Cruising from New Orleans Monday, Mar 26 2012

Camp Hope, Violet LA, March 2007.

In 2007, the seond year I traveled to New Orleans during spring break, the students and I stayed at Camp Hope,  a former elementary school that housed volunteers in St. Bernard Parish. It was in the town of Violet, about 20 miles from New Orleans. The drive back and forth seemed long when done late at night, but it was pleasant during the day time. That is, once you had numbed yourslf to the abandoned neighborhoods, refinery and chemical spills, and still evident destruction in the low-lying parish.

However, there was one place outside of Violet that made you forget. It was a sizeable piece of grazing land, which seemed to go on for miles from the levee back into the interior. It was green, the trees sported spring leaves, and the cows grazed under the warm spring sun. As I drove to Camp Hope one day, above this sign of nature’s resilience, there appeared an apparaition above the plain. It was was unnaturally colorful and loomed high above me; it was one of the first cruise ships to depart from post-Katrina New Orleans. Keep in mind, that thanks to the levee system, the Mississippi River was probably 10-15 above where the cows grazed and I drove. Add to that, 12 stories of cruise ship and you can understand why I felt compelled to pull over and watch this seemingly out-of-place spectacle. I stood by my rental car for a few minutes as it eventually made a hard right, following the river, and disappeared from sight. At that moment, I vowed that I would one day sail down the Mississippi from New Orleans.

Well, that momemt fnally arrived last week, as my wife and I found an attactive cruise itinerry that left from the docks on Julia Street. And it semed like a natural extension of the previous week with my students. In his introduction to Nine Lives, Dan Baum challenges us not to discredit New Orleans as the “worst-organized city in America,” but to think of it “as the best organized city in the Caribbean.” And New Orleans and its people have so many direct and indirect historical and cultural ties to the Caribbean. And I considered myself up to the challenge of examining, first-hand and in great scientific detail (or not), those bonds.

Jazz mass at St. Augustine's, Treme, New Orleans LA, March 2012

And, for thre first time in nearly 20 years, it meant my wife and I were both in New Orleans at the same time. Which was great, mind you; however, my wife saw first-hand the New Orleans mania that I have developed over the years. In spite of uncontrolled, Rain Man-like recitations of New Orleans trivia, some memorable things happened before our disembarkation. Chiefly, after a Sunday morning walk through the residential part of the French Quarter, we attended mass at St. Augustine’s in Treme, the oldest, African-American, Roman Catholic parish in the United States. The mass was built around a jazz band, a bluesy choir, a charismatic priest, and a joyful, welcoming congregation. And in the midst of Lent, it was a welcome reminder that religion is about praise and joy and not sack cloth and ashes. After and hour and a half, we had to skip out early to make sure we checked out of hotel in time.

Chalmette National Battlefield, Chalmette LA, March 2012

As a result, we were among the first on board, seated and having lunch just an hour after leaving mass. After a week of running around between work sites and trips from Slidell into New Orleans, it was relaxing to take in the City from 12 stories up. At 5:00 p.m. we set saiil and began the seven to eight h9ur trip down the river to th Gulf. I got to see the French Quarter, the Bywater, the Lower Ninth, and the Jackson Barracks, where during Katrina, military trucks and material was rendered useless by flooding. And from my high perch, I saw the length of the Chalmette Battlefield, where in 1815, Andrew Jackson defeated the most seasoned army in the world; hundreds of British and Scottish dead at a cost of but seven Americans from a ragtag, multicultural army of frontiersmen, pirates, native Americans, and free Creoles of color. And right next door, the site of Camp Premier, the FEMA camp where I stayed in March 2006 (named for the company who provided the tents and folding cots, likely owned by a well-connected campaign contributor). Beyond that: the refineries whose flooding rendered entire neighborhoods unlivable; that tract of grazing land, more beautiful than I remembered; the shrimping community of Violet;  and the modern, rebuilt school that once housed volunteers as Camp Hope.

Temple steps, Kohunlich archaeological site, Quintana Roo, Mexico, March 2012

The trip down memory lane devolved into hours of marsh and river bends. Over the flat expanse, the New Orleans skyline receded ever so slowly into the distance. I was on deck late that night as we cleared the river’s mouth, entering the oil and gas fields of the Louisiana Gulf.

There was a day at sea before we visited four ports on consecutive days. I like to think of cruises as scouting expeditions. It is a chance to visit places on a somewhat superficial level to determine whether you might want to return for a longer, less structured visit. And I am a cheap date; I’ll go just about anywhere once, and maybe twice. I had liked this itinerary on paper or, to be exact, computer monitor, and it didn’t disappoint. Belize and the Honduran island of Roatan, I’d definitely like to return to. Cozumel was a surprise. Great beaches and snorkeling, with a sense of it being a real place beyond the endless shopping opportunities. Costa Maya was a  gateway to some spectacular Mayan ruins, but as a place it is an apparition rising from the coastal, mangrove swamps. A fiction to lure guests off of passing ships. But one that is crucial to the local economy.

