Leaving New Orleans Wednesday, Mar 31 2010

This was my fifth trip New Orleans since Katrina and accounts of my annual departure have become somewhat cliche. Yes, the last cafe au lait and beignets, shopping for family, appreciating the vestiges of spring before returning to March in New Hampshire; yeah, it’s pretty much the same every year.

But some things are different: I didn’t get robbed my last night in New Orleans (2006); I didn’t get bumped from my flight and have to fly out two days later — from Jackson, MS (2007); and, I only got a little emotional about leaving the City. Clearly, I don’t miss being robbed or confronted with travel complications, but of more concern: am I losing some of the love? In the simplest of terms, the answer is “no.”

As my family is quick to remind me, I am getting be an old fart. But with old fartdom comes experience and some level of self awareness. And as much as I look forward to returning home to family and my normal routine, I’m increasingly aware that with each year, I bring a little more of New Orleans back with me. And conversely, a little bit more of me stays behind. And that’s not a bad thing.

So, let me present a scorecard of impressions from my recent visit:

Bad thing: corruption, inefficiency, and crime is still very much a reality in New Orleans.
Good thing: New Orleans seems to be finding its stride.
Bad thing: racism is still very much alive in New Orleans.
Good thing: people in New Orleans will talk to you at any time, in any place, about anything.
Bad thing: Bourbon Street.
Good thing: Frenchmen Street.
Bad thing: the elevated section of I-10 over Claiborne Avenue remains a blight
Good thing: the people in New Orleans are still walking about 18″ above the ground because the Saints won the Super Bowl.
Bad thing: while there has been some progress in rebuilding the Lower Ninth, it is too little, too late, and too strange.
Good thing: Musician’s Village is complete. Now, let’s do it again and again and again. Well, you get the idea.
Bad thing: For whatever reason, Super Sunday was postponed, and I missed it for the first time in four years.
Good things: New Orleans has the best live music and the most accomplished and engaging musicians of any place I have ever been and probably ever will be.
Bad thing: they don’t pay most New Orleans musicians a living wage for what they do.
Good things: I’ve learned that there are excellent po-boy shops besides Domilise’s (but it is still my favorite).
Bad thing: the food in New Hampshire is not near as good as that in New Orleans.
Good thing: I’ve lost several pounds since returning home.
Bad thing: I don’t live in New Orleans.
Good thing: I don’t live in Louisiana.
Bad thing: once again, I had a wonderful, fulfilling experience, but had to leave.
Good thing: I WILL be back.

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A Tale of Two Cities Friday, Mar 26 2010

Sunday was a sleepy, weird sort of day. I woke up early in my Central Business District hotel, even though I was exhausted. And, at the time, I didn’t know that I was coming down with an infection. The last thing I wanted was to be challenged intellectually, but I’ve often found that New Orleans does that to you; if you stop long enough to peer beneath the surface, the City is lousy with great puzzlements.

I walked down to the waterfront and got a large cup of cafe au lait, eschewing the beignets since I was going out for a pricey brunch later. For one, it was uncharacteristically cold and blustery, more typical of January than mid-March, and my fleece vest and windbreaker were ill-equipped to fight the chill. I took in the view of the river, as working tugs and barges busily plied the waters while a cruise liner was being outfitted for a trip to the Western Caribbean. Before heading to the brunch, I stopped by my hotel to warm up and do a bit of writing. I decided to drop a layer since I was only going around the block.

I met Burt and Jeannie at the Veranda of the Hotel Intercontinental around 12:30pm. My jeans and plaid shirt attested to the fact that this was not my scene, as I would usually be perched on the stool at some hole-in-the-wall diner. But as it turned out, we were not there for the creole-style buffet (which was quite varied and delicious), the make-your-own bloody Mary station (the pickled okra were a nice touch), or the opulently appointed surroundings and guests; we were there primarily for the music.

As well-heeled locals, convention attendees, and NCAA basketball fans passed in and out, we spent nearly two hours listening to Dr. Michael White on clarinet and Greg Stafford on trumpet, accompanied by guitar and bass, as they languidly went through their repertoire of traditional New Orleans music. The two had been in New Hampshire only 20 days before, but it was a pleasure to catch them in a more informal, albeit lavish, venue. Suits and ties notwithstanding, it would have been better still in some weathered dance hall; the local incubators for this music about a century ago.

