If Mr. Mardi Gras was the obvious nickname for the late , builder of floats and designer of parades, what are we to call his ?
The family business has flourished under Barry's watch, but Mr. Mardi Gras Jr. is not a handle with pizzazz. Fortunately, there is a second string to the younger Kern's bow — an exhibition called , which will feature and explain New Orleans' idiosyncratic funerary practices. It will take its place, fittingly enough, cheek-by-jowl with the St. Louis No. 1 Cemetery. Altogether, Barry Kern would seem to have earned the right to be known as Mr. Necropolis.
In most places, that might be a bit of a downer. Around here, however, Mr. Necropolis is a sobriquet that evokes joyous images of trombone slides thrusting skyward as the mourners make their jolly way home post-interment. The first sight to greet bleary eyes early on Mardi Gras morning, moreover, is likely to be one of the skeleton gangs that reputedly made their first appearance on the streets of New Orleans more than 200 years ago. Clad in skull and bones costumes, gang members may strike little kids as scary, but for most people who come across them, memento mori is just part of the Carnival fun.
Kern, who has teamed up with hotelier and developer Joe Jaeger for the project, says they are doing it because “there is so much interest” in what New Orleans does with its dead. He is surely right about that; his timing is impeccable, with the announcement of his latest project coming on the heels of Jason Berry's groundbreaking work on jazz funerals. Berry has written a book and produced a film, both entitled “City of a Million Dreams,” that chronicle the evolution of the jazz funeral from the ancient rituals of an enslaved but tirelessly creative people.
What New Orleans does with its dead is a natural source of fascination for people who have traditionally buried theirs in the ground, leaving us to develop the art of the above-ground tomb. And some of our finest tombs are genuine works of art.
Visitors to Metairie Cemetery will note that some of our dearly departed occupy ritzier and more aesthetically pleasing quarters than our less privileged survivors. The cemetery's oval shape testifies to its earlier role as a racetrack, which may for some of our visitors confirm that even our religious institutions bear the taint of sin.
Sin, in any case, is a vital part of the brand; it keeps the visitors coming while the almighty tourist dollar helps to guarantee our survival.
Metairie Cemetery is the final resting place for the New Orleans elite, and some 50 kings of Carnival are now entombed where thoroughbred horses used to race. Perhaps that proves we are adaptable, which may be the key to greater honor and glory in the future.
Barry Kern evidently sees it that way, arguing that we must “continue to recreate ourselves” to avoid staleness. There is indeed always room for refinements within the topsy-turvy world of Mardi Gras, where the man in charge of fun is a chip off the old block with a key to the charnel house.
Email James Gill at gill504nola@gmail.com.
