Saying Goodbye Tuesday, Mar 25 2008

Saturday was bittersweet. I wanted to go home; I missed my family badly. But the weather was beautiful and New Orleans was at her beguiling best.

I checked out of my hotel, stored my luggage, and headed out for Cafe du Monde. I was too late. There were throngs of people, mostly locals with families, waiting to get in. I walked over to Frenchmen Street to a small cafe and got a bagel and cafe au lait. It was less crowded than the Quarter and you get that special ambiance and off-center clientèle you can find only in Faubourg Marigny. One of the guys who does the ghost and voodoo tours sat at the table next to me. White ponytail, patchwork leather vest. I know him from the Spotted Cat.

The rest of the morning, I shopped for gifts and souvenirs, listened to street musicians, and people watched. I talked to one of the trombone players from the Hot 8 Brass Band, who was at his usual spot in front of the cathedral. I also saw Chris Owens, long-time owner of the Bourbon Street strip club that bears her name. She was busy getting ready for the French Quarter Easter Parade, which she has sponsored for 25 years now. Only in New Orleans.

After a final lunch — fried chicken and red beans and rice — I walked back to my hotel via Royal Street, which was abuzz with musicians and magicians and other street performers. It was a great image to leave with.

And as usual, once I boarded the airport shuttle and then my flight home, my love for this beautiful, flawed, and unpredictable city was greater than when I arrived a little over a week before. Next year…

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Good Friday Sunday, Mar 23 2008

The day broke slowly for the nearly 50 occupants of the house on Herlihy Street. Most, including myself, had gotten back from New Orleans after 1:00am. A few were stirring after 7:00am and fewer still showed up at breakfast. Some groups planned to work half a day, but that is not typical. As it turned out, one group put in a couple of hours while the rest packed and cleaned the house. By noon, almost all groups were on the road, heading back to New Hampshire.

The caravan back included one more passenger than came down. While shingling a shed on Tuesday, Stu, Sam and Jon encountered a beautiful fur ball of a puppy on the property. Stu named it Daisy and last I heard, it had stuck. We brought it back and found that its owner was seriously ill and that it would need a new home. That home will now be with Jon and Sam in New Hampshire.

I stopped to talk to Kathleen before heading back to New Orleans. She congratulated the UNH groups on their commitment and work and would be happy to welcome us back next year. A few are even heading back to work this summer.

I drove down Waveland Avenue and saw the Gulf for the first time this trip — it was a whole mile from were we are staying. I drove along the coast before cutting back to U.S. Highway 90. After a week of driving back and forth between Waveland and New Orleans, I had tired of I-10. The trip along the coast, salt marsh and bayous was a welcome change. When I got close to New Orleans, I turned off and headed to Chalmette. I visited the neighborhood where I worked gutting houses in 2006. It was somewhat disheartening to find that fewer than a quarter of the homes in the neighborhood were occupied and most of the ones we worked on two years ago were for sale.

I stopped by the Chalmette Battlefield (site of the 1815 Battle of New Orleans) for a little while and doubled back to Rocky and Carlos’ Restaurant, a St. Bernard Parish institution. I sat at the bar and had a shrimp and oyster dinner. After a week at the camp, where few vegetables were served, I devoured the salad. You could tell it was Good Friday in this largely Roman Catholic parish by the extraordinary number of shrimp and oyster po-boys leaving the kitchen — trays of them at a time. The staff and the guys at the bar were joking, teasing, and exchanging barbs throughout lunch. Beer was flowing. It might have been Good Friday, but in this corner of the world, there was no sack cloth and ashes. And after what these people have been through, that’s a good thing.

When I crossed the Industrial Canal into New Orleans, I made an impromptu detour and visited Musician’s Village and some of the houses we worked on last year. Unlike Chalmette, these houses were anchoring redevelopment in this hard hit area Bywater neighborhood. It is impressive to see what Habitat for Humanity and thousands of volunteers have done here. It is both visually and emotionally arresting. I also visited a couple of houses we worked on away from the Village. Both are complete and occupied and provide a contrast to the mostly unoccupied houses around them. When I took a picture of one, the owner (whom I had not seen) came storming down the front steps waving her arms. I got out of the car and explained that a year ago I had helped caulk and paint her home. She gave me a tour of the exterior and explained that she was renting, but was in the process of working the requisite hours for Habitat needed to purchase a home. Before I left, she thanked me, we shook hands, and I took a picture of she and her dog on the front step.