Napping black howler monkeys, Old Belize River, Belize, March 2012

It was a good week of seeing the sites and people watching and I didn’t obsess too much of how much things I saw were like or unlike New Orleans. The food was good and, with some care, not as fattening as what I would have consumed in New Orleans. The music was definitely worse. While there was some good music to be heard on land, I am amazed at how many different versions of “Sweet Caroline” one can hear on shipboard. And the greater cosmic question: if Bob Marley never existed, would the band by the pool just stand around, silent? That is, until they replay the calypso version of “Sweet Caroline.”

I also had the urge to buy the shipboard portraits of total strangers. My accountant and wife, who are the same person, pointed out that this was a very poor investment vehicle and, more importantly, it was just plain stupid. I guess collecting pictures of strangers posed with someone dressed like a lady pirate could be considered weird, but it’s the thought that counts.

Tendering back to the ship, off the coast of Belize, March 2012

Among some other things I noticed: on shore, in the Western Caribbean, time is relative, much like in New Orleans; we may think that the number of smokers has declined, but half of those remaining were on our cruise (the other half are in the bars of New Orleans); and why do people on cruise ships paw through merchandise on sales tables? Wouldn’t they ignore the same stuff if it were in the window of a shop, in say, Lafayette or Little Rock (examples picked totally at random)? And finally, why do so many people on cruises, especially Southern women of a certain age (not to get too specific here) spend most of their time looking as though someone has been force-feeding them pickled buzzard eggs? My suspicion, given that they can afford to go on a cruise, is that their lives don’t totally suck. And even if they did suck, wouldn’t walking around on a boat, with people throwing food at you, stopping in warm, exotic ports where friendly people live, cause you to force a smile or two? Just saying.

Snorkeling and beach excursion, Cozumel, March 2012

Well, we had fun. No pickled buzzard eggs for us. Yeah, we lost a little money in the casino. We pretty much ignored the on board entertainment, except for various versions of “Sweet Caroline.” We enjoyed kind of dressing up and having leisurely meals in the dining room, frequently discussing our daily adventures with nearby diners. And as we sailed northward through the deep water oil rigs, our exhaustion should have been accompanied by a certain sadness. But we had beautiful weather and another day in New Orleans awaiting us.

Leaving Cozumel, March 2012

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Saint Patrick’s Day in New Orleans Sunday, Mar 18 2012

Crawfish for our last dinner in Slidell, March 2012

A constant of our spring breaks has been St. Patrick’s Day, which runs neck and neck with St. Joseph’s Day in New Orleans among the pantheon of “holy” days to rank behind Mardi Gras. It or some events related to it are always present. This year students traveled to Metairie for their big parade last Sunday. And a few of those in the City witnessed the Molly’s in the Market parade on Decatur, which is basically a moving block party. They enjoyed their last night in the Quarter, regardless, although the new 21+ regulations are making it harder for young people to go into clubs to listen to music. If they keep this up, it will be to the detriment of the music and its following and not to the sustenance of decency and decorum.

Courtyard concert, Historic New Orleans Collection, Royal Street, March 2012

I caught part of the Molly’s parade, but also had the chance to see Dr. Michael White and his quartet performing at eh Historic New Orleans Collection on Royal Street. The beautiful courtyard of this old mansion was filled with members and music lovers alike, and they did not disappoint. And the sound of tunes like “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” with Gregg Stafford’s vocals reverberating off of the masonry walls, was fabulous.

Students learning about Mardi Gras Indian culture at the Backstreet Cultural Museum, March 2012

The late night in the City made for a slow departure from the Peace Mission Center this morning. And to some extent, I think it was a rebellion against leaving New Orleans more than chronic sleepiness. Bags seemed to roll slower. Packing decisions took longer. I found it easier to leave the process entirely and make my way into the City for our meeting at the Backstreet Cultural Museum in Treme, the source for the best information on Mardi Gras Indian and Second Line culture in New Orleans. Happily, all three groups fought through the New Orleans departure blues to hear museum founder Sylvester Francis

Sylvester Francis explaining the Second Line tradition, March 2012

expound on this unique culture. The Mardi Gras Indian costumes amazed and hopefully most came away with greater understanding of these New Orleans cultural artifacts.

Sadly, I had to part with students at 10 a.m. Most of them were heading across Rampart Street into the Quarter for what I feel is the finest New Orleans experience — the French Quarter on a weekend morning. There they would find a humming French Market, street performers, and New Orleans’ signature food fare; such will hopefully lessen the sting of a long journeyhome back to the second half of the semester.

Willie Mae's Scotch House, Treme, March 2012

I left the museum to head out to the airport to pick up my wife. And as frequently as I go to New Orleans, it was the first time we have been together in the City since 1993>And we had quite the New Orleans experience: fried chicken at Willie Mae’s Scotch House in Treme; part of the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day Parade; dinner with a smartass waitress; the Downtown St. Patrick’s Parade; music on Frenchmen; watching 100 year-old Lionel Ferbos perform with his band at the Palm Court; and walking through the Quarter on a warm Saturday night that happens to be March 17th. It makes me tired (and smile) just to think of it.

