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Many years ago, probably around 2003, I went down to Super Sunday at Washington and Lasalle. This was back when they wouldn’t announce Super Sunday in the newspapers and on tv, before it got commercialized, like basically all of New Orleans culture has since Katrina (that birch). I was with my buddy Scott Pashley (Shoeless?~not Scott). At one point as we second lined we wound up walking with Dr. John and we walked together for the rest of the parade. There were many incredible moments that day: when Big Chief Bo Dollis rode up on his scooter to greet Mac; Mac telling me all sorts of stories about music and growing up. Things like that went on for a few hours.
But as we walked, going deeper and deeper into poor, black neighborhoods, it was astounding to me how much people loved him, adored him. EVERYBODY knew who he was. From grandparents down to young kids, many of whom probably had very little interaction- along with a pretty healthy distrust- of white people. But everybody flocked to Mac. He wasn’t just an international legend. He was a local street, ghetto, projects legend. A man of the people. Way more comfortable there than in the upper echelons of society that often hired him. It was amazing. He crossed racial, cultural, economic, class- whatever background, whatever line, you can think of.
Icon. Legend. These words are used a lot these days. But there isn’t a word that describes what Dr. John was. Maybe he should make one up. Teach us one last time.
I got more stories, like when we took him to the roller derby in my van. But that’ll have to wait til another time.
To the good Doctor. Rest In Peace.