The dancing spirit of Big Chief Jolly inspires nephews named Neville, and the Wild Tchopitoulas mix with the Meters and Toussaint, Norman Bell and Booker T. Washington, Flag Boy and Spy Boy and the ghosts of Professor Longhair and Dr. John, and winds through streets packed with revelers.

The clock strikes midnight. Fat Tuesday melts away. From two thousand miles I visualize a distant time when Columbia’s Most Raucous and Rollus Krewe held court, transforming our town’s most storied Cajun/Creole cafe into a Bourbon-soaked Carnival, slinging oysters and mudbugs, Sazaracs and hurricanes, etouffee and Tchoupitoulas, king cakes and beads.

Long ago Glenn’s Most Raucous and Rollus Krewe scattered to the winds..some of them have turned to ash. On this Fat Tuesday, I raise an Absinthe to my old Krewe mates, with one fervent wish: Laissez les bon temps rouler!