December belongs to Santa Claus, April is all about the Easter Bunny and March is covered with four-leaf clovers and green to honor St. Patrick. And while many would say February belongs to Cupid and his bow, along the Gulf Coast, this month belongs to one man — Chief Slacabamorinico.

In 1867, Joe Cain paraded through the streets of Mobile dressed as a fictional Chickasaw war chief, wearing an elaborate costume consisting of a headdress, deer tails, braids and a skirt. This was the birth of Chief Slacabamorinico and of modern Mardi Gras. Cain portrayed “Slac,” as he is commonly referred to, many times after his debut in 1867 until his death in 1904. When Cain died, it was said the chief died with him. However, one of Mobile’s native sons, Julian Rayford, resurrected the chief in 1967.

Rayford believed Cain’s rightful resting place was next to his parents in the Church Street Cemetery here in Mobile. So after 11 years of insisting, Rayford got his wish. In 1966 Cain, along with his wife, were disinterred from the Oddfellows Cemetery in Bayou La Batre and moved back to the Port City.

Rayford was there when Cain was disinterred. He took Cain’s skull, which had a root growing through the eye socket, and held it up to they sky to let the sunlight shine through the eyes. At that moment, according to Slac IV, Rayford “received the spirit of the chief” and the “feathers were passed.”

Since that fateful day in 1967, the feathers have been passed down only three times, and for the last 25 years one man has worn them. Better known as Slac IV, that man is Wayne Dean Sr.

On Tuesday April 16, 1985, at the Church Street graveyard, the scared ritual of the passing of feathers was held over Cain’s grave. Chief Slac III conducted the sacred passing of the feathers, peace pipe and tomahawk along with a few words of wisdom to the soon-to-be chief. According to Slac IV, when the ceremony was completed, he had been handed more than just feathers. He was given 100 years of “Chiefdom,” along with the accompanying responsibilities.

And being the chief ain’t always easy.

Aside from the widespread public appearances Slac has throughout February, he also stays pretty busy the other 11 months.

In the late ‘80s, the Fraternal Order of Police (FOP) chose Mobile as the location to host their national convention. Over 7,000 policemen gathered in the Civic Center and were greeted by three distinct figures: Gov. Guy Hunt, Mayor Arthur Outlaw and none other than Slac IV. While “Old Slac” says this was a huge honor, he recalls his most interesting appearance occurring four years ago.

Bob Shultz, a “big band leader” as Slac IV referred to him, passed away in 2006. His funeral was held at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception downtown, but this wasn’t your typical memorial service. After all of the family had been seated, Slac IV walked down the center aisle and sat directly in front of the Bishop’s chair. After the memorial service ended and as people filed out of the cathedral, the chief, along with Shultz’s family, danced their way out of the church.

“We were rejoicing and celebrating Bob’s life, and in dancing we were celebrating it some more,” Dean explained. “That’s one thing the chief is all about, celebration.”

When it comes to celebrating, the chief is a seasoned veteran. But not in the sense of the old song “Celebration,” which Old Slac says is “the worst song ever written.” No, the chief believes celebration can only be achieved by engaging with others.

On the days the chief parades, he makes it a point to play with children before he climbs onto his wagon. During the parade route you might find him dancing among the crowd. Whatever he has to do to bring a smile to people’s faces, as long as it isn’t illegal or immoral, the chief will give it a shot.

“People don’t live in vacuums,” the chief said, before pausing to choose his next word. “They don’t have to have everything perfect to go to a parade. They may still be behind on their bills, or facing some other problems. But they still come,” Old Slac said with a smile on his face. “That’s important for the human spirit. That even in the worst of times you can still enjoy something that’s totally foolish or irrational. That’s me,” he said.

The chief recalls one Sunday in particular when he was leading a procession through Cathedral Square and saw a lady sitting there, so he picked her up and they began dancing.

“I don’t know whether she was there after church or waiting for someone or what. But, she got right into it and danced. If you can make people dance when they hadn’t planned on it, that’s neat,” he explained.

Clearly the chief is all about having a good time. He even admitted to stepping up to the microphone back in the day and covering songs such as “Soul Man” and “Mustang Sally.” But he admits his favorite song during Mardi Gras, “Ain’t No Place to Pee on Mardi Gras Day,” rarely gets any airplay around Mobile during this holiday.

When Slac IV steps off of his wagon this year he will be entering his 26th year of chiefdom. As of right now, he doesn’t plan on passing the feathers anytime soon. But, he’s always keeping an eye out for his successor. “ A person fit to be the chief is someone who embodies the spirit of creativity that Joe Cain possessed. Who knows, it may be a woman. As long as they keep the spirit of carnival and Mardi Gras alive, that’s all that matters,” he said.

Widows in mourning

In 1974 the mystic society of “Cain’s Merry Widows” was founded in Mobile. Formed solely to celebrate their late husband, Joseph Stillwell Cain, the widows only appear in public wearing their “funereal black dresses and veils,” never revealing their true identities. While the society consists of more than 25 widows, only 20 are allowed to appear in public at one time. Fortunately, I had the pleasure of meeting a few of the ladies one recent night.…

Tape recorder, check. Extra tape, check. Notepad, two pens, check. I had everything I needed to conduct the interview I had scheduled with some of the lovely ladies of the mystic society “Cain’s Merry Widows” when I pulled into T.P Crockmier’s on a Wednesday night. But, I never changed tapes, only used one pen and lost my note pad (thanks T.P for all of the napkins I used to suffice for the misplaced notepad).

