Rest in peace, Ruthie

A small but diverse assembly of mourners bids farewell to a

French Quarter character of the highest order

Posted by Chris Rose, New Orleans Times-Picayune, September 21, 2008

Ruth Grace Moulon was laid to rest this past Monday in the pouring rain in a family plot in the stately Greenwood Cemetery, at the terminus of the Canal Street streetcar line, in what

I guess you would call the New Orleans Cemetery District -- where people come from all over the world to see our Cities of the Dead majestically rise from the ground to lay their claim to what is arguably the most alive city in the world.

Perhaps due to the weather or perhaps to the timing -- a post-hurricane Monday afternoon when the world's financial stability was caught in a grave downpour (pun intended) of instability and doubt -- the gathering of family and friends was surprisingly sparse, yet expectedly diverse and passionate. After all, Ruthie was, by any measure, a legendary character. Depending on when and if you knew her personally, or whether your familiarity with her was derived from the impressive wealth and depth of local oral history, Ms. Moulon would have been known to you as A) Ruthie the Duck Girl or B) Ruthie the Duck Lady.

Of no matter. At either stage of her maturity, she was a French Quarter character of the highest

order. It is undocumented (and not for lack of trying; Ruthie drew documentarians like, well -- like she

drew ducks) at what point in her life she went from "duck girl" to "duck lady," but there was never a

known period of her life when the word "duck" was not affixed to her name or introduction.

As a young, frail and eager waif -- with a physical stature no match for even a Virginia Slim 100 -- to an aging, frail and decidedly less vigorous spinster, Ruthie was in constant companionship with one or more ducks for virtually all of her life. Admittedly, in her most recent years, living under the more austere auspices of the St. Charles Health Care nursing home -- as opposed to say, Johnny White's Sports Bar -- most of her fowl companions were restricted to that of the species manufactured in China. But for most of her 74 years -- didn't everyone think she had to be at least 100? -- she lived, dined, drank and danced with real ducks.

And so it was, that as the unceasing downpour drenched the assembled mourners, the funeral's chief celebrant, Monsignor Robert Massett of St. Mary Magdalen Church in Metairie, took note of the water pooling at and soaking through everyone's footwear and commented in rather unpriestly fashion: "Even today, she chose the damn ducks over the rest of us!" Indeed. In a town in which funerals are near-mythic events unto themselves, and in which distinguishing oneself in the field of eccentricity is akin to entering the Baseball Hall of Fame in a Yankee uniform, Ruthie the Duck Lady's interment was fittingly both mythic and eccentric.

The small but magnificently disparate assembly of mourners -- maybe 60 in all -- comprised elder family relations, representatives sent from the New Orleans police and fire departments, assorted musicians of varying genres, Jackson Square artists, Bourbon Street bartenders, documentarians (how they loved Ruthie!), and others drawn randomly from the ranks of the business, commerce, hospitality and striptease industries, in addition to the requisite smattering of 9th Ward hipsters. In short, Ruthie's people.

C