Goodbye Mardi Gras, Hello Uncertainty

CBSNews.com's Christine Lagorio is reporting on the first post-Katrina Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

The final parade is the annual sweep of the French Quarter by the New Orleans Police Department, local sheriffs and, this year, National Guard and other federal officials.

Police Captain Kevin Anderson told CBSNews.com that crowds weren't as rambunctious this year and that his district's officers, which patrol the heavily trafficked Quarter, "really shined" during the past week. He estimates that arrests were down one-third from previous years, despite that crowds in the eighth district Monday and Tuesday were almost as large by NOPD count as in 2005 and 2004.

"Sure, the krewes were a little smaller than in the past, but it wasn't just the size of the crowds — they were quieter this year, more subdued, respectful," Anderson said.

He and other officers took a breather Tuesday afternoon while waiting for the bead- and booze-fueled crowds of the day's earlier Zulu and Rex parades (watch RAW video) to ebb. And they waited for the midnight hour, when the feast of Fat Tuesday ended.

"After tonight, it's back to business as usual," Anderson said. "We'll be back to patrolling this city."

For most revelers, it was simply time to get back home. For Hurricane Katrina survivor Edgar Sierra, home was just a 20-minute bike ride to a formerly flooded area of the city. But most faced long drives to homes untouched by the floodwaters.

Keisha Mitchell, a 20-year-old student at Prairie View A&M University in Dallas, drove into southern Louisiana Tuesday morning, and was set to duck out before Ash Wednesday dawned. Even though a friend's house in New Orleans sustained hurricane damage, Mitchell said she didn't want to see the worst-hit areas, such as the Lower Ninth Ward or Saint Bernard's Parish.

"I'm here for the culture. It's a special culture," Mitchell said. "It's not about what's been wrecked."

Former FEMA manager Chad Aucoin has been gutting buildings near the breached levees for months, but is heading home to Baton Rouge after spending his last weekend living it up along the Mardi Gras parade routes.

"Right now, celebrating is a pretty good thing for this city. They needed it," Aucoin said. "But even these crowds are small. What's next? Maybe this isn't a good sign."

Amateur crowd estimates along parade routes pegged the crowd at 30 percent to 60 percent of its typical size. But the wry, jovial spirit of the Crescent City popped up in gaudy outfits and satirical costumes mocking federal recovery efforts.

A pirate costume included a sign reading "FEMA worker." A group of twenty-somethings wore self-constructed dresses, hats and knickers make out of blue roof tarp. T-shirts mocking Mayor Ray Nagin's "chocolate city" comment were also popular parade attire.

Dressing up as "mold" — specifically, the toxic mildew left by floodwater that rendered thousands of homes uninhabitable — might seem impossible, but dozens did it. One couple — a woman in a ground-length evening gown and roller-curled hair and a man in green-splattered scrubs — carried a sign reading "The Mold and the Beautiful."

It was evident that New Orleans was prepared for Mardi Gras. The krewes, some coming back after losing members to the hurricane or relocation, as well as damaged floats and light displays, seemed as vibrant as always. And they were well-stocked with throws.

"Usually you're lucky if you get a cupful of beads," said Billy Carroll, a gardener visiting from Atlanta. "There are so many this year you can't pick them all up. I already have two big bags of loot."

What wasn't gotten for free was being bought. Javier, a street vendor from San Antonio, was selling $10 light-up necklaces in the shape of marijuana leaves. He wouldn't give his last name or tell how many he'd sold but said that a similar vendor made $4,500 Sunday working the parade routes.

One sign of rebirth is the sheer number of volunteers in New Orleans who say they have become deeply attached to the city — even in its state of vast disrepair — and might just stick around.

Volunteer carpenter Greg Keefe said he came from Orlando, Fla., to find contract work fixing gutters after Katrina hit, but has taken up working for free in exchange for meals and shelter from the massive rebuilding activist group Common Ground.

Churches are housing scores of young volunteers from Answering The Cries, a religious group that puts its members to work dishing out soup and gutting moldy homes. One volunteer, 20-year-old Josh Iniguez, said he might stay put after Mardi Gras if he didn't have to get back to North Central University in Minneapolis.

For local businesses, survival rests on what remains after the partiers disperse.

Scott Escarra, general manager of Café du Monde (Watch a CBS News broadcast from the café) — a family business that has stuck out storms, wars and riots in the French Quarter for 146 years, said this week's sales — mostly of coffee and beignets — are slightly more than 70 percent of past years. But the crowds are comprised just of tourists, he said, which doesn't help his business sustain itself long-term.

"How much business keeps up after tonight will be the real telltale sign for us of this city's ability to recover," Escarra said.

By Christine Lagorio