During breaks we had a chance to catch up a bit. We all bemoaned the fact that the Indian parade had been postponed a week. Even though the sight of Mardi Gras Indians on St. Joseph’s Night had been a singular experience, I learned that when traveling in the company of folklorists that there’s always room for more local spectacle. That is when Greg offered that there was a second line parade winding its way through the Uptown neighborhoods. I knew I was in trouble and also, that I could not say no. Within moments of the music ending and paying our tab, we were in the car and heading Uptown.

We traced the route as outlined on Greg’s map, but could not find the parade anywhere. We finally decided to go to the end point — the intersection of Toledano and Rocheblave in the Broadmoor neighborhood. One guy had a grill set up and there were a few people milling about, but they assured us that the parade would end right there. We drove off again to know avail. Had it been cancelled? Did police force them away from their planned route? Or, as I suspected, did they find a nice cozy bar and decide not to brave wind-chills in the 30s? Given that I only had my windbreaker, that would have been my choice.

We passed through neighborhoods that were in trouble before Katrina. And the aftermath had left many homes, businesses and institutions in disrepair. And many of those residents, businesses, or institutions simply had not come back. But, there is a spirit that resides in the people who have returned and I feel it grow with every year I return. And I suspect that the Saints’ Super Bowl victory, coupled with the the fact that Katrina grows smaller in the City’s rear view mirror, is helping feed that spirit. That is not meant to suggest that serious problems remain, but these are a stubborn people with a strong sense of place, who cling tirelessly to tradition, especially if that tradition is somehow tied to having a good time.

So there we were: three, very white college professors, standing in the median (neutral ground in New Orleans-speak) of a working-class, African-American neighborhood, waiting for a neighborhood parade. We had no clue where it came from or why or for what purpose. But by the time we returned to the endpoint, there were a couple of hundred people, a half-dozen barbecues blazing and an equal number of pick-up trucks selling beer and soda off the back. I don’t have to use the adjective cold before “beer” or “soda,” because every damned thing was cold, especially me.

So, we wandered back to the neutral ground on Toledano and talked to some of those waiting for the second line. They were angry that the Indians’ Super Sunday parade had been postponed and blamed the City, not the notoriously unpredictable Indians. They also suspected that the NOPD had thrown this second line parade off route, thereby delaying its finale. Forget that there were planned stops at bars and private homes for refreshments along the way. My favorite response was from a woman about my age, who seemingly saw herself as an interpreter for us. In the midst of our conversation, in response to no question, she pointed to the meager second line coming up the street and said: “It’s Sunday and after church we want to party. It’s what we do.” And who can argue with that.

The second line included two or three social clubs, dressed to the nines, carrying fans or umbrellas or other symbols of their club. They danced to the drum rhythms and sousaphone-driven baseline of the Stooges Brass Band and another unidentified band. The crowd was far bigger than the parade and by they time it reached its end, the crowd had probably swollen to seven or eight hundred. The dancers and musicians occupied the center of the intersection and after a a couple of tunes, the former retreated to the warmth of one of the bars and the latter shouldered their instruments and headed home or to their next gig. We left as the crowd refocused on po-boys filled with freshly grilled meat. Still full from my extravagant brunch, I was just glad to get into the warmth of the car.

We headed downtown because Jeannie wanted to see Musician’s Village in the Upper Ninth Ward and some of Brad Pitt’s “Make It Right 9” homes in the Lower Ninth Ward. Afterwards, we tried to go to the late Ernie K-Doe’s Mother-in-Law Lounge (below) on Claiborne, but it was locked shut.

I had Burt drop me off at my hotel, went in to thaw out, and then dressed about as warmly as I could. I took Royal Street across the Quarter and for one last time enjoyed the musical buffet that is Frenchmen Street. After savoring jazz at the Spotted Cat and DBA, I ended up at Blue Nile. There I saw another side of New Orleans, as they were holding their weekly salsa night. Free dance lessons, Latin food a la carte, and recognition of the fastest growing segment of New Orleans’ population.

As enjoyable as it was, I stepped out into the cold and crossed the Quarter on Decatur Street. The streets were close to deserted, which to me symbolized the fact that my annual trip was drawing to a close.

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Moving Day Monday, Mar 22 2010

Saturday, March 20th, was that day that most of us moved out of the not-so-cozy confines of Madonna Manor. We packed our belongings, packed our respective vehicles, and went into the City once again. The last two vans ventured in for one last visit before hitting the road. I had the weekend to look forward to.

