RETROSPECTIVE Mardi Gras-Dallas Style?

In 1876, Dallas was the “new kid” on the block-young, growing, and energetic. Over the tracks of two southern railroads, the Texas and Pacific and the Houston and Texas Central, goods of all descriptions were brought to Dallas while cotton, wheat, lumber, buffalo hides, and other products were shipped out. Dallas was the commercial hub of North Texas, pushing and scratching to be recognized as such, Civic self-promotion embarrassed no one. (The more things change, the more they remain the same.) A Mardi Gras, City Fathers believed, would be a great way to tell the world how great Dallas was. Dallas was ready to prove that it was the “Indianapolis of the West” (which shows that some things do change).

A Dallas Mardi Gras might seem to exceed even the bounds of civic chauvinism today, but there was precedent for it in the 1870s. In 1872, a German confectioner from Memphis, Tennessee, named Joseph Specht organized a Mardi Gras to help revive his adopted city’s failing economy. The Dallas Daily Herald, the city’s largest newspaper, reported that three days of merrymaking had brought hundreds of thousands of dollars to Memphis. Nashville, Cincinnati, Lexington, and Galveston soon followed the example. “What Memphis started as an advertising scheme,” the Dallas newspaper predicted, “has spread until it would seem that Mardi Gras is to become a national fete.” Besides, the editor remarked, “we of this pushing, money-grubbing age have too few holidays, and if it be possible to institute another, let us by all means do so.” So much for the work ethic in U.S. Grant’s America.

Not having a convention bureau or Chamber of Commerce in 1876, The Dallas Daily Herald and the Weekly Herald, published by the same company, were a bustling town’s loudest promoters. As the country embarked upon the Philadelphia Exposition, the nation’s 100th birthday party, Dallas launched its own booster program. The Herald and some prominent businessmen planned and orchestrated the Mardi Gras as a self-promotional festival the likes of which few cities the size of Dallas had ever seen.

The Mardi Gras was scheduled for February 24. but six weeks earlier, the Herald began to print daily notices, building a sense of excitement and anticipation. “His Mighty Highness, Rex Carnivali,” the paper proclaimed, ordered Dallas Mayor William L. Cabell to close City Hall and stop all city business on the day of the festival. In response, Cabell instructed all Dallasites “to make the King’s visit honorable and to have a procession to honor the King.”

As the big day approached, other notices appeared in the paper. The “’Sovereign Ruler of the Realms of Mirth, Folly and Pleasure” ordered all public transportation, the hacks, taxis, omnibuses, and streetcars to reduce fares on carnival day. He asked “the traders, mechanics, citizens and soldiers, societies of every kind, maskers, revellers, promenaders and all of our fun-loving subjects” to parade. At night, the King requested, Dallas was to be lit by “floods of light, and golden fire illume the streets.”

As with many great parties given in Dallas today, the festival organizers sought contributions to pay for the general costs of the party. To raise money, the King declared war against the “King of the Cannibal Islands,” who, the King claimed, was in rebellion to prevent his entry into Dallas. Since putting down the rebellion was costly, the King of Carnivali appointed “The Khedive of Dal-lashah,” G.W. Baylor, to collect a war tax. The taxes were entrusted to “The First Lord of the Treasury, the Mighty Prince Abdal-lah”-Samuel J. Adams and John L. Leonard, two prominent Dallas bankers.

The business community responded to the King’s cry for help. Applying not-so-subtle pressure, the Herald published a daily list of all who contributed. Before the carnival began, money flowed in from 121 businesses and businessmen, including C.C. Slaughter, John M. Stemmons, Thomas L. Marsalis, Alexander Harwood, Manuel Morales, the Sanger brothers, and Henry S. Ervay. By February 3, $3,000 was reported in the King’s war chest.

Nearly everyone was busy with preparations. Purple, yellow, and red streamers, all the King’s colors, flew from offices, retail stores, and residences throughout the city. From the Herald’s office, a streamer, displaying the royal colors and an embroidered king’s crown, flew proudly.

The Dallas Bridge Company, whose toll bridge guarded the western approach to Dallas across the Trinity River, waived its tax for Mardi Gras day for all those who crossed coming and going. (The bridge, already unpopular because of the toll, was the brunt of much criticism from Dallasites as well as visitors.) The Texas and Pacific and the Houston and Texas Central railroads put on special trains to bring people to Dallas at reduced fares; what was good for Dallas was good for the railroads. The Herald appealed to Dallasites to show good hospitality to the expected 20,000 visitors to the city.