I checked into my hotel and returned my rental car. Why pay for parking for a car I would no longer need? At 6:00pm I took the ferry over to Algiers where my friends Bruno and Ani live. Bruno met me at the landing. What a beautiful neighborhood! It is technically a part of New Orleans, but it is a small town in the shadow of the city. Behind the levees on this turn in the Mississippi are creole cottages, Victorian homes, and Sears houses. A few small bars and cafes dot the neighborhood. Bruno and Ani are renting half of a cottage just minutes from the ferry. We went over to the Santa Maria Chapter of the Knights of Columbus for their Friday night fish fry. We got take-out and brought it back to their house, sat around their dining room table, and solved all of New Orleans’ problems.

Afterwards, I returned to New Orleans proper and my last night of music. At 10:30pm I went to the Balcony Music Club to see Kermit Ruffins and the Barbecue Swingers. He waltzed in soon thereafter and shook the hand of everyone there. He put on a great show, ranging from traditional tunes to some of his own songs. After the first set, I made the decision to leave and catch the New Orleans Jazz Vipers at the Spotted Cat. It was a tough decision, but longstanding habits are hard to break.

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The Home Stretch Saturday, Mar 22 2008

Kathleen Johnson is the head of Katrina Relief in Waveland, Mississippi. She came down shortly after the hurricane and has stayed. She is a crusader on a mission to build houses, but also to build lives and community. It took a couple of days for me to realize that with Kathleen, all progress results from human contact. While the goal might be to paint a wall or clear a lot, it all begins with attaching that action to a human being. Habitat for Humanity emphasizes this as well, but for the volunteer to share in this kind of experience is rare. Things are quite different in Waveland.

There, Kathleen encourages volunteers to meet and talk to clients. This gives volunteers a chance to humanize their tasks and learn, while giving clients a chance to share their experiences and blow off some steam. And as the week wore on, you could see the recognition in the students’ faces. It wasn’t just a house; it was so-and-so’s house. It wasn’t just a pile of trash, or brush to clear, or pipes to wrap. These are all efforts geared to provide the residents of Hancock County with decent, affordable housing, one conversation and one smile at a time.

We saw this in the work at WQRZ and in efforts to clear lots to make way a new home. I saw this connection drive student volunteers into a tangle of brush, briers, and trees in Pearlington for the better part of two days. They knew that the owner had received a grant to receive a MEMA home – to be delivered early next week. The MEMA home is Mississippi’s inspired improvement on the FEMA trailer. These homes are still portable, but their design is based on the ubiquitous “shotgun” houses. They look more permanent and do not stick out so much among existing homes.

By mid afternoon on Thursday, about 80% of the lot was clear down to stumps, but after four days of physical labor, we started running out of gas. The leaders wisely decided that you didn’t want an exhausted crew swinging axes and wielding chain saws. What began as an impenetrable mess was a few hours of additional clearing and a stump grinder away from welcoming a new home and the students knew that.

After showers, which in a house with nearly 50 residents is a job itself, and some dinner, the students headed into New Orleans for one last time. Unfortunately, with 12,000 student volunteers in the New Orleans area, the line at Preservation Hall was a block long. A number of us were in line an hour in advance and still missed the first set. I gave my students a dispensation from the concert, thus providing them with a little extra time for souvenir shopping, beignets at Café du Monde, and dancing on Bourbon Street. One group did go back later and caught the third and final set.

About a dozen of us walked over to Howlin’ Wolf, a music club in the Warehouse District (near the Convention Center), to see the Rebirth Brass Band. They are arguably the best of the New Orleans brass bands. They came on over an hour late, which is typical here. Shortly after 11:30pm, Rebirth hit the stage and they were, in their own words, “on fire.” With their tuba and drum driven brass, infused with funk and hip-hop, they had the crown moving instantly. The first set included such standards as “Tuba Luba” and “I Feel Like Funkin’ It Up.” Needless to say, it was well worth the wait, even with the late trip up I-10 to Waveland.

