The Krewe of Proteus is the oldest name on the list of krewes that currently parade. The Krewe is Historically of Creole membership (although now this is not necessarily the case). The Mistick Krewe of Comus was first and was traditionally American/Episcopalian. The Knights of Momus was formed of young men awaiting membership in the Mistick Krewe, and thus would be expected to be of a similar demographic. The same year Momus first paraded, so did Rex, which was composed of a much less rigid demographic than the other groups of the time, or than what would later compose its makeup. The Creoles not wanting what had originally been their holiday to be completely hijacked by the Americans created a krewe of their own. This they named after the keeper of Poseidon’s seals, Proteus.

This krewe is widely known for not yielding their tradition to popular trends. The krewe also seems to me to be the one to have the longest stretch of uninterrupted revelry. They begin by having a few drinks on Lundi Gras morning, before their annual lunch. The Proteus lunch begins mid-day at Antoine’s, and the krewe eats and drinks until it is time to prepare for parading. It should be pretty obvious to anyone who has been to a parade that the parade is no respite from revelry. Finally, after the parade the Krewe has its ball in the late hours of the night.

My favorite tale of Proteus though, occurred in 1890. Due to financial hardship, Comus had been unable to stage a parade for a few years. In this interruption in Comus’s parading, the Proteus had claimed Carnival night as his own. When Comus return to parading in the 1890 season, Proteus refused to yield the night back to Comus.

Both Krewes set out on their routes that evening, doomed to cross paths. The location where the two Captains, each leading his krewe on horseback, met in opposition, could not have been more conspicuous; they met at the intersection of Bourbon and Canal. Each Captain refused to yield, cursing the other to stand aside. When the argument reached such a heated point where it seem violence was inevitable and man from the crowd grabbed eat of the horses by the bridle and told then men something. No one is entirely sure what exactly he said, but the Captain of Proteus stood aside, allowed Comus to pass, and solidified Comus’s place as the senior krewe for the rest of Carnival history.

The Spanish, anise flavored liqueur, named Ojen has become an integral part of the New Orleans Carnival celebration. This year, it seems that this tradition may be over.

New Orleanians were very, very fond of the anise flavored Absinthe that was the characteristic drink of the city until it was banned in the United States in the early 20th Century. When this ban was enacted several other anise flavored spirits found their way here, including one from Spain, Ojen. Ojen has a very simple taste; it is sweet with the anise/licorice flavor. The Ojen Cocktail (Also sometimes called the Ojen Frappé, although this is sometimes classified as a different drink altogether) became a very popular method of consuming this drink. Directions for concocting this beverage are:

2 oz. Ojen
2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
½ oz. Simple Syrup

Pour ingredients into a shaker filled with ice. Shake. Strain into a glass (some versions may stake to strain into a glass filled with finely crushed ice).

A tradition developed in the School of Design, (the organization that stages the Rex parade, and chooses the King of Carnival); the tradition states that drinking an Ojen Cocktail the morning of the parade will give the rider good luck during that days festivities (I believe the consumption of the beverage took was to take place over breakfast at Galatoire’s, although I am not certain that the krewe does in fact dine there prior to parading).

In the nineties the Spanish company that produced the liqueur, decided to stop production, as the only remaining market for the beverage was in New Orleans, and only during Carnival Season.

The major player in the high end alcohol sales business in New Orleans, Martin Wine Cellar, convinced the distiller to produce one last run of 500 cases solely for Martin Wine Cellar. The Ojen thus remained on the shelves (a dusty bottom shelf in the liqueur section beneath Chartreuse and Herbsaint) of Martin for more than 15 years. Beginning in 2007, the price began to rise to more than the $14 a bottle the Ojen had been sold at for ages. By early 2009 it was marked at more than $40 a bottle. In the summer of 2009, Martin sold its last bottle. Retail sales of Ojen have now forever ceased.

This year will be the first Carnival where Ojen is not available for purchase. I am not sure if the Rex Organization has some bottles in store, or if maybe Galatoire’s does, but even those would only be finite. If you’ve never had Ojen, and are ever presented the opportunity to try it, do not pass it up, as the chance will likely never happen again.

By the way, I sure am glad I have two unopened bottles in my bar.

Mardi Gras is a Machine. A very, VERY fine tuned machine. Krewes and parade goers work together like gears and cogs to produce fun and merriment. Carnival, just like any fine tuned machine, requires a lubricant to run for more than few minutes without locking up or melting down; that lubricant is the New Orleans Police Department.

Most people, when thinking of NOPD at Carnival time, develop a bitter taste in their mouth. A person may recall that time when they locked up his fraternity brother visiting from out of town. They may think of the coldness and lack of response when asking a Police officer for direction or an update on when the parade would arrive. That bitter taste may (and probably does) even come from that time that the person crossed Canal St. where there are balconies, and 30 steps after making it across, and officer grabbed her by the arm and sent her all the way back across; even though Aunt Linda was moved to the neutral ground side of her float at the last minute.

The thing to remember though is that without this wonderful and sometimes (but only occasionally) party pooping police force we wouldn’t have the wonderful Shrovetide celebration that everyone loves. Actually, things run so smoothly because they can tend to be lenient on certain matters. Also, you out-of-towners, don’t forget that these guys were sleep-deprived, over-worked, and pissed-off a week or two before you even got into town.