St. Patrick's Day, Jackson and St. Charles, March 2012

I am heading offline tomorrow and will not be adding to my blog for a week or more. I’m sure I’ll Have plenty of observations, commentary, and pictures when I get back and the events of the past week have sufficiently sunk in. At that time, I will also begin a new thread in which I invite students to contribute blog entries related to New Orleans, the trip, and to the class. So, stay tuned, there is good stuff yet to come.

The End of the Week Friday, Mar 16 2012

Los Islenos and Baratarians in Slidell LA, March 2012

You can take all of the cliches about returning home after spending a week away and boil ’em up in a pot and pretty much get the point of this post. Between Thursday night and Saturday morning, the students here are already preparing for the separation; the trip, the thing they’ve looked forward to since pre-registration is about to be over. No matter how much we talk about their experience in an effort to place this great, yet peculiar City in context; it won’t be enough. And then they’ll get to drive the 26-28 hours back to Durham NH. I think they’ve really begun to understand this place, warts and all. And they understand the small contribution that they’ve made to the lives of the people in this region. They’ve certainly gotten the food. They’ve adapted to the slow pace. And they understand that this place sweats music. And they have already begun ignoring the sunburns, and blisters, and the aching muscles that they never realized that they had.

UNH Students on the Canal Street/Algiers Ferry, March 2012

Thursday night, everyone got up from dinner and a surprise birthday cake from home, and ventured into the City. One group had already gone in to eat at the Praline Connection on Frenchmen. I met the other two groups for a round-trip on the ferry to Algiers Point. I didn’t even get off the boat. The night was balmy, almost summer-like. We’ve enjoyed it immensely, but I’ve heard several locals worry aloud: “if it’s this hot in march, what is it going to be like in July?”

Young Fellaz Brass Band, Frenchmen Street, March 2012

After the ferry ride, the groups went their separate ways, although most ended up listening to some sort of music. I caught the up-and-coming Young Fellaz Brass Band for a short, yet-spirited set at the corner of Chartres and Frenchmen, before ducking into one of the nearby clubs for a set of cafe jazz. I had early morning plans to visit with the group working across the Parish, so I returned before most of the students.

Friday brought the last day of work and the last night in the City. I drove through the morning fog to meet up with the Wild Magnolias, who are putting the finishing touches on a couple of homes outside of Abita Springs. Both are scheduled to close before the end of the month. In the process, they have picked up such skills as pouring cement, building steps, and playing with local canines. They have plans to work through so that they can go to Uptown New Orleans for a Parkway Bakery po’boy. I would be jealous, except for the fact that I have found a couple of very, respectable po’boy shops right here in Slidell (As of this writing: Jocko’s and Kenney’s Seafood. I’m sure if I return in the future, I’ll discover others.).

Wild Magnolias, outside of Abita Springs LA, March 2012

The Los Islenos and Baratarians continue to toil away on Maple and Tupelo Streets,  painting and laying flooring. And they so without the benefit of the shade enjoyed by their cross-Parish classmates.The volunteers next week will be left with a nice platform upon which to erect walls. Yup, students from UNH-ABC did that. Nevertheless, you could feel the energy level drop like the air released from a balloon. And the fact that it was humid and above 80 degrees before 11 a.m. didn’t help. They too, were heading out for po’boys, but I warned them to leave room for dinner (fried catfish, okra jambalaya, salad, etc. And I’m throwing in 10 pounds of boiled crawfish, so that everyone will have a chance to try them).

I don’t think there’s a soul who’ll stay put or retire early tonight. Most plan to meet up at the Blue Nile to see Kermit Ruffins and his band, the Barbecue Swingers (Kermit is know almost as much for his cooking as his effervescent music). I might try to catch Dr. Michael White, who is playing over in the courtyard of the Historic New Orleans Collection on Royal Street a little before. From the Blue Nile, I suspect they’ll fan out to have cafe au lait, listen to more music, or just enjoy walking the streets on a warm night. And again, even though I don’t have a long drive ahead of me, I think there’s a good chance that I’ll be among the first back in Slidell.

Or, as the old crank in “It’s a Wonderful Life” said: “Youth is wasted on the wrong people!”

“Scruffy,” Abita Springs LA, March 2012

“Root Beer,” Slidell LA, March 2012

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Abita Springs Thursday, Mar 15 2012

I deeply miss the opportunity to have my students work in New Orleans with Operation Helping Hands. It’s not that the work is far different from what we are doing this week, but for the purposes of the New Orleans course, the chance to work in the neighborhoods and learn the streets, meet and talk to the people, and have them stop and thank you (and talk some more) is very important. And the young, full-time volunteers, most of them just out of college themselves, were fun to work with and provided my students with good role models.

Habitat for Humanity homes outside of Abita Springs, LA, March 2012.

That said, the experience of working with the two Habitat agencies in St. Tammany Parish and the housing at the Peace Mission Center has been great. The volunteer coordinators have been informative, helpful, and welcoming. And as always, I am amazed at the construction heads, crew chiefs, etc. that Habitat is able to put on site. They are born teachers; they are patient (to a remarkable degree), quick to assess skill levels, and always looking to make the experience a meaningful one for the volunteers. And it helps that I have a cracker jack group this year who are threatening to leave next week’s volunteers with nothing to do.

And, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I love visiting and learning about new places. For fear of online retribution, I will not list the handful of places for which this is not true. I’ll just leave it at that. Slidell has been a pleasure. The food is good, the people are friendly and almost as welcoming as those down the road in New Orleans, but we’re talking gold standard here. The terrain is pleasant, although I could do without all of the strip malls. I realize that this is, for the most part, a national epidemic, but it does seem that my native-South has perfected the blight.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to follow one of our groups over to their work with Habitat for Humanity St. Tammany–West. The work site was just outside of Abita Springs, which until then was just a name on one of my favorite regional beers (their Turbodog, to be exact, but their amber is good, too). It is a beautiful little community, just north of Mandeville. They’ve preserved much of their downtown, complete with tin roofed buildings, undisturbed trees, and locally-owned businesses.

Painting trim, Abita Springs LA, March 2012

The Habitat build was just to the west, and as you pulled off of the main road, you see a whole community, largely built by Habitat for Humanity. One of the crew estimates that nearly seventy homes in this area alone have been built by Habitat over the past two decades. That’s right. Before Katrina. We sometimes forget that events like Katrina, this spring’s tornadoes, etc. do not cause a shortage of quality, affordable housing in the richest country in the world, they only exacerbate it. And such events hopefully highlight the need for those who would rather forget about that fact. Habitat for Humanity does not forget. Their mission is to alleviate it, one house and one deserving family at a time.

Installing sub-flooring at homesite on Tupelo Street, Slidell LA, March 2012

The students were working with a wonderful crew of professional builders, young people, and those unable to truly retire, not becuase of economic need, but because they care. And the students, whether they realized it or not, had been paid a very high complement. The house they were working on was about to be turned over to a family, who had also had to put in considerable sweat equity — a Habitat requirement. There was a punchlist of items that had to be done before the papers are signed and usually, becuase these tasks can seem rather random, yet time sensitive, a crew member usually completes them. However, our group so impressed on Tuesday that they were there completing the punchlist: touching up trim and walls, installing screens; removing debris from the yard and shed; and pouring cement landings in front and back. It will be interesting to see what they are allowed to do the rest of the week.

The two groups working for St. Tammany-East Habitat for Humanity are not being left in the dust by the other. They are laying sub-flooring at one site, painting porches on completed homes, and power-washing in preparation for future paint jobs. The construction manager is complaing that they are moving so fast that he is worried about having work to do for the 32 volunteers arriving next week. He is giving them a late start on Friday; 10:00, rather than 6:45 a.m. I suspect it is both reward and an attempt to slow them down a bit. Needless to say, given the performance of this year’s class, both volunteer coordinators are eager to have us sign on for next year. And I just might.

After work, students returned to the Peace Mission Center for warm showers, some online time, to write in their journals (remember those journals!) and to shoot baskets or throw a football. They had very satisfying chicken pot pie and for those so inclined, veggie burgers, for dinner. For dessert was angel food cake with freshly made blueberry or strawberry sauce.

Left to right, Dr. Michael White, Kerry Lewis, Gregg Stafford, and Detroit Brooks, Xavier University, March 2012

After dinner, we drove across New Orleans to Xavier University of Louisiana for our annual fix of traditional jazz. There we met with Dr. Michael White, jazz clarinetist, composer, bandleader and holder of the Keller Endowed Chair in the Humanities of New Orleans Music and Culture. He and his quartet, which includes Kerry Lewis on bass, Detroit Brooks on banjo, and Gregg Stafford on trumpet and vocals, led us on a musical journey from the beginnings of jazz in New Orleans, up through one of Michael’s new compositions in the traditional idiom. I was especially taken with White’s channeling of Sidney Bechet while playing Gershwin’s “Summertime” and the ensemble’s performance of a newer composition “Give it Up” (Gypsy Second Line), a traditional-style tune with a hint of Eastern European flavor. One of my favorites. It was fun to see the recognition on the students’ faces when they played “Basin Street Blues” with Gregg Stafford on vocals. It was one of the ten tunes they had to learn for their mid term, just a week ago back in Durham.

We were joined by Joonhyung  and Desiree Cho. Joon has a masters degree from UNH and works in the intellectual property division of the LSU Agricultural Experiment Station. They had attended the conert with us before, but Joon, is known to the the class as the guy who provides us with a king cake during Carnival season. Last night, he also brought each student a small package of LSU-licensed rice. All he and Desiree got was good music and a pair of “UNH–New Orleans” tee shirts.

Walter "Wolfman" Washington, d.b.a., March 2012.

After the concert, you could see that the fatigue of the past two days had really set in. A small group of intrepid cultural warriors headed into the City, but most chose to make their way across the lake to the relative comfort of our base in Slidell. I went to Frenchmen Street where I caught a long and enjoyable set by bluesman Walter “Wolfman” Washington at d.b.a. It was tempting to stay for another, but as with the others, the Northshore beckoned.

