For decades, the Vulcans were like the guy at your party with the lampshade on his head.
A lot of people found him silly but fun – a good guy deep down. When liquored up, though, he could be obnoxious, and his buddies tended to paw the women.
These days, that guy is working hard to get back on your good side.
The Vulcs say they’re toning down their act, reaching out to even more charities and neighborhoods, and being a bit more discriminating in whom they pal around with.
“We want to be naughty and nice – not naughty and creepy,” said Jeff Hunter, president of the Imperial Order of Fire & Brimstone, a Vulcan alumni organization.
As rascally as they are, the Krewe is at the heart of St. Paul Winter Carnival lore. Each year, Vulcanus Rex returns with his seven men to boot out the pompous winter king, Boreas, and hasten the coming of spring.
It’s a lot of zaniness meant to shake up the town in an otherwise dreary time of year.
Without Vulcans, the Winter Carnival would be “booorrrrrinnngg,” said carnival chief Kate Kelly.
They’re a brotherhood for life that does a lot of charity work year-round – something that often goes unrecognized. They visit numerous schools and health care facilities, donate thousands of dollars to charities and act as St. Paul’s ambassadors in other towns and states.
But the Vulcs also had a wild side for decades – boozy, sexually charged antics that made them famous with some and infamous with others.
They’d carouse in bars and chase women through streets, stores and offices. Krewe members would grab the gals and kiss them – or more – smearing their black makeup on the women’s faces to reflect the women’s willingness to show their “allegiance.”
For years, it was condoned by the clubby, good ol’ boy elements of St. Paul, who took a boys-will-be-boys attitude.
But times changed, and a complaint of unwanted smooching and “sexual intimacies” in 1975 prompted officials to outlaw kissing – even with willing women. (Smudging disappeared later, leaving the Krewe to mark people with a black “V” only if they consented.)
The Vulcans also faced a lawsuit over conduct in 1985, and two former Vulcans were convicted of groping in 1998.
The big blow came in 2005 when the reigning Vulcan King, 50-year-old Thomas C. Trudeau, pleaded guilty to inappropriately touching three female bartenders while placing garters on them at Alary’s Bar downtown.
That prompted a task force to outlaw the most problematic Vulcan practices – such as the gartering of women’s legs, heavy alcohol consumption and unscheduled appearances like the one at Alary’s.
Vulcans now undergo criminal background checks and get extensive training on protocol, sexual harassment and cultural sensitivity.
The 2005 incident seems to still frustrate a lot of Vulcans. They see it as an anomaly that has overshadowed decades of behind-the-scenes philanthropy, as well as a reform of the Krewe that began in the 1990s.
Vulcan antics might be hyped, but when it comes to charitable work, “we’re not out there tooting our own horn,” said Mark Salmen, president of the Council of Fire Kings, another Vulcan organization.
But they seem to be working more than ever. Carnival chief Kelly estimates that since 2005 – the year of the Alary’s incident – Vulcans have increased their fundraising by more than 25 percent.
The Vulcs scored big PR points this year when they saved the high-profile Snow Sculpting Competition, which was getting the ax for lack of funding. It turned out to be the best-attended snow competition the Carnival has ever had.
In the coming year, Vulcans will participate in about 200 events, provide hundreds of holiday meals and gifts, and raise thousands of dollars for various causes.
To broaden the organization’s reach on a limited budget, each incoming Krewe member has started choosing a charity to support – not just once but annually.
They’ve established a PR team to set up more neighborhood visits and increase their reach beyond the east metro.
They even have their own promotional video – “Vulcans Unmasked” – produced last year by St. Paul Neighborhood Network.
“We need to work hard to get back to where we were” in popularity, said one former Krewe member who asked not to be named. “And that starts with the kids.”
They made good headway during a visit to Carol Mathey’s Center for Children and Families in Oakdale.
They gave out little trinkets and hammed it up with the kids, who practically clung to Krewe members, giving them hugs and high-fives, cheering “Hail the Vulc!”
Then they moved on to a nursing home, where they knighted the wife of a former Vulcan.
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” said 78-year-old Patricia Bussen.
As the Krewe left the building, one of the Vulcs, seemingly moved, announced: “It’s a good thing we’re wearing goggles.”
“Yeah,” replied Vulcanus Rex, “this is what it’s all about.”
Alex Friedrich can be reached at afriedrich@pioneerpress.com or 651-228-2109.
Copyright 2008 Pioneer Press.
