Mardi Gras with My Dad and the Revelers We May Never Know
In a year unlike any other, a writer discovers a hidden trove of his father’s photographs and unearths a vintage view of New Orleans
January 28, 2021
Lady Godiva is dancing as beer sloshes in its mug. She’s in the French Quarter, on the corner of St. Ann and Royal streets. Behind her stands a bulb-nosed man in what’s left of his tuxedo. Off to the side is a child, perhaps Godiva’s daughter. She’s in white boots and a majorette uniform. This young girl, quite likely the only sober person on this street corner, regards with mild interest the photographer, who is my father, Jerry Tisserand. It’s Mardi Gras in New Orleans, 1959.