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On Site Wednesday, Mar 14 2012

Painting a porch on Maple Street, Slidell LA, March 2012

After weeks of anticipation, the students and leaders were excited to finally get to work. I went with the Baratarians and Los Islenos groups to work with East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity in Slidell. The Wild Magnolias had a 45 minute drive to St. Tammany West. It would have been an early day, even if it weren’t their spring break. The morning yielded slapped together lunches, yawns and sleepy eyes, and a 6:45 a.m. reflection time, all prior to heading for the the work sites.

Cutting floor joists, Tupelo Street, Slidell LA, March 2012

After some struggles to find work placement for the class, it was heartening to see them all put to work within a few minutes. In a fine example of self-selection, the ones who wanted to use power tools and build a house went to once site; the ones who were just fine with prep work and painting porches went to another. While it proved to be a fine day weather-wise, the preceding rainy days left yards of wet sticky clay and mosquitoes the size of sparrows. A quick run to the store for bug spray and the emerging sun  solved the mosquito problem. The clay didn’t go anywhere — besides footwear.

Home site on Tupelo Street, Slidell LA, March 2012

The third group, was over north of Mandeville; it split into two groups. The larger worked on the punchlist for a house outside of Abita Springs. The smaller group stayed behind at Habitat and their adjoining ReStore to work on small projects.

The students seemed very satisfied with the day, clay and all. And it was clear from the Habitat folks that I have talked to that they are quite pleased with the students’ work ethic. As a result, the students will be given more and  more complicated projects to work on as the week rolls on.

Stephanie, making cookies for St. Joseph's Day altar, March 2012

For me, there were mixed feelings. Even after seven years, the prospect of students using power tools terrifies me. They receive great training, are eager to learn, but… In addition, I am nursing a bad shoulder that is going in for surgery later this month. Thus painting, hammering, and much lifting are out of the question. And that is driving me crazy. I can only watch the students working for so long. To make up for it, I’m volunteering in the kitchen at the Peace Mission Center. It’s fun working with Stephanie and work like chopping and paring doesn’t generally require holding your arm above shoulder level. And, I might learn something new.

"Uncle Lionel" Batiste, bass drummer for the Treme Brass Band, Frenchmen Street, March 2012

After a meatloaf dinner (as much as I cook, I’ve never had the opportunity to put my hands in thirty pounds of ground beef), students gathered for a trip into the French Quarter. They had taken the night before off, and there was shopping to be done on Decatur and Royal, music to e listened to, and beignets to be eaten. I had the chance to see the Treme Brass Band at d.b.a. on Frenchmen. The music was great, especially their versions of “I Ate Up the Apple Tree,” “Big Chief,” and “Bourbon Street Parade.”  The crowd seemed well lubricated, as well, which offered entertainment driven by somewhat morbid fascination. A couple of women, in particular, seemed to defy gravity as they lurched in front of the stage. However, by the time I left after the second set, they were still, amazingly, upright.

Treme Brass Band, d.b.a., Frenchmen Street, March 2012

Most of us were back around midnight. And lights did not stay on long. Morning, and another day of hard work, would be coming soon enough.

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A Quiet Day in Slidell, LA Tuesday, Mar 13 2012

I have probably driven through the Slidell area a dozen times, but only stopped to buy gas once or twice  — that is, until this past Saturday. Since then, I have joined my class as guests of the Peace Evangelical Lutheran Church in Slidell, Louisiana. Initially, the impulse for us to beat a path to the City, but the long van trip trip and late nights caught up with the group on Monday.

Students boarding the boats swamp tour, March 2012.

Some of the other groups began working for various agencies in the area, but our work week starts on Tuesday. After a somewhat slow start, students gathered for breakfast in the dining/meeting hall; then we went through orientation. Afterwards students had a couple of hours to go online, write in their journals, or just chill after three hectic days. I advised them to take advantage, because the next six days would bring hard work AND the long drive back to New Hampshire.

Our intrepid and extremely knowledgeable guide, Pearl River, March 2012.

We all got together in early afternoon a few miles east of Slidell along the banks of the Pearl River. There, we embarked on a swamp tour of the Pearl River basin. It was overcast and showery; the water high from spring rains and still a bit chilly for optimum sightings of large, scaly aquatic reptiles, i.e., the main reason we were there.

Time would prove that we were in the hands of knowledgeable and skilled guides. Over the next two hours, we were enlightened about local history, culture, and the insights of folks who are the antithesis of the fanciful caricatures presented by “reality” shows like “Swamp People.” And we saw some magnificent scenery, centuries old cypress, wild blue iris, and, most importantly, swamp critters.

Great blue heron on the Pearl River, March 2012.

We passed turtles trying to squeeze some sun out of the showers, water snakes, egrets, ibis, a broad winged hawk, and great blue herons. We took a narrow bayou up to an oxbow, the former, now bypassed  channel of the Pearl River. There, the water was warm enough for some gator activity. Not monsters by any means, but large and lively enough to entertain a bunch of students from New England. Our guide, with tremendous eloquence called them to the boat. A hot dog on a stick helped in the task, but only after he got there attention with his gatorese. Each alligator ate and swam back enough to get a good view of our departure. A fun and highly educational way to spend the afternoon. And certainly not something that I can replicate in the classroom.

Pirate's Alley, off of Jackson Square, after a rain, March 2012.