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Clearing a Lot Thursday, Mar 20 2008

Wednesday began with thundershowers and rain. One group tried to go work on the interior of a house, but was turned away because the owner didn’t feel well. The rest of the groups were told to stand down until noon. I took the break to do some shopping for Katrina Relief, some planned and unplanned. I went to Lowe’s with a list from Kathleen and Mike in the warehouse and bought tools and supplies that they desperately need here. The $800 came from a generous grant from the UNH Parents’ Association. It was to cover tools needed while the UNH-ABC groups are here. I bought everything from paint brushes, rollers and drop clothes to drywall screw guns, a tile cutter, and compressor adapters. Mike and some of thee other full-time volunteers were thrilled ar the infusion of much-needed supplies. In addition, when Kathleen realized I was going out, she gave me her shopping list; it’s not everyday you get to pick up 16 loaves of bread, a flat of jelly, and 80 pieces of fried chicken.

We did have one casualty: I got a call while I was out that one of my students was being taken to the hospital. I panicked until I heard the students in the background on the call laughing and giggling, so I knew there was no blood spurting. A feared broken ankle turned into a sprain: a skim boarding accident.

In the afternoon I went with two groups for an “emergency” clearing of a lot for construction. it does seem that the word emergency is thrown around quite a bit her, so it is hard to read. The “lot” turned into a scrub forest, near the the Guld and the Louisiana line. Scrub pine, magnolia, holly, and a lot of green brier. It was daunting at first, but wonce we charged in with saws, chainsaws, pruners, and a dozen our more young backs we made significant headway in just a few hours. We’re hoping to head back there today or to finish some other jobs from earlier in the week. But as John Edwards, a full-time volunteer says: “you just go with flow.”

Last night I went into New Orleans with a small group. We let the students roam Bourbon Street while we went for coffee and beignets and spent most of the evening going in and out of the music venues on Frenchmen Street. Caught one set from the Pfister Sisters at the Spotted Cat. They are three professional women who moonlight as an Andrews Sisters-esque act. I have seen and enjoyed them before and they did not disappoint. We also saw a bluesman who played one or two guitars while playing the bass guitar with his toes. This was not a carnival act (well, maybe it was), but he did a more than credible job of it. Tonight we’re heading down for brass band night at Preservation Hall and class-wise, at least, they are no long my responsibility.

As for today, I’m just trying to go with the flow.

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WQRZ FM Wednesday, Mar 19 2008

After breakfast we met with Kathleen Johnson, director of Katrina Relief, to get our work orders. It seems standard that even with a pile of work orders for painting, lot clearing, roofing, etc. other things rise to the top. I was puzzled when three of our groups were sent to s swampy site in Bay St. Louis to clear the lot surrounding a radio station. But I discovered it was not just nay radio station.

A trailer and small tower set among the scrub pine and cypress has operated since 1994, the love-child of a group of amateur radio operators, many of them disabled. It now operates under a low power license with a heavily blues format with classic rock and jazz thrown in. Just the kind of thing to get under the skin of corporate radio.

We met Brice Phillips and his partner and program director Christine Stach on the site. During Katrina, Brice removed part of the station’s antennae, all the radio equipment he could pack into his vehicle, and moved the station to higher ground near Stennis Airport. Tide waters came up to their feet but they continued to operate during and after the storm, powered by car radio batteries and solar power. For weeks it was the only communication link for the residents of Hancock County, who listened on thousands of portable radios handed out by FEMA. In 2006, Brice recieved the Small Business Administration’s Phoenix Award from the President for his efforts. And now the government is trying to shut him down.

He was first threatened with eviction, while college volunteers were present, for living in the station trailer. Brice takes his responsibility for providing emergency information to the residents of Hancock County seriously. For example, just yesterday, there was the possibility of tornado warning in the area (later downgraded to severe thunder storms) and he planned to stay at the station, watching the radar, just in case. And now the FCC is threatening to shut him down because the station and tower are not secure. And that is where we came in.

We spent the day clearing rubble and limbs and small trees so that Brice can install a chain-link fence around the perimeter of the site. One group removed tires, scrap, and a number of unmentionable items from the lot, while the rest cut and removed trees and brush for burning. We left that Winnebago in the canal — a souvenir of Katrina. By the end of the day, we fed three fires with the a pile of brush that would be as big as a small house. The students appreciated both the work and why we were doing it.

