Mac Rebennack or as his many fans knew him Dr. John,  has begun his journey to the other side. Guided by the One Great Spirit he felt controlled all things. Thousands of New Orleanians took to the streets to march in his honor recently, WWOZ has played amazing tribute shows filled with his music as many have been sharing their lovely tales of this utterly unique individual. Many fitting tribute pieces have been written recently that outline his massive body of work and the joy of his character as well. I urge all to read those. Dr. John’s discography is 5 lifetimes worth of music and humanity’s richer for it. His history and legacy runs so deep as does the personal mark he left on people. I want to share the memories that this dearly departed piece of history left me with. 

    My personal interactions with the Good Doctor weren’t vast. As many of us did here in New Orleans I knew him from afar, but occasionally had the honor of getting a bit closer. Part of the beauty of this town is how our heroes aren’t some phantoms holed up in mansions that you rarely see unless you buy an expensive ticket. They’re right there with us in our daily lives. Once Mac Rebennack returned home to live in New Orleans in the late 2000’s you’d see him pop up in various places within the city when not touring. We used to see him sitting on his porch on Oak Street when he was staying in that neighborhood, happy to give a friendly wave to those who passed by and hanging out in different restaurants or the occasional bar. Nothing like going to grab some late night sushi off Carrollton Ave at 11;30pm and seeing the Night Tripper sitting 2 tables away from you. He was known to occasionally chew the fat with New Orleanians who caught him at the right place at the right time. But we all tried to respect his space. He had that kind of vibe. It was always just an honor to stand there and breathe the same air as him. He was a man of the people and lived his life that way. He always seemed more comfortable and honored to receive the love of New Orleans’ neighborhood characters, musicians and culture bearers than he did the accolades bestowed on him at fancy award shows. After all, nobody ever invited Professor Longhair to the Grammys… So how cool can they really be? Mac was a down home cat feeling safer and more relaxed in the toughest parts of the Crescent City than he did in some bourgeoisie setting. Seeing him in the streets at second lines was special for he always had such a smile on his face watching brass bands and Mardi Gras Indians march through the streets of his hometown. Greeting folks he knew from the neighborhood along the way. 

    First time I ever saw him in the flesh was at a benefit show at Tipitina’s in 2003 with Art Neville and Buddy Guy. Henry Butler (RIP) also sat in. It was my first time seeing most of those players and it blew me away. I was a young college kid from Atlanta, not even old enough to drink yet but standing in that crowd I felt like I’d really found myself. I knew right then and there that this place was Home. The show was sold out so I squeezed through a hole in the fence outside and climbed over some dumpsters to sneak in. Christian Duque (a great musician in his own right and still a good friend) busted me, but out of the kindness of his heart chose to walk me on to the dance floor instead of kicking me out. I guess he admired my dedication! We remain friends to this day. I specifically remember them playing the old Chris Kenner classic “Something You Got” which my young Georgia-born ass had never heard at that point. It made me go home and study this music voraciously. Taking to those studies much more than I did my curriculum at Loyola. From then on the flood gates of fonkiness were opened up and I haven’t looked back since. Since that night I probably saw Mac play somewhere between 50-100 times and loved them all. Every show was special. 

    Mac embodied everything that New Orleans represents. The joy and the pain. The beauty of its people, their music and the grueling struggles they have to face to survive. It wasn’t an easy road for Mac and he had the scars to prove it. Yet he never let his light go out no matter how in tune with the darkness he was. He was like no other. He had his own style, his own cuisine, his own very unique and colorful vocabulary and his own religion. All deeply rooted in the city of New Orleans. He could’ve come from nowhere else.

