Having ‘masked Indian’ since he was 6 years old, ‘Wildman Mackie’ Williams sports the kind of costume that would make any wildman proud.

When a wildman starts hollering and zig-zagging across a street ahead of his Mardi Gras Indian gang, there’s only one thing for a spectator to do – get out of the way. Which is exactly the point, for the wildman’s aim is to clear a crowd and create a path for his big chief to pass through.

  The big horns on a wildman’s head piece, which distinctively mark his position in the Mardi Gras Indians, are enough to intimidate the stoutest of heart. That’s especially true if he bends down and those pointy tips take aim at you. Children’s eyes often widen at the approach of the ferocious Indian, scared that they may be his target. Even those who follow the Indians know enough not to mess with a wildman on a mission. When he wants you to move, you will move.

  While it may not necessarily have to be in his nature, a wildman has to project an aura of savagery. "The name ‘wildman’ speaks for itself," says Malcolm "Wildman Mackie" Williams of the Creole Wild West. "It’s a rough position ’cause you’re running through people and keeping a vast crowd off your chief."

  Williams is one of three wildmen with the Creole Wild West, which is the only gang presently on the streets with that many Indians "running" in this position. Williams, who was a spyboy in the gang and became a wildman in 1979, shares duties with fellow wildmen Vincent Carter and Aubrey Duncan. Wildman Mackie has been involved with the Indians all his life, masking for the first time when he was 6 years old. Even during those years when he didn’t mask, he’d help others sew their suits. His father, Clarence "Goat" Hannican, masked with numerous gangs, including the Creole Wild West, while his uncle Lawrence Fletcher was big chief of the White Eagles.

  "At that time, I had the suit on, but I was really scared of Indians," remembers Williams, adding that gangs sometimes boasted between 18 and 25 Indians. It is perhaps the recollection of this fear that makes Williams hesitate in truly frightening children in his path. "That’s what we do," he concedes. "But today, I try to take that away from kids, because I don’t want that bad image. These days, things are changing. A long time ago – in the ’40s and early ’50s – I don’t even think I could have been a wildman, because I wouldn’t fit the description of being really wild."

  In those earlier times, the wildman wasn’t supposed to be "pretty," the common description for a Mardi Gras Indian costume of particular aesthetic quality. Instead, the wildman emphasized a grittier look to heighten that element of fear.

  "They weren’t pretty, they used to be raggedy," veteran Big Chief Tootie Montana says of wildmen of the past. He describes the wildmen as looking a lot like the members in Zulu parade, with blackened faces and straw aprons. They’d wear long black union drawers, sleeveless jackets with fur and rings in their noses. "They were nasty to look at," says Montana. "Back then it didn’t go by how pretty they looked, it went by how bad they was."

  Montana recalls a particular Indian, Wildman Rock, as the "baddest they ever had." Wildman Rock masked with the Yellow Pocahontas before World War II and later with the 8th Ward Hunters, the gang led by Montana’s father. Described by Montana as strong, the 200-pound Wildman Rock was known to live at one of the city’s garbage dumps.

  Wildman Rock, says Montana, would run through a crowd like there wasn’t anybody there. His suits were made from material he gathered from the dump as well as found items people saved for him. Rock rarely appeared in public except for just before and during the Mardi Gras season. "You’d see him like a groundhog," says Montana. "He’d just come out on around the Sunday before Christmas. He’d come around my place and say, ‘Hey Tana, when you gonna practice?’ They’ll never be another Rock."

  Through the years, wildman suits became increasingly elaborate, with feathers and beadwork sometimes even rivaling the grandeur of spyboys and flagboys. Yet they still often remain somewhat simpler and lighter than those worn by other Indians. It was for these reasons that Williams, who had previously "run" spyboy, chose to become wildman after returning home from his military service. With Mardi Gras nearing, he liked the convenience of making a wildman’s suit. He also liked the mobility that the wildman’s less-intricate outfit allowed, freeing him up to run and dance.

  "[Being a wildman] was just something I got stuck in and I got better at doing it," he says. "People like to see me play the position. When I’ve got people that follow me and watch what I do and love what I do, I’m satisfied. It makes my day."

  Big Chief "Little Walter" Cook of the Creole Wild West, who has been masking since 1963 and became chief in 1976, thinks that being one of three wildmen allows Williams freedom to be more laid back. While Cook believes that Williams does his share of hollering and dancing and excels at protecting him, Williams could be considered a "sweeter" (or friendlier) wildman than most. "You know, I’d be laughing some time because when a crowd would get too heavy and the rest of [the wildmen] would do their thing," Cook says, "and Mackie would tell you, ‘Excuse me, could you open up a little bit?’ I told him, ‘Mackie, you’re the most polite wildman I’ve ever seen.’"

  A respected veteran on the streets, Williams was intent on gaining the position of "top dog" among the wildmen following the death of the renowned Bird of the White Eagles. Bird actually went under the title of Medicine Man rather than Wildman and was one of the few to use that designation. "I’m dedicated to playing the part," says Williams, "so that’s why I got a lot of attention. I’m not a big guy, but I still got a reputation in this, and it took me a long time. I mean, I had to wait my turn. I just don’t want to be pretty out there, I want to really play the position."

   Williams has no desire to ever become chief of a Mardi Gras Indian gang, and expects to remain in the position of wildman. Masking Indian and just being a part of the culture is what’s important to him and central to his life.

  "It’s like getting my toy on Christmas Day when I put that Indian suit on," he says. "I get my joy from it and I also get a lot of heartaches and pain from it because you stay up a lot of nights sewing. But once I get out there and have my fun, I love doing that. It’s a glorified thing to me." .