Jim Bradshaw: Mardi Gras monarchs of mirth

Some years ago, I tried to write a single paragraph that contained every cliché used to describe what happens in towns across south Louisiana on Mardi Gras.
It went something like this: “Sounds of ‘throw me something, mister,’ cascaded above the carefree Carnival chorus of ribald revelers who thronged into the city’s center to greet the mystical rulers of Mardi Gras’s madcap merriment. Raucous throngs of masked merrymakers and good-natured fun seekers donned fanciful and outlandish garb as they turned out to laissez les bons temps rouler as the Monarch of Mirth and his lovely Queen toured their domain aboard resplendent regal barges in a playful prelude to the pomp and pageantry of a fairy tale ball and tableau that will end at the stroke of midnight, the beginning of the somber Lenten season.”
The Monarch of Mirth and his lovely queen have traveled under several names in their annual visits to south Louisiana communities, but they all shared the common trait of returning from some faraway place each year to greet their loyal subjects — sending an emissary beforehand to let their fun-loving subjects know royalty was on the way.
The Lake Charles celebration in 1882 was proclaimed by The Great Momus, “The Merry Monarch! The loved of the wise! The worshipped of fools! The promoter of friendship, and … the Friend of Man!” He commanded that the people “lay aside your cares and troubles, your traffics and trades, and prepare to meet us on our entrance into our Royal City … with the firing of guns, the waving of banners, the look of delight, and the shout of joy.”
In 1887, “his exalted Majesty King Cotton” arrived by steamboat in the town of Washington “amid all the pomp and eclat that could assure a triumphal entry and that could elicit the most striking testimonials of the love and fealty of his liege subjects in this portion of his extensive empire.” The “august personage” was greeted by a “long retinue of peers, dukes, nobles, guards, civic officials, ladies of honor, and household subjects.”
King Attakapas, “Lord of all he Surveys,” and “The Royal Leader of Mystic Knights,” ruled Lafayette in 1897. He decreed that Mardi Gras day should be “set apart as a day of mirth and merriment throughout my entire realm” and commanded “all loyal subjects to abandon … domestic and business cares ... and unite in making the event one of memorable enjoyment.”
In 1899, the “great and mighty potentate, King Progress,” invited “the big hearted and wide awake citizens of St. Martinville, a town of which he has grown very fond, … to decorate their carriages with flowers” and ride in a procession with him.
The arrival of Le Roi de Cypres, (King of Cypress) in New Iberia in 1895 was announced by a mile long parade that included “a mounted platoon of costumed ‘house guards,’ the king’s jester, the New Iberia Brass Band, the royal herald and his escort, and … the king’s body guards — the Knights of Pythos, No. 10.”
Some communities celebrated Mardi Gras even though they had no royalty of their own. Rex, the king of the New Orleans Mardi Gras, regularly toured south Louisiana and was fêted everywhere he went. Sometimes it was the actual New Orleans Rex, and his tours were designed to drum up business for the city’s Carnival celebration; sometimes a hometown king borrowed the name, and the celebration was designed to keep local folks (and their dollars) at home.
Whoever ruled and wherever their realm, the day almost always ended with the “pomp and pageantry of a fairy tale ball,” and the “somber season of Lent” began in many households with one monumental hangover.
You can contact Jim Bradshaw at jimbradshaw4321@gmail.com or P.O. Box 1121, Washington LA 70589.