Out of Deep Waters: Second line brings new life to New Orleans
By Mary Frances Schjonberg
[Episcopal News Service] For the first time in many weeks, on November
16, New Orleans smiled. And shouted. And danced.
More than 200 people formed up into the first big band “second
line” since Hurricane Katrina, and moved out of St. Louis Cemetery
#1 on Basin and St. Louis. The line of dancers and musicians threaded
its way down through the French Quarter to the Wyndham Hotel on Canal
Place.
It was billed as the “the cultural reopening of New Orleans.”
This revival of the second line was “a sign of hope for us here
in the city,” said Bishop Charles Jenkins of Louisiana at the cemetery
before the festivities began. During a time when a lot of people are struggling
and not getting answers to their most basic questions, Jenkins said, the
second line is both “a diversion, a passing thing” but also
an “outward and visible sign” that New Orleans can return
to life.
The tradition of the second line is rooted in the city’s history
of fraternal groups and burial societies, who often competed with each
other to see which group could send off a member in the greatest style.
When the church service was over, and the procession moved from church
to cemetery, a band played sad hymns and dirges.
After leaving the cemetery, the music became more joyful. The band played
highspirited tunes. The second line, those people who joined in behind
the band and the family, danced with wild abandon, usually sporting umbrellas
and handkerchiefs, both of which were in evidence during this second line.
This second line began after a short service inside the walls of the
cemetery, the oldest still extant in New Orleans and founded by a royal
Spanish land grant in 1789. There, the Very Rev. David Allard duPlantier,
dean of Christ Church Cathedral in New Orleans, conducted a service that
echoed the committal service in the Book of Common Prayer.
At the end of the service Jenkins gave his blessing and duPlantier asperged
the second liners along with a large gathering of photographers, videographers
and reporters. As he flung holy water on them, jazz musician Irvin Mayfield
began a slow version of “Just a Closer Walk With Thee.”
The small gathering inside the cemetery’s walls moved out to the
street and joined the band made up of a number of New Orleans musicians.
Oswald Jones led the second line with duPlantier and Mayfield right behind
him. Jenkins was in the crowd as well. As the band played and people danced
along, duPlantier continued to asperge the crowd in what he had said at
the cemetery was a “symbolic cleansing of our city” and a
reminder of our baptisms when we rise to new life.
The day could not have been without its own private grief for Mayfield,
the founder of the three-year-old New Orleans Jazz Orchestra.
Mayfield has yet to find his father. The elder Mayfield rode out Hurricane
Katrina at his home in the Gentilly neighborhood of New Orleans, then
disappeared during the subsequent evacuation. A few days after the storm,
his musician son searched the flooded house. He discovered a flashlight
and a stash of peanut butter and cigarettes in the attic, but no indication
of his father’s fate.
“He could be anywhere,” Mayfield told the Times-Picayune
newspaper on November 11. “He’s one of those guys who never
had a cell phone, never kept phone numbers. We’re just waiting to
hear something.
Mayfield’s composition “All the Saints,” commissioned
by Christ Church Cathedral with donations from all over the world, will
premiere November 17 at the cathedral as part of its bicentennial celebrations.
(— The Rev. Mary Frances Schjonberg is national correspondent for
the Episcopal News Service.)
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