The Brass Room: A Monday Night Neighborhood Jam 1301 Surrey Avenue Lafayette, LA Monday, November 13, 2017
8:45 PM
“That’s the President of the United States and the First Lady of the Brass Room.”
So says Gloria LeBlanc Wheeler, proprietor of The Brass Room in Lafayette, LA, as I point to the two portraits hanging prominently on the wall. I don’t know who was the boss inside the White House but I damn well know who calls the shots here.
Thirty seconds after I entered the door and navigated to the back of the room, a man whose biceps strain the sleeves of his T-shirt holds out his hand.
“I’m Alex Montgomery, how you doing?”
“Paul Tamburello from Boston. My friends call me PT,” says I.
“This band is old school,” Alex says, “ you’ll see.”
Actually, I can hear it as I’m trying to listen to him over the decibels the band is cranking out.
When’s the last time I walked into a bar in Boston and been greeted like that by a perfect stranger?
My usual haunts in Lafayette are dance halls and bars where I know the bands, people by face if not by name and know the territory. The Brass Rail is far from that territory. There’s not much open on this stretch of Surrey Street far from downtown Lafayette. I was the only guy my color in the place and not many patrons blinked an eye.
Several men nod a hello as they walk past my chair at the far end of the colorfully decorated room and just in front of a tiny window revealing a small kitchen.
I’m an outsider, a northerner, a visitor here, have no close black friends. My life experience may be a world apart from Alex’s or Gloria’s. But I feel welcome.
An old school front line saxophone, trombone, trumpet, keyboard, backed up by drums is playing a catalog of hits from the 70s and 80s. The guitar player and lead singer directs the show with buoyant enthusiasm. Covers of Smokey Robinson and James Brown and others of the era come one after the other. My guess is that most of the men in the band play here after they finish their day jobs. They’re not professionals but they’re certainly having fun.
Despite the fabulous dance beat, I’m surprised the dance floor is empty. Two women at a table in front are busting moves as they sit in their chairs waving arms and wiggling their behinds in unison with the music.
The two dozen tables are filled with couples, singles sit at the ten stools at the bar. The men are dressed casually, the women in slacks and carefully chosen tops have put more effort into it.
“Hope you’re hungry, food’s coming out later,” says Gloria as I order a Bud Light.
The Brass Room has a lively vibe, feels like a Monday night hangout and destination. Men arrive and give hearty sometimes elaborate handshakes and bro hugs with their friends and hugs to the women they know.
The Brass Room won’t be found on the Trip Advisor list of must see locales. But it’s as integral a part of Lafayette music and culture as any of them. I never would have found it at all had I not met Chester Chevalier and his wife Mary the night before at Mr. Rodney Bernard’s 80th birthday party in Scott, LA.
Chester had just played with one of the bands, his commanding guitar getting my attention.
I introduce myself, he confirms that he plays at The Brass Room Monday nights, his wife Mary wife encourages me to head over there and here I am.
“Chester isn’t here because his wife has to get up at 5 AM tomorrow, to help with a food drive at El Sido (another neighborhood bar on the other side of Lafayette),” says Gloria. No matter. I’m getting a feel for Lafayette nightlife I’ve never seen before.
Lo and behold at 10 PM, three women emerge from the tiny kitchen with a cart filled with bowls of gumbo. Another custom as it turns out in neighborhood places like this.
A sixty something woman from Opelousas is introduced and sings and shimmies, covering “Don’t Mess With My Man”, “Boney Maroney” and a few other oldies.
As the night progresses more guitar, bass, accordion and even a washboard player show up. Some of them well known professionals. There are about 20 people present when I arrive and by the time I left twice that many have dropped in to what appears to be a weekly event that’s circled in their calendar.
Music switches genres as an energetic fellow bounds up to the stage around 10:30. Laurie Sigu and the Creole Stompers have arrived. And my goodness, there’s Lee Alan Zeno playing bass in the back row. Does that man ever sleep or take a day off?
“Meowww!” I hear the woman shout from the kitchen when the zydeco band is announced.
“What’s that mean?” says I.
“It means ‘I like it’” exclaims Betty LeBlanc, Gloria’s sister.
A few minutes later there she is playing a frattoir (rub board) with a big meow grin on her face and a few minutes after that we’re dancing together. Live music has a way of lifting our spirits and lowering the cultural walls between us, even if for a few hours.
One last vignette. “May I sit here?” A young fellow asks about the empty seat at the deuce I sitting at.
“Ronald Paul,” he says and shakes my hand.
“Paul Tamburello,” says I.
“Thank you for introducing yourself. It doesn’t happen like this in my hometown Boston. Its a really friendly gesture, several men who’ve never seen me before have done the same thing,” says I as I get up to leave.
“That’s what we do,” he says. “My friends call me RP.”
I grin. “My friends call me PT.”
After a bunch of days in Lafayette, I usually leave for home on Monday morning. Next time, I’d like to return to the Brass Room, say hello to the First Lady and Ronald and maybe even see Chester Chevalier. Even better, I’ll try to take a page out of the Lafayette playbook and introduce myself first.