I went with Sasa and Trevor’s group to the St. Louis Cemeteries just outside of the Quarter. I was excited to find the tomb where jazz guitarist and raconteur Danny Barker and his blues singer wife “Blue Lu” Barker are buried. And at St. Louis #1, we visited the highly decorated burial place of Madame Laveau, the so-called “Voodoo Queen.” From there we entered familiar territory.

It was a beautiful morning in the French Quarter. I spotted a number of students running in and out of the French Market and the souvenir shops along Decatur Street. Musicians and magicians and performance artists lined the streets. And the lines wrapped around Cafe du Monde as those on spring break, tourists, and NCAA basketball fans sought their fix of cafe au lait and beignets.

Around noon the remaining groups hit the road and headed into St. Bernard Parish for the Islenos Festival. Los Islenos first came to St. Bernard Parish from the Canary Islands in 1778 at the behest of Spanish governor Bernardo de Galvez. They settled the frontier east of New Orleans and helped provide New Orleans with a buffer against the British. Many St. Bernard residents trace their ancestors to these Spanish-speaking pioneers and the festival was created to celebrate this history. On the grounds of the Islenos History Center, there were crafts, Spanish and Islenos food, music, and both St. Bernard residents and visiting Canary Islanders in period costume. I enjoyed wood carvers, boat builders, historical interpreters and some very very good food: alligator sausage and grilled bananas wrapped in bacon leap to mind. Fredy Omar con su banda provided the music and the crowd provided a surfeit of dancers.

As much as I enjoyed the festival, the call of a hotel room with a clean shower and proper bed linens called. I drove back into New Orleans and enjoyed such luxuries for the first time since I left home. I ventured out for a bite to eat and to sample the musical wares of Frenchmen Street. However fatigue and the overwhelming crowds made me brave a light rain to cross the French Quarter and hotel bed resplendent with proper sheets. And I enjoyed them.

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Last Day: St. Joseph’s Day in New Orleans Sunday, Mar 21 2010

While it does not have the notoriety of St. Patrick’s Day, St. Joseph’s Day is big in many Italian-American communities. According to tradition, St. Joseph interceded on behalf of Sicily during the Middle Ages as the island suffered through a prolonged drought. Faced with mass starvation, rains came to Sicily and the resurgent fava bean crop saved the population. A hundred years ago, the French Quarter was commonly called “Little Sicily” because of the large immigrant population. And in New Orleans, Italian residents create altars to the patron saint in churches, private homes, restaurants, bars, etc.

However, as this was going on around us, we faced the last day of our work with Operation Helping Hands. I’ve always found the last day to be bittersweet; you’ve accomplished a great deal, but no matter how hard it gets, you’re going to miss it. You know there is a lot more work to be done and at least for the time being you are no longer going to be a part of it. And I think the students felt that as well. They were fatigued, but they felt a sense of urgency about the work. And when they realized that they could not complete painting the house on Bruxelles Street, their intensity began to wane and they were ready to let go. The same was true for the other groups in the Marigny and at the new house in Gentilly. As a result, I suggested that groups forgo a full lunch break so they could break off a little early. And given that many volunteers leave on Friday, the crew chiefs agreed.

Trevor and Sasa’s group accomplished a variety of tasks to help bring a new, energy efficient home to completion. Petter and Carol’s group became masters at drywall. When I visited them on Friday morning, they were sanding and adding new coats of mud; as a result, many walls on their home in the Marigny were ready for painting. And when I got to the house on Bruxelles Street, Mandie and Jake’s group had completed painting one long side of the house, and had primed both the front and other side. Before we left, we had come close to applying one coat of paint to both. And I was happy to see that a crew of students from Arizona State had begun painting the home of the woman down the street.

After we unloaded supplies at St. Ray’s, I drove to Midcity to join Petter and Carol’s group for a late lunch of po-boys. We gathered at the Parkway Bakery and Bar for yet another version of this ubiquitous sandwich. Along with their crew leaders Nikki and Mike, we took our sandwiches over to Bayou St. John to eat. And it is like comparing your children. I’ve come to the conclusion that the best po-boy is the one that you are eating at the time. Afterwards, we lay on the bank to soak up the sun and a week’s worth of accomplishments. And to punctuate the week, Allie was on the receiving end of a deposit from a passing seagull. I won’t describe the scene beyond her first words: “something just happened…”

While two of the groups cleaned up back at Madonna Manor, Mandie and Jake’s group packed up to head into town and hit the road. They had arrived in new Orleans early and wanted to do some sightseeing on the way back. The others wanted to stretch their visit as far as possible.

