Queen Coleen in her Royal Chariot Supported by a large cast of loyal subjects, the self-proclaimed  "last of the red-hot mamas" celebrated the first Fat Tuesday of the new millennium in rousing style.

The real Queen of Mardi Gras? Shortly before being lifted into her grocery cart "float," known as The Royal Chariot, 70-year-old Coleen Salley was overheard proudly describing herself, in a telephone conversation with a friend, as "the last of the red-hot mamas." Over the din of music and excitement swirling around the courtyard of her French Quarter home, she went on to note that "there’s a lot more to Mardi Gras than flashing your boobs. There’s drinkin’...." As her voice trailed off in a guffaw, there was no mistaking that the legendary Queen Coleen, as she prepared to embark on her 24th Mardi Gras ride, was in prime form—and rarin’ to let the good times roll once again. And roll they did. With around 100 participants, including large contingents from California, Florida and Arkansas, the Krewe of Coleen celebrated the first Mardi Gras of the new millennium in rousing style, spreading good cheer and hilarity on their mad-cap romp through the Quarter.

"I wouldn’t have missed it for anything...," remarks Jean Howell, a resident of Fayetteville, Ark. and a key player in the krewe’s formation. "It was like a family reunion."

Queen Coleen, a children’s book guru and professional raconteur, is certainly one of the Mardi Gras’ most beloved characters. Her enthronement came about by coincidence, in 1974. Howell—a native of Baton Rouge, La., whose family had long been close to Salley and her kin—had come to Mardi Gras with a few college friends. Also joining in the revels was Salley’s eldest son, George. Toward the end of a long day of carousing the Quarter and watching parades, Salley espied a boy with a shopping cart. "I wish I had that to sit in," she said. The youngster, in a fateful gesture of Mardi Gras generosity, obliged.

"We loaded her in, and she was pretty tanked by then," recalls Howell. "It really was a relief to her and to us, because we would probably have had to take her home pretty soon." But once aboard her rolling throne, her highness was good for another five or six hours. That she quickly became the center of attention was, according to Howell, key. "She thrives on that—always has." "And truly, the crowds did part," Howell adds. "We’d yell, ‘Make way for the Queen!’ and people would curtsey and bow and lay beads on her and give her drinks. It was amazing." On Bourbon Street, outside of bars with music blaring from open doors, "we’d dance around the cart and just carry on."

Grand Marshal Evans Howell Hailing from a clan "genetically predisposed" to making asses out of themselves.

Jean Howell kept coming back to Mardi Gras to make merry with Queen Coleen, but it wasn’t until her younger brothers began to enlist—first Evans, then Jeff, then Phil—that the krewe truly came into its own. Explains Evans, who assumed the role of grand marshal: "We’re genetically predisposed to be very comfortable making asses out of ourselves, and that comes from our dad [Blackie]."

Over the years, the krewe developed a variety of routines to impress the crowd and draw attention to their monarch. A typical sequence might begin with an adaptation of the traditional New Orleans song "Saints," with the krewe marching along and singing "Oh when Coleen/Oh when Co-leen comes mar-ching in." Then, gathering around The Royal Chariot, they’d break into a chant: "Hail to the Queen, the Queen Co-leen."

"Poppin' the gator" at Mardi Gras 2000 While krewe members' physical stunts didn't quite match the derring-do of yore, their rambunctious spirit was still very much in evidence.

Curious onlookers would then be treated to some daredevil antics. One of the resident clowns—more often than not one of the Howell brothers—would place a hat on the ground, then send it skyward with a swift kick in hopes of having it land on his head. Then came an acrobatic dance routine known as "poppin’ the gator," which resembles break dancing except that it often ends in a "dog pile," in which bodies are flung down on top of one another. The finale would showcase the gymnastic talents of certain krewe members: while someone lay on the ground, another would run up and cut a full flip over the top of him.

After that, spectators would literally get pulled into the maw. "And you just get this huge dance goin’," relates Evans Howell, "and the whole time Coleen is throwin’ kisses and wavin’ to everybody and making sure they all acknowledge that she’s the Queen."