The band covers pop music from the 70s and 80s...
while patrons relax at the bar...
presided over by proprietor Gloria LeBlanc Wheeler...
with help tonight from her sister Betty
who helps serve the tasty gumbo rolled out around 10 PM...
and plays the rub board for a tune by Laurie Sigu and The Creole Stompers.
November 12, 2017 Mr. Rodney Bernard—Rubboard Elder Statesman--Music Celebration Cowboy’s Nightclub Scott, LA 3 PM until the cows come home
If you ever doubted that music in southwest Louisiana is a family thing, consider the party for Mr. Rodney Bernard, "Mr. Bernard's Past to Present Throwdown Throwdown." The man’s been playing music since he was 8 years old and is known for the quiet kindness of his nature and the less quiet way he can make a spoon sing as he drags it across a frattoir (rub board).
There are scores of musicians around here who are playing well into their seventies and a few right into their eighties. People don’t defer to them because of their senior status. They defer to them because they can still play the daylights out of their chosen instrument or vocal chords.
Rodney’s pals, 70 year-old guitar player Paul “Lil Buck” Sinegal, 63 year-old youngster bass player Lee Allen Zeno, and 69 year-old keyboard player Lynn August, who sang and played a glorious set with Mr. Bernard, are a prime examples.
Mr. Bernard has played with some of zydeco’s best bands, including Thomas “Big Hat” Fields (his long-time great band mate), accordionist Marcel Dugas, keyboard player Lynn August, had his own career as a band leader, and since 2009 has played the frattoir (scrub board) with Horace Trahan and The Ossun Express. Mr. Rodney is Horace’s father-in-law. Did I mention that music down here is a family thing?
Today's party was a Who’s Who of Zydeco. You don’t get musicians like Lil’ Buck Sinegal, Lynn August, Kevin Naquin, Lee Allen Zeno, Horace Trahan and the Ossun Express, Dexter Ardoin, Jamie Bergeron, Jeffery Broussard, Eric Singleton, Corey Arceneaux, Rusty Metoyer, Tiger Dopsie, Gerard Delafose, Randall Lee Jackson II, and Kaleb LeDay make time to celebrate your birthday unless you’ve earned their respect. Hanging out at the side door is like watching stars arrive at the Oscars as musicians say hello to the family and get ready to play. The red carpet is replaced by a simmering vat of gumbo.
Music and food around here go together like roux and gumbo. Outside the side door, a constellation of Bernards and their close friends are tending to a huge vat of gumbo they’ve been simmering since 9 AM. Chantelle Bernard Trahan, Horace’s wife, is the field general, checklist in hand. She’s good at this stuff. Chantelle also handles marketing and PR for Horace’s band, The Ossun Express.
The scene out the side door under the small blue and white striped tent looks like a family reunion. Chantelle’s sister Sheila Bernard Nelson and her husband Peter and long-time friends Mike Hurst (of Mike Hurst & the Zydeco Cut Point Band) and his wife Carolyn Hurst are ladling gumbo into bowls for a line of grateful celebrants.
“I did the cooking, she did the stirring!” Peter says playfully as they serve bowl after bowl. Louise Begnaud (married to Doug Garb on saxophone and flute in Horace's band) along with two of her sisters, joins the tag team serving gumbo for several hours.
Today, with all these luminaries of zydeco performing on stage, Mr. Rodney is the brightest star.
Around 4:30 PM he’s front and center with a positively stellar group, singing a set of zydeco classics and a some sultry awesome Swamp Pop…with energy, class, and a huge smile as he gives a nod to Lynn August (keyboard), Lee Allen Zeno (bass), Paul “Lil Buck” Sinegal (guitar), Shane Bernard (drums), Gabriel Perrodin, Jr. (Horace's newest guitar player), and Doug Garb (saxophone), take their solos to the roof.
This is stunning. When Rodney sings or Lynn August sings and jams mightily on his electric piano, I don’t know whether to dance to the lights out music pouring from the stage or stand still and witness history.
August and Bernard have traveled the world together playing their music. During a presentation (VIDEO) in the program, August (who is blind) thanks Bernard for his friendship, recalled that he idolized Mr. Bernard's playing when he was ten years old, notes their mutual musical heritage, and recalls how they bonded as they toured Europe promoting zydeco.
Nattily dressed in black hat, jacket and slacks, physically fit Rodney Bernard doesn’t look like any 80 year old I’ve ever seen. For a precious half hour, he powers joyfully through a set of music that by now is buried deep in his DNA. Rodney is in his element, fully in the moment, and he’s carrying us along on his shoulders for the historic ride.
Rodney’s sister Rose, and his daughter Cheryl LeMelle from TN, sit with spouses and close friends at a big table at the edge of the dance floor the size of a small skating rink. It's packed with friends and admirers. Daughters Sheila and Chantelle, who’ve been planning this for months, are outside greeting well-wishers, friends and dozens of musicians.
Every time Mr. Rodney walks off stage or meanders through the crowd, cell phones are hoisted, cameras flash, selfies are taken, group photos with Rodney front and center are guaranteed to happen.
His son-in-law Horace Trahan senses that today belongs to his father-in-law. After The Ossun Express’s first set at 3 PM, he’s relaxing out the side door where the food is being served and his fellow musicians arrive and hang out.