I returned to the city to listen to some music and to scout for Mardi Gras Indians. For some reason, these African-American maskers have adopted St. Joseph’s night as the time to carry out their colorful, mock combat. In full regalia, they meet other tribes to chant, play music, and show-off their feathered finery.

It was still very much daylight when Burt called to tell me that he and Jeannie had spotted some Indians near St. Claude Avenue in the Bywater. I rushed over on foot and we followed them down St. Roch, to St. Claude and into Treme. When we got to St. Bernard Avenue just below Claiborne Avenue other tribes joined in. I was able to direct the students to where we were located and we enjoyed this strange and beautiful spectacle. And as it grew increasingly dark, we decided to spend most of our time on St. Bernard and not to follow them into the depths of the surrounding neighborhoods. The evening was marred only by the appearance of an intentionally threatening motorcycle gang and some rather brutish behavior by the NOPD, who exhibited rather heavy-handed efforts at “crowd control.”

As it approached 9:00pm, we all decided it was best to head to the better lit parts of the city for dinner, music, etc. But I suspect memories of that singular experience on St. Bernard Avenue will long survive whatever took place afterwards.

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Fourth Day: Thursday, March 18th Friday, Mar 19 2010

Work continued at a pretty brisk pace, although you could see the energy level diminishing bit-by-bit. Long work days and late nights will do that. I know.

I rejoined my group in Treme where we continued to work on the front trim. Painstaking work that was somewhat frustrating for the students. However, Julia had strategies for quickly painting over mistakes here and there and finished product was much more satisfying that they thought possible. She was pulled off to supervise another group, so we were given the very real privilege of being trusted to work alone.

For lunch we made a run into the Quarter for muffalettas from the Central Grocery on Decatur Street. I’m always entranced by the deli counter and specialty-stocked shelves. And we were lucky enough to snag a space right in front so that I was able to get out of the car and enjoy it. We sat on the front porch, soaking in the sun and the olive-relish infused mortadella, prosciutto, and mozzarella on slightly crisp, sesame seed Italian loaves. Unfortunately, afer all that, we had to get back to work.

actually packed up and moved our operation over Broad Street into Gentilly. There we very efficiently put two coats of exterior paint on one side and primed the front porch, porch ceiling, and front gable. We broke off a bit early so the group could make their way up Gentilly for snowballs. I stayed behind to help Julia with the tools and all the groups gathered at St. Ray’s for the volunteer appreciation dinner of spaghetti and meatballs.

While waiting on the front step of the Bruxelles Street house, an elderly woman from down the street paid me a visit. She was upset that a crew had power-washed her house a week before and no Operation Helping Hands had returned to paint. I told her that I was a volunteer, but she insisted on waiting for Julia to return. While we waited on the stoop, I asked her about her experiences in the wake of Katrina. Like the previous homeowner, her house did not take on flood water; however, the roof gave way and she received considerable interior water damage. She evacuated to her son’s home near Lafayette where she waited, and waited for utilities to return to her neighborhood. In the meantime, Hurricane Rita struck west of New Orleans and she was once again plunged into darkness. She ended up returning to New Orleans in January 2006, only the third resident in her block to do so. And she still had to wait for the lights to be turned on. The resilience and stubborn sense of home that these people possess never ceases to amaze me. And beyond everything else, that is the thing that will keep this City going.

After showering and an inordinate time spent trying to get all of the paint off, I headed out in the Bywater neighborhood to meet my friend Burt and his friend Jeannie at Vaughan’s. Kermit Ruffins was not there for his normal Thursday evening, but we stayed nonetheless to soak up Vaughan’s radical unpretentiousness. Backed by Kermit’s Barbecue Swingers, the front men included trombonist Corey Henry of the Rebirth Brass Band. They were extraordinary musicians and showed a lot of musical range. However, it was not what we came to see and, after one set and a bowl of free red beans and rice, we parted ways with Vaughan’s. I stopped by the Spotted Cat for a short while, but fatigue set in and I headed back to the West Bank.