We returned to the Peace Mission Center for traditional Monday fare: red beans and rice prepared by Chef Stephanie. They were delicious and we did our part to make sure they did not have to deal with leftovers.

The students clearly took me seriously about resting up. They retired to the lounge for movies, quiet talk, and relaxation. The guys’ quarters are, to say the least, not lounge-worthy, and I did not want to infringe upon their social time. For that reason, I was forced into town to listen to music, walk about, and take some pictures of the rain-drenched streets. Nonetheless, it was still an early evening for me , too, as our work day on Tuesday begins at 6:45 a.m sharp.

Again, something of a public service warning: these daily posts during spring break are often done on the run, usually in a McDonald’s. I generally don’t have the time to review or edit them as I might usually, and the chances that I’ll go back and catch things is limited. In advance, let me apologize for typos (especially this year since I am using a netbook) and missing words. It goes with the territory, but if I can, I ‘d rather post as often as time allows, albeit imperfectly.

Fine in the Lower Nine Monday, Mar 12 2012

Ronald Lewis and the House of Dance and Fathers, March 2012

For the first time, the entire group went into New Orleans. And heading from Slidell, we logically, and by planning, went from east to west. First stop was the Lower Ninth Ward, arguably the part of the City hardest hit by the flooding after Hurricane Katrina.

We began our visit at 1317 Tupelo Street, home of Ronald Lewis and his backyard museum, the House of Dance and Feathers. I first met him last summer, but I got to know him several years ago in Dan Baum’s wonderful book, Nine Lives. Ronald’s voice, as relayed by Baum, captured me, and before they read the book, I wanted my students to meet Ronald and hear him and his wisdom in person.

Students with Ronald Lewis, March 2012.

Ronald was heading off to speak at a onference at Tulane, but he took the time to talk about his lifetime in the Lower Ninth, the Mardi Gras Indian and second line traditions, and his collection which represents both. The students were mesmerized, both by his experience and his knowledge. And his warmth. It was a great introduction to the Lower Ninth before heading over to the levee along the Industrial Canal, where the worst damage occurred. It is always sobering, but it was heartening to see slow, steady, and sustainable progress in a place where an entire neighborhood was swept from the face of the Earth.

Students with parade loot, March 2012. Photo by Cora Lehet.

After our informal tour, we parted ways, the students to get a bead fix at the Metairie St. Patrick’s Day Parade and me, to go to the Keep N It Real Social Aid and Pleasure Club second line in Mid City. The students had a ball tastefully collecting beads and throws from marchers at the parade in Metairie. And they caught cabbages, carrots, potatoes and onions thrown from the two level parade trucks — it is not a parade for the inattentive. It would be interesting to get a total weight of the beads they brought back and I heard a couple complaining of sore necks resulting from wearing so many beads. Needless to say: a good time was had by all.

I joined Kyle and his friends for the second line, which started at Bayou St. John and Orleans Avenue. In keeping with the Nine Lives theme of the day, the To Be Continued Brass Band played behind the dancers. Their formation, under the direction of band director Wilbert Rawlins, Jr., was also chronicled in the book; a story, which to me, created some of the most moving parts of the book. So, here they were, the driving for for the throng which pointed itself towards Treme. And one which would not stop dancing, drinking, and eating until several miles and hours later. We followed for a couple of miles before taking

Second Line parade with TBC Brass Band, Mid City, March 2012

the car to catch up with them as they entered Treme. Highlight: the band and marchers version of  “A Closer Walk with Thee” that segued into “I’ll Fly Away.” Priceless.

We went into the City to listen to some great music and great musicians on Frenchmen Street, before polishing off three pounds of boiled crawfish. But the day was not over.

We reunited with the sunburnt and bead weary students at the Gentilly Baptist Church for a concert by singer, songwriter, guitarist Paul Sanchez. We were there as guests of Tom Brink and UNH Intervarsity, who are staying working in Gentilly. And it was fun for us to see and visit with friends and former students in a place far distant from Durham, NH.

Left to right: Alex McMurray, Paul Sanchez, and Arsene DeLay, Gentilly Baptist Church, March 2012.

And in keeping with the theme for the day, Sanchez has spent the last three years collaborating on writing a musical based on the book, Nine Lives. Alongside guitarist Alex McMurray and singer Arsene DeLay, niece of singer John Boutte, they would highlight and draw together our collective experiences.

For an hour and half, they brought tired students to their feet. Had them dancing. Singing. Sanchez opened with Arlo Guthrie’s “City of New Orleans” and later played one of my favorites, “At the Foot of Canal Street,” written in collaboration with John Boutte. My favorite part, however, were selections from the musical, including “Fine in the Lower Nine,” written in the voice of native son Ronald Lewis, and “It Could Have Been Worse,” which DeLay used to bring down the house. And it would not be the first time.

At about 9:30 p.m., the concert and singing and dancing and socializing wound down. What a day. The students still needed a beignet fix. I opted for a shower and some quiet time and instead headed back to Slidell. And when it was time to get up this morning, I was very happy I did.