Horace greeted me by name, remembered that I volunteered with Our Savior’s Church to muck out homes ruined by the flood of August 2016. He enthusiastically tells me that his father in law picked out 20 hens for the gumbo, informing this Yankee that hens would not fall apart as fryers would as the gumbo was cooking!
The bond between musicians around here is deep. They’re united by their craft, their respect for the music, whether traditional or evolving, and the hard work it takes to succeed.
An outsider like me sees only the stagecraft part. I don’t see the fact that most, including Horace (Cajun and Creole Lawn Service), need a second job/income to make ends meet. This story by Herman Fusilier about veteran sidemen like Lee Allen Zeno and younger musicians like Chris Segura opened my eyes to the less glorious aspect of a musician's life.
A terrific story by Daily Advertiser Music and Entertainment editor Herman Fusilier recounts Mr. Rodney’s career arc and the times a young Rodney would drive back from a gig in Houston to return an hour or two before his full-time, day job at Schoeffler Cadillac. Popular as he was, his music earnings would not support a growing family.
If there weren’t masters of ceremonies, with this many bands showing up, the party could go on for a week. Herman Fusilier and Todd Ortego, local radio personalities who have their own loyal followings, keep the show on the rails.
They’ve known each other for decades and know the music and the musicians. As a duo they’re like the buddy act of NFL’s high profile announcers Al Michaels and Cris Collinsworth. They have great chemistry as they introduce each band with patter that connects the band and its musicians to the occasion and about 20 minutes later give them the ‘one more song’ signal.
Hundreds showed up at Cowboy’s to celebrate Rodney Bernard's 72 year career and listen to some of the best zydeco musicians on the planet honor him by playing today. For $10, you’re never going to get a better bang for your buck and a bowl of homemade gumbo to boot.
I first met Rodney Bernard at Mardi Gras 2012 where Horace Trahan and The Ossun Express was playing a late morning gig in a parking lot in front of Meche’s Donuts (yes, I said a donut store) in New Iberia.
I’ve witnessed this kind of southwest Louisiana hospitality since my first visit in 2009. Today was a celebration of a man who has been part of the fabric of music for nearly 8 decades.
The lovely glass engraved plaque presented to Mr. Bernard reads, "Celebrating 72 Years of Playing Music....presented to Rodney Bernard......In Grateful Recognition of Dedicated Contributions to Louisiana Music and Culture......November 12, 2017."
Mr. Rodney Bernard: Musician, Legend, Father, Grandfather, Mentor, Role Model… who picked cotton as a youngster in Carencro. LA, has traveled the world as an emissary of Louisiana’s cultural and musical heritage, and can still command a stage at 80 years young.
Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.
Rodney Bernard, flanked by daughters Chantelle Trahan and Sheila Nelson, had the kind of party that musicians (and fathers) dream of. Family from near and far, friends of a lifetime, fans and music lovers, gathered for a "throwdown" that delivered all it promised.
Some of the hundreds of attendees step out the side door of Cowboy's Nightclub in Scott, LA, to line up for free gumbo served by Sheila Nelson...
family friend Carolyn Hurst...
and Peter Nelson, Sheila Nelson, and Louise Begnaud (married to Doug Garb on saxophone and flute in Horace's band). Mike and Carolyn Hurst got the gumbo going at 9 AM in a vat the size of a small bathtub, enough to serve hundreds. Rodney Bernard and Mike chose 20 hens from Breaux's Mart in Lafayette, LA (because hens wont fall apart in the long cooking process, Horace tells me). This event has as many details to plan for as a half time performance at a Super Bowl and, thanks to Chantelle, her family and friends, it ran just about as perfectly.
Highlight of the day, Rodney Bernard is the man, singing classic zydeco and swamp pop songs with a cast of all-stars.
and Gabriel Perrodin, Jr. (Horace's newest guitar player) on the right side.
Rodney can still bring it...his swamp pop rendition of "Irene" rocked the house. I've said this before but forget 'Six Degrees of Separation'...in the southwest Louisiana scene it's more like two or three degrees of separation. Band member Gabriel Perrodin, Jr.'s dad, Gabriel Perrodin, Sr., known as Guitar Gable, recorded "Irene" with songwriter King Karl this Swamp Pop classic song!
He enjoys every minute playing with this fabulous band...I have to wonder if memories of his performances as a band leader and drummer over the years flash through his mind as he feels the energy of the crowd.
Swamp Pop: Cajun and Creole Rhythm and Blues, by historian Shane K. Bernard, describes the history of Cajun and Creole Swamp Pop music and lyrics of songs like "Irene," (VIDEO) that Rodney sang today for the how many hundreds of times he's probably sung it.
including Paul "Lil Buck" Sinegal. He toured internationally with Clifton Chenier, Buckwheat Zydeco and is known as a consummate blues player. He was one of the musicians featured in the film "I Am The Blues", a film that took years to make as it traveled the Deep South to spotlight rural blues musicians in places you've never heard of but were petrie dishes for what we now know as The Blues. The unanswered question is what becomes of the blues tradition when these men and women pass on. Lil Buck Sinegal was inducted into the Louisiana Blues Hall of Fame in 1999 and the Louisiana Hall of Fame in 2012. Everybody was lovin' the show including John and Bunny Broussard of Lafayette, LA (good friends of Horace).