Kristine invited students into the trailer to record message breaks. We sampled MREs at lunch. At the end of the day, Brice informed us that he had set up an open account at the soda fountain at the Waveland Pharmacy — free ice cream for the week. We hope to go back to finish the job and help keep this public radio station of the air.

After showers and a dinner of meat loaf, we headed back to New Orleans for a lecture by jazz clarinetist and Xavier University professor, Dr. Michael White. We met at the recital hall at Xavier where White, joined by banjo/guitar player Detroit Brooks, gave a lecture/performance on the origins of jazz to a rapt group of college students. He asked us not to applaud, which was difficult; the quality of his sound and deftness of improvisation forced me to keep my hands buried in my armpits. The students and I were taken by the breadth of his knowledge of New Orleans music as he listed off the hip-hop and rap artists from New Orleans. They lingered for nearly a half hour to discuss music, Katrina, and the impact that it continues to have on the music community.

Afterwards, we went to the nearby Rock and Bowl, where students got a taste of contemporary New Orleans music. Glen David Andrews and his Lazy Six, played a blend of jazz, r&b, and soul, fueled by two tuba players and Andrews’ powerful trombone. Even after a day of hard work, students danced for two hours. Before the break, Andrews gave a heartfelt thanks to the volunteers and afterwards came into the crowd to talk to each and everyone of us. It meant a lot. After the break, he brought Teresa on stage to recognize her birthday (White had already played a traditional jazz version for her). Everyone cleared out well before midnight on account of a powerful line of thunderstorms heading eastward.

Rain this morning, so we’ll see what the day holds.

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Cappy Tuesday, Mar 18 2008

On Monday, we had the opportunity for all three groups, i.e. the students in my New Orleans course, to work together on one project. We went out of town to a collection of trailers (FEMA, and otherwise), rusted tools, scrap lumber, and remnants of the storm surge brought on by Katrina. In New Hampshire we’d call it a “New Hampshire yard,” where anything and everything that could possibly come of use in the next two generations is kept, often in the front yard.

The shell of Cappy’s house was burned and the rubbble was cleared about two weeks ago. Our task was to clear the rest of the lot for a “Katrina Cottage,” a more livable answer to the ubiquitous and thankfully disappearing FEMA trailer. Cappy’s lot was along a canal, five or more miles from the Gulf, but still close enough to sea level that it was brackish water.

Cappy is going to be 76; he’s lived on that site for 21 years. He was once a barge captain on the Great Lakes before opening a boat repair business on the Gulf. He has since retired, but he is never retiring. A shade over five feet tall and shaped like a fire hydrant, Cappy tried to ride out the storm in his frame house. After the 20+ storm waters receded, Cappy was found clinging to a tree. He was luckier than most of his neighbors, many of whom drowned and a number, never found. He says he won’t do THAT again.

The students cleared rubble, sorted lumber, raked the glass and remnants of the storm, and helped finish a tool shed that Cappy had started. The results were remarkable, but given Cappy’s stubbornness and acquisitive nature, you wonder how long it will last; even when there is permanent home in place. Cappy was very appreciative and enjoyed talking to the groups; however, the biggest thanks we received were from his long-suffering neighbors.

After a dinner of corned beef and cabbage, mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and chocolate cake, the group headed into the Quarter for yet another St. Patrick’s Day parade. This one ended-up on Bourbon Street, where the students got a small taste of what Mardi Gras is like. Many beads were collected, with the drunken Irish marchers kissed — needless to say, the girls had the advantage here and ended up with considerably better beads and throws. Afterwards, some returned, some danced, and some went to listen to music. I suspect they’ll go back before the week is over.

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“Super Sunday” Monday, Mar 17 2008

A beautiful Mississippi sunrise this morning as I still try to process the events of yesterday. I suspect my students’ journal entries for the day will be chock-a-block full.

We got a rather leisurely start yesterday with a modest breakfast at the camp. The UNH groups are staying at a large private home around the corner from Katrina Relief in a large private home that I guess was once a day care center. Probably better than most accomodations, but with nearly 50 people a bit crowded.

