Page 45 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
“I just sent the agenda for the meeting, along with the ideas I’ve come up with for the extravaganza. As you’ll see, I envision something a bit more elegant than what’s been done in years past.”
“Hold on. What’s up with this?” Kendrick says. A deep frown wrinkles his forehead. “A string quartet? For Mardi Gras?”
“The extravaganza is a black-tie affair,” I remind him.
“It’s still Mardi Gras. If you bring in a string quartet instead of a brass band people are gonna revolt.”
“I think he may be right,” Tabitha says.
“A string quartet is more elegant,” I repeat.
“Maybe we can compromise,” Tabitha offers. “Have the string quartet play during the cocktail hour, and then the brass band comes in when it’s time to dance?”
“We need the Wild Magnolias,” Kendrick says. “Or the Bayou Renegades.”
“The what?” I ask.
“The Mardi Gras Indians,” he answers. “There are krewes all around the city. I’m sure—”
I shake my head. “No way. We are not doing that.”
“But it’s tradition.”
“It’s cultural appropriation,” I say. “I just read an article on it.”
“Hold on now,” Brandi Jones, the remaining member from the original committee, chimes in. “My uncle is a Seventh Ward Hunter. So was my grandfather, and my great-grandfather.”
“No cap?” Kendrick says. “That’s what’s up.”
“Just because your family takes part, that doesn’t make it right,” I say to Brandi. “As far as I’m concerned, the Mardi Gras Indians are just as bad as wearing blackface, and it will not be part of any extravaganza that I’m associated with.”
“Are you serious right now?” Kendrick asks. There isn’t a hint of the earlier teasing in his voice.
“Of course I’m serious,” I answer.
“But you’re from Chicago.”
“And?”
“And it’s obvious you don’t understand how we do things down here. If you’re gonna put on an event to celebrate Mardi Gras, the least you can do is honor the local traditions. You don’t get to come in and ignore what the city is all about. Or worse, try to change it.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing.” He ticks things off on his fingers. “No brass band. No Mardi Gras Indians. What’s next? No beads?”
“Not those cheap plastic ones,” I say.
“Why is the color scheme white and rose gold?” Tabitha asks, looking down at her phone. “Mardi Gras colors are purple, gold, and green.”
“No.” I hold up my hands. “That is where I draw the line. For the month before Mardi Gras day, it looks like someone threw up purple, gold, and green all over this city.”
“It’s not for the month before,” Kendrick says. “If you took the time to learn about this city, you would know it’s from January sixth, on Three Kings Day, which is the official start of the carnival season. It can last for a month, or six weeks, or even longer.”
Okay, so I didn’t know that, but I don’t see what difference it makes. What matters is this extravaganza. I need it to be the best ever. I need it to be the one alums are still talking about twenty years from now.
“I hate to pull the ‘I’m in charge’ card”—actually, I don’t hate pulling it at all—“but Dr. Cornwall gave me the committee chair position for a reason. If she has an issue with my ideas, she’ll let me know.”
I end the meeting and leave the conference room. Kendrick steps in front of me when I’m still several yards from the elevators.
