A NOTE ON DAN CROWLEY As a new graduate student in Folklore interested in festival, and Carnival in particular, I attended my first AFS conference, the 1996 Annual Meeting in Pittsburgh, with a healthy measure of ambivalence. Having lived and worked in New Orleans as an elementary school teacher for over five years, Mardi Gras had always provided a welcomed cathartic release, the ultimate street party, or, as my advisor Roger Abrahams would later put it, with a capital F Thus, returning to New Orleans as an academic to Carnival seemed oxymoronic, or at the very least moronic. Surely it is disingenuous to attend an event so seemingly donning the notoriously lens of the academy. My concerns were only exacerbated by the reactions of New Orleans friends and former co-workers, who felt that I had pulled off the ultimate scam, saying it was `just like Lohman to find a way to get a Ph.D. in partying. This sentiment, I soon discovered, was unfortunately shared by many in the academy, particularly across disciplinary lines. Like many other past and present scholars who have attended to the areas of play and festivity, I have often run up against what Brian Sutton-Smith has termed the within the academy (1984). Many scholars have overcompensated for this triviality barrier by making their analysis of the playful as serious as possible. In the name of establishing play and festivity as a legitimate, area of study, this approach may have tipped the balance of the participant-observer scale a bit too far to the side of observation, thus reinforcing the idea that in order for an ethnographer to effectively write about fun, she must not have too much fun herself. Seeing Dan Crowley speak at the AFS Meetings in Pittsburgh, however - the excitement in his voice, the way he described his experiences with such festive spirit, the jokes he cracked about his own position as ethnographer and even his own physical condition-assured me that it is okay, in fact most advantageous, not only to love what you study, but to study what you love. Dan's passion for Carnival and all things festive did not diminish the quality of his work, but brought unusual insights to it This all-too-short encounter with Dan encouraged me to stay the course, to continue to mix business and pleasure, and to book the next available flight to Trinidad's Carnival-for which I will be forever grateful. This paper has been written in his honor. On a Tuesday, in February of 1996, it rained all day in New Orleans, Louisiana. This, in itself, was not a particularly unusual or noteworthy phenomenon; the shortened winters are often wet in the gulf region, and rainfall in February is quite common. This, however, was not just any other Tuesday, but rather the day before Ash Wednesday: Shrove Tuesday, better known as Fat Tuesday-Mardi Gras. The New Orleans Mardi Gras is one of America's largest tourist attractions and greatest spectacles, attracting visitors from all over the globe who make the annual pilgrimage to experience Carnival's notoriously lascivious and licentious atmosphere. During Mardi Gras, this spirit of license is not only deeply felt by its participants, but is accompanied by a tangible relaxation of many everyday regulations of behavior. During Carnival, activities such as public drunkenness, indecent exposure, and disturbance of the peace are tolerated, and arguably celebrated. Regular business hours are disrupted, schools are closed, and the city experiences a near tripling in population. Mardi Gras becomes virtually all-encompassing, and even those residents who dread the wild crowds of Carnival season-those who track the inevitable coming of Carnival like a hurricane, not knowing whether to evacuate the city or board up their windows-find they must temporarily yield to Carnival's control over much of the city's spaces. Carnival is celebrated by both young and old, locals and tourists, men and women, blacks and whites-consequently blurring, twisting, and challenging these very distinctions. …
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