by Webb Williams

I bet when he was born at Hotel Dieu 57 years ago and the doctor slapped his behind, he laughed instead of cried. Louie Nugent loved life and lived it to the fullest, making every moment count and sharing one of the zaniest senses of humor known to mankind. He called himself an Existence Specialist; a Sleeping Millionaire; President & Promulgator of Blind, Cripple & Crazy, LLC; as well as Take My Wife Please, LLC. With Mardi Gras behind us and Jazz Fest right around the corner (two of Louie’s favorite events), now is the perfect time to celebrate one of life’s biggest fans and participants.

The “Nooge” was born “at a very early age,” and realized quickly that, with his eagle beak and bug eyes, he’d have to develop his wits to stand out in the crowd. He poured over joke books and developed a wacky approach to most every situation. His attire was as different from the norm as his madcap attitude. As his dear friend Eddie Rouyer tells it, “the more outrageous he became, the more people loved and accepted him. With family nicknames like [those of] his father, ‘Liver ‘n Onions’ Nugent; his mother, Margaret ‘Face’ Hand; and his stepfather, ‘Apehead’ Thompson, the boy was predestined to be funny.”

Totally surprising to most who knew the Nooge was the fact that he served honorably for four years in the strictest branch of the service—the U.S. Marine Corps. Also out of character was this character’s next life choice: He got a degree in geology and worked for Exxon as a genuine certified geologist. But the 8-to-5 workaday world was not his cup of coffee. He became a teacher, thinking that an 8-to-3 grind, with summers off and long holidays, would be more to his liking. Soon realizing that there was a whole lot more work involved in lesson planning and grading papers, he shifted gears again.

He worked for a time at the Post Office, figuring that he could listen to his music on headphones all day long and exercise while delivering the mail. He could out-dance James Brown, many of us contend, so he entertained along his route. Then he decided to run along his route, finishing within a couple hours, giving him lots more time to spend in his precious coffee shops, listening to his headphones. “Louie advanced a little too much,” recalls Rouyer. “He worked his way up to Postal Inspector—in Washington, D.C., yet!” But going postal wasn’t satisfying enough. He missed everything he adored about New Orleans: the food, the music, the houses, the people. So, he came back home, smilin’ that communicable smile of his.

With friends in the fire department telling the Nooge about their one-day-on, two-days-off schedule, a light bulb went off over his head. “That’s like every workday is a Friday!” he deduced. In spite of perhaps questionable motives, he excelled as a fireman. Maybe his devotion to duty and the regimentation of the Marines paid off, because, after 20 years, he left the fire department with the rank of Captain.

Next, he decided he wanted to become “The Land Lord,” so he became a real estate broker, buying and flipping duplexes. His ads in the newspaper were always creative, especially recently with his post-Katrina listings described as “waterfront property.” Best friend (and psychiatric advisor) Dave “Doc” Mancina recalls that instead of putting a rider on his for sale signs that read “Sold,” Louie’s said instead, “Gone Pecan!”

Often quoting Mother Teresa, “Work without love is slavery,” the Nooge was far from being all work and no play. In 1980, he wed his soul mate, Martha “Sweetie” Bell, who shared his joie de vivre. The wedding site? The New Orleans Jazz Fest, of course, with music provided by Greg Stafford and Dr. Michael White. The Nooge never missed a Jazz Fest if he could help it, and he helped it in many fun ways. He organized bus rides from Mandeville to the Fest with luminaries like Ernie and Antoinette K-Doe, bluesman J. Monque ’D, Ronnie Virgets, Al “Carnival Time” Johnson, and Vince Vance. Return trips included stops at watering holes like the Dixie Beer Brewery, the gravesite of voodoo queen Marie Laveau, Ernie K-Doe’s Mother-in-Law Lounge and Mid-City Rock ’n Bowl. The latter venue was the scene of Nooge’s 55th birthday party, which he referred to as a celebration of “55 years of Self-Dominance.” What a concept. At once profound, yet baffling.