As anyone familiar with Mardi Gras knows, a marching group without a band is like a New Year’s Eve party without liquor. Luckily for Krewe of Coleen, Jeff Howell found himself in Orlando, Fla. pursuing a career as professional musician (he not only sings and plays guitar, but also co-hosts a mid-day radio program on WTKS-FM). In 1985, he began introducing some of his musical acquaintances from Orlando to Krewe of Coleen.

The krewe band proved to be a major asset, especially on jam-packed Bourbon Street. One year, Jeff recalls, "we accidentally brought a couple of drums, and we discovered that people will turn around and move out of the way for drums. Then Evans discovered that if you have a whistle that can pretty well push the wax from one ear through your head to the other side, it will clear just about anybody." But alas, as Krewe of Coleen rolled into the 1990s, its rambunctious spirit began to fade. Some key members couldn’t make the gig anymore, because they lived out of state and now had families to raise, among other obligations.

Members of The Royal Band on Canal Street A marching group without musical accompaniment is like a New Year's Eve party without liquor.

Mardi Gras 1994 was supposed to be Queen Coleen’s farewell parade. A special effort was made to rally the troops, commemorative T-shirts were printed up, and a great time was had by all. That night, a core group gathered at Queen Coleen’s apartment to eat, drink and reminisce about the day’s events. Someone floated the idea of having a full-on reunion parade at Mardi Gras 2000. "So I said, ‘Well, okay—if I’m still alive,’ " Queen Coleen recalls.

Queen Coleen skipped town for Mardi Gras in 1995 and 1996. The following year, she was looking forward to experiencing the gala from a fresh perspective. All those years of sitting in The Royal Chariot, with her field of vision restricted, had her thinking that she’d been missing out on the full panorama of the spectacle.

But as it turned out, nostalgia got the better of Queen Coleen. Being a spectator as opposed to a participant was a letdown. Moreover, it dawned on Queen Coleen that in all those years of parading, her krewe’s foolishness had offered an amusing alternative to the raunchier side of the festivities, providing the folks on the street with countless memories and Kodak Moments to take back home. She hadn’t been missing anything after all.

Emerging from retirement for Mardi Gras 1998, Queen Coleen was accompanied by a small but energetic entourage that included Jeff Howell and his band. A number of people were surprised to see the krewe back in action and, says Queen Coleen, "just made a great to-do over us; we felt real good."

But in contrast to those highs, the following year proved a total bust. The only musical accompaniment came courtesy of a young man from Baton Rouge, Todd Wilson, who banged on a cast iron skillet with an old cooking spoon. "It went over like a fart in the first pew in church," cracks Queen Coleen.

Not only that, but almost all of the regular krewe members, opting to keep their power dry for the millennial festivities, wound up staying home. "All I had were three college girls who were more interested in looking for boys than they were in getting attention for the Queen....It was a mess...the worst year we’ve ever had."

Not long after, the krewe’s Court Jester, George, whom Queen Coleen refers to as "my party animal that I gave birth to," published the first installment of an Internet newsletter, in which he issued a "Call for Performers" for what promised to be "the biggest production ever." Six more installments followed, with updates on plans for Mardi Gras 2000 as well as historical anecdotes and other tidbits.

Evans Howell, for his part, offered a recounting of his favorite Krewe of Coleen story, which involved his father. Queen Coleen’s "Knight in Shining Armor," Prince Blackie once came to Mardi Gras and wound up getting so tipsy that he had to be pushed around in The Royal Chariot. As Evans recalled in an phone interview after Mardi Gras 2000, a local TV crew broadcasting a live remote from the French Quarter, taking Blackie to be the krewe’s monarch, asked if he had anything to say. Why yes, he did. "I’d like to quote the ancient Biblical injunction from the Book of Dalmatian: Up your ass with Mobil gas!" Whereupon, says Evans, Queen Coleen "reached over with her crown and started beating him over the head. And [she] said that he was banned for life, and that he would never be invited back and she would never give up her throne again."

The Krewe of Coleen’s Mardi Gras 2000 outing was billed as "The Grand Finale." Yet even before they took to the streets, the Queen was hedging. "I will roll when the band comes," she vowed. "To me," she later explained over the phone, "the high—and this has always been the high for me—is the fun of everybody being together one more time."

Should the Queen ever decide to give up her crown, she has a ready heir apparent in one of her granddaughters. Katherine Salley, who turned 10 about a month after Mardi Gras 2000, has been participating in Krewe of Coleen for about as long as she can remember.