Rodney Bernard's sister Rose, Peter and Sheila Nelson and Carolyn Hurst
Teamwork. Sunday was a sunny, gorgeous shirt sleeve day in Scott, LA.
Radio host Todd Ortego, sales director at KBON-FM, escorts Lynn August to the stage. August began playing music at 12 years old, has played drums, piano, accordion, led his own band, played with the late Stanley "Buckwheat" Dural and tonight kills it when he plays the Hammond B-3 on swamp pop and blues when he sings with Rodney Bernard.
A student of music, he studied the field recordings made by Alan Lomax in 1934. The result: two songs done in the Creole 'juré" style (rhythmic singing, hand clapping, foot stomping) on each of two albums released in the early 1990s.
Cowboy's Nightclub was packed for this extravaganza.
Herman Fusilier, music and entertainment editor of The Daily Advertiser and host of The KLRZ Zydeco Stomp, and Todd Ortego, sales director at KBON-FM and host of Swamp and Roll program, are the perfect choice to MC the long line up of top bands today. They know the music and the culture heritages of southwest Louisiana. Their easy camaraderie and personal connections to the musicians keep the long list of bands on track. The best 10 minute summary of Zydeco and Cajun music you'll ever hear is captured as David Dye interviews Herman Fusilier.
Todd Ortego introduced me to Horace Trahan's music on my first visit to KBON-FM in Eunice, LA, in 2010. Ortego and Fusilier are two walking, talking encyclopedias of southwest Louisiana music.
Herman Fusilier, host of the weekly Zydeco Stomp on KRVS FM and Todd Ortego, host of Swamp and Roll on KBON FM with a man Herman says is known simply as "Bird."
Swamp and Roll on KBON and Zydeco Stomp on KRVS are the two best ways for a newcomers and long time listeners to learn about the life blood of southwest Louisiana, its music and the culture that produces it.
pt, Lynn August, Rodney Bernard
Highlight of the day: presentation of this award to Rodney Bernard, presented by Herman Fusilier and Todd Ortego, A big hall filled with hundreds paid rapt attention as Lynn August paid a heartfelt tribute to his longtime friend and touring companion from America to Europe.
A smile of accomplishment for recognition of seven decades and counting for spreading the joy of zydeco music on at least two continents.
Rodney Bernard, Gerald Gruenig, Lee Allen Zeno
A big table filled with Bernard family members and friends.
Jamie Bergeron keeps the pedal to the metal...
Rodney and Jeffery Broussard after Jeffery's performance.
Horace enjoys moment with James "Jim" Sepulveda. Jim hosts a "Horace Trahan and the Ossun Express" fan page on Facebook.
and of course a photo opp!
By the time the crowd had left Cowboys late in the night, everyone had "passed a good time."
The Nouveau String Band Infuses Joy into the Joie de Vivre Café
There was explosion of joy in the Joie de Vivre Café in Breaux Bridge, LA. The Nouveau String Band hit the bandstand with melodic mischief in their hearts and red hot instruments in their hands. OK, the instruments might not have been that hot but the music…well, that’s another thing. . These five middle-aged guys are old enough to have heard the rich cloud of music that floats around Lafayette and southwest Louisiana. We’re talking a stew of Cajun, honky tonk, pop, and blues and, wonder of wonders, jazz.
Most bands around here have range. Put the Nouveau String Band in the ICBM category. Don’t be surprised to hear them cover Hank Williams, Count Basie, Robert Johnson, Marvin Gaye, Oscar Peterson, Jimmy Martin, and a raft of others. And every damn bit of it makes me want to find a woman and squeeze onto the dance floor.
What makes these guys special? In a small café like Joie de Vivre, their bandstand is a few feet from the tables that surround it and the slice of worn brown wood floor that fills up with dancers. That’s where the nitro meets the glycerine. The energy rush of this band and the nearly involuntary response of the audience creates an atmosphere that can be measured by a seismograph under the old floor boards. And don’t think the guys in the band don’t feed off the energy.
Any one of these musicians could hold an audience’s attention for an evening. Put John Buckelew (fiddle), Dave Trainer (fiddle, mandolin), Jimmie Duhon (bass), Lee Tedrow (guitar) and Danny Kimball (drums) together and you’ve got a killer band.
“I’ve heard these guys play dozens of times, “ says a regular from Lafayette, “tonight they were especially tight and full of energy.” I watched them smile at each other, nod in approval at each other’s solos and play the daylights out of every song.
In this part of Louisiana, you can find music live music performed in bars, restaurants, saloons, dance halls and best of all, tiny places like this café where dancers navigate with the precision of self driving cars around tables, chairs and each other.
Around here music might be a form of therapy from a troubled world. I’ve met teachers, oil field riggers, hydrologists, FEMA workers, nurses, therapists, photographers, waitresses, farm workers, aviation mechanics in places like this. The only politics allowed in the door is party politics, and I mean Party.
The music is the conduit. Sit down where you please, I guarantee someone will ask, “Where you from?”and pretty soon you’ve met a cultural ambassador who makes you feel welcome.
Which is why I’ve kept returning here since my first visit in 2009. There are dozens of places in and around Lafayette where this kind of vibe flourishes. As it turns out, “Laissez les bon temps roulez,” is the ritual that keeps us centered in a fragile world.
