ABATE’s New Orleans Toy Run

Winter’s bite has always pushed those who call the road home far into the south. As my old Electra Glide made its faithful journey for the warmer climates of southern Florida it seemed a nice idea to visit B.B. Saint Roman, who lives in the French Quarter of New Orleans. And although the air grows colder now, so many wonderful things have happened here that I’ve not yet wanted to leave. To date I’ve been camped in B.B.’s back yard for almost a month. Eventually though, as it always does, the time will come to move on, but as yet I’m content with the days here.

B.B.’s history is uncommonly colorful and to date she is one of the most interesting people I’ve known. Hailing from the generation just before my own, BB was the road manager for Dr. John for 10 years; traveled repeatedly to over 40 countries with him, and later as sound person for an outfit that made documentaries around the globe. But for 20 years now she’s been living in the French Quarter of New Orleans where she works with the police department in the field of homeless assistance. While working with a film crew she lived for nine months in the Himalayan Mountains with the Shaman of that region; has spent personal time with the Dalai Lama (knows him on a personal level actually); and another two years traveling with Mother Teresa. In fact, being here is like living with a little Mother Teresa, and it seems that the whole city knows and loves her. This has been a fantastic experience for me.

Although I have been keeping a log of New Orleans adventures on facebook, it was only yesterday that I thought to ask Bandit if he’d mind me posting a few things here, and he said yes. Although there have been so many different facets to this stay, I’ve decided to offer this little piece about ABATE’s New Orleans toy run for, as you will see, it is unlike any I’ve been to before…

ABATE of Louisiana was founded by B.B.’s late husband Pops some 33 years ago. Pops then organized this toy run the following year. Its purpose is to benefit the residence of a home for mentally retarded kids. Well…almost kids. Although their ages range from 6 to 60, most have the mind of a 5-year-old child. But we brought no toys this day because, before the run ever started, each kid (I really can’t call them anything else) gets to write down what he wants from Santa Claus. These wish lists are then distributed by the C.M.A (Christian Motorcycle Association), ABATE and other motorcycle groups to their own members. Each participant then takes that list and gets that child his or her presents.

Pops must have been one hell of a man.

There was a police escort to the residence as whole families stood at roadside to wave as some of the riders threw candy or gum. As we pulled in, among others, one kid stood outside dressed in his leather vest and painted motorcycle helmet yelling and jumping.

Once inside the huge room, we moved along the wall as the staff fed us jambalaya, sandwiches, coffee, and hot chocolate while most residents sat at the round tables and chairs at room-center. The most interesting thing I found about these kids is that most mentally retarded people harbor no ability to keep their feelings inside, nor would they probably understand why there might ever be a reason to do so. No. They wore their emotions on their sleeves for the entire world to see, and in vibrant living color.

Although some were rather stoic, many beamed at us, laughed, or smiled until I thought their faces might just crack and fall off. I found it impossible not to become caught up in their elation on the day of this grandest event…and the coming of Santa Claus!!! It seemed impossible for me not to be happy right along with their crazy asses.

As Santa and Ms Claus stood with their elves at the front of the room calling the name of each child, one at a time, some of the kids ran up and hugged him with their big, nutty smiles. One girl came running across the room screaming his name and when she hit him with her over-zealous embrace, I thought she might just knock him over. After all, they do still believe in him. And why shouldn’t they?

I spent time talking with many residents and got more than my share of hugs. One kept saying to me, “I’ve been a good boy. I’ve been a good boy!” When I asked what he got, he told me a CD player, and again I thought his grin might just crack his head in half. You see, every kid got exactly what they asked for.

Pops had a really great idea when he came up with this one. In his absence the toy run has been carried on by the local ABATE chapter. For many years Kinky Kathy was a strong participant in this event, but she succumbed to diabetes not long ago and, at the rally’s beginning, a memorial service was held for her. Then, on the ride to the residence, and as per her wishes, some of her ashes were spread along the highway. B.B. was given a little canister of them as well for, being Pops’ widow (and somebody that everyone around here just seems to love anyway), she was counted as somewhat of a celebrity among the crowd.

Note: The motorcycle police who were the escort for this procession used to do it for free. B.B. told me that they loved to do it (it was true that I saw a few playing with their sirens and having fun as we all passed by the families at roadside) but ever since they got a new boss, Sheriff Newell Normand, the bikers have been forced to pay somewhere between $2,000 and $3,000 for the escort to bring toys to mentally retarded kids. What an asshole man. If you live in the area DON’T VOTE FOR THIS FUCKING GUY. He is against us.