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Like
a painter who explores specific motifs
through a series of works, Chief Drew,
in designing his son’s electric
pink Mardi Gras 2000 suit, elaborated
on the themes portrayed in his own
suit. For the front apron, he’d
originally planned a traditional representation
of John the Baptist. Then one day
in his back yard, where he often prays
underneath a tree, he gazed up at
the sky as a bird flew by. The sun
turned blue and an idea popped into
his head: Why not make his Biblical
subject an Indian? Result: a beaded
tableau featuring a feathered John
the Baptist with war paint and crying
eyes. A pale blue dove hovers against
the background of a royal blue sun.
The tears and
dove relate to the Book of John. “When
our Lord Christ Jesus came into the
Jordan River,” explains Chief
Drew, “John the Baptist told
him: ‘Who am I to baptize thee
who’s so pure?’ ” |
The
Four Horses of the Apocalypse, from the Book
of Revelation, emblazon the bottom of the
tableau. The black horse, says Chief Drew,
represents “destruction.” “He’s
the one that’s riding right now, ’cause
there’s so much violence in the world.”
The
Biblical motif continues on the back
apron. There are two arms coming together
in the shape of a “v”; around
the wrists is a chain with broken
links at either end. The hands join
together at the top of the patch,
clasping a golden bolt of lightening.
Between the arms is a pyramid with
an all-seeing eye. The
underlying theme—symbolized by
the pyramid, lightening bolt and severed
chain—is slavery. In Egypt, relates
Chief Drew, “our Lord and Savior
freed the slaves, fast and swift.”
At the top, spelled out in green crystals,
are “Zulu” and “Y2K”.
Across the bottom, on either side
of the pyramid, are “40 acres”
and “a mule”—a reference
to what slaves in America were supposed
to receive upon emancipation. But,
says Chief Drew, referring to Afrocentric
people, “We have not received
our 40 acres and a mule yet.”
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Considering
that most Mardi Gras Indians make their suits
with help from friends and family, the fact
that Chief Drew single-handedly made Mardi
Gras 2000 suits for both himself and his son
is no mean feat. What’s more, the workaholic
chief beaded patches for other members of
his gang and stitched together every one of
The Wild Tremé suits—nine in all, including
his own and his son’s. The pieces for
three of them—worn by his sister Mildred
Collar, her daughter and her husband—were
shipped to Los Angeles from New Orleans. After
Chief Drew, a stickler for aesthetic perfection,
completed the suits, he sent them back to
New Orleans.
Then
there were seven teal-blue outfits—accentuated
with sequins, beadwork and ivory-colored pearls—for
the Shake ‘Em Down Second Liners. Chief
Drew made them in his spare time.
His
prolific output is all the more remarkable
considering the ailments that dogged him along
the way. In late 1998, doctors removed his
left breast, which had become cancerous. Then,
as Mardi Gras 2000 was approaching, his left
knee started acting up. Shortly
after he arrived in New Orleans, it became
so inflamed that he wound up having to go
to the VA hospital.
If
it was up to the doctors, Chief Drew would
never have set foot on the Zulu parade route.
“You gotta call this parade off,”
he was told. “Ain’t no way you gonna
make that.”
But
Chief Drew had come too far and sacrificed
too much. He was determined to roll with Zulu,
pass the torch to his son and experience one
last time the high that goes with leading
a gang on Carnival Day.
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As
it turned out, arrangements were made
for him to ride in a convertible.
But a certain mixture of pride and
adrenaline kept the pretty chief out
of the car, at least on the section
of the route along Jackson Ave. When
he “opened up,” spreading
his arms to reveal the insides of
his cuffs, the crowd oohed and ahed.
An
hour or so later, with Chief Drew now
perched atop the back seat of the convertible,
The Wild Tremé and the second liners
arrived at the Gallier Hall reviewing
stand. Chief Drew’s cousin Oliver
Thomas, a city councilman, approached
the convertible, microphone in hand,
and offered a rousing tribute, calling
Chief Drew “the best Injun ever
in the history of the city of New Orleans.”
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Thomas
then passed the microphone to Chief Drew,
who offered a dedication to his late uncle
Teddy, whose words he recalled in a subsequent
interview: “If you gonna be second linin’,
be the best. If you gonna be Indian, be the
best. Whatever you do in life, son—you
be the best. Don’t go half way, because
this is not a halfway house. If you can’t
go all the way, then you leave that alone
and try something else.”