Tables have been pushed back a few feet from the raised stage...
so dancers weave through any patch of floor they can find. Creativity is useful.
To quote one regular, " the band is on fire tonight!"
And by the way, this is a café, with a side of great music on a regular basis.
SAD UPDATE...Joel Sonnier took his show to Cajun heaven on January 13, 2024
Jo-El Sonnier: Warming Hearts at River Ranch, Lafayette, LA November 9, 2017
I arrive at my host’s home in Lafayette at 7 PM. “Here’s a quick snack," says he, “Jo-El Sonnier is playing over at River Ranch until 8:30 PM!”
Unsaid, no lollygagging. This is gonna be good, stow your luggage in the guest room, we’re leaving in a few minutes.
7:35 PM Park the car. I can hear music a block away. Loud music… carrying sonically through the moist air on this chilly November evening. Which is when I discover the show is outdoors. A five-minute walk away, we’re in the center of an upscale development called River Ranch. The music is pouring out from a brightly lit bandstand in a tiny park in the midst of the development.
And there’s Grammy award winning accordion player Jo-El Sonnier cranking out some good ol’ Cajun songs upbeat to ballad, a sprinkling of waltzes, a few country two steps, and a surprising song or two with a distinct rumba beat heard in saloons like Tipitina’s in New Orleans.
Born to French speaking sharecroppers in nearby Rayne, LA, Sonnier, like so many other musicians from this region, could play the accordion not long after he learned to walk.
He began his career as a country singer-songwriter, switched to Cajun mid career, has won several Grammys and is in the Louisiana Hall of Fame. No wonder there’s a sweet vein of country in his repertoire. And here he is playing to a local crowd who understand the music, respect the musicians whose music is a natural fit with what they grew up with and certainly how they relax and let off steam.
A crowd of listeners wrapped in blankets sit on their camp chairs. It's around 55 degrees F, which certainly doesn't stop people from spending a Thursday night outside, in their winter coats, to enjoy the kind of music they listen to on KBON-FM. Teenagers and their grandparents stand around wiggling to the beat and a bunch of them dancing on the grass or the little strip of brick sidewalk in front of the bandstand.
In other words, a typical scene in Lafayette, LA, where music and dance are as much a part of life as grocery shopping and doing the laundry.
My flight arrived in Lafayette at 6:10 PM, I picked my baggage and rental car by 6:45 PM and at 7:45 PM I’m dancing on the grass with women I’ve never seen before. I smile, hold out my hand, they say yes, and off we go.
In my book, the annual Masquerade March is one of the ‘do not miss’ events of the whole festival.
Parade streets are closed to vehicles. At 5 PM, hundreds of marchers in the wackiest, imaginative, often flesh-baring costumes walk through usually staid neighborhoods from the Key West Cemetery to Duval Street. MAP
The route is lined with locals lounging on lawn chairs, hanging out on porches of single-family homes and grand three deckers, some of which double as guest houses.
Residents applaud, snap photos, and shout out to costumed people they know. After what they’ve been through, they really needed to dive into the quirky culture that drew them to Key West in the first place.
Who’s having more fun, the marchers or the spectators?
I step out of the march to take a photo of a group of spectators clearly enjoying the merry spectacle. By now, nothing should surprise me, but what happens next certainly does, a ten-minute history lesson.
It gets complicated, is subject to my memory but fun to recall. Once I disclose that I’m from Boston, a woman who lives a few feet from where the gang is sitting at 526 Simonton Street decides to let me know that Key West has a pride in history not unlike Bostonians.
History footnote: In 1521, Ponce de Leon was the first European to set foot on the island where he encountered the Calusa people already there. In 1822, a US Navy schooner planted the US flag in the sands of Key West, claiming the Keys as United States property. Not a peep from Spain, the Florida Keys became property of United States of America.
For the next ten minutes, I'm told that a man named Robert Watson settled in Key West in 1847, fought in the Civil War and returned to Key West in 1865 and built the house next door.
A three-decker across the street at 525 Simonton Street opened a VRBO named The Grande Dame Key West – (The Watson House). The use of Watson’s name, ”usurped,” I believe was her word, was a rather tacky thing to do to promote the rental property, but locals knows better.
As I write this, I see that home listed by a local real estate agency lists 522 Simonton Street as “… one of the most historic and iconic homes in Key West. Built in the 1860’s and the Key West home of Robert Watson, officer in the Confederate Army and later Confederate Navy, and his family. Watson later served briefly as mayor of Key West. There have only been two families to reside here since the home was built.”
Hmmmmm, the Watson saga. Here’s the point of the story. “Knock at my door next time you visit Key West. I’ll supply the wine and tell you more stories about the Watsons.”
Key West warmth? You bet.
A few houses away, as dusk set in, I walk by a woman on the sidewalk drinking a beer and overhear her say this was one of the best parades she has ever seen.
“The annual Masquerade March is really a march for the locals,” she says. “Everybody went all out to create costumes and let loose because of the ravages of the storm,” she said.
That registered.
An hour before, I stepped out if the march to chat with a middle aged fellow and his wife standing next to a golf cart full of children.
