A pianist, parades and pandemonium

The madness has overtaken the city. The tension in the air is palpable. Yet, it's business as usual for those people lucky enough to be in New Orleans at Carnival time. Here in the "City that Care Forgot" it is normal, acceptable behavior to don a wig, glue on a moustache and beard, don tights, and wear a jewel-bedecked crown and mantle with huge ostich feathers that stands nearly ten feet tall. The same applies to men. (Hee hee. Sorry, but I couldn't resist that one.) In the French Quarter, especially along busy Bourbon Street, the crowds are beginning to thicken. After the rain passes tonight, there will be quite a lot of activity there revolving about beads and how to get them. For those of you who do not know what illegal activity I'm referring to, suffice it to say that it involves displaying parts of the female anatomy that normally are well-hidden in exchange for colorful strings of beads. I say it is illegal, but it is so widespread and rampant that in all but a few isolated cases (where the subject is so drunk that she does so in full view of the police standing next to her, for example), it is usually ignored by the members of the local constabulary. Of course, there are scantily-attired gentlemen who insist on displaying portions of their anatomy to interested parties too, but I think you get the picture of the wild, seemy underbelly of New Orleans that is Bourbon Street. When the crowds swell to capacity on Fat Tuesday, one can literally be carried away on a wave of moving people. For smaller individuals like myself it is terrifying; it is something akin to being lifted by a tsumani and carried aloft and deposited by an unseen force. The parade-going public never sees that part of the show. They get to see the more family-friendly fare along the parade routes that rarely gets above the slightly risqué or somewhat provocative. Two parades passed in review in front of the official stand at Gallier Hall last night. I acted as the announcer for the Krewe of Ancient Druids, celebrating its 10th anniversary. The identity of the masked Arch-Druid is always kept secret and he does not speak directly to the crowd. A spokesman for the krewe spoke on his behalf. This year's theme used the Roman numeral "X" (for "ten") to poke fun at such things as "X-Wives," "X-Otic," and "X-Men," the last being a float that depicted a busty female with a five o'clock shadow. Also in attendance at the reviewing stand was my guest Inon Barnatan, an Israeli pianist now living in New York, who performed as part of the Lincoln Center Pianists tour this past Monday. I was fortunate to meet him following the performance at a private reception. (He had played the Mendelssohn "Andante and Variations in B-flat major for Two Pianos" and Faure's "Dolly Suite for Piano, Four Hands," named for the young girl who would later marry Debusssy.) When he told me he was interested in seeing a Mardi Gras parade, I sprang into action, immediately promising him a seat at the Gallier Hall reviewing stand, which he eagerly accepted. After he arrived, I introduced him to Cynthia Willard-Lewis, the City Councilperson who officially represented the city. He watched the parades pass by in wonderment as I announced each float and marching unit. It was wonderful to see someone from outside the culture come to learn the peculiarities of the time-honored traditions held so high here. The second parade, the Krewe of Pygmalion, paraded last night following a rain-out last Friday. All of the krewes were especially generous with their throws. I had warned him in advance to bring a plastic bag to haul away his throws. As we walked to my car, I heard him refer to his "bling" as he pulled out the bag and deposited his goodies from around his neck. With the cancellation of tonight's parades due to inclement weather, Inon was fortunate to see a part of the Carnival celebration before he leaves tomorrow for the frigid weather in Detroit where he is slated to perform Friday evening. If his luck holds, he will perform brilliantly as he and the five other pianists continue their tour. Only Inon will be alone in having basked a bit more in the Mardi Gras mania.