Over the next hour or so, students started filtering back, van by van. One group went for zydeco night at the Rock and Bowl. The others explored the ferry and streetcar system; and I gather with some challenges. However, I was too tired to wait up and here about it. I suspect I’ll get an earful today!

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Third Day: St. Patrick’s Day in New Orleans Thursday, Mar 18 2010

I think it pleased everyone that the third day of work began uneventfully and, as far as I know, ended that way. About half of the group went to Tipitina’s to see Citizen Cope and they were understandably bleary-eyed. I started out at the house Carol and Petter’s group was working on. I was surprised to find that it was not in Bywater, but in the Marigny a block off of Frenchmen. Great location, but a house much in need of care. The students were primarily “mudding” and sanding drywall, and “mudding” and sanding drywall, etc., etc.

I worked with them for about an hour and a half, but it was pretty tight quarters and a decided that there was potential for me to be in the way. I went back over to the house in Treme where they were applying coats of paint and ready to start working on the trim, which is something I reasonably accomplished at. At lunch, I took Alli and Lindsey over to the house in the Marigny so that they could have lunch with the rest of their group. We walked over to Washington Park between Frenchmen and Elysian Fields and enjoyed a cool, but sunny picnic.

Lunch over, we rejoined the other group and literally got our hands dirty while painting. We had crews on the roof, on the sides of the house, and on the front porch working on trim. I think everyone really got into the rhythm of things and some found it hard to stop painting and begin cleaning brushes, rollers, containers, stowing ladders, and packing supplies in Julia’s van.

We got back to St. Ray’s, exchanged the day’s stories, and eagerly waited to see what wonderful meal Miss Kathy was preparing for the evening. Clearly, Miss Kathy is not Irish, but everyone enjoyed the pulled pork, mashed potatoes, corn and tossed salad. I took advantage of the groups’ postprandial inertia and sneaked back across the river to get first in line for the showers.

The downtown St. Pat’s Parade was something of a disappointment. They moved the route off of Frenchmen and Bourbon to wider streets. It seems smaller than in previous years and even by New Orleans standards, it seemed halting and disorganized. But, students got kisses from drunken Irishmen and beads, so all was well in the end.

I ended the evening at the Spotted Cat where I caught the end of a set by Loose Marbles and part of the first set of St. Louis Slim and the Feral Cats. I’ve seen Slim play the part of blues man on numerous occasions, so it was interesting to see him front a more “traditional” ensemble. I recognized most of the musicians and they proved my suspicion that their collaboration would be top flight. It was also good to see several of the crew leaders, sans paint-stained clothes, enjoying the post-parade festivities.

Alas, three days of work and limited sleep were taking their toll and I crawled back to my rental car, across the Mississippi River Bridge, and into bed. And for once, while aware of when the remaining students came in, I was able to roll over and catch a few more hours of much-needed sleep.

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Second Day: Tuesday, March 16th Thursday, Mar 18 2010

With the day came news to the entire group of the thefts and, unfortunately, several additional iPods were found missing. We reported the incidents to Operation Helping Hands, the other building occupants, and will have to append our police report to the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office. Regardless, everyone was out on time, headed to St. Ray’s and then on to their respective work sites.

I went in a bit late, because one of the students had to pick-up a prescription. Dropping her off gave me a chance to visit one of the groups working on a new, energy efficient home in Gentilly. I spent a while helping them move tools and supplies out of the house in anticipation of the next stage of work. Then I preceded over to the house our group was working on in Treme. We continued caulking, priming and painting. We broke for lunch and went to unpromising looking gas station in Gentilly. Jimmy’s Discounts advertised the largest po-boys in New Orleans, which to me sounded like promising the world’s best cup of coffee. I think Julia sent us there because she knew would score some leftovers. We were not left wanting. I ordered a fried shrimp po-boy, fully dressed; it was at least 14 inches long and had about a pound of shrimp on it. The cost: $7.99. I ate half of it and passed the rest on to Dan who I think passed it on to Julia. I think we might be back with better plans to share sandwiches.