    The man was so devoted to his hometown. Not only did he do his best to heal its people with his music, but he was also involved in a plethora of charities and righteous causes. He performed at so many different benefit concerts to help any organization he felt worthy. Whether it was trying to get healthcare for his fellow musicians at the New Orleans Musician’s Clinic, saving the wetlands, rebuilding people’s homes after the storm or helping WWOZ just to name a few, the Good Doctor had a huge heart and always tried to help others. I remember a friend who tour managed Voice of the Wetlands Band telling me that Mac would refuse his paychecks for any gig he played with them, instead insisting that his compensation be donated to the Save the Wetlands charity. That’s virtually unheard of in this business. Dr. John was a true environmentalist. After all, those gris-gris bags and the hoodoo faith he practiced is deeply rooted in nature. He was in tune with the Earth and was disgusted by what he saw many of us humans doing to it. 

    One day, I believe in 2006 I was sitting in for Marc Stone’s Soul Serenade on WWOZ. I’d been running a bit behind that day and hadn’t had much time to prepare for my show. There were people in and out of the studio all day and things were a bit hectic as we were on the verge of one of our fund drives. I threw on a 10 minute song to give myself some time to get my playlist down when the phone rang. “Great.” I thought, “probably someone calling to tell me they don’t like this song” But when I picked it up I heard the quintessential voice that could only come from one man… “Hey this Mac Rebennack, I heard it was ya’ll’s fund drive and I want to see what I can do to help!” Now I’ve had goofy friends try to prank me on the radio before, but there was no mistaking this voice on the other end of the line, it was the High Priest of Hoodoo, the Night Tripper, Dr. John the one and only. I thought I was going to freeze up but a wave of calm just fell over me like a warm blanket as I leaned back in the chair. “Mac! Where y’at, baby?” I said in my “coolest” voice. We started chatting just like 2 old friends. “Aw man, I’m up here in New Jersey freezing my damn balls off!” He lamented as I described the lovely day we were having in the Crescent City. The evening before had been St. Joseph’s Night and the Mardi Gras Indians had been out in full force. I told him all about it and that made him so happy. I truly believe he was feeling homesick that day and just wanted to talk to someone in New Orleans. We kept chatting about the state of our nation and he basically confirmed everything that I was feeling in those days. How our city, state and federal leaders were failing us. That nobody was going to rebuild this town other than the people living here. How we New Orleanians had to come together to save our city and lifestyle. How we needed to focus on healing the environment and try to run these corrupt public servants out the best we could. He exclaimed “Man, these coonasses is the worst voters in history… One of these sumbitches will rob em blind and they’ll just vote him right back in the next time! These damn politicians… and these damn preachers… I trust a pimp more than I trust a goddamn preacher. Shiiit… half these preachers IS PIMPS!” I’ll remember that forever. He then went on to talk about the wetlands and more. I ended up passing the phone around the studio once people heard Mac was on the line and he happily chatted with everyone. He loved WWOZ and he loved his fellow New Orleanians that much that he took close to an hour out of his day just to check on us.

    We were able to get him back to play Piano Night one of the years I hosted. Announcing him to the stage was a thrill and an honor for me. He was nice as could be though he was visibly exhausted with it being the busiest time of year for all of us, him especially. He was weary and struggling to stay awake as he stood beside me waiting to go on. He sat down at the piano, started playing & right before the first verse I saw him close his eyes and breathe in a long slow inhale. He reached deep down inside and I could feel him summon the energy as he opened his eyes back up then moaned the blues into that microphone like no other. I doubt many of the crowd even noticed,  but standing side stage I saw just how much effort the Doctor put into it. The man always gave everything he had to his audience. He also did a duet with Ellis Marsalis that night that was just beautiful. Two masters sharing song all in the name of preserving the New Orleans piano tradition and WWOZ. Moments like that are why I chose to live here. 