Edwards's and Rudy's Blues

Just a little over 13 months after he first announced his intention to run for the presidency here in New Orleans, John Edwards decided to return to the Crescent City and bow out gracefully as a candidate for the Democratic nomination. Edwards, who was counting on a major win in his home state of South Carolina, saw the writing on the wall and determined that the battle was not his to fight any longer...that the two figures who would likely do battle with one another were named Hillary and Barack. It is a shame because I really liked Edwards, but I could plainly see that the wind had been taken out of sails over the last weekend. I'm sure he wouldn't admit that it was a factor, but his wife's continuing fight against cancer had to figure in his decision, even if it was a minor consideration. I know of what a distraction it is to have one's wife fighting cancer. I lived through two bouts of cancer while my wife was pregnant with our son and some nine years later. Regardless as to the reasons, Edward tried to put his best political foot forward in the face of less than spectacular returns, but it was probably too much for him to continue. Meanwhile, in Simi Valley, California a continent across from New York City, the city that Rudy Giuliani has called home, there played out another soap opera. Once considered the front runner, the former New York mayor also bowed out of the Republican nomination process, yielding to the much more robust and wealthy forces in the McCain and Romney camps, following his third-place finish in Florida. It seems odd that Giuliani was once considered the Republican front runner, but such has been the case this volatile political year. With the exit of both Edwards and Giuliani, the remaining players seem somehow larger in scope now that two of their more remarkable rivals have exited the playing field. As of today, with the possible exception of Michael Bloomfield (and I really believe it's too late for him to make a run for the presidency as an independent), only four viable candidates remain: Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Mitt Romney and John McCain. If anyone looks like he has the inside track right now, it's probably McCain, but don't count out Romney just yet. The battle between Clinton and Obama will take a bit longer to sort out after Super Tuesday. I don't know about you, but I am fascinated by it all.
Vote: For those of you who haven't done so, please consider voting in our straw poll (at right). We only have a little over a week left. Btw, for those of you who voted for Edwards, Giuliani or Fred Thompson for that matter, you can change your vote. That's pretty cool.

Bar Mitzvah in Heaven

Yesterday marked the thirteenth anniversary of the passing of my father, Dr. Arnold Smason. Out of deference to him, I did not post a blog yesterday. A remarkable self-made man, he had a steel-trap mind with an incredible recall. As a youth preparing for school, I saw him reading the paper each and every morning. More times than not, he was busy finishing the crosswords AND completing the Jumble word puzzle. He read the bridge column by Goren every day and on several instances corrected the bridge grandmaster when he happened to make a mistake that my dad spotted. Of course, he had many accomplishments in life. He graduated from L.S.U. with a chemical engineering degree, worked with uranium isotopes at Oak Ridge on the then-secret Manhattan Project that developed the atomic bomb, found himself discriminated against in the petrochemcial industry, reacted to that with enrollment in optometry school, became one of the youngest heads of an optical department in the country, emerged as one of the earliest practioners of contact lens technology, and married my mother. His dedication to his career and to providing for his family was of paramount concern. It was very difficult to be my father's son because the bar was raised so high. Much was expected of me and, in truth, I am sure I did not live up those hoary expectations. C'est la vie. While it may be true that he worked very hard, there is also no doubt that he enjoyed his life. He had a wonderfully developed sense of humor. According to Jewish tradition, the thirteenth anniversary of one's passing is considered "the Bar Mitzvah in Heaven." That may be especially appropriate since my father never became a Bar Mitzvah as a thirteen-year-old. Regardless, he always felt it was essential that any Jewish man should belong to a synagogue, which is why he maintained his synagogue membership for over four decades. He was a Past Master and Treasurer for his Masonic lodge and for the Jerusalem Shrine Temple, which he served as both Potentate and Recorder. I could probably reel off several stories about my dad, some of which would be highly motivational and others that might serve as testaments to his eccentric nature. His epitath reads "A man of vision," which was absolutely true, figuratively and literally. For those of us who knew him and loved him, he is still missed to this very day.

Spirit of 76

When people talk about the indomitable will, they usually are referring to my mother. Like a force of nature, my mother can be as full of blessing as a beautiful sunny day or as destructive as a tsunami. Most people only see the former, but there have been times when I have had to deal with the latter and I must tell you it isn't pleasant. Nevertheless, there isn't a day that doesn't go by that I don't truly love my mother. I have had the pleasure of being my mother's son for nearly 54 years (yikes!) and today she celebrates her 76th birthday. There are very few birthdays she hasn't celebrated with family and friends at her favorite haunt, New Orleans's oldest restaurant, Antoine's. The picture above was taken at her 75th bash with cocktails in the Rex Room, followed by a sumptuous feast served in the Hermes Room. You might notice the blunt references to Carnival krewes that figured in last year's banner celebration at Antoine's. Carnival has been a major part of my mother's life here. She has attended balls since a teenager and was in attendance at the Krewe of Moslem ball the night before she delivered me on the Sunday before Fat Tuesday in 1954. That Sunday on the Carnival calendar (the one just before Mardi Gras) figured very prominently for her as well in the years to come. The next year she began a run of almost 40 years of riding with the Krewe of Venus. When the krewe disbanded in 1992 in its 51st year, my mother was its senior officer. Also, that year my son and two of his first cousins -- Wallace and Lauren Title -- were three of the last four pages to the king and queen. The pinnacle of her parading experiences may have been in 1976 when my mother rode through the streets of New Orleans as the queen of Venus. Yet, even after the krewe had disbanded, she missed her parading so much that she contracted with the then males-only Krewe of Okeanos (who had taken over the Sunday before Mardi Gras route from Venus) to allow her to have two or three floats of women riders, many former Venus members. She did that for nearly ten years until just two years before Katrina. You can definitely say that Carnival is truly in her blood. Apparently, so is wanderlust. She enjoys traveling on board any of the Crystal luxury liners and does so frequently. I always tell friends that instead of frequent flier miles, my mom gets frequent oceans. Some of us have tried to convince her to stay in New Orleans a bit more, but there goes that indomitable will again. She will have none of that. It is her way or the highway. Like Molly Brown of Titanic fame, she is quite unsinkable! Happy birthday, mother.

