Going Out New Orleans Style

From the Times-Picayune:

Surrounded by friends, family and the trappings of his extravagant lifestyle, fried-chicken magnate Al Copeland was laid to rest Monday after a Mass in which the man everyone knew for his outlandishness was described by a priest as a humble, penitent man who spent his last weeks trying to "get right with the Lord."

"Most people knew Al Copeland as someone who lived in the fast lane," Monsignor Christopher Nalty said during a Mass at Holy Name of Jesus Church. "They didn't realize that he knew that the Catholic Church was the one road to heaven."

Monsignor Nalty, I did not know that "the Catholic Church was the one road to heaven", but if you say so....

Copeland, who built the Popeyes fried-chicken franchise into the third-biggest such franchise in the country, died on Easter in Munich, Germany, of complications from cancer treatment.

The chicken was good, Al, mighty good. Every so often, I had to have my fix of your Popeye's fried chicken and your 400 calorie biscuits.

Although Copeland may have eschewed much of his characteristic bravado in his final months, mourners saw plenty of reminders of his over-the-top style when they reached the family mausoleum in Metairie Cemetery. Nine cars, eight motorcycles, a sport-utility vehicle and a dune buggy were parked in a semicircle. A motorcycle was at the gate, and Copeland's outsize speedboat, with tongues of flame on each side, was nearby.

Al, you couldn't take it with you, but you came close.

Copeland's body was borne in a horse-drawn hearse with oval windows that let everyone see the gleaming bronze casket. Leading the way was the New Orleans Spice Jazz Band, which played a doleful medley of "My Way" and "St. James Infirmary" as grand marshal Jennifer Jones took long, slow steps in her spats-covered shoes, her gloved hand over her heart.

The path leading to the mausoleum's door had been strewn with white rose petals, and tiny beads resembling Christmas lights -- a reminder of Copeland's over-the-top yuletide displays -- had been threaded through some of the white flowers that banked the stand where the coffin rested. The mausoleum door was open, revealing a stained-glass window depicting an oil lamp throwing off beams of light.
....

Although there were allusions to Copeland's fast-track life -- his neighbor Jay Polite said living next door was "like living next door to Elvis" -- the dominant impression was of a desperately ill man, confined to a wheelchair, who stopped off at the Vatican six weeks ago en route to Germany because, Nalty said, he wanted to get his spiritual affairs in order, starting with an audience with Pope Benedict XVI.

Let's see. It was four wives and four divorces and a lotta time and money spent in court.

But because the pope was on retreat, "Al got stuck with me," said Nalty, a New Orleans native who is a member of the Roman Curia, the small bureaucracy that runs the Catholic Church.

Wow! The Roman Curia. Now that's impressive.

Perhaps it was for the best, Nalty said. "Al didn't speak Italian and German, and the pope didn't speak no yat."
....

Because 11 was Copeland's lucky number, 11 white doves were released, followed by 111 gold and white balloons.

At New Orleans funerals, jazz bands always end with something upbeat.

This time, the selection was "Love That Chicken from Popeyes."

Fittin' only fittin' that.

Love ya, Al. May you rest in peace and rise in glory.

I liked the way the newspaper did the story, a little tongue in cheek, but in a fond and gentle way, acknowledging the passing of another of the New Orleans eccentrics, of which there are many, both great and small.