    In 2010 the Krewe Du Vieux Mardi Gras krewe made Dr. John king of their annual parade. He rode through the streets on his chariot like the gracious lord that he was. They booked his band the Lower 911 for the ball (always a killer party), hoping that Mac would sit in but no promises were made that he actually would. Mac had a reserved section for himself elevated above the dance floor and that’s where he hung out all night looking down on his loyal subjects as we reveled in the carnival magic. He was dressed in full Dr. John regalia with a giant tophat and a pair of round spectacles with one clear lens and one dark one. Now the Krewe Du Vieux ball is always a surreal experience in its own right but to look up from all its glorious debauchery and see the Night Tripper smiling down upon us as we laughed and danced in our costumes made it even more so. Finally at the end of the night Mac left his perch and approached the stage. Now this was right before the New Orleans Saints Super Bowl victory and the Who Dat Nation was in high spirits. Mac sat down at the keys, leaned into the microphone and said “Who Dat saying they gon’ beat them moth-er-fuck-ing SAINTS!” The whole party erupted into cheer as he then threw down the boogie like only he could. Now I’ve had many a wondrous evening at the Krewe Du Vieux ball and sure I’ll have many more, but that one will always remain on the forefront of my carnival memories. 

    But that wasn’t the only memory of Carnival that the Good Doctor blessed me with. Sometime in either 2006 or ’07 after the Bacchus parade I wandered over to Handa Wanda’s, headquarters of the Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians at 2nd/Dryades in the heart of the 3rd Ward, Central City. The neighborhood Mac grew up in. This was the last Indian Practice before Mardi Gras and many members of the Indian community were in there dancing, beating their tambourines and singing their call and response chants. It was packed full of folks and bursting with energy. The carnival spirits were high and many local musicians and folks from the neighborhood were all there in the utmost celebratory capacities. There’s a balcony above the dancefloor that is reserved strictly for the Wild Magnolias and rarely occupied and standing there was the legendary Big Chief Bo Dollis. Looking down on us like a noble king. Bo’s presence fueled the crowd even more. I looked over and there was Mac just hanging. Catching up with the Indians and local folks from the neighborhood and the array of musicians who had come by. Finally towards the end of Indian Practice Bo Dollis descended down and parted the crowd as he approached the middle of the floor. I found myself standing right next to Mac as Bo led the whole crowd into the Mardi Gras Indian’s most sacred prayer, “Indian Red.” Now Bo was quite the elder at this point and due to health concerns couldn’t get around quite like he used to so his presence marked a special occasion. Having Mac Rebennack there made it even more special though Mac seemed just as humbled and honored to be in Bo’s presence as any of us. The whole crowd joined in singing “Indian Red” and I tried to harmonize with the Good Doctor the best I could. It felt like a dream. I’d never heard his voice acapella in a crowd of people where he wasn’t the centerpiece, but there on the floor of Handa Wanda’s we were equals. Afterwards I stayed out of his way until I was walking out and saw him by the door, I looked him in the eye and repeated his addage “I trust a pimp more than I do a preacher!” He smiled back at me and lifted his hand about an inch from his waist and wiggled his fingers quickly against mine as I went on my way. Guess that was his Hoodoo Handshake. That night felt like a communion of sorts. The kind of experience that reminds you why you can’t live anywhere else. You just never know what might happen on the streets of New Orleans… Especially during Carnival. 

    His body of work speaks for itself. Those songs continue to stand the tests of time and they always will. The records he produced, played on and made helped sculpt the landscape of music. The vibes and wisdom he left with those who had contact with him opened up new horizons in so many souls. He knew how treacherous this world could be but never let that poison the beauty he found in it. So Trip On, Good Doctor onward to the Gloryland. You’ve convened with so many spirits for so long they surely will be rejoicing at your arrival. I know you’ve got plenty of friends and loved ones graciously awaiting your return and those of us still left down here will sing your songs til our lungs run out of air and our ears lose all sound. You were one of the greatest to ever do it and everyone who ever came in to contact with you and your music knows it. We’ll never forget your kindness and all that you gave. We’ve been forever hoodooed and I couldn’t be more grateful for it.

-Stuart "Soul Stu" Raper