Breaking with the tradition of formalizing the selection of royalty at their annual pre-Mardi Gras Coronation Ball, members of the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club crowned Roy E. Glapion Jr. at his home on December 26, as the City Councilman and former Zulu president lay stricken with colon cancer. Hours before he passed away two days later, at age 64, the club, by voting unanimously not to elect a replacement king, honored one of Glapion's dying wishes: to go down in the record books as King Zulu 2000.

Known among friends as "Glap" or "Coach," he will be sorely missed not only by Zulu, an organization that benefited greatly from his leadership, but by the greater New Orleans community as well. Highlighting his legacy of public service: a 36-year career as an educator and athletic coach with the New Orleans Parish School System, followed by his election, in 1993, as District D councilman, a position he served with distinction until he entered into eternal rest. He is survived by, among others, his wife of 41 years, Joyce Smith Glapion, his mother, Mercedes Tervalon Taylor, and his children: Desiree Glapion Rogers, who is Queen Zulu 2000, and Roy A. Glapion, a Zulu member who will serve as a King's Duke in the 2000 festivities.

Glapion joined Zulu at a time of generational transition, in 1972. The club was just beginning to recover from a tumultuous period that began around 1960, after the Louisiana legislature attempted to block the desegregation of New Orleans public schools.

A coalition comprised mostly of black social clubs called for the black community to boycott Mardi Gras in 1961. Famous for parading in blackface makeup and grass skirts, and handing out decorated coconuts—traditions that began, in the early 1900s, as a form of satirical commentary on the Carnival customs and racial stereotypes of the white community—the Zulus came under particularly heavy fire. Civil rights reformers took out an advertisement—in the black community's newspaper, The Louisiana Weekly— denigrating the club's Fat Tuesday procession: "...Negroes are paid by white merchants to wander through the city drinking to excess, dressed as uncivilized savages, and throwing coconuts like monkeys." The krewe ultimately resisted pressure to withdraw the parade, but had no queen that year and kept the identity of the king secret.

Zulu maskers on float

Carnival Historian Reid Mitchell, in his book All on a Mardi Gras Day: Episodes in the History of New Orleans Carnival, observes that as the protests continued into the mid-1960s, the Zulus underwent an identity crisis. For Mardi Gras 1965, the krewe, whose membership ranks were rapidly dwindling, gave up blackfacing and grass skirts. But this "new look" didn't sit well with some members of the old guard, and a couple of years later, the Zulus returned to the their old ways. "No more of that dignity stuff," Milton Bienamee—a deputy criminal sheriff for Orleans Parish and a church deacon who reigned as King Zulu in 1965—announced in 1967.

Much of the leadership of the New Orleans civil rights movement was comprised of the so-called "Creole elite"—educated citizens of mixed-race descent who were raised in the Catholic faith. Born in New Orleans on December 3, 1935, Glapion was a member of the Creole elite. He attended St. Peter Claver and Xavier Preparatory, and went on to obtain a post-secondary degree from Xavier University, a certificate in Corrective Therapy from Tuskegee Institute and a master's degree in education from Southern University.

When Glapion joined the Zulu organization, its ranks were comprised mainly of members of the black working class—shoe shiners, dockworkers and other laborers. Its president at the time—the late James L. Russell, who is credited with having held the club together during the politicized "black-awareness" era—was a postal worker. But for all the resiliency the club had demonstrated, it was still considered unfashionable, especially among "respectable" members of the black community, to be a Zulu.

Nevertheless, for Glapion, being a Zulu was a source of pride. He loved Mardi Gras and believed the club could not only achieve greater prominence in the festivities, but contribute to the community in other ways as well. As Thomas Price, a Zulu member and Glapion confidant, observes, "Roy had vision for the club."

Elected president in 1976, Glapion spearheaded a membership drive, helping to recruit postal workers and members of the black professional class. And, thanks to his ability to motivate people and bring out the best in them—he would later become Director of Athletics for the New Orleans school system—Glapion was able to surround himself with a strong supporting cast.

Zulu clubhouse

Glapion knew that in order for the club to thrive, it needed a permanent home. Money was tight at the time, but thanks to mortgage financing obtained through a local bank, the Zulus were able to purchase a two-story building at 732 N. Broad St. The clubhouse, with administrative offices upstairs and a lounge on the first floor, opened its doors in 1978. Another of Glapion's early initiatives focused on the club's procurement of throw items. It was not uncommon at the time for Zulus, when visiting a Mardi Gras merchandise retailer, to be shunted aside while white customers were attended to. As he later explained to Price, Glapion refused to abide by such practices. According to Price, "Roy said, 'You know, I think we spend too much money to be treated this way.' "

The club turned for help to a company affiliated with Blaine Kern, who rented parade floats to Zulu and was also in the business of wholesaling necklaces and doubloons, among other items. Zulu obtained the necessary permits and built a garage on property owned by the club's custodian of memorabilia, the late Walter Coulon, for the purpose of distributing throws to members. (In 1994, Zulu opened a new facility near its clubhouse. Called the Water Coulon Memorial Distribution Center, it also serves a retail outlet for Zulu-themed merchandise.)