“I live up-island in Big Pine Key. My roof is still covered with a blue tarp while I work on fixing it up,” he says. “All I needed today was a cold beer and my family and I’m good to go.“
Over the next two days, I learned some of the darker effects Irma will have on the Florida Keys. Stay tuned... but for today...
The Conch Republic, bloody but unbowed, the tribe is still intact.
• ROCK AND ROLL REVITALIZING 1960’S POOL PARTY • PET MASQUERADE • CHERAOKE (Yes, that Cher) • REDNECK PARTY • SMOKIN TUNA HOMEMADE BIKINI CONTEST PRESENTED BY FREE LIBATIONS
•LUCY'S BLUE PARTY PRESENTED BY BLUE CHAIR BAY RUM • 6th ANNUAL LUV2GLOW PARTY AT MARY ELLEN'S BAR • FOGARTY'S RED PARTY • SEXY BULL RIDING CONTEST • DUNGEON of DARK SECRETS • SWING N' FREAK FEST
Choices, Choices, Choices
Pack it up...ready for action
Pink and black; spectators and partiers
Costumes, simple and elaborate
Hail Caesar...party on
Happy Hour on Duval Street
Caged and untamed
Raunchy and classy A moment of spontaneity, the spirits moves her
At the World's Smallest Bar; at a great take out shack on Duval Street
Vampirettes, Indian Chiefs, Blonde partier with bright smile, wonder where she's going?
Smiles by the mile, not to mention ta tas; Duval Street is packed, lively would be operative word
Point camera, partiers smile...always; couple enjoys the view
A tall order draws lots of attention
It's not necessary to show flesh to be spectacularly attired; Harley's draped with skeletons, pt needs a photo of that!
Black,white and reversible~
I've said that before, too; a float cruises down Duval Street
Every bar and restaurant is jammed; photos by the thousands
Tiny bar behind Sloppy Joe's; porch scenes outside tiny bar behind Sloppy Joe's dance floor
When the spirit moves you, remove your top
Love this... ham & eggs!; and paint up and down
Group of partiers on the move, can you tell they're having fun?
pt joins the fun; matching boxers
Street festively lit; ballerinas tu tus and pt
There goes the flight crew; pink power!
Entering Fat Tuesday; switheroo ta tas; cycles and partiers
Time to head back to the hotel, tomorrow's gonna be a busy day, Masquerade March
Propeller plane from Tampa to Key West...maybe time is traveling backwards!
Santa arrives from the North Pole...skip the cookies and milk, how about baring your ornaments?
Smallest bar, big time margaritas
Ringside seat at The Grand Restaurant on Duval Street prime real estate to watch celebrants promenade
I nearly dropped my margarita when this face popped up from the greenery
posing for the cameras and cell phones, sort of like the Red Carpet at the Oscars
skip the Oscar de La Renta flowing gowns, a few strategically placed greens or some whites for Toga Night tomorrow at Sloppy Joe's will do just fine.
dining or promenading
in all sorts of body paint and costumes
The sidewalk restaurants are viewing stands and everyone walking by knows the cameras will be chirping, heck, if no one laughs or takes your photo, you are probably disappointed!
Red Night at Fogarty's is coming up later tonight...Kris Kringles and Dingles.
so get ready...there goes Wonder Woman and Superman sans culottes
Master body painter Avi Ram and his equally adept cohort. Having the blues takes on an entirely different meaning here
Hey, I think I know where she got that lovely outfit!
My suitcase didn't arrive till Thursday afternoon so I chatted up a couple recently painted up. The body paint is waterproof, will last a couple of days. Heading for the Red Party...
The Red Party tonight... also Toga Night and a dozen other themed events going on. Pick your colors or pack for every theme.
Did I say there was a Red Party?
Fore and aft
No costume? Who cares. Sit down, have a beer and watch the action. I skipped a chance to pet a boa constrictor.
"How bout a photo of you two and my wife?" the man says. Everyone obliges. A Time Travels theme at Irish Kevin's
Enterprising bunnies...take a photo, put some folding money in their cleverly concealed tip wallet.
What's the plan?
Enough said...
The night would not be complete without at least one Elvis sighting. It would have been more fun if my suitcase didn't arrive until the next afternoon!
Describing the annual Fantasy Fest in Key West is like trying to explain an out of body experience or a temporary alternate universe. Every idea of what you expect to see in public, fuhhgetabodit.
One part Nudity and two parts levity become the hydrogen and oxygen that waters this southern most outpost of the continental U S of A for ten days preceding every Halloween since 1979.
Duval Street is transformed into a clothing optional playground. Almost like a trip to the zoo where visitors take photos of the wildlife, except the exotic animals don’t usually strike a pose to best reveal their plumage, or, as is often the case during Fantasy Fest, their lack of plumage.
At first, I feel embarrassed to stop and take a long gander at a man, woman, couple or group of nearly naked people. It doesn’t take long to learn that everyone on the street WANTS to be seen in his or her finery, whatever that is.
They see me with a camera in hand, stop, flash a brilliant smile, and pose as if I’m paparazzi from People Magazine. I know how they feel. In the past three days, I’ve donned my Chippendale costume for the Masquerade March or my whites for Toga Night, or a tie, hat and speedo shorts for a daytime saunter down Duval Street.
