Saturday, May 8. May Day. The Uptowner. My docket was jammed, but entirely with good things. First item: a book signing at Barnes and Noble in Mandeville. The only way I could squeeze it in was to do it in the morning. I wasn't sure people would show up, and indeed the parking lot was discouragingly empty when I arrived. But once I got settled in and the store manager brought me some coffee, a nonstop stream of book buyers began. It was dominated by people who had never seen me, only heard me on the radio. There's a commercial running right now that asks, "Remember how you felt when you first saw what your favorite disc jockey looked like?" That is almost universally disappointing. Certain sho-biz guys are on the radio instead of television for a reason, and I am one of those guys.
Old friends came by, too. One of these was Webb Williams, a very clever writer, mostly of advertising. His orbit overlaps mine such that he often turns up where I do, and vice-versa. He had a scary story. At the Jazz Festival, he had symptoms that seemed to him like a heart attack. It turned out that he was having an reaction to a prescription medication. This is what scares me most about prescriptions. The disclaimers these things carry on their television commercials make me wonder why anyone would take one of these. I limit myself to a necessary hypertension medication (to offset some bad genes from my mother), a baby aspirin and a multi-vitamin.
After the two-hour bookstore gig, I ran home for a three-hour radio spate. I took a fast nap (I get as cranky as a kindergartner when I'm deprived of it; I've taken a twenty-minute afternoon nap almost every day since the mid-1970s), then struck out for the South Shore. I had not eaten anything all day, and didn't know when I would. I was successfully tempted by the drive-through of the new Lee's Hamburgers on Causeway Boulevard. I go years at a time without patronizing drive-throughs. It takes a crisis. Like now. It was a better burger than the last Lee's I had. I still say they need to raise the temperature of the grill and toast the buns. For the same reason: to add some crustiness.
The event across the lake is May Day, a venerable festivity at the Louise S. McGehee School. It's a big moment for three classes: graduating seniors, sophomores, and third-graders. The seniors promenade (there is no other word for it) across the lawn, wearing beautiful, formal white dresses. (Mary Leigh designed and made two of these: her own, and another for a friend.) They were ushered into a special section of chairs interspersed with flowers. They are the guests of honor, but they also assume another role that makes their presence bittersweet. These young women, for all the honors they've earned, were being ushered out of their beloved school, to make room for the next senior class. They would feel this dynamic more fully later in the program.
The sophomores' job is to put on a skit poking fun at school institutions, with cameos by certain teachers and administrators. This year's plot was set in the world of fast food, interspersed with dances and singing to music mostly borrowed from the hip-hop world. The girls who played the Burger King and Wendy were exceptionally good actors. The seniors found their shenanigans uproarious.
"And if you think that's something," Wendy said after another soulful dance number, "wait until you see this!" A piece of music, sounding as if it were being played from a 78-rpm disc recorded in the 1930s, triggered the third graders. They look forward to this moment all year. Each grabbed the end of a ribbon hanging from one of the two May poles. They performed an exacting circular dance, and the ribbons coalesced into a precise basket weave around the poles. Nobody could recall a time when this magic act, performed to this ancient music, was not part of May Day.
The skit resumed its arc. After going to Rally's, Taco Bell, and McDonald's, the Burger King found his missing court. There they were--the seniors. The Queen of the May Court and her maids were identified and crowned. Then the rest of the seniors were identified one by one and escorted across and off the arena by the sophomores.
And that's when it hit them. This is it! After tonight, they have no reason to return to school ever, except for graduation in three weeks. Their classes are over. Their exams are over. Their time as McGehee students is over. Most of the girls have been through May Day every year for most of their lives. Some even did the magic act around the poles when they were in third grade. But this is the last one!
These poised, beautiful young women began losing their composure and dabbing their eyes. It was touching and sweet to watch--almost too much so. If the scene had been in a movie, critics would have called it unrealistic. But it is real. As lucky as Jude was to go to graduate from Georgetown Prep in the blaze of glory that he did, Mary Ann and I agree that Mary Leigh's mere two and a half years at this school could not possibly have been more joyous for her and for us. The girl and the school were a perfect match.
A brief reception at the school brought out a bit of food. But the main party for the seniors was at The Uptowner. It's a beautiful place near Audubon Park with a lovely courtyard and grand indoor dining rooms, all converted a long time ago from a residence.
The Uptowner is the reception hall that Greg and Mary Sonnier bought after the hurricane, with the idea of turning it into the new Gabrielle. They hadn't figured on strong objections from powerful neighbors, notably Eddie Sapir. The Sonniers watched as the rules of the game changed before their eyes. The weirdest was when they were told that a reception hall was not legally the same thing as a restaurant--but found that the city had no definition for what a reception hall was.
The Uptowner had been serving food for fifty years and seemed to be grandfathered in. But the Sonniers have been blocked at every turn, and see only the prospect of fighting in court against opponents who--since they're attorneys--can keep up a war of attrition as long as they please, while the Sonniers bleed. There is much to this story that I don't know. Meanwhile, the Sonniers have to tough it out with events like McGehee's May Day reception.
Greg was in the well-equipped kitchen he built for busy restaurant service. Tonight he was frying meat pies, chicken skewers, cheese quesadillas and sausages. Also there were two large trays of vegetarian sandwiches, which someone said would be necessary. At the end of the evening, they were trying to figure out what to do with them all. The problem with vegetarians is that they don't really eat.
And a May Day cake. The table decorations also had mini-May poles. Everybody was trying to figure out how to wind the ribbons into the magical weave that the third-graders did.
We stayed about an hour. The only topic of conversation was how lovely our girls were and how lucky they were to have attended this school. And what they would do next.
It was still relatively early. I suggested that we all go to Andrea's and have some snacks and drinks in the bar. None of us really had much to eat. I arrived first and was getting Chef Andrea primed for the vision that was my daughter. But she had changed out of her stunning dress into shorts and a T-shirt. Andrea insisted that she is nevertheless no less than a princess. Boy, is that the truth.
