A Great Mardi Gras Story ... Still

This post originally was published on the usenet on Feb 4, 2005, just days ahead of Mardi Gras, or "Fat Tuesday," a celebration of New Orleans and the world over. Not much introduction is necessary:

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The most famous place in Louisiana to buy a Mardi Gras King Cake is Gambino's. Anyone who has lived in New Orleans will tell you that Gambino's is the Betty Crocker of King Cakes. There are competitors of course, Meche's, and more recently WalMart, but Gambino's is the recognized king of King Cake bakers. I would guess that each year thousands of King Cakes are air expressed from Gambino's to homesick Louisianans all over the world.

Each of those King Cakes that are sent, and each of those King Cakes that are bought directly from the store, are encased in a plastic bag upon which are printed Gambino's logo and advertising, including the addresses and telephone numbers of their locations around the state.

I live in Baton Rouge. I haven't had a King Cake all season (dental problems and an expanding waistline), I was craving one (same waistline problem, weaker will but now with a shiny new set of store bought teeth) so I stopped in Metairie today to pick one up. After I complete the purchase and I'm on the interstate home to Baton Rouge, I get a call from a co-worker in Phoenix, Arizona who had never heard of a King Cake (or so he claimed). I described it for him, he starts salivating over the phone and then, as an after thought, I said, "Why don't I just send you one?" He's all excited, I'm no longer in Metairie so I grab the cake I bought and start calling numbers. It's the Friday before Mardi Gras, and I ignorantly made a promise to get a King Cake expressed to the co-worker and his associates.

The first Gambino's I call is Baton Rouge and the telephone is busy. I then call the Metairie location I just visited. "Sorry, last day to order a King Cake for shipment was Thursday. We're all booked up." I then call another New Orleans location. No answer. There's one last location in New Orleans, on Elysian Fields, not far from the French Quarter itself. I dial the number -- 504-xxx-xxxX -- and the phone is answered on the third ring,

"Hello?" came the greeting of an elderly woman.

I ask, "Is this Gambino's?"

"No," she said. I apologized to her, "I'm sorry. I must have misdialed."

"No, you didn't misdial. My telephone number is printed on the Gambino's bags," she said. "The number you want is one digit off. 504-xxx-xxxY," she said. "I get these calls all the time. I've asked Gambino's to change their bags but they won't."

I inquire further. I explain that I'm a former news reporter and I'm naturally nosey. She tells me she's had her telephone number for about 10 years and the calls for the Gambino's location on Elysian Fields started about two years ago. But she tells me she isn't sure if it was longer than that.

I'm an idiot, I think to myself, I'm having this conversation and I didn't even introduce myself.

"I'm Mac McBride, I'm from Baton Rouge. What's your name ma'am?"

"Gabriel," she says.

"Like the angel?"

"Yes," she laughs, "like the angel."

We talk a little more. "I get calls at all hours of the day, late at night, 6-7 o'clock Sunday morning. It's kind of disturbing and it wakes Mr. Gabriel up," she says. "And those poor people who call are so frustrated. I'm frustrated too but there's nothing can be done about it I guess."

Eureka! I think. I've got the solution. "Mrs. Gabriel, if you really want to solve the problem, I mean if you really, really want to solve the problem, I can help you."

"Oh, please, what is it?"

"Call the Times-Picayune," I tell her. "The editor there will eat the story up!" I tell her (not realizing the pun then). "I'll bet this story goes national," I tell her, "International! It's a great story. You'll be famous! All those people from all over the world who've been calling you to order King Cakes will finally know who you are!"

She very gracious and thanks me. I tell her I'll call some friends and see what they say. "I know you're frustrated Mrs. Gabriel, but this is a funny story!" I tell her. "I don't mean to laugh at your predicament but this is a great story!"

Fifteen minutes later I'm on the telephone to Mrs. Gabriel to tell her a former classmate of mine in the MBA program at LSU made the suggestion that she take orders for the King Cakes and start her own business. She passes on that idea and tells me she called the Times-Picayune and "They said they can't do anything to help me. I told them we're subscribers and all. But they said they can't make Gambino's do anything they don't want to do."

I think to myself that Gambino's is undoubtedly a big advertiser, but there is that Chinese Wall between advertising and editorial and that thought quickly slips from my mind.

There's a law in physics that says the obvious answer is probably the right answer ... and the obvious reason is that she called some lazy sonovabitch reporter who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, and if the editor knew he'd blown a story like this, that bum would be out on his ass in the street in a second, with molar marks on his backside and pieces of torn flesh missing. At least, that's what my former editors would've done to him -- but that's old school apparently. If no media outlet picks up this story, it wouldn't surprise me in the least. It doesn't say "Press Release" at the top.

Calls to Gambino's were answered at press time by Mrs. Gabriel, so I can't get their side of the story.

It used to be the job of the newspaper reporter to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, at least that's what Henry Louis Mencken and Carl Kolchak believed. But then reporters put on pinstriped suits and wingtips, moved to the suburbs and boughts SUVs -- in other words, they became comfortable themselves.

I just checked in today with Mrs. Gabriel. No one from Gambino's or any media outlet has contacted her since Mardi Gras but no one's called late at night or early Sunday morning to order a King Cake either. "It's mostly around Mardi Gras. I guess we'll just wait and see what happens next year," she sighed. There are several Gambino's sites around New Orleans and the Elysian Fields site is just one. Luckily the toll-free order line doesn't ring into Mrs. Gabriel's telephone either, so most of her callers are probably local.

But I hope Mrs. Gabriel doesn't hold her breath expecting beneficence and decency from Gambino's. The artwork on the Gambino's plastic that includes her telephone number is Copyright (c) 2000. And if you do the math, that was five years ago ... five long years ago for Mrs. Gabriel.