The 610 Stompers made their national debut today in the Macy's parade.
The Stompers are a dance troupe or a traditional Mardi Gras walking club or something else, depending on their mood. As their big opening in New York approached, founder Brett Patron wasn't sure if the wider world would appreciate their art.
“You’re not going to get the same reaction,” he said. “First of all, they’re going to be sober. It’s a morning parade, and they’re not going to allow tailgating and turkey frying along the parade route like they would in New Orleans."
Because, in New Orleans, we have a soft spot for stupid, crazy cool. And that, more than soft, warm breezes, spicy shrimp or saxophones wailing in the night, is what makes me thankful to live here.
Our gladiatorial team is named the Saints. City Hall's built on the site of an insane asylum on a street named Lost. Our patroness is a schizophrenic girl who defeated the English army and was burned for her trouble. We dance at funerals and name strong drinks after killer storms.
And, sweetest of all, we're cool with cool. So many places I've been, the wackos get put down and mocked out. Here, we're willing to give it a look, a listen, a laugh. If you can get four people to applaud, hell, we'll make a festival about it.
(Last week, thousands came out to celebrate a sandwich named for striking streetcar workers.)
Here, so many silly, stupid, crazy cool things that might never see the light of day elsewhere become treasured local traditions, icons even.
Like the 610 Stompers, four score and seven ordinary men rocking extraordinary moves, all dolled up like failed Camel Filters models circa 1977. Who brought a little hometown stupid crazy cool to the Big Apple today.
Cool.