Mardi Gras 1975: New Orleans, LA

Mardi Gras 1975: New Orleans, LA
It was the beginning of Mardi Gras in New Orleans. While it was only Friday morning of the week before Fat Tuesday, parades were scheduled to begin that evening. Preparations were underway. Truckloads of barricades were delivered and set up along the parades routes. It appeared the workers were mostly short term prisoners who were pressed into unchanged gangs. As it turned out, many of the homeless element were taken off the street, provided meals, quarters, and used in service to the festivities. Apparently most of their offenses were misdemeanors that were given sentences to be served concurrent with festival. Many of the folks I met when I first got into town, I later saw on a daily basis cleaning up the debris from previous night’s celebrations.
On one of the streets at the edge of the French Quarter, in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, several folks were steadying a stepladder. One guy was on the ladder fiddling with a light fixture. Pops and sparks emitted, accompanied by shouts of, “What’s that? Be careful.” I approached and offered to help. Having knowledge of electricity I quickly installed a few fixtures and they now had lights in their spaciousness. They were setting up a flophouse for the expected hoards who may not have resources to stay in regular hostelries. This location planned to charge a buck a night for a mattress and provide a rice and bean breakfast. For my lending a hand, I was awarded space and food for the duration. Having secured victuals and lodging, I was free to partake in the revelry.
Another sizeable contingent was squatting on unflooded areas beneath the wharfs along the banks of the Mississippi River. Their only fee was having to avoid the Navy Shore Patrol. One evening, I accompanied a couple of this band to where they received meals. They brought me to a Christian Rescue Mission on the other side of the Quarter. A group of well dressed, clean cut young people were stationed near the doorway interviewing the folks waiting entrance to a meal. One pleasant young man asked, “Do you accept Jesus as your Personal Savior?” Without an answer to this question I would not be admitted to the meal. Several couples nearby were engaged in some sort of ritual that supposedly instilled Jesus into the recipient’s heart and granted admission to the dining room. My response was, “If you are Christian, the only requirement to provide me with food , is that I am hungry. Putting any condition beyond that seems contrary to Jesus’ Message.” My host and I held lengthy discourse on the subject of Jesus' Teaching. Since I was not desperately hungry, I did not relent from my stance. After consultation with an elder, my host gave in and escorted me to the dining room. As luck would have it, dinner was finished and I could only get a cup of tea, but offered to help clean up. They declined my offer and I left to go watch that evening’s Krewe parade by throwing out coins and beads.