Our primary course-related activity was to attend the annual gathering of the Uptown Mardi Gras Indian tribes, which takes place on the Sunday closest to St. Joseph’s Day. I did suggest that we leave early enough to stop by the Lower Ninth Ward to see what progress there is.

It is modest, but compared to the past two years a positive sign. There are new and rebuilt homes, occupied, scattered hear or there. And a couple of neighborhood churches were full and rockin’ on a Palm Sunday morning. I suspect that most of the parishioners have to drive back into the neighborhood to attend church, but in New Orleans old habits are hard to change.

There was a crowd gathered around the intersection of Tennessee and Galvez, which for some reason is my point to stand and survey the neighborhood. I was annoyed until I realized that this was not just a normal crowd of volunteers. A CNN truck was there, as well as trucks from all the local television outlets. We walked down Tennessee and immediately encountered serious-looking volunteer coordinators and unmistakable Secret Service presence: Brad Pitt was giving former President Bill Clinton a tour of his rebuilding effort in the Lower Ninth. We got pretty close to the President and got glimpses of Pitt, but the young volunteers engulfed him and he soon retreated to a large SUV. Clinton, on the other hand, strolled through the muddy streets and greeted people before settling into a chair for a CNN interview. I tried to convince the students that I had it all planned, but they know better.

On to “Super Sunday,” which is a media sobriquet, probably because it is more economical than “gathering of the Uptown Mardi Gras Indians.” There is also a gathering of the downtown tribes, but you can only do one thing at a time. On the way we went along Claiborne Avenue, which prior to the 1960s was the vibrant business and community street in New Orleans. In their infinite wisdom, local and federal authorities picked this vibrant, oak-lined street street as the place to run I-10 across the city. The street remains, covered by the overpasses which make up the lanes of the highway, but many of the people and most of the businesses are gone.

The parade was spectacular: too beautiful; too strange; too much fun to put into words. The students were skeptical of the neighborhood and seemingly randomness at the start, but traditions lasting this long cannot be directed by outsiders. Once it starting coming together with scores of local working-class African-American dressed in tall feathered and beaded costumes; drumming, chanting and engaging in mock combat. You don’t just watch, you participate, and we jumped in headfirst. Most of the students danced second line behind two brass bands, while I drifted back and forth up and down the procession taking pictures.

Conor was invited to dance with one of the local women and he put on such a show that all the other dancing stopped. I suspect he was channeling some ghosts of Congo Square, where the slaves danced. The locals probably gave thought to adopting him; they were clearly impressed. It is interesting that even after seeing Brad Pitt and a former President, all students talked about was the parade.

We then proceeded to the French Quarter, where most of the students stayed well into the evening. I ventured over the Spotted Cat and enjoyed a spirited couple of sets from the “Rites of Swing.” I had seen the singer before as part of the “Pfister Sisters.” A great way to cap off the day, was was the free ribs, fried chicken, and dirty rice in honor of one of my favorite bartender’s birthdays.

It was hard to get up and come back to Waveland, but I did. A full house. A combination of exhausted and wired kids. Cards, snacks, guitar jams — all came to an end before midnight. Now it is time to get to work.

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Saturday Sunday, Mar 16 2008

I met up with Bruno at Domilise’s for a po-boy and a beer before the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day Parade. The place was packed, which is not unusual on a Saturday, but a large minority of the crowd was wearing kilts. I had an oyster po-boy, fully dressed — meaning they put everything on it, particularly if mayonnaise is a primary ingredient. I got a “small” one this year, meaning about 2/3s of a large sub roll. Bruno went for the whole enchilada.

Went went up and parked above St. Charles for the parade. The day was beautiful, breezy in the low low 80s. We walked up ot Jackson where the parade turns onto St. Charles. During breaks in the parade we slowly moved up St. Charles to where our cars were parked. Between the beads and cabbages, one sight was especially memorable. At one point we stopped next to couple of comely women, probably in the 30s. From their demeanor and dress, I perhaps unfairly assumed that they were involved in one of the entertainment businesses for which New Orleans is famous. Regardless, they were a veritable magnet for scores of drunken Irishmen marching in the parade; handing out beads and flowers to women who would surrender to a kiss. When they spotted these two, they would come across the street. It created a traffic jam. Passionate delays ensued.

