I awoke on Sunday, March 22nd further from New Orleans than I had been in a week. I tried to take advantage of the breakfast bar at the Day Inn off of U.S. 90 in New Iberia, but the pickins were rather slim. I got a large cup of coffee at McDonald’s and started out for St. Martinville and Breaux Bridge and I-10 East towards the Crescent City.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and the town square and Main Street of St. Martinville were resplendent. It is the town of Evangeline and St. Martin de Tours Church the home church to all Louisiana Acadians. I spent some time walking around town, but like New Iberia, it is a place I’ll certainly come back to.
While en route to Breaux Bridge, I called home to check on things. In the process, I had to drive onto the shoulder to avoid a procession of mallards that were crossing the road. After my heart returned to its normal rate, it hit me that the lead drake could have provided me with a lifetime supply of duck feathers for fly tying. Not that I don’t have enough stashed away as it is.
I hit I-10 outside of Breaux Bridge and covered the 120 miles to New Orleans in a little over an hour and a half. It was too early to head uptown for the Indian parade, so I went to the htoel to try to check in. About 150 rooms emptied that morning, so they laughed at my request. I turned north on Canal and took a right on Basin Street. For the first time in seven trips to New Orleans, I was going to visit the St. Louis No. 1 cemetery.
I parked on St. Louis St., next to the Iberville Projects and entered through the Basin Street entrance. I was struck by how small and claustrophic it was. The narrow paths marked by the detritus of decaying tombs. I know that a number of organizations are raising money to fix-up the cemteries, but clearly there is a lot of work to be done. I made the requisite stop and photographed the tomb of Marie Laveaux, the voodoo queen. I was good and did not mark it with three x’s for good luck. However, the tomb that affected me the most was that of Homer Plessy. It seemd both ironic and wonderful that the man who challenged racial discrimination in his native city, and whose Supreme Court case reafiirmed an additional half century of Jim Crowism, was buried in the middle of the city’s most celebrated cemetery. You figure he’s got to be up there laughing his ass off.
I grabbed a bite to eat and headed over to LaSalle and Washington for the Indian parade. As I was walking towards where it begins, I saw a stir in the crowd and saw the stooped and muttering form of Dr. John emerge from the crowd. Although he is one of my musical heroes, his demeanor did not invite face-to-face interaction. Instead, I stepped back to snap a quick photo.
The parade started shortly after 1:00pm, which by New Orleans standards is ahead of schedule. Vince, one of the Operation Helping Hands crew chiefs, called to ask where he should go to meet me. I guessed the corner of Jackson and Simon Bolivar. And, as luck would have it, we connected about five minutes before the procession reached that point.
This was my third parade in three years and I was overwhelmed. The number of participants, the number of brass bands (four), and crowds far surpassed the previous two parades. We spent about an hour and a half moving back and forth along the procession, taking pictures and marveling at the spectacle.
Unfortunately, we did not make it the rear of the parade until it was halfway between Simon Bolivar and Claiborne. At that point, we belatedly discoverd that the Rebirth Brass Band was bringing up the rear. The crowd was as magnificent as their playing, but it was too enormous and too hurried to be much of a second line. Vince and I followed the throng up to Claiborne, where the procession closed the eastbound lanes for several blocks. It was amusing to see cars backed up on Claiborne, as well as onto the exits and I-10 itself. At that point, we backtracked down Martin Luther King and parted ways.
By that time, it was nearly four, so I quickly checked into my hotel and hurried over to the Spotted Cat to catch the Rites of Swing and to me my friends Ani and Bruno. They arrived during the break, so we had a chance to catch up a bit before the second set. We stayed around until six and headed down Frenchmen to the Praline Connection. I need one more infusion of fried chicken and okra before heading back to New England. I walked them back to the ferry that would take them back to Algiers and uncharacteristically went back to my hotel room. I would end a spectacular day with the first full night of sleep I had in over a week.