These gentlemen (and ladies) are the most renowned authorities on large crowd control. A few points to realize about why they are so good at what they do:

• The mounted patrols have horses that are trained to remain calm under the most strenuous of circumstances. (We’ve all heard the stories of the horses being lined up in City Park with the McDonough 35 band marching back and forth in front of them while officers thrown black cats at the ground and blow air horns). These horses are big and they don’t scare easily. The Mounted officers know how to use them for crowd control very effectively.
• They don’t sweat the small stuff. In any other city, if a teenager were standing on a street corner drinking a High Life long neck in front of a police officer, the officer would flip out. Here the Officer would merely hand the kid a plastic cup and inform him that glass is not allowed on the street; it poses a safety hazard.
• If you’ve ever seen someone do something illegal at Carnival time, and then get caught by a NOPD officer, you may realize that that officer may not simply arrest him. The officer may embarrass him. The officer may tackle him. The officer may even publicly scold him and be very derogatory. You may wonder why the cop would do something like that in front of such a large crowd of “witnesses”. The thing he realizes though is that, once the crowd has seen the punishment, no one else in that crowd will commit the same infraction.
• They keep the Family Mardi Gras where it belongs, and the Frat Boy Mardi Gras where it belongs.

Support the NOPD, because they can be true professionals while doing a tough job.

My account of the Flambeaux, as been completely out done. Carnival New Orleans News gives such details as:

Comus and Proteus first purchased the all metal flambeaux. Each club bought 400 devices, an order that has sufficed to this day. The two share a den, so all the flambeaux are now stored together.

So, go check out what they have to say here.

Mardi Gras has had a long tradition in New Orleans. The first time Mardi Gras was celebrated in Louisiana along the Mississippi River was in 1699, before the City of New Orleans was founded (or the City of Mobile for that matter). Louisiana may have the first North American Mardi Gras, but Mobile can claim the first Carnival Organization; it had the Boef Gras Society in 1711. Some young men from Mobile also formed a organization for "parading" for New Years. These gentlemen paraded through the streets with cowbells and rakes in a tradition from Europe and the mummers of Pennsylvania; thus, they called themselves the Cowbellion De Rakin Society (founded in 1830).

At the turn of the nineteenth century, Carnival in New Orleans was celebrated (almost entirely by the Creoles) by masking in the streets, private balls in the evenings, and children throwing flour at passers by. By the midpoint of the nineteenth century, though, it had degraded from what it once was. Many of the children were now throwing quicklime in lieu of flour; both are nearly identical white powdery substances, but quicklime reacts with the water to burn the skin of the poor passerby on which it lands. Many of the balls had become open to the public and were known for indecency, prostitution, and violence. Even the traditional masking had been made almost completely illegal because the guises were used to unidentifiably commit crimes. As the city’s government contemplated banning it altogether, the future of Mardi Gras in New Orleans looked bleak.

Several of the members of the Cowbellion De Rakin Society (not Creoles, these were Americans), which had migrated to the Crescent City gathered at a coffee house (read: gentleman’s bar) on Royal St. named The Gem. These men not Creoles; they were Americans of Anglo-Saxon stock. Also, they were very educated in such things as classic literature and to such classics they looked an icon that would grandly represent that last hurrah of sin before the fasting season of lent which (although not a part of the Episcopalian/Anglican tradition) was an integral part of the city.

They reached a conclusion as to how they could bring Mardi Gras back from the treacherous track that seemed to be leading it straight to its grave: they were going to create a giant spectacle! A spectacle ruled by a god… a god of "festivity, revels and nocturnal dalliances". How fitting a representation for this event would be the son and a cup-bearer of the god Bacchus, a god whose festivals had men and women exchanging clothes and whose representation was that of an inebriated young man ruling a kingdom of excess with not a scepter, but a cup.

On Mardi Gras evening in 1857 a menagerie of masked men marched across what is today downtown New Orleans depicting the theme they had chosen for their evening: “Demon Actors from Milton’s Paradise Lost.” The procession contained two floats, one carrying Satan, the other carrying the groups chosen monarch and deity, Comus. The parade was lit by many flambeaux, rallied the onlookers into excitement, and ended at the location of its very elaborate, by-invitation-only ball. (Trying to sound archaic and mystical) they called themselves “The Mistick Krewe of Comus”.

This group of young men set the format for many, many other groups in what they did on that evening. The decisions of this krewe are usually honored by the whole Carnival community, as the Mystick Krewe is given seniority over all others. When Comus spoke that they were to not parade due to war and sadness, no other krewe did either.

This Krewe was one of the three forced out of parading by Dorothy Mae Taylor in 1992, and remains the only one whose floats have not touched the streets of the city since. They continue to revel in private though. Now each Mardi Gras evening is empty in a way it was not for 135 years. The streets are quieter and the lights are dimmer. Fret not though, not all is lost for those wanting to catch a glimpse of those joyful days past. I have heard it said that each year on the evening of the Mystick Krewe’s ball, one might be able to get a doubloon bearing the theme of that year’s ball by a group of men carrying rakes and cowbell, as they leave Antoine’s Restaurant.

I will leave you all with the letter presented by Henri Schindler that year when Carnival evening became empty:

We cousins, God of the Sea, God of Laughter and Ridicule, the son of the Goddess Night and the Sorcerer, born of Bacchus and Circe, greet you this Shrovetide. By this proclamation we command the Krewe of Proteus, the Knights of Momus and the Mistick Krewe of Comus to stay this year their street pageants, and by it we exhort each of you to enjoy nevertheless a festive Carnival Season.

Seven of your generations in this goodly Crescent City have known us only through our rides on avenue and street. So near to crossing with us into yet a third century, old as the oaks they travelled under, our parade cars wait now at rest and our flambeaux know neither fuel nor flame. Wooden wheels which rode the cobbles to the shouts of your great, great grandfathers might turn not again, and the torches which lit their laughing faces might nevermore reappear, but citizens, be certain, our societies will endure.

So, let the celebration that we sired proceed apace. Go forward, New Orleanians, with carefree abandon and Carnival gladness unabated. Adieu, fair city, until the coming of some happy day when the Furies are done and the Fates call us to ride again to greet you

Proteus
Momus
Comus