I gave cabbages to those collecting food for shelters and got selective with the beads I kept. Bruno and I parted ways and I began the trek out to Waveland. I arrived just after dark, but the extent of devastation out here was very clear, even in the dark. Daylight confirms it. Happily all three groups from the New Orleans class arrived (one group came in early and chose to go into New Orleans for the evening — what a surprise) ad we set up at a large house near the Katrina Relief HQ. We’re expecting the other three UNH-ABC groups today — Sunday.

We’re getting ready to head into the city for the gathering of the Uptown Mardi Gras Indians. Before we head uptown, we’re going to visit the Lower Ninth Ward. By tradition, the Indians hold this event (known by others as “Super Sunday”) on the Sunday closest to St. Joseph’s Day and a little thing like Palm Sunday is not going to get in their way. Given that this is our only day off, the groups have chosen to stay in the city all day and forgo dinner here at the camp. Although I understand food here is very good, I can’t see that if disagree with their decision.

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The Holy Trinity Saturday, Mar 15 2008

The Friday night St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Quarter was pretty lame. If not for the local roller derby team and fire breather, there was not much to write home about. I ate dinner with friends at the Acme Oyster House off of Bourbon Street – oysters and crawfish etouffee. And I did see a certain celebrity couple while I was waiting in line. No not THE couple: it was James Carville, Mary Matalin, and their daughters. OK, so it’s not “Brangelina,” but I’m a political junky and thought it was pretty cool.

I then went over to the Spotted Cat on Frenchmen Street to catch two sets with the New Orleans Jazz Vipers. It was packed and they went on late, even by New Orleans standards, but it was worth the wait. Highlights included: “Digga-digga Doo,” “Dinah,” a real slinky version of “The Mooche,” and wonderfully jazzy rendition of “Free at Last.” Alas, I got to bed too late.

I went over to Café du Monde sans newspaper and just watched people. I forgot about the trumpet player who comes in around 9am, plays the Benediction, and then launches in a series of jazz spirituals. My father would have appreciated that “Amazing Grace” was first in line.

Something made me return by Pirate’s Alley and the rear of the Cathedral and I’m glad I did. They have set up an enormous St. Joseph’s altar, both to celebrate this important Italian saint day and to raise money for local food banks. It was decorated with flowers, fruit, and intricate loaves of Italian bread. Absolutely beautiful. I got my medal, anise cookies, and lucky fava bean, so I’m good to go to the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

Speaking of which, in New Orleans they refer to the main ingredients in local food (onions, celery, and sweet peppers) as the “Holy Trinity.” This year, due to the peculiarities of the calendar, New Orleans is experiencing a “Holy Trinity” of celebrations: St. Patrick’s Day, St. Joseph’s Day, and Easter, all fall within the same week. But New Orleans people are determined and strong; they will manage to summon-up the energy to celebrate each and every one to the fullest.

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I’m Here! Friday, Mar 14 2008

I pulled out of my garage at 4:00am this morning. It was right at freezing when I left Manchester a couple of hours later. I flew on Southwest, so the fact that there was a plane waiting in both Manchester and Baltimore-Washington seemed a small victory.

I experienced a razor-thin transfer at BWI, but both passenger and checked luggage made the flight and arrived in New Orleans on time. After this winter the one big thing that hit me upon landing — it’s GREEN here. The azaleas are almost over. Temperatures near 80. The forecast looks relatively dry with temps in the 70s and 80s.

I had lunch at one of my favorite spots, Mena’s Palace on Chartres Street (crabcakes). My waitress was indifferent; she only called me baby twice. Between the staff and the workmen eating lunch, you could cut the Yat accents with a knife. It was a great welcome.

It took a while for my room to be ready, so I was forced to roam the French Quarter and Faubourg-Marigny. The Irish bars we already spilling over into the street. I had time for a mid-afternoon stop at my favorite music place on Frenchmen Street. Too early for music, but the lack of both crowds and noise made it possible to talk to the regulars, which was entertainment enough for the road weary.

Tonight, I’m heading over to the parade and then going with friends. Tomorrow, a shrimp and oyster po-boy at Domilise’s and another St. Patrick’s Day parade. Then up to Waveland, MS. Reports to follow.

The UNH-ABC groups should be well on the road. I can’t wait to greet them tomorrow night.

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