Reader beware: these daily posts during spring break are often done on the run, usually in a McDonald’s. I generally don’t have the time to review or edit them as I might usually, and the chances that I’ll go back and catch things is limited. In advance, let me apologize for typos (especially this year since I am using a netbook) and missing words. It goes with the territory, but if I can, I ‘d rather post as often as time allows, albeit imperfectly.

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We’ve All Landed Sunday, Mar 11 2012

Before I begin, a public service warning: these daily posts during spring break are often done on the run, usually in a McDonald’s. I generally don’t have the time to review them as might usually, and the chances that I’ll go back and catch things is limited. In advance, let me apologize for typos (especially this year since I am using a netbook) and missing words. It goes with the territory, but it I can, I ‘d rather snatch the time to post as often as time allows.

Shrimp boats on Bayou Bienvenue, March 2012.

Now: yesterday was a roller coaster of a day. I started at a motel overlooking Bayou Bienvenue in Chalmette, Louisiana. I had a leisurely breakfast at the cafe of the casino attached to the motel. In this case, a couple of dozen video poker machines constitutes a casino. After a quick visit to the docks and shrimp boats behind the motel, I headed into the City.

It was kind of a gray day as I crossed the Ninth Ward and headed down Elysian Fields to the Marigny neighborhood.  I strolled down sleepy Frenchmen Street (it would be an entirely different story 12 hours later). It was one of those aimless mornings that I look forward to, especially in front of hectic week with work and events planned. I walked a lot and found nice places to pause and people watch.

Line at Cafe du Monde, March 2012.

I strolled through the French Market. I passed the University of Kentucky basketball fans lined up a half block to get a seat at Cafe du Monde (I guess I’ve never had a cup of coffee that good). I visited Jackson Square and the Cathedral and headed north to Treme. I crossed Bourbon Street without glancing either way and ended up in the newly refurbished Armstrong Park.

For a music lover, it was like a trip home. Before Katrina it was reputed to be to dangerous to visit and after Katrina, it was closed for years. So I jumped at the

Louis Armstrong statue, Armstrong Park, March 2012.

chance to walk across Congo Square where Africn slaves were permitted, every Sunday, to relive their dance and musical traditions. A statue to Mardi Gras Indian chief of chiefs Allison “Tootie” Montana, the Mahalia Jackson Center for the performing arts, statues of Louis Armstrong, pioneering cornetist Charles “Buddy” Bolden, and azaleas and magnolia trees to boot.

I returned to Jackson Square where I was to meet some friends later. There I stumbled on the other end of the New Orleans musical timeline. I got to see the Roots of Music band, the brainchild of Rebirth Brass Band’s snare drummer, Derek Tabb. After Katrina, when the future of New Orleans’ musical traditions were in question,

Derek Tabb conducting the Roots of Music Marching Band, Jackson Square, 2012.

he conceived of a program to pull inner city middle schoolers off of the mean streets and into the band room. There they would have a few precious minutes away from the drug deals and drive by shootings, incentive to keep up with their studies (they receive tutoring before band lessons), and they would later populate a long list of competitive high school bands in New Orleans. It has been such a success that they are having to turn hundreds of kids away each year.

But this 150 were as good (or better) than many high school bands. They performed in front of an enthusiastic crowd to raise money for a trip to the Tournament of Roses Parade, to which they have been invited. Tabb directed them through several spirited numbers (including a very challenging Rebirth tune) before they passed the bucket. And with a few more days like this, and they should be on their way to Pasadena.

Mena's Palace, March 2012.

I met my former student and New Orleans trip group leader Kyle, and his roommates. They have paused in New Orleans before heading over to Texas to visit friends for spring break. I took them over to one of my mainstays, Mena’s Palace at Chartres and Iberville, for their Saturday special of fried chicken with red beans and rice. Eight bucks — add fifty cents for white meet. We walked back towards my car so I could head up to Slidell to meet up with arriving students.

The Peace Mission Center, in Slidell, LA, was about a forty minute drive from downtown, including a trip across Lake Pontchartrain. Two groups arrived in the afternoon, unpacked and showered off over 24 hours on the road. The third group did not arrive until after night fall, long after we had headed into the French Quarter. Groups fanned out across the Quarter, some to test new dinner fare, while other took in the Italian Marching Club parade to honor St. Joseph’s Day. Well nominally.

610 Stompers, St. Joseph's Parade, March 2012.

The lure of beads has long worn off for me, but it’s fun to see students at their first New Orleans parade . However, this year’s parade fielded a surprise: the 610 Stompers. They performed at the Macy’s Parade at Thanksgiving and the normally-gratingly, talkative parade hosts were speechless. Basically, they are a bunch of New Orleans schlubs who decided to learn some dance moves so that they could get into a Saints game to perform. They did this during the Saints’ Super Bowl season and the rest, as they say, is history. There motto is “Ordinary Men, Extraordinary Moves.” And they did their routines, danced with the crowd and my students. It was all in good, weird fun.

Brass band and crowds on Frenchmen Street, March 2012.

I ended the evening listening to some music on Frenchmen Street. And the place was humming like I’ve never seen it. I stayed for a couple of sets and listened at several doorways, but the day and the crowds finally took their toll and I headed back across the lake.

