Richard Simmons had his hometown “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” one last time Saturday.

Following a memorial mass at St. Louis Cathedral, family members, friends and fans of the New Orleans-born pop culture fitness guru — some wearing Simmons’ trademark tank top and shorts — engaged in a brief workout at the gates of Jackson Square.

They waved their arms and flailed in a freestyle swimming motion, as the ever-positive, ever-energized Simmons often did in his 1980s TV show and “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” workout videos.

It was an appropriately joyous and out-loud send-off for a New Orleans native who preached the gospel of exercise and self-esteem in tank tops bedazzled with Swarovski crystals.

Simmons was found unresponsive on the bedroom floor of his Hollywood Hills home on July 13, the day after his 76th birthday. The Los Angeles County Medical Examiner ultimately attributed his death to complications from numerous falls, with heart disease a contributing factor.

He was buried in Los Angeles at Pierce Brothers Westwood Village Memorial Park and Mortuary, the final resting place for scores of celebrities ranging from Marilyn Monroe to Hugh Hefner to Truman Capote.

His funeral in Los Angeles was small — only eight people attended, Simmons’ older brother revealed during Saturday’s eulogy.

“We made a promise to my brother that we would have a celebration of his life in his hometown,” Lenny Simmons said.

He made good on that promise Saturday.

Milton became ‘Richard’

With several hundred people in attendance at St. Louis Cathedral, Lenny Simmons opened the service with an 11-minute recounting of his younger brother’s personal and professional history.

Born Milton Teagle Simmons at Touro Infirmary Hospital on July 12, 1948, he was named after his uncle Milton, whose nickname was Dick. So young Milton’s parents called him “Dickie.”

The Simmons brothers attended St. Louis Cathedral Parochial School and its historic church, then Cor Jesu High School, which later merged with St. Aloysius to create Brother Martin High School.

In his youth, Milton was prone to overeating and weight gain. During his senior year at Cor Jesu in 1966, he considered joining the priesthood, but ultimately decided it wasn’t for him.

After graduating from Florida State University, he moved briefly to New York, then returned to New Orleans. He spent two years as a traveling cosmetics consultant. Along the way he adopted the more “professional” name Richard, based on his old “Dickie” nickname.

He landed in Los Angeles in the early 1970s and worked as a waiter and mâitre d’ at an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills called Derek’s. His outgoing personality and sense of humor attracted crowds.

He also developed an interest in fitness. He opened an exercise studio, eventually named Slimmons, that welcomed and supported overweight patrons. Simmons himself lost more than 100 pounds.

A Hollywood producer offered him a recurring role as himself on the soap opera “General Hospital.”

From there, Simmons’ career took off. He launched the nationally syndicated “The Richard Simmons Show” in 1980. He wrote books and sold millions of VHS and DVD copies of his workout tapes. He was omnipresent on talk and game shows; he and David Letterman, especially, sustained a teasing banter for years. 

Simmons spent more than half the year traveling the country, meeting fans, teaching workout classes and promoting his products.

“Was this what God had planned for him?” Lenny Simmons asked rhetorically. “Yes it was. Because God wanted him to help people, motivate people, encourage people to get healthy and lose weight, all by having fun.”

‘Sweating with the holies’

Simmons suddenly retreated from public life in 2014, leading to rampant speculation — including a podcast and TMZ series — about his health and safety. The retired star occasionally posted on social media, but otherwise spent the next decade living quietly in Beverly Hills with his Dalmatians and housekeepers.

Still, his death shocked fans. The headline of his obituary in The New York Times proclaimed him “the clown prince of fitness,” quoting a People magazine profile from 1981.

In his casket, “just like Clark Kent, underneath his beautiful clothing, he is wearing a tank top and shorts,” Lenny Simmons revealed during Saturday’s eulogy.

“We wanted to make sure that he was going to be in his normal costume that we all know and love to help the saints and the angels get into shape.”

To laughter and applause, he concluded, “Richard Simmons will forever be sweating with the holies.”

In his homily, Father Pat Williams discussed how some people “always manage to bring a smile to our hearts. I think Richard was one of those people. It was hard not to smile in his presence.”

He continued, “I encourage you to cherish all those memories every time you see one of those videos.”

Following the eucharist, Richard Simmons’ recording of the original song “I Pray,” set to an uptempo club beat, pumped from the cathedral’s speakers.

Father Williams then prefaced the closing prayer with, “Well, you heard him — let us pray.”

Outside the cathedral, the short workout session unfolded to a soundtrack of Jackson Square’s typical Saturday cacophony. A brass band then led a second-line procession past a Lucky Dog vendor and the square’s psychics and artists to Decatur Street.

Marchers waved blue commemorative fans decorated with the motto “I’m a FAN of Richard Simmons” and his silhouette.

At Toulouse Street, the band broke into the gospel standard “I’ll Fly Away.” Marchers occasionally shouted out Simmons-like affirmations: “Feel the burn!” “You are perfect!”

At Conti Street, the band fired up “You Are My Sunshine,” which Simmons certainly was to his many millions of fans.

The parade broke up on Bourbon Street outside Musical Legends Park, in front of statues of Fats Domino, Pete Fountain and Al Hirt.

There would be no more sweatin’ to the oldies.