I grew up in God’s country, but you might know it as Ville Platte, Louisiana. Mardi Gras in Ville Platte looks like a gravel road, a belly full of Old Charter and grown men throwing chickens in the air. We won’t discuss how old I was the first time 80 proof whiskey touched my lips (sorry, Mom). People stand on horses and dance to “Le Danse de Mardi Gras,” and you can find a cauldron of jambalaya cooking every 100 feet.
When I first moved to Lake Charles in 2008, I was quite surprised to learn that not every Mardi Gras includes capuchons. Instead of seeing your MawMaw in her moomoo rocking on the front porch, in Southwest Louisiana you’re more likely to find her all dressed up in a sparkly gown. No chickens. No Old Charter. No cauldrons.
After my husband and I set our roots down in Carlyss we were lucky enough to be adopted by a great group of friends who invite us every year to the Krewe of Athena’s Mardi Gras ball. Lucky for me, Athena’s ball is a themed costume ball. It’s right up my alley, since I was borning one iota about fashion. Almost every single thing in my closet can be traced back to SHEIN, Walmart or, if the occasion calls for something fancier, Target. I’m a plain Jane when it comes to clothing, and I fly that flag proudly.
This year’s ball theme was Heroes and Villains and our group planned for the men to each dress as Batman and their partners as different villains. One of my girlfriends was Harley Quinn, the other was a female version of the Joker. I was instructed (probably because of the aforementioned disease) to dress as Catwoman. I logged onto Amazon and ordered a black leotard and accessories. My husband, who happens to think he is the world’s funniest person, chose to surprise our friends by dressing up as Robin, Batman’s lesser known sidekick.
I could never order a glass of the house wine. Absolutely not. So, you understand that I could not just show up at the West Cal Event center for this ball and order a glass of whatever red wine they happened to have available behind the bar. That just wouldn’t do. (If you’re annoyed by my pretension, please know I am, too.)
On our way out the door, one of my daughters mentioned to me that Catwoman steals jewelry so I threw on my loudest gold pieces before moseying over to the store to grab a couple bottles (yes, two bottles, more on this later) of my favorite cabernet sauvignon. Marvin made his grand entrance at the ball with, “Did anyone order a sidekick,” before laughing at his own joke. We paid the corkage fees and settled in for the presentation of the court.
The Krewe of Athena is a women’s krewe that was formed in 2001. It’s tradition that the court be kept secret until the big presentation on the night of the ball. Every krewe does things a little differently, but I love that this particular krewe picks their royalty out of a cup.
“We’ve been using the same LSU cup since the very beginning. We put all of the members’ names on slips of paper and pick that way,” says Ramona Landry, krewe founder. “I never wanted to mess with the politics that come with doing it differently. Usually whoever starts the krewe is the captain for many years until they eventually step down, but I didn’t want to do that either.”
The Krewe of Athena’s captain is chosen annually from that same purple and gold cup. In a tradition that depicts how fun the women of Athena are, the founding members get together, pull the names for court and then jump in a party bus to surprise them.
“We show up at their house on a Sunday afternoon and take them to drink and eat pizza. They don’t know we’re coming until we show up.” The royalty is picked in the summer, about six months before the ball takes place.
The Krewe of Athena is a Sulphur krewe and it’s been really fun for me to party with the same familiar faces each year. Landry says being in a krewe is about more than just the annual ball. “Philanthropy and sisterhood are important, especially for our members.” Every year Athena’s members participate in the Ethel Precht Cancer walk and host a flamingo bingo fundraiser where the krewe members’ male partners serve as waiters.
All of the men’s tips are donated to a cause very near and dear to the women. “Without Tracy Beaugh this krewe wouldn’t exist,” says Landry. “I wouldn’t have been able to get a single thing done without her.”
Beaugh was one of 10 founding members, an instructor in SOWELA’s graphic art department who passed away in 2013 after a battle with cancer. “That was the hardest thing we’ve been through, losing her.” In her honor, the krewe donates $750 in both the fall and spring semesters to a SOWELA graphic art student.
It Gets A Little Hazy
The lights were turned down low and as the court was announced the crowd erupted in cheers. The women promenaded down the center aisle walking from side to side and curtsying to the crowd.
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