-- Professor Longhair, "Mardi Gras in New Orleans"
    © 1949, 1972 Hill & Range Music (BMI)

It's Mardi Gras Day, early in the afternoon, and five tribes of Indians are finally marching into a big showdown at the intersection of Washington and Derbigny, uptown in New Orleans. The Wild Magnolias and the Golden Eagles, banded together with their immense second line, have been dancing and chanting all the way up Washington from Dryades; the Golden Stars and the Young Sons of Geronimo, backed by a huge gang of supporters from their own neighborhood, are prancing down Washington from the opposite direction; and the Black Eagles, with twenty or thirty of their pals behind them, are heading up Derbigny, hell-bent for a showdown.

All around them, in every direction, packing the streets from sidewalk to sidewalk, hundreds of neighborhood citizens mill about, trying to get a clear shot at the action. "Oh, them Indians is pretty today," people who can see the costumed warriors bubble to their friends. "Yeah, an' just as crazy as ever, too!"

Before the confrontation got underway, Bo Dollis, the Big Chief of the Wild Magnolias, and Monk Boudreaux, Big Chief of the Golden Eagles, had paused at Washington and Magnolia to pull their forces together. The spy boys had been running ahead, searching for traces of other tribes on their turf, and they came running back with shouts of "Golden Stars! Geronimos! Headin' down Washington!" The flag boys checked their standards and then raised them high in the air, showing off the hand-beaded and brightly-feathered insignia of their respective tribes. The First, Second, and Third Chiefs, the Queens and Princesses, the Witch Doctors -- all wearing the indescribably beautiful hand-sewn costumes of their tribes -- got their massive headdresses together, shook out their rows of brilliantly-colored ostrich feathers, made sure their long Indian braids were firmly attached to their heads, and then conferred with the Big Chiefs, who were setting the chant and otherwise preparing for the big confrontation. The trusted inner-circle members of the second line -- that mass of non-costumed followers who march behind the Indians in the streets, beating tambourines, blowing whistles and chanting back the responses to the calls and boasts of the Chiefs -- were getting their marching orders now, and the spectators on the sidewalks started moving into position for the big push across Claiborne (a major street) and up to Derbigny, where all the tribes would meet at last.

Now the Wild Magnolias and the Golden Eagles resume their forward motion, their cries and shouts getting louder and stronger by the minute. "Let 'em come, let 'em come," a flagboy hollers impatiently, and as the second line pounds out a steady chorus of "Hey Pak E Way," the Big Chiefs begin to carry on for real:

Going across South Claiborne Avenue, passing white motorists gawk through their car windows, point and stare as the Indians dance through the intersection in full tribal regalia, pushed on by the surging second-liners and their relentless tambourines. Spy Boys and Flag Boys gesture fiercely, stopping traffic to let the Chiefs and their legions through. Then it's straight ahead up Washington, the Big Chiefs dancing and singing like Wild Indians, the second liners strutting and shouting that endless "Hey Pak E Way," the Flag Boys running ahead crying "Flag Boy make Cha Wa! Make No Houm Bah! Make Way for Wild Magnolia!"

Nancy Necktie, my companion and guide, is running around like an Indian herself, skipping and smiling and snapping photos of everything in sight. Masked in whiteface and some neo-psychedelic costumery, camera clicking away, a bottle of beer in her free hand, the young neckwear magnate is having the time of her life out here in the streets with the Wild Magnolias. She's been to Bo Dollis's house on Jackson Street, attended "Indian practice" at the H & R Bar at 2nd & Dryades, watched the Indians sew together their incredible creations in the last days before Mardi Gras, and now it's actually happening -- the legendary ritual of the Wild Indians, the one day of the year when the streets belong to the creatures of beauty and song. (continued)