Good Mornin’! Good Mornin’!
I’m sure there’s an unspoken code about Mardi Gras. You know, what happens there, stays there. Well, hopefully. I was all of 15 years old in February of 1979 when for some reason I loaded up my maroon Chevette and headed south with Redigo Phillips to experience all things Mardi Gras.
I’m not sure if I knew a single thing about this festival. But I learned quickly. First off, everywhere on the coast, you start with a few pounds of crawfish in front of you while you figure out what you’re really gonna eat. Redigo had cousins on the coast and they had a couple of restaurants, Lil Ray’s.
I had some fried oysters and got to go in the kitchen and learn the secret of their breading – corn flour. My young culinary mind was blown and I’ve searched for it quite often wherever my zip code.
We kept eating at Lil Ray’s and took in the coast atmosphere.
There were too many parades to remember but we traversed over that 24-mile-long Lake Ponchatrain Bridge. We were in a Ford Mustang with a few other “coasties” I’ll call them.
I saw tire marks that looked to go up and over the concrete bridge. Let’s just say I was a few shades whiter and my eyes were a bit more wide open during that drive. I forgot the fellah’s name who was driving, I think it was Stevie but let’s just say he didn’t do too well in his driver’s ed class. I don’t remember much after that.
I’ve heard stress will do that to you.
We did go to another parade in New Orleans and we took a van and Stevie somehow scraped the side of something. I then got a lifetime job.
That of designated driver. Even though we were all underage, everyone somehow had beer before, during and after the road trip.
That wasn’t something I partook in and after Stevie scraped the running boards, I was now the official driver here unto for and then some so to speak. We made it to New Orleans and it was cold and yes, there were a lot of “happy folks” attending the parade.
We found a spot to watch and tried to catch some beads and whatever else was being thrown. Not being too successful, Redigo decided to jump on my back and lift himself up and yes, he procured some beads. But the poor drunk lady behind us was standing a bit too close and Redigo’s Dingo cowboy boots came down on her toes.
She was well under the influence and had no idea what had happened but started screaming, “Who’s hitting my toes with a hammer?”
After a few yellings, we figured out it was us.
Who knew if she had friends and family so we stopped our shenanigans and headed back to the van and I somehow coaxed directions out of our inebriated crew and got us back to the Magnolia State in one piece.
I have no clue what happened to any of those beads and we don’t have any photos to verify this trip’s existence. It just grows in stature in our minds and I’m sure Redigo has more details to add that I’ve long forgotten.
But we made it home after a few days, a bit wiser, a bit poorer but rich in friendship and adventure. If you get a chance, experience Mardi Gras and all it offers. Just make sure you’re the designated driver so you can remember some of the glorious moments.