You would think that this much display of flesh might lead to rampant pagan carnality. Au contraire. Remember how much fun you used to have in a sandbox or playing dress up when you were a kid? This is the adult version.
Every year since its outset 23 years ago Fantasy Fest announces a theme, this year’s is Time Travel Unravels.
For some, pasties, speedos and a splash of body paint does the trick. Others spend months dreaming up elaborate, kooky, creative costumes to match the theme. Some are ordered online and might cost a bundle but many are stunningly creative homemade affairs that make me laugh out loud. Exposing flesh is not required. As long as you’re having fun, you dress however you damn please.
Laughter is the Lingua Franca of the festival, levity is thick in the air. Fantasy Fest gives people permission to parade around in attire perfect for a beach on the French Riviera or dress up like King Tut, Cleopatra, Captain Morgan, Cher…they don't call it the "premier masking and costuming extravaganza" for nothing..the list goes on.
Body shaming? No way!
Fantasy Fest is a celebration of the human body in all its shapes and forms. In a world so obsessed with toned bodies this might be the most appealing vibe of the festival. A perfect example of the spirit of The Conch Republic.
On October 23, Key West stuck its middle finger up to Mother Nature and staged its 23rd Annual Fantasy Fest http://www.fantasyfest.com. Six weeks before, it had battened down the hatches as Hurricane Irma tore through town. The need to reopen for tourism was the prod. So was the need to show the world people in the Florida Keys can take a punch.
To say that no festival in the world remotely resembles this is a monumental understatement. Fun like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum.
On April 23, 1982, Key West declared itself “The Conch Republic” and made a picaresque attempt to secede from the United States of America. In 1994, a loyalist composed The National Anthem of the Conch Republic. It was recorded by the Key Lime Pie Band (yes) and accepted by the City of Key West Commissioners. I’m not making this stuff up.
The islanders celebrate April 23rd annually with a week of eccentric festivities, aptly named “A Sovereign State of Mind” with a mission is to bring more “Humor, Warmth and Respect” to the world. I’d probably walk to Key West from Boston for a slice of Key Lime Pie topped with those three toppings right now. I’ve always felt that vibe. In the next three days, I met islanders who personified it. LINK https://www.keywestvacation.com/learn-about-the-conch-republic/
Given the declaration of the Conch Republic, Fantasy Fest was probably inevitable. The Masquerade March on October 27 is the festapalooza event of the ten-day Fantasy Fest. With this year’s theme of ‘Time Travel Unravels,” it was a way reassert the Conch Republic way of life. They needed the jolt from their famously politically incorrect parade as much as every hotel, gift shop, bar, restaurant, and art gallery in town needed the business it generates.
Some of the locals I talked to didn’t have a roof over their heads. But, miss a Fantasy Fest Parade? Are you kidding? During the Masquerade March on October 27, I met a guy who was living proof.
When I arrived on October 25, its wounds were largely invisible in the Duval Street area, the hub of the tourist industry. But in neighborhoods blocks from Mallory Square there were signs of wreckage not witnessed by tourists. Key West took it on the chin – but Conchs roll with the punches.
The Florida Keys are not your average bunch of islands strung like a strand of pearls. This particular chain is known for having its own quirky tropical culture and going its own way. Being the southernmost territory in the continental USA, it’s adopted a tropical culture as Caribbean as American. And they’re not shy about telling you about it.
Without exception, the themes that ran through every conversation I had during my 72-hour stay were Family and Tolerance, not a far cry from Humor, Warmth and Respect.
The revelations began Wednesday night a few hours after I landed and kept right on going until the hour I left. After a while, I wondered whether the Chamber of Commerce handed every resident a “What to tell tourists about Key West” pamphlet.
There was Dan, middle-aged, trim build, two day growth of beard with tinge of grey, managing the Mattheesen’s ice cream shop on 106 Duval Street just above Mallory Square.
“I came down to Key West from Chicago in October 1993 for an 8 day honeymoon and never left.” This is not an uncommon story. Dan works here as his second job. Also not an uncommon story.
While spooning up some of the creamiest, tastiest Ice cream I’ve ever tasted, Dan says. “When my father visited many years ago, I said something derogatory about gay bars.”
“My father said, ‘Son, listen to me. Everyone needs someone to love and it doesn’t make a difference what sex they are, what color they are, or what religion they are, they are being who they are. And it’s none of your damn business.’ My father was correct and that’s the spirit of Key West.”
There you have it. Key West in 41 words.
What does appear to be everyone’s business is to keep their tribe intact. Recovering from Hurricane Irma is Exhibit A.
“How did you fare with Irma?” says I.
“People help one another out during times like this, it’s a cohesive community, nearly tribal, it takes care of its own.”
“I have a generator to keep all the electronics going. It’s not unusual for Duval Street to flood a few inches during heavy rains but it’s been happening more often. I saw people paddling down Duval Street in kayaks and one guy on a jet ski during the storm. FEMA came down and dispensed truckloads of water since our drinking water became contaminated.”
Key West is 18 feet above sea level. Not good.
The Uber driver from the airport says that Key West had flooding but most of the damage came from hundreds of trees uprooted, squashing cars, clogging the streets and damaging homes. “ About 100 trucks with 500 men from power companies from Wisconsin worked nonstop to repair the electrical system,” he said, “that was a reason the city could re-open ahead of schedule.”
