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Big crowd raises Cain MOBILE, Ala. -- The people of south Alabama may appear to be just ordinary folks on most days of the year. But don't be fooled. The truth is revealed when something like Joe Cain Day rolls around and throngs of screaming beaded revelers take to the streets of downtown Mobile to throw a party that could rival the zaniest celebrations on the planet in terms of frivolity, novelty and number of people wearing kooky hats. Paradegoers at Sunday's annual Joe Cain Day were rewarded with a 60-degree thermometer reading, a breeze and blue, cloudless skies. The downtown streets were packed with revelers. People carting coolers and folding chairs started arriving as early as 7 a.m. for the 2:30 p.m. parade, which is traditionally held on the Sunday before Mardi Gras to honor the man credited with reviving the city's pre-Lenten celebration. Mary Moubray, 69, a snowbird who spends half the year in Michigan and the other half in Foley, arrived early for a parking spot near Bienville Square. She wore a funky hat, beads, purple and gold attire, and enormous pineapple sunglasses. Each pineapple oval took up half of her face, with green leaves sprouting from the top. "We're having a ball," Moubray said. "This is our first Joe Cain Day. This brings out the kid in an adult." The "people's parade" is held each year in tribute to Joseph Stillwell Cain, who was born in Mobile in 1832 and reinstated Mardi Gras after the Civil War, while Mobile was still occupied by Union troops. The story goes that Cain put on a Native American costume, called himself the mythical Chickasaw Chief Slacabamorinico, and paraded down the street. Sunday, "Old Slac" led the parade, followed by his wailing widows dressed in black, and about 36 "do-it-yourself" floats filled with people in costumes. One float carried shirtless men wearing coconut bras. Another, the Mystic Order of Dead Rock Stars, paid homage to Stevie Ray Vaughan. Some rag-tag marchers didn't even go so far as to build a real float, and instead pushed shopping carts full of beads or pulled kiddie wagons. After a short break in revelry, The Le Krewe de Bienville floats took to the streets followed by the Les Femmes Cassette procession. Le Krewe de Bienville's floats included several from the Florida cities of Fort Walton Beach, Pensacola, Tallahassee and Bradington and depicted scenes from the French countryside and pirate ships. Doug Norris, 30, and his friends came over from New Orleans to party in Mobile. "We just wanted to get away from the Katrina stuff," he said of the hurricane that devastated much of his hometown in August. Norris said the floats in Mobile's Mardi Gras parades are even better than those in New Orleans' parades. "They throw a lot more, and there are not as many people." He said. "And here it's more family oriented." The Les Femmes Cassette's seventh annual parade followed closely behind Le Krewe de Bienville. That parading society chose "South of the Border" as its theme and Chief Slacabamorinico rode in his mule-drawn wagon. Joe Cain's Merry Widows rode with him. Carrie Price, 19, of Citronelle snatched a Teddy bear thrown by one of the Les Femmes Cassette maskers. "I'm having so much fun," Price said. "I'm in college at Troy and we came down here and are having a blast.' For downtown churchgoers and people driving to work, the barricades blocking the roads presented a headache. Lorenzo Hayes, 45, who works in the kitchen at Cafe Royal, could not arrive to work on time because of the Joe Cain procession. So, he did the only thing he could do -- started screaming at the floats like everybody else. Within minutes, his arms were full of plastic cups, beads and stuffed animals. "I'm supposed to be at work," he said, then shrugged, and went back to hollering for beads. For many without Sunday commitments, downtown Mobile was the place to be. At the corner of Dauphin and Conception streets, the crowd was so thick that it resembled a mosh pit. A beach ball, tossed from a float, bounced over outstretched arms. Willie Nelson -- the 46-year-old boilermaker from Citronelle, not the singer -- said he has never missed a Mardi Gras celebration in 20 years. "I love Joe Cain Day, this is the best of all," said Nelson, proudly showing his driver's license to prove his name. "I like to party in the street after the parade. You got to expect wildness." Roderick Davis, a 37-year-old scaffold builder who lives in Mobile, brought his children but said it was a day for adults. "It's called the grown folks' Fat Tuesday, because Tuesday is going to be for the kids," Davis said. At least one couple thought that Sunday was a day for the dogs. Mudge Capra, a 4-year-old dachshund, rode to the parade in the backpack of a motorcyclist. Mudge's favorite throws are the edible ones, according to Kelli Capra, 37, from Daphne. "She'd have been really sad if we left her at home," Capra, the human, said, adding, "You get more throws if you got a dog." A dog on a motorcycle seemed almost ho-hum compared to some wackier sights: --A bald man in monk-garb, angel's wings and beads strolled past the radio station humvees and vans lining Dauphin Street. --Tough-looking bikers, in leather jackets and chains, grew giddy over the colorful beads they caught on Government Street. --On South Hamilton Street., a group of women stood around a port-a-potty, closed their eyes, turned their faces to the sun, snapped their fingers and got their grooves on to slow jams. In a quiet spot away from the madness, Pat Johnson, 46, ate chicken-on-a-stick with her niece, Shakeidra McCants, 9, and nephew, JaChristopher McCants, 7. She recalled the first time she brought her husband to a Joe Cain Day procession. "He said, 'What's wrong with these people?'" Johnson said. "I said, 'That's the joy of it.'"
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