wanted it and for those who came to the party, we owed it to them. They wanted it, wanted to be a part of it, and were more involved than any year in my memory.

The other scenes more visible than in past years were people on cellphones, holding them up in the air, so someone on the other end, someone who wanted to be here, perhaps someone far away, could take in the music as a marching band went by and hear the crowd noise. Lord knows, just hearing a good ol' Yat accent is wonderful therapy.

As the floats slowed down near the disbanding area, and the crowds thinned, many of us on our float thanked those still there for coming out. We leaned over and shook their hands. We thanked the police working the routes and shook their hands.

A lot of members in my krewe, many who lost their homes or suffered damage, many who are still displaced, put their personal problems aside and worked hard to make the parade happen. And happen it did. It's been said before and it'll be said again: Laissez les bons temps rouler.

. . . . . . .
