SMACK! I got beamed straight in the eye by a pair of pear, white beads while yelling, “Dad! Dad!” as he floated by on a gigantic alligator. That is my first memory of Mardi Gras.

Fifteen years later, I’d be riding right next to him and my big brother. 

Pops always said, “Mardi Gras is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.” Take that for what you will, but suffice to say he really loved this holiday. He joined the KOER in 1994, a Mardi Gras organization in my hometown. His dear friend, John Ambrose, was already in and talked pops into joining.

Shortly after that, my big brother joined. He rode next to my dad on the Gator. So it was two Taylors in a row. 

You had to be 21 to join, but every year my pops would always say, “When you’re 21, you’ll ride next to me and your brother. I can’t wait to have both my sons riding with me.”

Growing up in Fairhope, it was always cool if you knew someone riding. It meant you were guaranteed to catch something. We’d tell pops and Bub (big bro) where we’d be standing on the route, and they would be on the lookout. As a kid, my brother-in-law would park his truck along the route a day early, right across from the local park. 

It is important to give the riders a landmark. It makes it a bit easier to anticipate where your crew will be so they’re easier to spot in the sea of people. But that’s easier said than done, as I would later learn. 

When they would spot us though, it was game on. 

We’d get pelted with beads, footballs, moon pies, and cups. My sister and I would get home and pour out our plastic grocery bags that we used to collect our spoils in, sort of how you do on Halloween. Back in the 90s the world famous Chattanooga moon pies had not hit the parade circuit in lower Alabama, so we’d get these ones in silver wrapping. Literally never knew what  flavor you were going to get…like a box of chocolates. 

As I grew up, I went to the parade with friends and we’d stand next to an old payphone right outside of Papa’s Pizza. Pops and Bub always delivered with the throws. And then, when I was 21, it was my turn.

My first Mardi Gras was on par with what people predict will happen — you have a little too much fun leading up to the ride, and then your brain takes a little nap while your body hurls things into the crowd, you completely miss all of your friends and family, despite telling them, “I’m going to hook you up!” You go to the Mardi Gras ball in your costume, brain still asleep, and eat and dance. Then, you wake up feeling terrible. 

The three of us managed to get a picture together that night in 2009. You can see it above. I had a great time, but my dad had the best time.

For the next 13 years, I spent one night a year (two if you include loading the float the night before) with my dad and big bro. No matter if I was living in Colorado, Florida, or on the road for work, I’d come home every February/March and ride on a gigantic alligator float with two humans I love more than I can express.

It’s about an hour-and-a-half ride around the small town of Fairhope. After it’s over, you say the same thing every year. “Great ride! Crowd was at least 100,000, the news said.” I don’t know about all that. Afterward you went to the ball, danced, ate, and drank. Fortunately, my brain stopped taking naps once I hit 25. I didn’t have time to feel like shit for the next three days.

As pops grew older and his health declined, he had really hard time getting on the float. Our good friend Jeffery would do everything he could to try and make it easier for him. One year he mounted a stool so dad could sit and throw since he couldn’t stand for long. Jeffery built extra steps, installed an easy access “door,” and reinforced a steel pipe running down the center of the Gator to create more stability. Everyone wanted pops to ride, but eventually he physically couldn’t get on the float. 

I promise no one wanted to be on there more than him. It sucked to watch, and even more so that he wasn’t riding with his friends and sons.

Still, my pops would INSIST my brother and I rode. He wanted to hear all about it. “How was the ride,” he’d ask us as soon as it was over. “Great weather? Good music?” 

Dad passed away in September 2022. In February of 2023, we honored him by throwing cups and beads with his face on them. A design by the incredible Chase Moran. The whole float wore a button with his initials on their costume. It is a tradition on the Gator that you wear the initials of any rider that passed away. If you look closely at the design of pops, you’ll see a BS pin and a JA armband. BS stands for Bill Smith, and JA stands for John Ambrose.

Now the riders wear GB on their chest.

I dropped out of the KOER this year. Previously, I had ridden for 13 consecutive years. Last year was tough. Even though he hadn’t ridden for the past 3 years because of health, he always texted and talked to us after the ride. Not getting that call, text, or seeing him the day after was fucking heart breaking.

It makes me sad, knowing I won’t be next to my big bro this year. Sad that I am missing an opportunity to share pops with a crowd. Sad I won’t get to throw things to my nephews and nieces, or take a photo with my sisters before we get on the float. There’s a lot of things that made me sad about it.

At the same time, Mardi Gras season will always make me smile. It will always make me cry. Those memories of riding next to the big guys and Bub have so much joy and happiness packed into them that they’re a strong hit of carry-me-through juice. That’s what I like to call the moments where you get a powerful does of the person that is not longer on this plane of existence. A memory that allows you to continue to continue, to quote Simon and Garfunkel.

With that said, Happy Mardi Gator!

I hope everyone riding in Mardi Gras this year has a great ride. Has great weather, great food, and great music. I know pops does, too.

I also hope you are able to spot your crew in a sea of 100,000 people.