New Orleans has many traditions, and Mardi Gras is the most well-known. My extended family used to gather in uptown New Orleans at our grandmother’s house and then walk down to St. Charles Avenue to watch the parades.
But we always stayed home for New Year’s Eve as our neighbors, the Regans, had one of the best fireworks displays in the city. Our neighborhood was so much fun!
The kids on the block hung out and played outside most of the day. Jeffy, part of the Regan family and one of our group of kids, had Down syndrome and was the nicest, most social person. He looked out for the rest of the kids if we left our toys outside or forgot to pick up our shoes after playing gymnastics in the grass.
Across the street was a neighbor who liked to participate in the New Year’s Eve festivities by shooting his shotgun into the air. I never knew whether these were blanks or real bullets. But when this gun-wielding neighbor made his annual appearance, my mother would always round us kids up to go back inside.
In 1974, when I was 8 years old, things were easygoing on New Year’s Eve. Most of the block stayed home on this night — not to avoid drunk drivers, but because they did not want to pass up the spectacular fireworks display. At our house there were plenty of festive goodies: artichoke balls, crab cakes, jambalaya, chips with dip.
The adults would help themselves to a full bar with included lots of liquors and mixers and Carlo Rossi jug wine. The kids would sip Shirley Temples. Ah, the Shirley Temple: 7UP with cherry juice, garnished with a maraschino cherry! After the adults started acting silly, we kids would imbibe Shirley Temples and start to mimic them.
As daylight faded, we stepped outside to take in the show. Pop! Pop! Whistling bottle rockets pierced the silence, followed by bigger booms. All the neighbors were out on their respective lawns taking it all in while staying leery of falling paper and debris.
There he was, our shotgun-wielding neighbor, firing off blasts into the night. Our mother quickly rounded us into the house until he went inside and put his gun away. Meanwhile, the Regans continued lighting up the night sky. The big booms of M-80s began to sound every couple of minutes and we kids placed our hands over our ears to muffle the blasts.
The sky was illuminated with multiple colors and the air began to thicken with the smell of smoke and sulfur. It became hard to breathe, which drove some inside for cleaner air. The sky stayed illuminated and the booms sounded for about 30 minutes. Then outside activities lessened and folks went inside for more food, drink and clean air.
We awoke on New Year’s Day to the aroma of steaming cabbage, simmering black-eyed peas and ham hock. Luck and money would come to those who delighted in these traditions.
The street was littered with paper, debris and remnants of celebration. The neighbors who put on the display would pick up most of the mess. We picked up what remnants were on our lawn. The street was scorched black in some areas, and stayed stained for about a month, until enough rain came and washed it away.
They say it’s always quiet on New Year’s Day. This was true of our house and neighborhood.
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