Carnival
For half a century, New Orleans' fantastic Mardi Gras balls were strictly for the upper crust. Nobody without money, blue blood, or both gained membership in the secret men's clubs or "krewes"* which staged them. Before 1900 there were only five clubs: Comus, Momus, Twelfth Night, Rex and Proteus. They culled guest lists with pernickety care, asked only the fairest of debutantes to serve as carnival queens. But times changed. The socially ambitious began forming their own krewes.
In 1928 New Orleans had 16 Mardi Gras balls. In 1946 there were 36. This year, a record-breaking total of 49 are being held. Last week, with Carnival Day (Shrove Tuesday) fast approaching, New Orleans' social whirl had assumed the proportions of a maelstrom.
Everybody Dance. The new krewes cut across a dozen social strata. There are Italian krewes, Irish krewes, German krewes. There are krewes for college men, businessmen, professional men. To the horror of New Orleans' old guard, there are even krewes for women. Each seemed determined that its ball should be as lavish as the next. Queens of new krewes were not always debutantes, but all--like pretty Shirley Ray Toups (see cut), who reigned over the Bards of Bohemia ball--were gorgeously gowned.
New or old, Mardi Gras balls all conform to a traditional pattern. They open with a tableau or pageant, followed by a grand march led by a costumed king and queen. Then masked members of the krewe dance with women summoned from the audience. Finally formally clad guests who have been watching from the galleries join in the dancing too.
This Oriental splendiferousness is extremely expensive. A newly formed Italian-American krewe spent $50,000 for this year's ball; the cost of all 49 would total half a million dollars. Supper parties for 49 carnival queens--one of whom wore a costume worth $3,500--would come to another $350,000. Merchants guessed that New Orleans women would spend three or four million dollars for clothes and trips to beauty parlors.
Bands & Torchlights. This was not all. Next week all of New Orleans will quit work, put on a-million dollars' worth of costumes, and spill noisily into the streets. There will be 13 parades with bands, torchlights, and scores of magnificent floats. On Carnival Day a million people will jam along Canal Street, jostle, throw confetti, sing, and, quite possibly, get more than slightly tight.
For many a New Orleans citizen there will be little rest even after all this uproar quiets down. It takes a year to plan a Mardi Gras, and 1949 would be along before you could say Comus Momus.
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