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Note: The Krewe of Comus no longer parades. |
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The Thimbles
Mary Grace Rankin I have these little things called “thimbles.” They are actually pretty little silver “shot glasses.” They were made in France during the eighteen hundreds for the Russian market. They were meant for toasting with vodka. There are a dozen of them. They rest in a wooden, satin lined box. Once, however, they came out and caused such a stir people have never stopped talking about them. This happened back in the days when I was a drinker. I have been sober for thirteen years. It was our habit to take our family to one of my husband’s clubs to view the Mardi Gras parades from their stands. Some of my drinking buddies, all men, knew of the thimbles from past conversations. They kept asking me to bring them to celebrate the end of carnival with an appropriate toast. I agreed with them that only The Thimbles would be appropriate for a “Farewell to Mardi Gras Toast.” On Mardi Gras evening, I brought them to the Comus Parade, the last parade of the season. Before the parade began I gathered my eleven favorite drinking buddies together in the room with the bar. Vodka was poured into each of our silver thimbles. We stood in a circle to toast. I had prepared a most beautiful toast to friendship and to Mardi Gras. One of my chosen buddies, however, stepped forward before I could speak, and proceeded to give his own favorite toast, “To our wives and sweethearts. May they never meet!” Oh, well…. The evening was young. The Thimbles were not finished making a reputation for themselves. Comus is King of one of the most exclusive of all the organizations that hold balls and parades here in New Orleans. It was the first organization to parade over a hundred years ago. No one is ever to know the identity of the man selected to reign as Comus, not outside of his chosen few. He only appears in a full mask. His parade, the Comus parade, the evening of Mardi Gras is rather quiet. The floats are exceptionally beautiful. The maskers are not known to throw a whole lot. The crowds are rather thin. By Mardi Gras evening most people are exhausted and have gone home to bed or to watch the finale on television. It is a fitting end to a frenetic Mardi Gras celebration. It softly eases you into Lent, which begins at midnight. We, “the Men and Woman of the Thimbles,” were in rare shape by the time the parade finally reached the downtown area. It was all planned ahead of time. We were so tickled with ourselves. We were like little children about to do something naughty. Thanks be to luck, Comus’ Royal Float stopped right in front of the club stands where we were all gathered. One of the young men in our crowd stood forward, raised his thimble, and called out in a loud clear voice, “Hail Comus!” His majesty sceptered to us and seemed genuinely pleased we had come out to toast him. We each, having raised our silver thimbles to him, proceeded to down our shot of vodka. We chased it with beer from the glass in our other hand. Comus nodded to us in his royal manner. The parade moved forward. We laughed, patted each other on the back, turned, and went inside to continue celebrating. What a fitting, most memorable end to Mardi Gras. To this day, I still have men come up to me at parties and softly ask, “How are the thimbles? Are you ever going to bring them out again?” |
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