A special group of young businessmen and professionals calling themselves the Order of the Mystic Revelers prepared to frolic and play all day among the crowd, enjoy the dancing, and present a portion of the parade. And receptions for special invited guests were to be held at Odd Fellows Hall, Lively Hall, and Fields’ Theater. The Mardi Gras planners put together a very long parade, no small feat for a city of approximately 10,000.

“Rex,” traveling from Marshall to Dallas on the Texas and Pacific Railroad, was to arrive at 10:15 a.m. He and his entourage left at 1:00 in the morning in a “palace car” belonging to the superintendent of the railroad. The King, like everyone else arriving in Dallas by train that day, was late. The delay, however, did not dampen spirits; as the royal train pulled in, wild “cheers rent the air,” cannons roared, and the Parker’s Germania band blared forth.

As the colorful Stonewall Greys, a local military unit formed after the Civil War, stood alertly at attention, George N. Aldredge, Dallas County’s attorney, guided the King, his entourage, and dignitaries to waiting carriages. Taken to the Lamar Hotel for a quick reception, the King received the keys to the city from Mayor Cabell. then called upon all Dallasites to “deliver themselves up to mirth and recreation.” Then, from the second floor of the Lamar, the King prepared to review the parade.



AS THE CROWDS impatiently waited along the streets for the parade to start, parade marshals tried to get the procession moving. “Marshals rode hither and thither, starting this one and stopping others,” the Weekly Herald reported. “Soldiers marched and counter-marched and full an hour elapsed before the whole line could be said to have been in motion.” Planned to begin at 12:00 sharp, the parade started at 1:00.

There were basically four divisions making up the parade; first came the city officials and fire departments, showing off their new hook and ladders, steam fire engines, and hose truck; then, two divisions calculated to brag of Dallas’ commercial prowess; they were followed by a division composed of fifty-four floats, thirty of them constructed by the Mystic Revelers.

Leading off the commercial division was Dallas’ newly organized Cotton Exchange, its two floats piled high with bales of cotton. Having shipped out to other markets 49,218 bales that year, Dallas was proud of its strength in that commodity. Atop the bales were a “King of Cotton” and his court, dressed in “fleecy folds.”

There followed eighteen floats sponsored by Richard V. Thompkins, a farm implement dealer in Dallas. Thompkins represented a number of farm implement companies, including Kirby, Champion, Case, Deere, and Buckeye. Successful and proud to show off, Thompkins’ implements-including a Buckeye reaper, a Deere gang plow, a Climax sulky plow, a Paddock sulky rake, and a Deere peerless cultivator-were all in his portion of the parade. Fifty-four horses were used to pull Thompkins’ exhibits.

Following Thompkins’ floats were others, each sponsored by business houses in Dallas and all eager to display their wares. H.W. Harry & Company, the manufacturer of galvanized iron ornaments, presented a float drawn by two horses and laden with samples of his labor. Next was J.W. Allen & Company’s float exhibiting lightning rods. Surrounded by the rods, two young women sat on a wagon that prominently bore the inscription “Protection.” Upon another float, sponsored by Kane Shields, the house and sign painter, men demonstrated their skills at graining, glazing, and painting.

The most elaborately trimmed vehicle was offered by Dorman, Holmes & Company, dealers in music and musical instruments. Their large car, sixteen feet long and fifteen feet high, carried a tall staff in the center from which flew the King’s colors. At the rear of the float were located a piano and a cabinet pipe organ. Gathered around was a blaring six-piece band wearing masks and large green swallowtail coats, red pants, yellow vests, and silk hats. The float was pulled by four horses, adorned with white coverings upon which were painted pianos, organs, guitars, and violins. Over 300 yards of goods were used on the float.

Cowen & Company, lumbermen and wood millers, entered a huge exhibit. “A float equal in expanse to a small country,” the Dallas Weekly Herald reported in a burst of hyperbole. The float”s wooden doors, sashes, and sills “told the story that our people have no need to send away from home for anything that is necessary in the construction of buildings.”

