My First Mardi Gras Parade

I had marched in two Mardi Gras parades before I finally watched one from the sidelines. My first wife Gail and I were dating at the time. She had seen many parades and I was preparing to see my first.

We parked my ’67 Mustang on a side street, safely away from the police patrol that towed away car after car parked in places where they did not belong. Gail directed us to a special spot where she assured me the car would be safe from both police and marauding thieves.

We arrived on the parade route more than an hour before the first float appeared. We were still late and had to make our way carefully through the crowd of parade watchers that packed the route in a shoulder-to-shoulder mass of humanity. The crowd grew even thicker as the first float appeared.

I can only say that my heart rate increased dramatically as float after colorful float passed our vantage spot. Masked men and women dressed in tights and colorful costumes responded to the shouts from the crowd.

“Throw me something, mister!”

The parade took more than an hour to pass by our location. It was my indoctrination into the chaotic situation that ensued when the masked Krewe members showered the crowd with colorful beads and Mardi Gras doubloons.

It was not long before someone smashed my hand with their foot as I reached for a rolling doubloon. No fights broke out, but the melee could only be compared to someone in a boat, tossing live bait to a circling group of bloodthirsty sharks.

I was a shark that day, reaching and diving for doubloons and beads. I had a few strands of hard-earned beads encircling my neck and a pocketful of colorful doubloons in my pocket after the parade ended and Gail and I made our way back to the Mustang. My skinned hands throbbed and I was exhausted, but hooked for life. I knew that I would be back again.

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