Going into Mardi Gras 2000, The Wild Tremé
wasn’t exactly a household name in Mardi
Gras Indian circles. But after Chief Drew
swept into town with all his amazing finery,
certain people in the Mardi Gras Indian community
began referring to him as “the mystery
chief.”
Even
before strutting his stuff on Carnival Day,
Chief Drew was hailed as a cultural ambassador
at City Hall, where Troy Carter, a member
of the City Council, presented him with a
key to the city. (Five days later, at Gallier
Hall, he would receive second one, from Councilman
Thomas.)
Accompanied
by his wife and son, along with members
of The Wild Tremé, Chief Drew showed up
for the ceremony with his spear. That
didn’t go over so well with one
of the officers in charge of security.
“You can’t come in here
with that,” he informed Chief
Drew, who responded by saying, “This
is part of my regalia, sir. If I can’t
come in here with this, then me and
my gang is not comin’ in at all—keep
your key to the city.” The standoff
was broken when Jim Singleton, a city
councilman, intervened. Chief Drew
was admitted to the council chamber,
spear in hand. |
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Once
inside, the big chief was practically reduced
to tears by a mysterious elderly man. Appearing
just as the council meeting was about to get
underway, he launched into the gospel number
“Precious Lord, Take Thy Hand,”
in a crooning, guttural voice. “He had
everybody looking at him,” says Chief
Drew, “and I was touched.” Then
the old crooner approached the chief—who
was dressed casually save for his headband,
choke collar and alligator shoes—and
said, “They took your country. Now it’s
time for them to give you
something. God bless you.”
“I
told him I’m a Mardi Gras [Indian], and
he thought I was a real Native American Indian.
I say, ‘Damn. I look like that?' ”
After
returning to Los Angeles, Chief Drew had surgery
on his right knee. Then, in December, he was
diagnosed with prostate cancer. Luckily it’s
in the early stages, so his doctors feel confident
about effecting a successful treatment.
In
the meantime, Chief Drew is keeping his focus—on
designing and sewing, which he calls “good
therapy for the brain.” He’s already
beaded a patch for the crown of his son’s
next suit; it depicts a Baobob tree, which
in Africa is a traditional source of food,
clothing and shelter. And for himself, he’s
procured some mink pelts, which he plans to
use for a pair of pants and matching boots.
The suit he has in mind, incorporating a multitude
of “top-of-the-line” stones, would
also include a mini apron and a vest with
sleeves. For his headdress, he’s thinking
about having a taxidermist cure a big peacock,
which, he says, would fit “entirely over
my head.”
The
Wild Tremé is definitely planning to roll
again with Zulu, most likely in 2003. Although
Chief Drew says he’ll be more of an accessory
to the procession, as opposed to the featured
participant—the gang will be led by his
son—it nevertheless promises to be spectacular.
Plans are in the works to include a skull-and-bones,
or skeleton, unit.
Traditionally,
on Fat Tuesday, skeleton maskers appear on
the streets of Tremé wearing large skull-like
heads and black body suits with bones and
fake blood and painted on them. They are mysterious
and, to many youngsters, highly intimidating.
Legend has it that the tradition began after
a merchant marine returned to New Orleans
from Mexico, where he had been impressed with
the Day of the Dead celebrations that occur
at the end of October.
And,
with any luck, The Wild Tremé skeletons and
Mardi Gras Indians, along with the Shake ‘Em
Down Second Liners and the Treme Brass Band,
will roll with a female Samba troupe from
Brazil, whose members include one of Patrick
Tyler’s nieces. (The Wild Tremé trail
chief is a native of Brazil).
Chief
Drew, who has been invited to perform in Brazil,
is thrilled at the prospect of having Samba
dancers leading the whole shebang. “Man,
it look like they have rubber in their behinds,
the way their cheeks be shakin’,”
he says. “It’s all about culture,
though.”
Meanwhile,
if his health holds up, Chief Drew plans to
keep bringing his own culture to a wider audience.
While his knee surgery prevented him from
accepting an invitation to appear, along with
The Wild Tremé, in the 2001 Tournament of
Roses Parade, there’s always next year.
“What
I’m trying to do,” he says, “is
keep the culture alive.” He adds, “You
don’t have to just have that culture
in New Orleans. Wherever you go, it’s
in your blood, it’s in your heart. So
you always respect what you’ve been blessed
with. And use it—just don’t let
it sit there and die with you. Because, you
know, the legacy of the Mardi Gras Indians
is truth, strength and beauty when it’s
passed on.” |