Princess Katherine and her royal mentor An affinity for adoration is practically a prerequiste for assuming the throne.

Sporting blue face paint and wearing a white dress, a bejeweled tiara and a pearl necklace, Princess Katherine, the elder daughter of David and Marguerite Salley, exuded gleeful radiance as final preparations were underway on the morning of Fat Tuesday. "This year," she said proudly, "I have my own cart." (She rode with her seven-year old sister, Princess Sarah.) Katherine, to be sure, is no shrinking violet. Eager to assume the throne, she even asked to wear Queen Coleen’s spangled, purple velvet crown for the 2000 parade. A friend of Jean Howell’s, Reva Stover, who originally made the crown for Queen Coleen back in the 1970s, had just refurbished it. No way was her highness about to give it up. "I may be an indulgent grandmother, she says, "but not that indulgent."

"Personality-wise," notes Jean, Katherine is "definitely her grandmother’s child. The royal bloodlines run strong." Jeff Howell echoes that observation, noting that the young Princess has an "affinity for a little adoration by the masses."

Queen Coleen always has played to the masses—or as she puts it, "the hoi polloi." Among her most favored royal subjects, on whom she bestows beads, doubloons and blessings, are people who have to work on Mardi Gras—parking lot attendants, hotel bellman and members of the city’s fire department. (The krewe always makes a point of stopping at the engine house on Decatur Street, where Queen Coleen offers a ceremonial toast.)

The krewe’s performance at Mardi Gras 2000 did not disappoint, even if the gator-poppin’ stunts didn’t quite match the derring-do of yore. "I mean, we gave it all we had," says Evans, "but the years have kind of taken their toll on us."

But what the marchers lacked in stamina, they made up for in spirit. Jean and four of her friends from Arkansas, to cite one example, came up with a comedic twist on an old krewe ritual.

The "Hail to the Queen, the Queen Co-leen" chant has long been a krewe trademark. Repeated three times, it ends with a tagline: What a bitch! Jean and her Arkansas friends wore special bloomers, each with a letter emblazoned on the rear. As the chant would wind down, they’d quickly get in a line, hike up their Krewe of Coleen T-shirts and, on cue, stick out their butts, which together spelled B-I-T-C-H. The crowd ate it up. How "What a bitch!" got tacked onto the chant in the first place is a story unto itself. Jean and Jeff remember it well.

Queen Coleen's crown, newly refurbished for Mardi Gras 2000 The heir apparent craves it, but indulgence has its limits.

In 1984, the whole krewe, about 70 people in all, went to eat at a seafood joint called Deanie’s, on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain. It was the eve of Fat Tuesday, so the place was jammed.

"We were out on the deck," recalls Jean, "drinking beer and having a great time. It wasn’t like anybody was upset about the wait—except Coleen."

She was hungry—and ticked off. By the time the restaurant’s staff finally got the tables together and seated everyone, she was ready to throw a royal fit. Making matters worse, the service was slow. All through dinner, nothing anybody could say or do could lift the Queen out of her funk.

What to do? Unbeknownst to Queen Coleen, as the plates were being cleared and the check tallied, a plan was hatched. Krewe members passed the word.

Finally, they stood up and launched into the "Hail to the Queen" chant. Queen Coleen was not amused. She got up out of her seat and, as Jean describes it, proceeded to flip off the whole restaurant "in this this grand gesture that swept the room."

Talk about priceless timing. As she stomped out, the chant ended with a rousing "What a bitch!"

The waitresses were ecstatic. Jeff recalls one of them saying, " ‘Y’all don’t even have to tip me; that was worth everything right there.’ " In fact, he adds: "We got a standing ovation from all the patrons and the waitresses."

While all this might seem inconsistent with the Queen Coleen’s benevolent, fun-loving Mardi Gras persona, it wasn’t entirely out of character. Jean observes that, without question, she’s "fun and hilarious." However: "When she is on your case, you just want to be anywhere but in front of her."

"Coleen is convinced that she is the true Queen of Mardi Gras," says Evans, "and I pity anyone who tries to disagree with her. I tell ya, she keeps us all in line. That’s about as nicely as I can put it."