We got into some heavy duty painting and trim work while Julia worked on replacing some rotten boards, particularly nearer the ground. The owner, Miss T, told us the water only came up to the top of steps as Treme, while not as high above ground as the French Quarter to the south is still at or above sea level. Still, the lack of power following Katrina forced her to evacuate to Arkansas and then Dallas. She was so anxious to come home that she did so weeks before all services returned. And while home, she misses many of her neighbors who settled elsewhere. I suspect she is approaching 80, but she’s still got a lot of fight and opinions in her. And to prove it, when she determined that the trim paint offered by Operation Helping Hands did not suit her, she went to Lowe’s, picked out colors, and bought the ones she liked.

After showers and a change of clothes, the whole group collected at the Praline Connection on Frenchmen Street for our annual, traditional Creole dinner. The students were spectacularly adventuresome as they sampled alligator and crawfish alongside gumbo file, jambalaya, red beans and rice, and collard greens. Most went around the corner to Cafe du Monde, while I walked over with one of the students to Preservation Hall where Shannon Powell and Preservation Hall-Stars were performing. There was a light rain which kept the crowd down a bit and we were able to squeeze into the second show. When I saw Steve Pistorious on piano, I knew I had to stay for the final set. And seated on the floor next to the band, we were not disappointed. Although the standards were seasoned with a heavy dose of camp, Steve and Leon “Kid Chocolate” Brown on trumpet were spectacular.

We walked back to the car in a light rain and made our way back the West Bank. Happily, things were quiet and with a new day of work ahead of us, most of us chose to go to bed.

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First Day: Monday, March 15th Tuesday, Mar 16 2010

We all got up bright and early so that we could get across the river for orientation. I got even earlier than necessary and made it through the tolls with no delay. I made it to St. Raymond’s in Gentilly before daylight and spent the time using their wireless connection. The three student vans made it on time as well.

We joined groups from Fordham, Iona, Arizona State, and AmeriCorps. They provided us with an introduction to Operation Helping Hands, collected requisite forms, and divided us into working groups. For the most part, groups were able to remain intact, but I and two students joined Jake and Mandie’s groups for a large painting job on a house in the historic Treme neighborhood. Trevor and Sasa’s group worked on a new, energy efficient house in Gentilly and Petter and Carol’s group was sent to work on a house in Marigny/Bywater.

We had the pleasure of working with Julia, our crew chief who is from Iowa. She divided us into painting tasks dependent on skill level and willingness to work in high places. We had teams scraping, priming, caulking, and applying paint. It was a great combination of hard work and fun. The homeowner is an elderly woman who doesn’t miss a trick; she is heavily involved in decision regarding trim colors and just about everything else, but she is extremely appreciative and a joy to be around. We broke briefly for lunch and got right back to work, but by 3:30pm folks started running out of gas so we began cleaning up for the day. We went back to St. Ray’s the traditional Monday meal: red beans, rice, and sausage.

Because it was sunny and warm, the entire group went to the Barataria Preserve, once the haunt of Jean Lafitte, now part of the National Park system. It’s about ten miles from where we are staying in Jefferson Parish. We saw alligators, white egrets, and a large owl. We then went into the City for a variety of activities ranging from coffee and beignets at Cafe du Monde to listening to music on Frenchmen Street. I spent about an hour watching the filming of a scene from the upcoming HBO series “Treme.” The 20 second scene was shot at the corner of Chartres and Barracks and involved Steven Zahn putting a young woman in a cab. If attention to detail is a mark of success, then the show should do extremely well!

Most were back at a reasonable time; however, several of us discovered that someone had entered our rooms and taken valuables ranging from a laptop and iPods to a pair of compact binoculars. The students were understandably upset. We warned the other residents to be sure to stow valuables and filed a report with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s office. We would contact the buildiong superintendent and Operation Helping Hands in the morning. Eventually folks settled down in anticipation of another day of hard work. Although, what I had once anticipated to be a reasonable bedtime went well into the early morning.

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Another Beautiful Day in New Orleans Monday, Mar 15 2010

The late night before made for a slow start. I spent a while at McDonald’s, drinking coffee and using their free WIFI. The leaders got everybody up by 11am and a little after noon we were heading back into the City. It was probably the best day of the week: lows 70s, bright sunshine with a little breeze, especially out in the Lower Ninth where we started the day.