Under Glapion's leadership, Zulu changed with the times and became a more racially integrated organization. It also became more civic-minded—raising money to fight sickle cell anemia and sponsoring trips to the zoo and other outings for inner-city kids. The club began incorporating religious services into its annual anniversary celebration, and launched a choir, the Zulu Ensemble.

Glapion championed, if not instigated, all of these efforts. "He was really trying to get the community to understand that we weren't just about dancing and partying and stuff like that," notes Price.

In 1986, Kern approached Glapion with the idea of joining him on a visit to Johannesburg, South Africa. The Mardi Gras entrepreneur had made arrangements with the city's mayor to supply a Louis Armstrong float for a multinational festival celebrating the city's centennial. The mayor promised that in return, Mangosuthu G. Buthelezi, chief of Africa's Zulu tribe, would bring 50 of his warriors to New Orleans for Mardi Gras 1987. According to Kern, when asked if he'd like to have a brigade of African Zulus marching at the front of the the Zulu parade, Glapion replied, "You bet I would!"

The "exchange" might just have come off were it not for the objections of the head of the New Orleans musicians' union, the late David Weinstein, who accused Kern of supporting apartheid. After the New Orleans media reported on the brouhaha, the plan fizzled.

At the very least, the African Zulus would have helped make up for the absence of coconuts in the 1987 parade. As a result of lawsuits filed by people alleging injury from thrown coconuts, obtaining insurance covering the club against coconut-related liabilities had become prohibitively expensive.

With the "Golden Nugget," as the krewe's official throw is known, threatened with extinction, Glapion got in touch with William Jefferson, then a state senator (he now serves as U.S. Congressional representative for Louisiana's 2nd District). Jefferson suggested that since there was already a revised statute on the books exempting beads and certain other throw items from liability, Zulu might want to try for a legislative provision exempting coconuts as well.

Jefferson offered to author a coconut bill and introduce it to the legislature, and Glapion agreed to come to Baton Rouge to lobby for its passage. Glapion tapped Price, then Zulu's director of public relations, to assist him in making the case to the legislators.

They knew going in that while certain New Orleans-area legislators wouldn't oppose the bill, convincing them to rally their colleagues wouldn't be easy. So Glapion had Price prepare a statement explaining the history and significance of the Zulu coconut, and how float riders went about handing them out to paradegoers. Many legislators were under the impression that the Zulus were "hurling coconuts all over the place," says Price, who brought a couple of samples to Baton Rouge for a show-and-tell presentation before a key legislative committee. "In fact," he recalls, " I just kind of tossed [a coconut] to the committee, and one of the guys caught it. And they saw how light it was."

But even more important to garnering support for the bill, says Price, was Glapion's "even-handedness, his low-keyed approach to everything.

"You had to see the guy in action...," Price continues. "He would never raise his voice. He was always logical. He would look you right in the eye with that little soft delivery of his, and he hit right to the salient point. And you couldn't deny that. You might not agree with him, but you had to respect him."

Then-Governor Edwin Edwards signed the "coconut bill" into law on July 8, 1997. A few weeks later he was on hand for a celebration in New Orleans called "Bringing the Coconut Home," which featured a second-line parade followed by a ceremony outside the Zulu clubhouse. Before introducing the governor, Glapion addressed the assembled masses.

Noting that it was a "very historic day for our organization," the Zulu leader quoted from Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times and it was the worst of times. It was the age of wisdom and the age of foolishness. It was a season of light and a season of darkness. It was the spring of hope and the winter of despair." Then, after thanking various politicians who had assisted in passing of the bill, he concluded by saying, "Let history record the things that once were, and let us today envision the future of the best of times to come."

Final ride for King Zulu 2000 More Glapion Jazz Funeral Photos

During Glapion's tenure as president of Zulu, from 1976 to1988, membership grew from around 60 to the maximum allowed under the club's charter—375. He entered the Zulu Hall of Fame in 1989, and served as chairman of the organization's board until the time of his death. On January 3, following a Mass at the St. Louis Cathedral, the Zulus honored Glapion with a traditional jazz funeral procession— one of the most elaborate ever staged by the club. Accompanied by brass bands and Zulus in full regalia, a lacquered black hearse drawn by a team of four white horses transported Glapion's body from the church to the Zulu clubhouse. Pallbearers then conveyed the casket into a white hearse limousine. King Zulu 2000 was laid to rest at Mount Olivet Cemetery.