I walked into T.P’s at precisely 7 p.m. to find the lovely Mahalia alone at a table for eight and sipping elegantly on an “Absolut Stress.” The dim lights of the bar made her seem almost like a veiled angel in all black as I approached. She extended her black-gloved hand and introduced herself politely as any Southern belle would. I took a seat at the table and ordered my first drink of the night, a Yuengling.

Mahalia and I had only been talking for a couple of minutes before three other widows appeared at the entrance of the bar. Mary Jane, Sue Ellen, Isabelle and their “man servant” for the evening, Sir Georges, spotted us immediately and gracefully made their way over to the table. Conversations sparked up all over the bar as people began to catch glimpses of these dark-veiled figures as they joined their fellow widow and the out-of-place male with shaggy hair.

Sir Georges pulled out a chair for each widow to take a seat and did not sit until he was sure they were all situated comfortably. I stood up awkwardly and introduced myself to each widow and fumbled for my pen to jot down each name. Sue Ellen didn’t hesitate to call me out. “What are you doing?,” she asked through her lacey black veil. “Honey, you don’t have to worry about remembering our names, you won’t forget them, I promise.” She was right about that.

Sue Ellen told me to tread carefully with my questioning, since there were certain things the ladies would “refuse” to tell me. So, in a moment of improvisation I said, “I just want to get to know you ladies.”

“Well, pull out your chair honey, and I’ll sit you on your lap,” Sue Ellen said playfully. I took a long swig of my beer, polishing it off, ordered another and looked at my watch — it was only a quarter to eight.

After I had the honor of receiving a “warm garter” from Sue Ellen (only the luckiest of people have the privilege of understanding the term) Isabelle decided it was time for a drink and placed an order for a vodka tonic. Sue Ellen followed her lead and ordered a “Damn Yankee” (a shot of Kahlua, a shot of vodka and shot of the establishment’s best bourbon). Mahalia instructed the waitress that if a Yankee was in the building to have him stir the drink with a finger. I happened to look down at Sir Georges sitting at the end of the table, and he flashed a grin that reminded me of some words of wisdom Chief Slac had given me about the widows. “Just have fun with them. They are all about having a good time.”

The next drink I ordered was a vodka tonic. It was time to join the widows.

When Sue Ellen received her “Damn Yankee” she began to sob and speak of how much she missed Joe. As I tried to console her and comfort her on my shoulder, the other widows at the table began to weep also. But the weeping quickly turned into bickering between the widows when Sue Ellen uttered the statement “Joe loved me best. I was his favorite.” All at once they began to shout and exclaim that Sue Ellen was mistaken, that each of them was Joe’s favorite. I soon learned that this was the only thing these lovely ladies argued about, besides who gets to be the “tush” inspector for would-be man servants.

In the midst of all this commotion, a woman visiting from Washington, D.C. approached the table cautiously. She asked the widows to take off their veils because they were scaring her. When they explained that they couldn’t do so, the woman replied with “Lock and load. That’s all I’m saying. I’m locked and loaded.” Fortunately she wasn’t speaking in terms of locking and loading guns, but rather her fist. Still, the situation was tense.

However, these ladies did what they do best — turned on the Southern charm.

I watched as they gathered around the frightened woman and coaxed her out of her hostile mode by explaining that they were merely celebrating their late husband, and also placing bead after bead around her neck ‘till she could hardly hold it up. After they had spread word of their devotion to Joe to a foreigner, they were in rare form.

The widows mingled with everyone in the bar. And when I say everyone, they didn’t dismiss a single person. They took pictures, handed out beads, gave out garters and at one point were even out on the dance floor cuttin’ a rug to “Proud Mary.”

Chief Slac was right; these ladies were all about having a good time. As the band roared on a cover of Bob Seger’s “Night Moves,” I asked Sue Ellen what it was like to be married to Joe.

“Honestly, that was the nicest man you could have ever hoped to be married to,” she whispered softly into my ear. “He was such a wonderful husband.” The other widows overheard me ask Sue Ellen this and made sure I knew “he liked to party.” And when I asked the question “what was Joe’s ideal woman” each widow answered “me” in unison.

With the night growing late and glasses beginning to accumulate on our table, the widows became serious with me for a brief moment. They told me they party to celebrate Joe’s life, and for no other reason. That being married to Joe has kept them “youthful and vivacious through the years. Like the fountain of youth.” I could have used a little “youth” to keep up with these women.

I wiped my eyes and looked at my watch to see the time 2:30 a.m. staring back at me, and only one widow left out of the four. Sometime during the night the others had made their way home, thanks to Sir Georges, but had been thoughtful enough to leave one there to answer anymore questions I may have conjured up over the night.

I had one question left, and it was simple — “Can I get a ride home, please?”