Excerpt from Satirical History of LOUISIANA
NEW “ALL-TOO-TRUE-BLUE” (ALTERNATIVE) STATE HISTORIES
1815 – Battle of N’awlins
Two weeks after the War of 1812 ended, those in Louisiana were having such a ball and a blast with it that they continued on, pretending they had not heard of the cessation of hostilities.
Johnny Horton was there, yelling and whooping and yodeling his heart out, excited beyond measure to touch off his blunderbuss every time he saw egg whites the Brits were carrying in their dinner pails (he knew they were close enough to hit when he saw the egg whites).
Here is a picture of the festivities, as it was remembered by Professor Longhair, who egged on the combatants (no pun intended) with his fervent and fevered ivory tickling:
1837 — Marty Graw First Celebrated
When people think of Louisiana, they think first of Nawlins. The Battle Of, especially. Then comes Satchmo Legweak and Dixieland jazz, Cajuns, Creoles, and Marty Graw.
Marty Graw was first celebrated in 1837. The tradition has been continued ever since, near the end of each year. One of the features of Marty Graw is that you’re supposed to lend somebody something, so that you can answer the nosy question, “What did you lend?” with “I lent my landlord my rent” (or whatever; it doesn't have to be that, literally).
But what is its origin? It is the wedding anniversary celebration of Marty Graw, who married his wife Gertie in 1837 on what they called “Shroom Tuesday” (nobody has ever satisfactorily explained why it’s called that).
The Graws invited all their fat friends. They had no skinny friends, and even if they had, they wouldn’t have invited them, because their svelteness would have put a damper on the festivities, as a sort of mute finger-wag to the party-goers that perhaps – just perhaps! – they were overserving themselves (when they compared their own well-padded selves with the beanpoley ones present).
Unknown to most is the reason just why Marty and Gertie’s wedding anniversary is celebrated by all. Now, for the first time in print, is the definitive answer: It is because they are the great-great-great-grandparents of former major league pitcher Tug “Mac” Graw, and thus also the great-great-grandparents of polka-punk singer/songwriter Tim (also nicknamed “Mac”) Graw.
Tug was famous for lamenting that he had wasted some of his money. He explained that he had spent most of his money on “wine, women, and song” but had wasted the rest. The celebration is an excuse for those attending to make sure they don’t make the same mistake.
So, in a nutshell, the Marty Graw celebration is primarily a tribute to the legacy of how Tug “Mac” Graw spent most – but not all – of his dough.
Some even claim that the Marty Graw anniversary event is not just celebrated, but celebreated.
Perhaps the following crayola crayon pièce de résistance will give you an idea of the feel of the annual sedate and subdued shindig:
Like a Hollywood movie set, there are lights, cameras, and action at the Marty Graw celebr[e]ation
1861 to 1865 – Polite (Civil) War
During the Polite (Civil) War which took place in the first half of the 1860s, many genteel engagements were hosted in Louisiana. One of these was in Baton Rouge.
First, though, to clear something up: The origin – the etymology – of the place name Baton Rouge should be discussed.
Some ignoramuses assert that it has something to do with majorettes and their Maybelline eyeliner. This is not so, though – but close!
Baton Rouge is a cajunization, or at best a creolization, of the original spelling, which was Battin’ Rouge. Pronounced the same, though.
In a nutshell: Exhibit A) Baseball was invented there. Exhibit B) Baseball players wear black makeup under their eyes to minimize the amount of sun that bounces off their cheeks into those peepers of theirs, thus making it hard to “pick up” the hurled spheroid as it’s hurtling toward them at several hundred miles per hour.
So, this practical and expedient use of “makeup” was called by all “Battin’ Rouge.”
You can blame the Cajuns and/or the Creoles for changing the spelling of “Battin’” to “Baton,” confusing everyone into the bargain.
So now you know.
Anyway, I said that to say this: One of the silly arguments or arbitrated debates held during the Polite War took place right there in the baseball-loving burg of Battin’ (or Baton) Rouge. Don’t believe me? The camera doesn’t lie. Here’s a photo of it:
1870 – Steamboat Race
1870 saw a much-anticipated and ballyhooed steamboat race between the Natchez and the Robert E. Lee.