 

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New Orleans: A Center for Entrepreneurship? Saturday, Mar 10 2012

“New Orleans is the opposite of America, and we must hold on to places that are the opposite of us. New Orleans is not fast or energetic or efficient, not a go-get-’em Calvinist, well-ordered city. It’s slow, lazy, sleepy, sweaty, hot, wet, lazy, and exotic.” Mark Childress

I have used the quote above in my syllabus for several years now. It expresses prevailing, widely accepted wisdom. It is the reason much of the Nation looked askance as New Orleans literally drowned. They we lazy, exotic, and enjoyed life far too much. To many, they didn’t deserve to be saved.

However, recent evidence suggests that like a Fox News narrative, it is based more oral myth than evidence. I started seeing some rumblings to overturn this narrative a while back. I reported on it a little over a year ago in a posting entitled: “Dying City,” or “Brain Magnet.” In that post, I reflected on the contradiction of using raw population data, reflecting New Orleans’ population loss after Katrina (well, duh!), with the fact that New Orleans ranks number one in the U.S. in attracting college-educated youth. And, as a recent op-ed column in the Times-Picayune suggests, it is not all due to an influx of volunteers for Teach for America. Not there is anything wrong with that.

Walter Issacson photo, Times-Picayune, March 2012.

On Tuesday, March 6, 2012, journalist and native-son Walter Isaacson wrote a wonderful op-ed on this phenomenon. And for a multiply-challenged city that is approaching its tricentennial, he illuminated the error  of looking only at short-term trends. Nor, as he pointed out, should innovation be measured only by a balance sheet.

And this challenges my assumptions about my favorite city, but new perspectives, even if they ultimately prove you wrong are good. Right?

Isaacson convincingly argues that throughout its history, New Orleans has exemplified an entrepreneurial spirit. I mean, if you go back to the fact that due to its location, it is a city that should never have happened. But that is the crux of his argument. It emerged from an uneven colonial history, at best, to become the most vibrant immigrant community in the South.  It has, in succession, welcomed Haitian, British, Irish, German, Jewish, Greek, Italian, Middle Eastern Christian and Muslim, and most recently, Latin American immigrants, And the addition has made it a stronger and more vibrant community.

New, energy efficient homes in the Lower Ninth Ward, New Orleans, March 2011.

And then came Katrina, a man-made catastrophe that many feared would be the death knell for a city, nearly half of which (49%) lies below sea level. Ivisited a few months afterwards and it was difficult to imagine that it would come back. And as I write this from Chalmette in St. Bernard Parish, which like outlying areas of New Orleans, is not close to coming back to pre-Katrina norms.

But. As Isaacson points out, New Orleans had fallen into complacency before Katrina. It had watched it economy recede, and was willing to become the party city of beads, breasts and booze. So, who would have bet on a comeback for such a lethargic and tradition-bound contestant.

Instead, this week, New Orleans is hosting New Orleans Entrepreneur Week. And to Isaacson, every native who stood up and said “we are going to stay and rebuild” was a nascent entrepreneur.  It was an inspiration and it has attracted an unprecedented level of innovation and new ventures, many spawned by college-educated migrants to the Crescent City.

Look to the award-winning, albeit slow development of the Lower Ninth Ward. New Orleans is now a model for for our Nation’s reinventing itself economically and sustainably.

So it is not just the stubborn residents, but young MBAs from elsewhere who are driving an economic resurgence in New Orleans. So no longer is New Orleans, the semi-Caribbean step-child of America, it is the personification and bell-weather of American innovation. Its example may indeed lead us forward.

And I’ll be among the first to admit it: I was wrong. The emerging facts prove that I was wrong. And I believe in facts.

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Zero Hour Thursday, Mar 8 2012

Group preparing to leave New Orleans, March 2010.

It is the eve of my seventh spring break trip down to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans. I have experienced much and happily I have witnessed many positive changes. My bags are packed and if experience is any guide, I will not sleep much between now and when I leave for the airport. I suspect my students, most of whom have never ventured to the Crescent City are feeling the same sense of anticipation, and to that, you can add fear of many unknowns.

This is the fifth straight year that I have traveled to the Gulf Coast with my New Orleans class; the sixth in which I have worked with UNH students. There are constants to this annual migration, and I gain these from the New Orleans journals that I require of my students. They are my favorite assignment to grade because of the great humanity that they reveal. I fly down, so I have never experienced the 26 to 30 road trip down from New England, but through their journals students have given me some insight into their journey.

Po'boys by the Mississippi, March 2011.

First there is the nervous anticipation: how much money do I need?; I don’t know these people!; work gloves?; do I have to drive? Are there snakes? — followed by Will we see alligators? To this, I must describe trip constants. There will be lifelong friendships created on the way down. Once they arrive, there is an unbelievable amount of collective energy present. There will be new culinary experiences en route — Sonic and Waffle House seem to rise to the top. I’m still not sure why.

So while I am in New Orleans enjoying live music, eating an oyster po’boy, and inhaling the unmistakable fragrance of spring air, there will be other wonderful things happening along south pointing interstates, in nine passenger vans. And while I have never experienced it, I appreciate its importance more and more each year.

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