Genius or madman, folks never forgot the Nooge. Mancina says, “It’s kinda’ like when President Kennedy was shot—folks remembered where they were. Same thing with the first time you met the Nooge—you remembered where you were. I don’t know if it was the clothes, the nose, the big eyes, or what.” And you were never quite the same afterwards. Coincidentally, the Nooge was a serious Kennedy assassination investigator, pouring over books and films in hopes of solving the mysteries of the tragedy. He prided himself in doing all his research “under the radar—unbeknownst to the federal government.”

He loved coffee and coffee houses, and was the founding father of the Mandeville Free Thinkers Society, which met to solve the many problems facing mankind—and womankind as well. (After awhile, the group gave up on trying to figure out womankind.) Louie developed a following that appreciated his “fountain of wisdom at 78 RPMs,” though not necessarily fully understanding many of his pronouncements.

Mardi Gras always was a participation celebration with the Nooge, who celebrated everything. Nothing was mundane to him. His clothes came back from the cleaners—let’s party. But everything in moderation. Well, maybe moderately excessive, anyway. Louie created “The Krewe of Motha Roux” and proclaimed himself “King for Life.” (Who would dare dispute his authority?) With incontrovertible logic, he determined that the krewe, which marched in front of the largest parade in carnival, the Krewe of Endymion, would do so without a permit or police escorts. He found out that the fine was actually cheaper than paying for the permit and police. Louie loved loopholes. His krewe of zanies would traipse through strangers’ houses along the route, grab a beer and maybe a sammich, go to the bathroom, and go back out to march for the masses.

In spite of his off-the-wall persona, Louie always found time for his beloved, devoted Martha, and their two fine sons, Ryan Irish and Kyle Patrick. Fishin’, footballin’, scoutin’, paradin’, festin’—Louie found time for it all. He had a typically wacky approach when he coached a little league football team, according to friend Eddie. He named the Mandeville team the Ernie K-Doe Bulldogs. “Louie had a big boom box he made out of a large fishing ice chest. All the kids on the opposing team were on the field working out before the game, but Louie put his boom box on the 50-yard line and had his team dancin’ and rockin’ to Ernie K-Doe tunes for their warm-up!”

Mancina adds, “And he’d also take a voodoo doll and stick pins in it, terrifyin’ the beejezus outta the kids on the other team!”

When Ernie K-Doe was making a comeback, the Nooge and Mancina started the Ernie K-Doe T-shirt Factory. They printed shirts honoring New Orleans music greats like K-Doe, James Booker, Johnny Adams, Roland Stone, Bobby Marchan, Tommy Ridgley, Dave Bartholomew, and, of course, J. Monque ’D. “We had a blast. It was so much fun. And we lost so much money!” Mancina laments.

A New Orleans Saints ticket holder since 1967, Louie, like the late Buddy D, “never lived to see the Saints in a Super Bowl.” He died in January, after a three-year-long battle with colon cancer, although he had only been given three months to live following his original diagnosis. His funeral was a rarified glorious event, having been conceived, choreographed and planned to the minutest detail by pal Mancina and Louie himself. It was a true celebration of his one-of-a-kind life. His dearly loved New Orleans Jazz was played to perfection by the entire Young Tuxedo Brass Band. St. Timothy’s minister, Dr. Larry Maddin, said how touched he and his co-pastor, Rev. Carol Richardson, had been by Louie, even though they knew him for just a short while. He added, “Louie put the ‘fun’ in funeral.”

After the pallbearers put the coffin into the hearse and the last chords of the funeral dirge were played, Mancina cupped his hands and announced to the crowd, “From here we’re gonna’ Second Line around to the gymnasium for the reception as the hearse takes off. So everybody, please do it in ‘Nooge’ fashion!”

We did, and the northshore’s never ever seen a sendoff like Louie’s. In the words of the Nooge, “Soon, Baboon.”