No one seems to know what's the connection, but the Sunday closest to St. Joseph's Day (March 19th) is designated "Super Sunday" by many Mardi Gras Indians. (With the exception of the Bayou St. John tribes, who pick a Sunday in another month altogether -- who knows why?) This year, Super Sunday was supposed to be March 15th (when I preached about the Indians), but had to be moved to this Sunday, March 22, due to last week's rain. This Sunday was warm and sunny with clouds and a nice breeze -- perfect for Super Sunday celebrating.
On Super Sunday, the Mardi Gras Indian tribes put on their suits and do their thing through the streets of their neighborhoods ("promenade" seems the wrong verb and so does "parade"), making their way first to the corner of Washington and LaSalle. This is a bow to an old tradition, since for generations the Indians gathered at Shakespeare Park (no, not that Shakespeare, but the one who was once New Orleans' mayor), which is now A.L. Davis Park and which is unusable for a fun purpose since post-Katrina days. (Immediately after the Storm, FEMA chose that location to park a group of trailers, and although the trailers have been removed, the park has not yet been restored as a park. Where are you, FEMA??) Nowadays, the Indians just stop at that corner for the tradition of it, and many people, black and white, are gathered there to watch the Indians arrive and leave.
The real action, however, is now at Taylor Park (also known as Marcus Garvey Park) at the corner of S. Derbigny and Washington Avenue, somewhat behind the Rex den on Claiborne (a delicious coincidence). Super Sunday has become a BIG deal, a giant family event. There are rides and space walks for the kids, Portalets are set up, a stage for live, free music, and there are a few "official" food and drink booths inside the park along the perimeter. Good stuff too -- boiled crawfish with all the trimmings, BBQ, fried turkey sandwiches, fried fish plates with potato salad, and so on.
But the REAL food and drink action goes on just outside the park fence. On the streets and sidewalks, individuals have set up their pick-ups, vans, and fancy rigs to create spots for soft drink and beer sales, hard liquor (one guy had a FULL BAR inside the back of his SUV), grills, and barbeques. It was an amazing array of food and drink choices -- snow-balls, sausages, ribs, chicken, burgers, hot dogs, turkeys frying, giant turkey legs being smoked, and of course, that stand-by New Orleans hangover remedy ya ca mein (what?? you don't know what ya ca mein is? You haven't lived!) One vendor kept hollering, "Col' drinks heah! Col' beah heah! Coochie malé!" "What does 'coochie malé' mean?" whispered Big Man to me, "I dunno," I said, "it's something Indians say."
The Super Sunday festival was announced to start at 1 pm, but anyone who arrived that early had a long wait. Big Man and I arrived about 1:30 pm, because that's what time Jo Cool told him to arrive, but we were still about 45 minutes ahead of the rest of the band.
["The band," you say? Yes! To my great pride and joy, Big Man was set to play at Super Sunday with Jo Cool Davis's group!! I couldn't have been any more swelled up with pride. You should have seen me, pointing him out to Charmaine Neville when she arrived. He played beautifully -- of course! -- and it was, all in all, a great honor.]
People-watching at Taylor Park was terrific. Lots of cute babies being looked after by moms and dads and grandparents and older sibs. Lots of handsome black men in those cool, almost "pajama" like two-piece casual suits in colors like cream and cocoa and coral. Young white kids in what Big Man calls the "waif uniform" (if you've seen if, you know what he's talking about). And scores of black women in creative outfits in many colors, showing off legs and cleavage and midriffs, nearly all with sexy, brightly-colored high-heeled shoes.
The first Mardi Gras Indian, a tired-looking young man in pale peach raiment, arrived at the park about 2:30 pm. While he kept repeating to people who asked that other Indians were "right behind" him, it still took quite a while for more Indians to arrive. The next group to arrive were little Indians -- little-bitty boys (with hearts of steel, naturally) walking with great dignity under the weight of full-fledged feathered suits, so heavy that at least one boy was limping.
Behind them, finally, came the adults in all their glory, strutting through the streets and entering the park, surrounded by photographers and fans. Baby blue and deep ultramarine blue, red, pink, and burgundy, brown, orange, and yellow, lime green, emerald green, and citron, and black with fluorescent brights. The feathers waved in the strong breeze; the glass beads sparkled in the sunlight through the clouds. The crowds -- men, women, and kids who black, white, Latino, and Asian -- were enthusiastic and appreciative.
Big Man and I drank it all in with our eyes and bought two enormous smoked turkey legs to eat at home. On the way home, we were caught in traffic twice: once as more Mardi Gras Indians made their way to Taylor Park, and then at the corner of Felicity and Claiborne, where a LARGE group of black motorcyclists were gathered for their own kind of Super Sunday, complete with vendors, blaring music, and pretty women promenading.
A great day.
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