O Little Town of Carrollton

Today marks the first day of my duties as an announcer at Gallier Hall describing to the crowd there the theme of the Krewe of Carrollton parade. Ever since Carnival began in New Orleans, every single float has passed Gallier Hall, the former New Orleans City Hall designed by the noted architect James Gallier, Sr. Typically, city officials will greet each parade's monarch(s) and present each with a proclamation from the city and will offer a toast as the parade proceeds along its route. At one time there was a separate town of Carrollton, but it became absorbed by the much larger New Orleans in the 19th century. Yet, the neighborhood kept its name. The Krewe of Carrollton began as a neighborhood parade in 1924, but has over the course of 84 years become a crowd pleaser, always running two Sundays prior to Fat Tuesday. It has a family-oriented theme for its ball (held on Friday) and parade. This year's theme is "Name That Tune" and the floats will all reflect musical genres. This year's king is Ralph Romaguera, Sr., who is the father of two past queens of Carrollton and whose family has been very active in the organization in recent years. I will be working with city officials to have a City Council person or the Mayor (who rarely shows up before next weekend) to toast His Majesty. The Carrollton queen will be toasted separately at the nearby Intercontinental Hotel. Okay, time to put on the tux. I should be pelted with lots of throws today and may send some up to my friends in Cleveland for them to enjoy.

One Degree of Separation

In New Orleans there is truly only one degree of separation. Last night, for example, the Queen of Carrollton was the daughter of a lovely lady who worked as my producer on radio 27 years ago. For those of you who remember Frasier, she was my Roz. She would answer the phone for callers who wanted to converse on the air and would make sure that the correct advertising would run at the appointed time. Over the course of the next several years, I would see her and her husband out to dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House or other local haunts. Later, she became an actress in several local productions and her husband also started appearing in leading roles such as "Lend Me a Tenor." In the meantime he also became a well-known attorney who advertised regularly over television. His career took off, but he still found time to do several local productions prior to Hurricane Katrina. Meanwhile, he and his wife had divorced, but I would still see her in local productions from time to time. After she remarried, she lived in Alabama and tried to make a life for her and her husband there. I was surprised to learn at last year's Carrollton ball that her daughter would be queen this year, but very happy for her. In fact she was Queen of Carrollton herself 33 years ago, four years prior to becoming my producer. One of the the members of her daughter's court, a maid, is also the granddaughter of a former colleague (now deceased) on yet another radio station. And tonight I am seeing "Grease" at Rivertown Repertory Theatre in Kenner. Teen Angel is being played by the Queen of Carrollton's father (the attorney). Like I said...one degree.

Oh Wad a Gift...

Today is a national holiday in Scotland, the birthday of poet Robert Burns. I think the Scots think of Burns as much like the Russians regard Pushkin. He is in a category all to himself. I must admit that the diehard attachment to figures like Burns is hard to understand. Here in the United States we have our own heroes to be sure, but we enjoy seeing them dragged through the mud much too often. I wonder who would be the closest to a national poet in this country? Walt Whitman? e e cummings? Theodor Geisel? For those of you who don't recognize the last name, you might recall his nom de plume, Dr. Seuss. My sister, an early grade educator, always regarded him as a lesser poet, despite the ubiquitous nature of his children's books ("The Cat in the Hat," "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" or "Green Eggs and Ham" to mention just a few). She disliked the made up names he employed in his poems. She thought it was more important to teach the children reality rather than have them dwell in the twilight of their imaginations. I, of course, disagreed. I believe that using their imaginations makes them better prepared to deal with the reality of the grown-up world. Ah, well, that's perhaps why I enjoy writing poetry specifically intended for children. I know it won't be lost on them and there's very little they will object to. Perhaps I will share some of them in a future post. In the meantime, have a wonderful weekend. To my Jewish friends, Shabbat Shalom. And to all of the rest of us, Happy Mardi Gras!