Saturday morning arrived and all three groups began the process of heading back to New Hampshire. Brad and Brittany’s group left from the French Quarter overnight, but the other two groups ate their last breakfast at Madonna Manor, helped pick-up around the dorm area, and began packing the vans. It’s always sad to leave after an enjoyable and action-packed week, but it’s even sadder to see them pack a week’s worth of souvenirs and dirty clothes in to what had seemed like a large van. 
I stayed in nearby New Iberia, home of James Lee Burke, one of my favoriate authors. He claims has America’s most beautiful main street and after walking it, it’s kind of hard to dispute. The town, founded by Governor Bernardo deGalvez in 1779, straddles the Bayou Teche and wears its age well. Food choices included seafood gumbo, Cajun catfish and fried okra. I’ll be back when I have more time…and more meals.
Everyone went back to painting. Unfortunately, our crew seemed to have a case of the dropsies. I began the day with two spills and we had a couple of dropped paint buckets, as well. Happily, we got back on track and got quite a bit done on our last day. In between spills, visits from the neighbors (mostly the canine and juvenile kind), and breaks, we came close to putting two coats of paint on the sides of the house, one coat on the rear, and one coat (including all the trim) on the front. We took pictures and said goodbye to the homeowner, Mr. Brown, and called it a day.
The girls from Stu’s groups went into town for some shopping, but Jake, Mandi, Laurie and I went with Caitlyn to get a New Orleans delicacy, a snow ball. I had read about them, but never made the leap…until Friday. The ice is shaved, so that it is softer and more absorbent than a snow cone. And many of the stands create their own flavored syrups. It was a nice way to complete a day in the sun, although I did suffer through a wicked case of “brain freeze.”
The groups went in several different directions with the return trip to New Hampshire coming into focus. I took Jake, Mandi, Sam and Erica for a brief visit to the Barataria Preserve near Madonna Manor. While we didn’t see any alligators, it gave them an idea of what pre-Colonial Louisiana looked like.
We continued painting and priming and the work is really taking shape. By Friday, we should have a very good idea of what the finished product will look like. In addition to painting, Emily C. and I added primer to the back of the house.
In between work we had a steady stream of visitors: dogs and neighborhood children. Of the for former, Cookie, a terrior and chihuahua mix, rules this block of Mazant Street, although he seems to have ongoing run ins with the neighbor. By mid afternoon, we entertained a steady stream of kids curious about what we we were doing, but also about what a group of white, college students from New England are doing in their neighborhood. The neighbor seemed to take issue with them, as well, and shooed them away at every opportunity.
and then saw two tribes locked up off Claiborne near Washington Avenue. We got out of our vehicles and viewed the chanting and drumming before they moved further back into the neighborhood. We were dazzled, but several of the students were understandably uncomfortable with the surroundings. As a result, we remained in our vehicles as we came upon several additional encounters before reaching St. Charles Avenue.
Another beautiful day from beginning to end. We met at St. Raymond’s and went to our respective houses. All four groups worked on various stages of the painting process. Once again, our group worked primarily on exterior painting on Mazant Street. Caitlyn had a platform delivered, which made painting the upper reaches of the house easier. We continued painting the sides of the house and brick porch, and I primed the front trim, which had been painted a dark shade of red.
At lunch, we strayed from the standard fare of sandwiches and chips, and with Caitlyn’s advice, ordered po-boys from Stewart’s on Claiborne Avenue. Although they did reach the level of Domilise’s, they were quite good and a whole lot less expensive. Our selections ranged from chicken finger and hamburger to catfish and shrimp. Remarkably, we made it though the afternoon without taking naps and wrapped up work about 3:30pm.
the girls in our group with birthdays, namely: Erica, Meaghan, Alicia, Kayla, and Erin. I add Erin now, because I forgot to before the concert. Sorry Erin. If discussion and questions afterwards are any measure, the level of engagement was quite high.
