Keeping It Fancy

How the Mummers are dealing with the recession.

by Mike Newall

Some Mummers stood in a circle last Sunday afternoon staring at a 6-gallon container and the rusted portable generator lying next to it. The men, members of the South Philly Vikings Fancy Brigade, were perplexed. The generator was for the speakers they had loaded onto a flatbed truck outside their clubhouse. The truck was there to carry them around the neighborhood so they could ask people for donations — something the Vikings don't usually do. But with the budget meltdown, the mayor has slashed the city's contribution to the New Year's Mummers Parade. The Mummers are broke. And so the Vikings loaded up their flatbed for door-to-door boostering. But things being as they are, nobody could say for certain if the 6-gallon container was filled with water or gasoline.

"It's gasoline, I think," said a Viking holding the container to his nose.

"Taste it," somebody said.

"The fuck outta here," the guy answered.

Michael T. Regan

The clubhouse garage quieted as Enrico Sciulli, a young guy with big cheeks, poured the gasoline into the generator, a Powermate 5000, then tugged the pull cord. The old generator shook and clanked and everyone took a few steps back. Sciulli pulled harder, and the flames nearly scorched his sneakers.

A couple guys began ripping plastic wrappings off fire extinguishers.

"Yo, yo don't use those," yelled club supervisor Mike Busillo. "I just bought them. Pour water on it instead."

The flames fizzled, and the men coughed and cursed through the smoke.

Upstairs, at the crowded club bar, everyone was drinking from jugs of homemade wine and cans of Michelob Ultra, watching the tape of the previous day's dress rehearsal. On New Year's, the Vikings perform a choreographed dance at the Convention Center. They've won first place in the Fancy Brigade finale show three of the last four years.

The rehearsal had been held in the club parking lot, and a large crowd of supporters braved the cold to watch. Seventy-seven dancers took their spots, their breath before them. A whistle blew, the music blared and they began to dance.

The Vikings last captured first in 2007, when the theme of their performance was, "Aliens: A Futuristic Encounter." They built a two-story spaceship for that show.

"This year, we're doing an Aztec theme," explained John Latanzo, an electrician and father of two, who was dressed in a bright orange jaguar outfit for the rehearsal. This year, some Vikings will take the Convention Center stage swinging from vines.

Club President Vincent "Boo" Buono nodded his head in satisfaction, then made his way back inside past the costume racks and sat down at a bar couch. Another member quickly brought him a beer.

"It's been a long, tough year," said Boo of the Mummer's financial woes.

The Vikings spend about $150,000 annually for the parade, which they raise through dues — $1,150 a year for every adult member — and fundraisers like lotteries and beef-and-beers. This year, with city funding cut, dues were increased from last year's $1,000. The club has also had to make its own children's costumes, and a member volunteered to paint all the Aztec tattoos and tribal markings onto the dancers' bodysuits, saving about $11,000. (The guy's averaging five hours for three suits, and with 77 suits, his new wife is ready to kill him.) Instead of renting buses to get to and from the Convention Center, Boo, who runs a trucking company, donated flatbeds.

But then there are the feathers.

The ostrich plume is the typical feather of choice for a Mummer costume. But the ancient Aztecs preferred Lady Amherst pheasant feathers and cock pheasant feathers for their tribal duds, so the Vikings imported some from Europe and Asia at six bucks a pop, for a total of $60,000.

That kind of resolve lets the show go on.

Back in the clubhouse garage, the Vikings had loaded a new generator onto the flatbed. The crowd took a step back as Sciulli again crouched over and pulled the cord.

The motor began humming, and a cheer went up.

"Purrs like a kitten," somebody said.

"Get the beer on the truck and let's get going!" yelled Boo.

Dispatch is filed from all corners of Philadelphia. E-mail mike.newall@citypaper.net.