Of course, no major parade is complete without its beer wagon. Louis Reichenstein, Dallas’ agent for E. Anheuser & Company, the Bavarian brewer of St. Louis, proudly displayed his product and others associated with the art of imbibing; he had an economic interest in all of them. In front of the float, the Arctic Ice Company was represented by Arthur T. Stevens, dressed as an old man with a heavy white beard and hoary locks drenched with icicles; in the rear, Simon Mayer was dispensing samples of beer to the crowd, much as he did in his Tivoli Hall, a saloon on Main Street. Bonny & Rick, wine merchants, displayed their wares on the right side of the float, with Leopold Bohny appropriately dressed as Bacchus.



AND THE PARADE of Dallas’ commercial cornucopia rolled on. Douglas, Whitney & Company, candy makers extraordinaire, handed out kisses and bon-bons to women and children along the route; Delmonico’s Restaurant had its cooks, dressed in spotless white suits and tall hats, demonstrating their culinary arts over wood-burning cooking stoves; Jacob Nussbaumer, “the popular butcher,” exhibited two large longhorn steers, which, according to notices placed on each, weighed 1,922 pounds and 2,140 pounds respectively; Todd Mills, owned by Sarah Horton Cockrell, exhibited a wagon loaded with sacked flour; the Texas Rag Company weighed in with a float, according to one critical reporter, “rather too ornate to be appropriate to the business represented.” Hamilton’s Hats was represented by a jack-in-the-box, which, on occasion, jumped up and deliahted the crowd.

Probably the most spectacular float of the day belonged to Mayfield & Cowen, lumbermen and owners of a large lumber mill in Dallas. Described as an “immense moving forest of pine,” their exhibit was drawn by nearly one hundred Texas steers. “This team.” the paper enthusiastically recorded, “reached entirely across the block, and was certainly one of the most unique sights invented for this greatest of the gala days in Dallas.” Mayfield & Cowen boasted that they cut one million feet of lumber each week during the fall of 1875.

Phoenix Moulding and Planing Mill, owned by D.E. Grove, which had risen out of the ashes of a disastrous fire in 1874, ’ brought up the rear of the parade with seven floats. One held a twenty-four-horsepower steam engine, under full power, running a turning lathe, a band saw, and a slat tenoner. Another held a carpenter’s bench with two carpenters who were fitting together doors, sashes, and door trussels. Yet another displayed two large farm gates, one that held a black youth who swung back and forth, and a large blacksmith’s forge, which was fired and working.

Most stunning of all the Phoenix Mills floats was one drawn by four horses and carrying Grove’s portable house. The house, which could be produced by his mill in a twelve-hour period, had two rooms. In one room, Carter & Gibson, printers and bookbinders, were demonstrating their skills; in the other, a party was under way, with masked youths dancing to the music of a violinist.

On the gallery in front of the house, a black woman was busily washing clothes and hanging them out to dry. A banner attached to the float advertised: “Portable Houses-Saving Every Purchaser from $25 to $250, and from 1 to 4 Weeks’ Time.”

Grove’s seventh entry, and the last in the commercial division, was a pair of “fearfully poor gray horses attached to a tumbledown wagon,” representing Poverty. A large sign read: “Result of not patronizing home manufacturers.”

The commercial division was followed by the Order of the Mystic Revelers. Preceded by the Germania band, the Revelers offered the crowd thirty floats depicting “The March of Ages.” Each illustrated a different topic, such as “The Birth of Time,” “The Age of Fire,” “Let There Be Light,” “Born of Chaos, Creation,” “St. George Slaying the Dragon ” “Knights of the Round Table,” and “Eternity.”

The floats were quite elaborate and well done, much to the delight of the crowds. For example, “Born of Chaos, Creation,” showed “a Darwinian being” with the feet of a man and the head of a monkey standing amid heaths, ferns, cactus, tillandsias, and century plants, all in full bloom. From atop a rock wall condensed vapors fell into a pool of water in which sea anemones swam. Up the wall crept a large multicolored snake, set to attack a nest containing a “web-winged and web-footed bat-like” bird.

“Eternity,” while pleasing viewers, questioned the prospects of a bright future for mankind. Beneath a broken column, Saturn slept. Among debris, a sand hourglass showed no grains dropping and a large clock was obviously broken, The sun was obscured by a dense layer of clouds. This rather gloomy tableau marked the end of time-and the end of the parade. But the city’s Mardi Gras disappointed no one. Dallas had reached beyond what anyone dreamed possible, and orchestrated an event that would be admired today.