For the uninitiated, the drive east across New Orleans is a sobering experience. Many homes in the Upper Ninth are still uninhabitable and a large percentage of businesses there have not returned, even nearly five years later. And then you cross the Industrial Canal into the Lower Ninth. Large patches of weeds and slab foundations remain where houses used to stand. And as bare as that scene is, it doesn’t belie the devastation and profound remnants of human habitation left by the broken levee. Still, there is progress. In the shadow of the new levee, about two dozen news homes have sprung up, many constructed by Brad Pitt’s foundation Make It Right Nine. Even so, the modern, sustainable homes, while architecturally innovative are in stark contrast to what once stood, as well as to those still standing a few blocks away. I suspect this might be jarring to some residents of the neighborhood; at least those lucky enough to have returned. Nevertheless, it represents progress.

We left there to travel across town to the Audubon Zoo, where they were holding the last day of a two-day Soul Fest. The difference in the neighborhoods could not be more drastic, as we left weed strewn lots for oak lined streets lined by 19th century mansions. The disparity did not escape the students. And many tourists who visit only the French Quarter and Uptown neighborhoods can easily come and go and not understand the work, both structurally and socially that remains.

We braved lines of traffic and at the gate to get into the zoo. Most students had some time to actually see animals before jazz trumpeter Irvin Mayfield and the Rebirth Brass Band closed the festival. The set was high energy and the crowd was exuberant and engaged. It did not really feature Mayfield’s considerable talents as he joined in with Rebirth’s standard repertoire and as much as I enjoy his gifts as a player that was all right by me. The set included trademark tunes like “Casanova,” “Do Whatcha Wanna,” and “Feel Like Funkin’ It Up,” among others. The zoo closed soon thereafter, but not before I snagged some samples of the soul food as the vendors closed shop.

The trip back downtown had similar traffic trials, but virtually everyone ventured to the French Quarter and/or Marigny for a brief while. I took advantage of the warm weather to walk the streets for good examples of ironwork and Creole cottages. At the Spotted Cat, I caught most a set from a talented bunch of young musicians named the “Loose Marbles.” The rhythm section was quite good, most notably the tuba player and pianist. Alas, fatigue set in and I returned back to the West Bank and Madonna Manor.

Within a half hour, everyone was back together under the same roof. Spirits were good, but the sun, long night before, and anticipation of a week of hard work set-in for everyone. It is quiet now, but that will change in a few hours as over two dozen students and I scramble to get ready and out by 6:30am, in order to make the trek to Gentilly for our first day of work with Operation Helping Hands.

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Saturday Morning Sunday, Mar 14 2010

The groups were ready earlier than I expected. They followed me into the city, where we found places to park the oversized vans on the street near Faubourg Marigny and the Quarter. I walked them down Frenchmen Street to Deactur and then to Jackson Square. There, I gave them their orientation: where they were; where not go; what there is to see on a Saturday morning.

And it was a spectacular morning. The locals and tourists alike glad to see a nice spring day, although it is still a bit cool by New Orleans standards. As they explored the French Market, the street performance on Royal Street, etc. I grabbed lunch at Mena’s Palace. Hopelessly predictable: red beans and rice and fried chicken. I sat at the bar and was shocked when I did not get at least one “baby” from the waitress; then I realized she was from Ireland. Had a nice chat with my meal.

Mid afternoon, I met up with students at the intersection of Louisiana and St. Charles uptown for the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Parade. Even though it is more family-oriented than many things in New Orleans, I don’t think the students were quite prepared for the moderated excess. There was one hapless breast flasher, hundreds or drunken Irishmen seeking kisses, and tons of beads, throws, cabbages – yes, cabbages. And about the time the parade was over, we learned that the last van had arrived safely in Marrero.

After some burgers, the newly-reunited class went into the City for Saturday night. As they explored the Quarter, I took in a couple of sets of clarinetist Ben Schenck and the Panorama Jazz Band at the Spotted Cat. A wonderful blend of klezmer, New Orleans jazz, and Caribbean rhythm. The place was backed, so I skipped out on the new incarnation of the New Orleans Jazz Vipers and took a walk around the Quarter. Lasted maybe two blocks on Bourbon Street and then returned to my car via Decatur. On the way, I ran into jazz pianist Steve Pistorious, who had just been at UNH with Michael White two weeks ago.  From the sound of it, they are very eager to return to New Hampshire.

I took advantage of the empty quarters in Marerro to shower, get settled into bed, and wait for the groups to return. And I waited, and waited…and waited. Happily, everyone got in safely and I able to close my other eye and get a few hours of sleep.

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