There was a sense of urgency not only to restore essential services to residents but also to open Key West for the tourism industry, the backbone of its economy. And Fantasy Fest was just weeks away.
Eating ice cream at Matheesen’s is habit forming. Jack, at the Matheesen’s across the street from La Concha Hotel, came south from Atlanta during college days with a pal. “I met my wife here and have stayed here ever since.” That was a few decades ago.
He’s as friendly and as genuine as they come with an easy smile, no pretense. Maybe the choice to embrace Key West is a self-selecting mechanism. If there are any Type A personalities here, they’re well disguised in an azure cloak of laid-back fabric. No matter how busy, the sales people and store owners never seem to be in too much of a hurry talk, especially about their bout with disaster. . This is Jack’s part-time night gig. He also manages a T-shirt store a few blocks away. “There’s a sense of community here. Most of us who work here know each other.”
Deborah, the night manager of La Concha Hotel on Duval Street adds to the recurring theme. “We took in several homeless people to sleep in the lobby during the storm and fed them and kept them out of danger. The hotel was full because locals who weren’t sure how their houses would fare took rooms here because it was safer.”
Chrissie, the hotel administrator who took my initial reservation said the same thing about looking out for the homeless people on the island. “They don’t have to contend with frigid temperatures or desert temperatures. I’m not sure how many live here but they manage to survive.”
It’s not widely advertised but a few local restaurants give away unused food. One owner in a nearby restaurant called Cowboy Bill’s at 618 Duval Street has led the way toward this type of arrangement to feed the homeless.
“It’s a tight-knit community,” Deborah adds, “we look after one another and live and let live.”
Maybe the sea that surrounds islands acts as a wrap around moat and gives them a sense of identity we just don’t feel on the mainland. It’s not enough to say that the Keys are in the T-shirts and flip flops tropics.
A disaster like Hurricane Irma was not going to erode the “Sovereign State of Mind” that binds the people of Key West together.
Fantasy Fest 2017: Irma Takes A Swipe at the Florida Keys
Residents of the Florida Keys are a special, some would say peculiar, breed of people.
They live on a chain of islands hanging on by a geological thread from the mainland. One road, US Route 1, is the only overland way to get from the tip of Florida through the “keys” to Key West. On a narrow two-lane highway. With 42 bridges. A traveler’s introduction to the Florida Keys begins right there. Have patience or turn around and head for Miami.
If the traveler makes it to the 442 span of the 7-mile bridge in Marathon, there’s a decent chance the tropical climate has eased the frustration of driving behind turtle-paced trucks for mile after mile. Tropical is the operative word. Nothing in the Keys is going to happen at warp speed. And no one’s going to order the islanders to hurry it up.
Hurricane Irma changed that.
By September 9, Governor Rick Scott had already ordered 5 million Floridians to evacuate and head north. Hurricane Irma bore down. Many packed up, some long time residents evacuating for the first time. Route 1 North from Key West up to the Florida peninsula was jammed with traffic. Images of Hurricane Harvey walloping Houston gave even the hardiest residents second thoughts about hunkering down. For the first time in a generation or two, Florida Keys residents felt fear.
The ones who stayed must have had second thoughts when winds exceeding 100 mph howled, turned lawn chairs, tree limbs and anything not chained down into dangerous projectiles.
Shingles were torn off roofs one minute and the whole roof the next. Streets flooded. Windows were blown out, trees uprooted, boats flung ashore. US Route 1, the only road connecting the keys to the mainland was impassable, cluttered with cars, boats, sheds, and appliances. In a matter of hours, a tropical paradise became a disaster zone.
Key West is used to raising hell but not having hell rained upon it.
A few facts: • The vast majority of the Keys’ approximately 25,000 residents evacuated when ordered. • Nearly 7,500 mobile homes parked on the island chain thrown about, flattened, ripped apart. • 10,000 to 15,000 homes destroyed, thousands left homeless. • Downed power lines, no running water and no cellphone service or electricity for a couple of weeks, a few days if you were lucky. • Trees uprooted or tops snapped off, roads choked with sea grass, tree debris, overturned cars, boats driven ashore or sunk. Parts of U.S. Route 1 looked like a sand box.
Miraculously, most of the hotels on Key West escaped major damage. Many locals left their homes and rode out the storm substantially constructed concrete buildings like the La Concha Hotel on Duval Street. Much of the damage to Key West’s tourist infrastructure was repairable. Damage to homes in some neighborhoods up and down the Keys was substantial, in others minimal.
The $2.7 billion tourism industry in the Keys gives more than half the island chain’s workforce a paycheck. Key West’s most endearingly quirky “Fantasy Fest” is traditionally held in the last ten days of October.
Thousands of men and women from all over the US have had their hotel rooms and airline reservations booked since a week after last year’s fun.
Cancel it? In Margaritaville? I don’t think so.
On October 2, 2017, Governor Rick Scott opened the Florida Keys again. Water and power had been restored from Key Largo through Marathon (which had been dinged up pretty badly) down to Stock Island and Key West. Internet service was shaky but islanders got to return home. For those who evacuated, not knowing the condition of their properties must have been nerve wracking. For some, arrival brought relief, for others, heartbreak.
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