Jen and I live less than two blocks off South Street. Back in 2001, we had just moved in to our new house. The bars were open as early as 6am, with crowds of teens and twentysomethings lined up for blocks just to get in, egged on by live radio promotions. Drunks were coming up and down our residential street all day and all night, shouting obscenities, worse than any Mummers Parade, the most shocking being when a woman flashed our rat terrier Wendell when I was walking him at 9 pm. It was loud, unruly and out of control.
Jen, meanwhile, wasn't there. She was on tour in Atlanta that night, and only learned of what was going on through the CNN Airport Network, when she looked up at the monitors, saw the live images from the news helicopters of revellers trying to tip over police vans and yelled, "Wait! That's, like, my house!"
It was bad. Looting of stores, bottle throwing, fights, just a total breakdown of the social order worth of Bill Buford's attention.
Last year, thankfully, wasn't so bad. The city, for once, prepared well. The police came out in force and "managed hell", as they put it. "It's like Gestapo City," said a reveler named Mo from Fishtown. Besides just coming out in full force and scaring the fun out of people, the police decided to arrest people for such (legitimate) crimes as selling beads without a permit. Heh.
And the Honorable Judge Seamus McCaffery, long a favorite of this page, presided over Drunk Court that night, dispensing his wisdom in his typical style:
Continuing a new Mardi Gras tradition, suspects found themselves in front of Municipal Judge Seamus McCaffery of Eagles Court fame. Again this year he chastised young women for exposing their breasts -- "One came all the way up from Maryland for this. I asked her why she just didn't do it in her hometown and she told me nobody wants to see them there."
So, what's in store for 2003? The local bars have agreed not to open until 10am, and will close at 7pm. The police were already on the street when I headed in for work this morning. Everyone's trying to cooperate, in the hopes that another peaceful Mardi Gras will make South Street safe for yuppies again.
I don't know that I really want that. I like our mix of tattoo parlors, pizza joints, flower shops and BYOBs. I don't need a Restoration Hardware in my funky little 'hood. Just make it safe for our little rat dog, so I don't have to cover his eyes anymore. That's all I ask.
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