Norman Dixon was everywhere. As a coordinator for the social aid and pleasure clubs’ anniversary parades, some Mardi Gras Indian activities and jazz funerals plus the Infield processions at New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, the tall lean Dixon could always be spotted in the mix. He didn’t do his work organizing events from some isolated office; he was on the scene; everybody on the streets knew Norman. Dixon, who was an active veteran of the Young Men Olympian Jr. Benevolent Society, died on May 30, 2003 at the age of 68.
“Norman was a real good soldier in the community,” says Sylvester Francis of the Back Street Cultural museum that specializes in the street culture of second lines, jazz funerals and Mardi Gras Indians. “Norman was for the right things. He also had a strong grip as an organizer for parades at Jazz Fest.”
“He took an entire culture, an entire community, on his back and carried them up the mountain to higher ground,” says New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival producer Quint Davis of Dixon’s many contributions.
It’s difficult to imagine what Dixon’s personal or business phone and address book might have looked like. (I never saw him pull out anything like a Palm Pilot.) Anyone who has dealt with brass bands, Indians and social aid and pleasure club members knows that keeping up with these folks is no joke. Was his book as filled with scratched-out numbers as I envision it?
As clubs like the Lady Jetsetters, Original Big Nine and the Original Lady Buckjumpers lined-up in front of the impressive red brick First Emanuel Baptist Church in preparation for the jazz funeral procession that would be Dixon’s last, it crossed my mind that this event had to be put together without his usual assistance.
The entire 1800 block of Carondelet Street and beyond was crowded with folks—numerous brass band members in their black and white uniforms, second line regulars, friends and family, photographers, tourists and simply the curious. As usual, street regular and folk artist Aston Ramsey had a newly created “memory board” honoring Dixon hanging from his neck. Pasted on the colorful cardboard—with a hat to match—were some serious though often whimsical items and words that reflected Dixon’s life—the Jazz Fest logo, his obituary, the words “Hire Solution.” Ramsey’s board did double duty on this day, for on the flip side was a memorial to the noted Morris F.X. Jeff, Jr.
Up and down the street, umbrellas abounded to be utilized in protection from either a downpour or the strong sun or simply as a prop for dancing down the street. A second line umbrella of red flowers honoring Dixon’s place in the parade community proceeded his casket that was solemnly carried down the long stairway by members of the Young Men Olympian organization to the waiting horse-drawn hearse below.
The Tremé and Mahogany Brass Bands led the procession and the hymn “Closer Walk with Thee” filled the air. Laminated photos of Dixon, looking sharp in a variety of second line outfits, were held high as the parade, which stretched for blocks, moved to the rhythms of Tremé, Mahogany, ReBirth, Li’l Stooges and Trombone Shorty’s brass bands. The New Orleans Mardi Gras Indian Council banner waved as Indians from many gangs changed together, “He’s on his way.”
As I took notes on all the activity, a smile crossed my face thinking how Dixon might accuse me of profiting from his funeral. You see, Dixon was very protective of the street culture that he loved and we had our little back-and-forth that became a running game between two people who enjoy a bit of an edge to their relationships. “Geraldine, you’re everywhere,” he’d shout almost accusingly. “Yeah, I hope so Norman, you know I hate to miss anything,” I’d say in reply. He’d then confront me with something like, “I know you’re going to make a lot of money from this story and we’re not going to get anything.” “Well, Norman, you know I don’t have to second line every Sunday for ten years to write a story,” I’d respond. It worried me last fall, when one day “on the line” he did a complete about-face and became complimentary. I knew he’d been ill; then I knew that he must be very sick.
A rather eerie yet somehow pleasantly comforting phenomenon occurred several times during the jazz funeral procession—I thought I saw Norman Dixon. He seemed to be there in a man who wore his hat on a certain angle and in another’s gait. His aura prevailed in the guy with a loose fitting gold shirt who stood on the corner of Washington and LaSalle streets, a spot where Dixon could often be spotted. In his life, Norman Dixon was everywhere. In his death his presence and memory remain.
CITY PARK CONCERTS
Sunday afternoons in the heat of the summer can get pretty dull and all the more so for second line regulars who dread the end of the parade season (end of August to about mid-June). To the rescue is the concert series in City Park presented by radio station KMEZ Old School 102.9. Every other Sunday through August 30, three acts perform at the Popp’s Bandstand from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. The shows open with a gospel act, followed by a R&B or jazz group and end with a brass band. The July schedule is: July 7; Lyle Henderson & Emanuel, Michael Ward and the Hot 8 Brass Band; July 20; Jay East & Dunimas, B.R.W., and the Li’l Rascals Brass Band; July 27; TBA.
While food and drink is available at the Casino building, barbecuing and drinking iced-down beverages from their coolers while relaxing under the oaks are the ways many folks spend the day.
“I like it because it’s a family thing,” says smooth jazz violinist Michael Ward, who performs on July 7. “Because I do arts education in the schools, I have a lot of kids who follow me and this is probably their only opportunity to come see me do a full concert. You can bring your whole family out there and hear and enjoy good music.”
Though we’re elated that the concert series remains, it is unfortunate that it was reduced from every week, as it was last year, to every other week. With its shortened concert schedule and the elimination of the Jazz & Heritage Foundation’s longtime neighborhood street festivals (caused, we understand, by budget cuts) there’s a lot less music in the air and less opportunity for families to enjoy it together.