This race commenced at Nawlins and terminated in St. Louis, Missouri, more than a thousand miles up the Mississippi.
People from all over the world came to see the contest, lining the shores along the route. This was the NASCAR of its time, as steamboats often exploded, especially when they were “piling on the coal” in a race.
This chromolithograph shows the boats giving it their all:
The Robert E. Lee won, after making the trip in 3 days, 18 hours, and 14 minutes, besting the Natchez by almost four hours. The speed record set by the Robert E. Lee that day still stands (actually, it reclines, because it’s tired)
1896 – Plessy vs Ferguson
In the year of our Lord 1896, Homer Plessy (who was 1/16th black and 15/16th white) was riding a train clickety-clacking through his home State of Louisiana.
The train was segregated. Although Plessy was only 1/16th black, he wanted to sit with his black brethren, because their music and conversation were livelier and more to his liking than that found with those of a lighter complexion.
The conductor, knowing Homer was part white, forced him to go sit with those people. Plessy sued for the right to sit with his black friends, even though he looked whiter than George Washington during a Valley Forge winter.
Not only did Plessy win the case, but his fame lives on in Homer, Alaska (named for him), Homer Simpson (named for him), and what baseball announcers call a ball that is hit all the way out of the yard (or at least over the fence).
A newspaper that pretty much admits in its name that it is petty and worthless (The Daily Picayune) got the story sideways and backwards, erroneously reporting that Plessy actually wanted to sit with the paler-hued of his species:
1927 – Massive Flood
In a shocking lack of empathy or even simple politesse, some people refer to the 1927 flood that devastated much of Louisiana (and other States that we don’t care about) the “Great Mississippi [River] Flood of 1927.”
It must have been yankees, because nobody who experienced it “up close and personal” would ever call it “great.”
Herbert Hoover (inventor of the vacuum cleaner) called it “the greatest peace-time calamity in the history of the country.”
Almost a million people were displaced as the Mississippi remained at flood stage for over five months.
Hundreds of people never returned to the homes they had left behind. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
An idea of the effects of the flooding can be deduced from the following:
Teche Bayou, New Iberia, Louisiana
1934 – Bonnie & Clyde Get Leaky
In Sailes, Louisiana (hometown of Soupy and John), near Gibsland, Bonnie Parker (grandmother of Peter) and Clyde Champion “Sparkplug” Darrow gradually stopped breathing after being ventilated by projectiles emanating from barrels pointed at them.
This ventilation took place in 1934, courtesy of the police, after the pair had stolen many people’s money and lives.
Hop Sing whispers to me, “No beatty around the bushy; tell ‘em the po-lice dunaway with those two!”
The last thing the bonnie lass and the leaky lad said to each other was, “So long, it's been good to know ya.”
Here they are in happier times (1933):
Would you buy a used car from this man?
1935 — Huey Short Assassinated
Louisiana governor Huey Short, nicknamed “The Kingfish,” was assassinated in Baton Rouge in 1935. To be assassinated means to be made to ride a donkey (an “ass”) that is itself riding a donkey while having your lunch (that’s where the “ated” part of the word comes in -- ain’t etymology a gas?!?).
So, if you want to be assassinated, get yourself a donkey. Or burro one.
Anyway, besides this interesting anecdote, Mr. Short invented the “Huey” helicopter and felt that everybody should get a chance to ride in his choppers.
In 2006, a movie was made about Short. Coincidentally, it was based on a novel by Robert Penn and starred Sean Penn. As this was an egregious case of nepotism running rampant and unchecked, I won’t say anything more about it except to mention that it was entitled All the Kingfish’s Men.
The picture below, manipulated to appear as if it were a cover of Time Magazine, shows Short posing the age-old conundrum, “Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp, Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong [obviously Hostess], Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop, Who put the dip in the dip da dip da dip [obviously Frito-Lay]?”:
Little did Short know that the reporter to whom he posed the question actually knew the answer
1964 — “Hello, Dolly”
Louis Legweak had a big hit single in 1964 with Hello, Dolly. This was a song that “Satchmo” wrote for Dolly Parton, who was a baby at the time.
