19th annual Redneck Christmas Parade in Baucomville, Louisiana.
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BAWCOMVILLE, La.— A grinch in a biker vest waving from a motorized recliner. A Christmas tree bedecked with red Solo cups and Miller Lite and gas cans. Toilet paper streaming from a leaf blower and Santa throwing bystanders ramen noodles from a trailer-mounted privy.
From Georgia to Louisiana, South Carolina, Tennessee and Kentucky (where they're called Hillbilly), ‘tis the season for redneck Christmas parades.
"This area here, we're all about hunting, fishing, mud-digging - everything outdoors. Rednecks have always been portrayed as those. And we're proud to be that," said Pam Mann, whose family runs the local feed store and construction company. They first organized the annual parade in this unincorporated northern Louisiana community 19 years ago as a charity to benefit local residents.
This year's parade held last Saturday raised at least $5,000 - as much as last year - and was expected to benefit at least 110 local children, Mann said.
Being called redneck can still be an insult. But the term, originally used to deride poor White Southerners from rural areas, has been co-opted in much of the Deep South and transformed into a point of pride.
That's especially true here, in the area made famous by the local Robertson family behind the reality television show "Duck Dynasty." Rednecks, parade participants said, are who you need after a hurricane hits: folks with tools, heavy equipment and know-how.
They brought their dumpsters, tractors and lifted monster trucks to the parade, decked out with reflective ornaments and a deer head with a red nose dubbed "Leroy the Redneck Reindeer."
Some said they didn't consider themselves rough enough to qualify, even parade participants on floats dressed head-to-toe in camouflage they'd worn to hunt the previous week.
But many others at the parade proudly identified as rednecks. "Absolutely!" said Wes "Wildman" Ragus, 38, a truck driver from West Monroe who attended with his extended family.
Sitting on the back of his pickup in a camo hat and jacket with his friend, Kyle Williams, 42, a heavy equipment operator, Ragus held antlers from a deer he'd recently shot and recalled his best parade favors or "throws": turnips, ramen and toilet paper.
"We collect that, take that back home and use it," Ragus said.
"Heck yeah! That stuff's expensive nowadays," said Williams, 42.
"It is! So is ramen noodles. And if you catch some turnips with your ramen noodles, you got a meal," Ragus said.
"Excellent meal," Williams agreed. "And if you hit a deer on the way home, you got fast food at its finest."
As the parade wound its way down a handful of streets, participants passed battered wood shacks and trailers.
Bawcomville's paper mill is still operating, its smokestacks a backdrop for the parade's final stretch. But the community has been shrinking down to less than 3,000, about 40 percent of whom live in poverty, according to the last census. Median income: About $42,000.
The opioid epidemic has taken a toll. Of 120 floats in this year's parade, several were sponsored by drug recovery programs. Spectators caught pregnancy tests, diapers, chili-pattern underwear and coins entitling them to discounted divorces with a local lawyer.
Mann said donated toys and food often go to children being raised by grandparents because their parents are in jail.
"It's come as you are or how you want to - use your imagination," said Tye Lutrick, 36, a bearded diesel mechanic dressed in overalls and a cowboy hat. Lutrick dared those on passing floats to throw him loot.
Is he a redneck? "Many people would say I am," he said, smiling.
"A lot of that has to do with how you think."
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