I adopted the one group without a UNH-ABC leader and will probably remain with them from the rest of the week. Our local coordinator is Caitlyn, a native of Rhode Island and recent graduate of St. Anselm College in Manchester, NH. Jake, Mandi, Erin, Taylor, Emily C., and Laurie make up the rest of the group. We are working on a house on Mazant Street, which rests on the block between Claiborne and Robertson Avenues. It was a lucky draw, most of the prep work, with the exception of some priming has already been done. If the weather holds, I suspect we’ll spend the rest of the week at this house. It is a modified, two unit shotgun house. The owner is busy at work rehabbing the interior, but like many residents he could not get support to help him with painting — that is considered cosmetic. And that is one of the deficits that Operation Helping Hands has been trying to close. In addition, we found that both neighbors and their dogs are quick to wave (or wag), stop by, and/or exchange pleasantries. In fact, a contractor working across the street from Stu’s group was so impressed with the work they were doing that he had a complete fried chicken dinner delivered to the house. 
And lunch, I walked them over to Musicians’ Village, where Birttany, Stu, Meaghan, Brittany and I worked two years ago. Happily, the entire neighborhood is nearly complete. And remarkably, we met a group of UNH Intervarsity Students framing one of the new houses there.
We finished up around four, our work already very evident, particularly in the front of the house. We went back to St Raymond’s, a closed Catholic school that serves as Operation Helping Hands’ staging center, and had an early dinner. We returned to the otherside of the Mississippi River to Madonna Manor and got rid of the dirt, sweat, and paint.
At 8:00am, Operation Helping Hands provided us with a short introduction and we immediately began dividing up into groups. It was probably the most organized volunteer operation since I worked with Habitat/FEMA in 2006, when the sole object was to gut houses. Each group was assigned specific tasks and staff coordinator. They assigned our group four different assignments, meaning that class groups did not necessarily hang together. Our assignments included gutting a house, laying sub-flooring in a house being renovated, installing a ceiling, and interior painting. I worked with a majority of Trevor and Conor’s group installing flooring.
We were sent to a newly-acquired house right around the corner from Catholic Charities’ St. Raymond Center (or St. Ray’s to the long-time volunteers). The original studs and exterior boards were a rich, red cedar, but much of it has been lost to the elements and what to what looks like misguided renovations. The house was old and no longer square, if indeed it ever was. As a result, we have measure and cut to get the plywood to lie straight. In addition, students learned to use power saws, nail guns, caulking guns, and chalk lines. I think we were concerned with our deliberate speed, but Joe, who was directing our work pointed out that it was better to do it right than to have someone to have to come behind us to correct our mistakes.
Trevor and Conor’s group had arrived in the middle of the night and by late morning, they were ready to make plans for the day. I met up with them near the corner of Louisiana and St. Charles and within a few minutes the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day began rolling by. The rain dampened the crowd but not the spirits. We came away with some good laughs, more beads than anyone could possibly wear, and a dozen cabbages to boot. The students got into a minor fender bender leaving the parade: They waited for over an hour for the police to show up and even then, they didn’t seem too attuned to filing the necessary report. At least they got to see the NOPD for, well, what it’s known for.
Sunday broke equally dreary. It looked as though the clouds would break for a while, but due to the uncertain forecast, the Mardi Gras Indians cancelled their parade. Instead of going to yet another St. Patrick’s Day parade, the students decided to visit the Lower Ninth Ward and Chalmette Battlefield. The weather held off as students walked the slightly less desolate neighborhood. They witnessed the emptiness, saw the new sustainable houses built by Brad Pitt’s foundation, and most important, they got to talk to residents, who in spite of losing their homes and in several cases family members, are able to maintain at least a facade of humor and hope. It was a great lesson for the students.
We met at the Chalmette Battlefield in time for yet another downpour. We arrived in New Orleans just before more rain. We did head back in after dinner and a change of dry clothes. And remarkably, the rain off as the students sampled the musical buffet that is Frenchment Street. Hanging at the doorways of bars they could not enter, while heading in and out of the ones they could.
I had planned to grade papers, but I slept and read instead. Mostly slept. I landed in New Orleans, picked up my rental car and immediately went over to Marrero to check out our accommodations. We’ll be staying in Madonna Manor off of Barataria Boulevard, a former home for troubled youth (right). It’s not the Hilton, but it’s quiet, relatively spacious — I think it will work just fine.
I got back to my room after 1pm and slept the sleep of angels.