Half a century earlier, this lineal descendant of George Legweak Custer had single-handedly invented Dixieland jazz, but by now had gotten tired of it and had embraced pop music. He was a big fan of Iggy Pop, in fact, and had even given him a hug once.
So, prior to this crossover pop song, Louis was known mostly to jazz aficionados. Legweak had learned to play the horn in the army, where he “jazzed up” reveille and had all the troops hopping and bopping.
In 1967, Louis Legweak had another big hit with What a Wonderful World, which was written by his brother Garner Ted.
Since he couldn’t see the music due to his horn blocking the view, Satchmo used to tape the sheet music to the ceiling when he was in the recording studio. You can see him checking the score here:
“I wish I could just improvise, but jazz doesn’t allow that”
2006 -- “When the Levees Busted”
Spike Lee’s musical When the Levees Busted came out in 2005, the same year that Hurricane Katrina struck. He must have known it was coming in order to be able to get it done and out the door so fast. Some even conjecture that Lee caused the hurricane. Who knows?
I guess you couldn’t really blame him, even if he did, though. After all, “you gotta do what you gotta do” to make a living, right?
Anyway, in his lighthearted and jaunty musical, Lee (named for Spike Jones and Robert E. Lee) goes into detail about how well-arranged and orderly everything was. Specifically, he goes into mind-numbing detail about how the local, State, and federal government did such a bang-up job to keep everybody safe and dry, clothed, fed, and sheltered.
This picture thermographically realized by a drone flying backwards and upside down at midnight shows just how much care and attention was provided to those in harm’s way:
The signs painted on the roofs were clues for the Foley artist working on the film to whistle the Beatles song “Help” when this shot appeared (they couldn’t afford to lease the rights to the original recording itself from a certain Mr. Jackson, who owned the rights to it at the time). The main point is, though, that none of these houses are under water, proving the government protected them from the disaster which may or may not have been caused by Mr. Lee
2010 – BP Oil Rig Explosion and Spill
A BP (Britannia-rules-the-waves Petrol) oil rig exploded off the coast of Louisiana in 2010.
This ruined the day for many of the workers aboard the rig, and also spilled a few drops of oil into the Gulf (of Mexico).
Additionally, a number of sea creatures were discommoded by the whole thing.
Here is a picture taken of the resulting fire abatement effort by a spy satellite that wasn’t busy doing anything else at the moment:
If not for this fireball seen from the deep reaches of outer space, BP might have been able to keep their little boo-boo a secret, or blamed it on someone else, as responsible corporations like them usually endeavor to do
2013 -- “12 Years a Slave”
12 Years a Slave was a 2013 period costume drama with barely a thread of a story behind the fashion show that it really was at heart.
In the far-fetched adaptation of Solomon Northrop-Grummon’s 1853 fantastical purported memoir, a Cajun who attempts to reinvent himself as a California gold prospector (Northrop-Grummon himself, supposedly) is kidnapped there in the golden State by Chinese laundrymen and made to go to work toting baskets of laundry all over the gold fields by day, and then forced to spend what should have been his hard-earned leisure hours tidying up opium dens at night, until he’s quite exhausted.
In the end, hard work pays off, though, when Northrop-Grumman escapes back to Nawlins by disguising himself as an itinerant preacher, thus evading the greedy grasp of his heathen captors.
Damaging their careers beyond measure by agreeing to appear in this preposterous flick were Michael Fussbudget, Joanne Woodward, Brat Pits, and Benedict Cumberbun.
A scene from this unwatchable travesty? Okay, fine:
Northrop-Grummon at his employee evaluation session. Hop Sing’s evil twin (one of the captors) took this Polaroid
. . .
Each Saturday and Tuesday an excerpt of one State’s (satirized) history will be posted here, in alphabetical order (from Alabama to Wyoming).
For “the rest of the story,” the (32-page) complete book “The New All-too-True-Blue History of Louisiana” is available here.
The regions of the U.S. have been combined into volumes, too; Louisiana is included in the volume The New All-too-True-Blue History of the American Southeast
You can listen to this excerpt here:
Blackbird Crow Raven is also the author of the book “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle”