Email From NOLA IIL
All right, here's the deal. All the ground inside the borders of Canal to St. Louis and N.Broad to N.Galvez is now Louisville. Let the history books show that on this day at such and such a time this ground was annexed by that skinny white boy on Rocheblave. His intentions are unknown, his abilities in question. As namesake and aggrandizer of this newly self-incorporated neighborhood let me now pay my respects to those who came before me, and welcome those yet to come. Hello, how are you? Welcome, or, get the hell out, as the case may be.
Entergy sold some gas futures to finance the hiring of some workers and now promises to have the whole city energized by the end of December, and maybe into January a little bit for gas. It's cold at night (weren't you complaining just two days ago about mosquitoes and mugginess?) but not so cold that it could kill a person, so how much brighter do you want it?
I yesterday met the oldest living resident of the newly self-incorporated New Orleans neighborhood known as, Louisville. A Mr. Smith. He lives "around the corner," as any self respecting New Orleanian does (who is that? oh that's old so and so, lives around the corner).
Mr. Smith, you think I'm making that name up, but ask yourself, what the hell do you know?
Mr. Smith came and stood in the sun, below my porch, while I sat preparing to sharpen a chainsaw. I'd never met him before but he was aware of me and how could he not be what with the high profile of my visibility gut renovating this house, over a period of time greater than it takes to build a 70 story skyscraper.
People talk and he was aware of my movements a little bit, that I had taken work out of state.
I was worried about your place, he told me. (It sat vacant for a pretty good while after I renovated it, with some pretty decent fixtures worth stealing, a whole set of brand new appliances, and fresh window glass just begging to have rocks thrown through it)
I was too, I told him (It is nothing short of a small miracle that nobody messed with my place during the times I was gone--several months, two separate times--previous to having a renter. It could also be testament to the value of greasing the right palms.) Probably just lucky though.
Mr. Smith is 85-years-old and has lived in this neighborhood, now this is even before it was Louisville you understand, all of those 85 years. Me and him have the only houses in the vicinity that took little or no water, and, also, the only houses without the spray painted symbology signifying that the house was checked for dead bodies or animals, after the great flood of 05.
People don't understand how or why people stayed in their houses, when such a hurricane as Katrina was imminent. Many reasons, I think. Being too poor to leave, being too lazy to leave, being too comfortable to leave, or, being in a position where you could not justify turning your back on neighbors who were staying because they were too poor, or lazy, or comfortable, and, I think, as for the many old people who died here, by drowning or starvation or stress, and a good few elderly affluent people near the lake died that way, not just poor people stayed, it was I believe because they'd seen what a hurricane could do and the odds, frankly, are a lot better that you are going to survive it, than be killed by it. Have you ever spent 20 hours in bumper to bumper evacuation traffic? Neither me. Also, people outside of New Orleans just really don't get how empowering it is to survive the crime here. How immortal it makes you feel when presented with run of the mill challenges, or run of the mill crime, or Category 5 hurricanes. So a lot of old people stayed, both rich and poor. Some died, some were saved.
You stayed?
Yes.
Holy shit, what happened?
The helicopter couldn't get very low because of that two story next to me and so I had to ride up in one of those baskets and it was a long way up.
(Jesus, I'd watched those rescues on the television and it scared me, even from the comfort of my best friend's leather easy chair, in the basement of his mansion). Were you scared?
Mr. Smith just shook his head in that way that means, yes.
He told me some other things but they relate to another story, which you are not going to hear, today. Then he said:
That building there across the street (he's talking about the chauffeur's very slow to be renovated place) used to be a bank. Some men from Chicago were told it would be easy so they came down to rob it. They're running out the bank and the cops come and there's a big shootout. A man, lived around that next corner, at Iberville and Tonti, come out of his store and he was going to try and help stop the robbers but the cops thought he was one of them and shot him dead.
Holy cow, when was this?
Thirty, I think, but maybe '29.
There were poor families in the area, lot's of kids, and some of us would help a little, feed the kids maybe, but these three little girls were playing marbles underneath the house over there and found a satchel with $8,000 in it, this was after the robbery.
Wow.
The family returned the money. Nobody ever talked to them after that.
Because...? ( I'm a little dumbfounded by this last bit but I guess I get it)
Because they were so foolish (for returning the money). And you know, the bank gave them exactly nothing.
Mr. Smith's wife came over and complained that she couldn't find him and they bickered a little bit and they were just visiting from the Houston area, to where they evacuated, to see what was up. I told them the city was predicting maybe another month for electricity to be back on and she said, to Mr. Smith, well that's it, I guess we'll go on to California, and he didn't say anything and then finally said--for awhile. They bickered a little more, with a finesse and patience born from years of practice and then she started walking off and he followed. He turned back to me, smiling. We've been married 61 years, she was born in the neighborhood too. He pointed, and said, just around that corner.
i was going to suggest your burg (or would that be arrondissement?) be reclaimed in the name of the french but they dont seem to be doing much better in terms of race and class issues.
That would be Faubourg Louisville ~ I love it, Jim.
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All right, here's the deal. All the ground inside the borders of Canal to St. Louis and N.Broad to N.Galvez is now Louisville. Let the history books show that on this day at such and such a time this ground was annexed by that skinny white boy on Rocheblave. His intentions are unknown, his abilities in question. As namesake and aggrandizer of this newly self-incorporated neighborhood let me now pay my respects to those who came before me, and welcome those yet to come. Hello, how are you? Welcome, or, get the hell out, as the case may be.
Entergy sold some gas futures to finance the hiring of some workers and now promises to have the whole city energized by the end of December, and maybe into January a little bit for gas. It's cold at night (weren't you complaining just two days ago about mosquitoes and mugginess?) but not so cold that it could kill a person, so how much brighter do you want it?
I yesterday met the oldest living resident of the newly self-incorporated New Orleans neighborhood known as, Louisville. A Mr. Smith. He lives "around the corner," as any self respecting New Orleanian does (who is that? oh that's old so and so, lives around the corner).
Mr. Smith, you think I'm making that name up, but ask yourself, what the hell do you know?
Mr. Smith came and stood in the sun, below my porch, while I sat preparing to sharpen a chainsaw. I'd never met him before but he was aware of me and how could he not be what with the high profile of my visibility gut renovating this house, over a period of time greater than it takes to build a 70 story skyscraper.
People talk and he was aware of my movements a little bit, that I had taken work out of state.
I was worried about your place, he told me. (It sat vacant for a pretty good while after I renovated it, with some pretty decent fixtures worth stealing, a whole set of brand new appliances, and fresh window glass just begging to have rocks thrown through it)
I was too, I told him (It is nothing short of a small miracle that nobody messed with my place during the times I was gone--several months, two separate times--previous to having a renter. It could also be testament to the value of greasing the right palms.) Probably just lucky though.
Mr. Smith is 85-years-old and has lived in this neighborhood, now this is even before it was Louisville you understand, all of those 85 years. Me and him have the only houses in the vicinity that took little or no water, and, also, the only houses without the spray painted symbology signifying that the house was checked for dead bodies or animals, after the great flood of 05.
People don't understand how or why people stayed in their houses, when such a hurricane as Katrina was imminent. Many reasons, I think. Being too poor to leave, being too lazy to leave, being too comfortable to leave, or, being in a position where you could not justify turning your back on neighbors who were staying because they were too poor, or lazy, or comfortable, and, I think, as for the many old people who died here, by drowning or starvation or stress, and a good few elderly affluent people near the lake died that way, not just poor people stayed, it was I believe because they'd seen what a hurricane could do and the odds, frankly, are a lot better that you are going to survive it, than be killed by it. Have you ever spent 20 hours in bumper to bumper evacuation traffic? Neither me. Also, people outside of New Orleans just really don't get how empowering it is to survive the crime here. How immortal it makes you feel when presented with run of the mill challenges, or run of the mill crime, or Category 5 hurricanes. So a lot of old people stayed, both rich and poor. Some died, some were saved.
You stayed?
Yes.
Holy shit, what happened?
The helicopter couldn't get very low because of that two story next to me and so I had to ride up in one of those baskets and it was a long way up.
(Jesus, I'd watched those rescues on the television and it scared me, even from the comfort of my best friend's leather easy chair, in the basement of his mansion). Were you scared?
Mr. Smith just shook his head in that way that means, yes.
He told me some other things but they relate to another story, which you are not going to hear, today. Then he said:
That building there across the street (he's talking about the chauffeur's very slow to be renovated place) used to be a bank. Some men from Chicago were told it would be easy so they came down to rob it. They're running out the bank and the cops come and there's a big shootout. A man, lived around that next corner, at Iberville and Tonti, come out of his store and he was going to try and help stop the robbers but the cops thought he was one of them and shot him dead.
Holy cow, when was this?
Thirty, I think, but maybe '29.
There were poor families in the area, lot's of kids, and some of us would help a little, feed the kids maybe, but these three little girls were playing marbles underneath the house over there and found a satchel with $8,000 in it, this was after the robbery.
Wow.
The family returned the money. Nobody ever talked to them after that.
Because...? ( I'm a little dumbfounded by this last bit but I guess I get it)
Because they were so foolish (for returning the money). And you know, the bank gave them exactly nothing.
Mr. Smith's wife came over and complained that she couldn't find him and they bickered a little bit and they were just visiting from the Houston area, to where they evacuated, to see what was up. I told them the city was predicting maybe another month for electricity to be back on and she said, to Mr. Smith, well that's it, I guess we'll go on to California, and he didn't say anything and then finally said--for awhile. They bickered a little more, with a finesse and patience born from years of practice and then she started walking off and he followed. He turned back to me, smiling. We've been married 61 years, she was born in the neighborhood too. He pointed, and said, just around that corner.
- jimlouis 11-18-2005 6:13 pm
i was going to suggest your burg (or would that be arrondissement?) be reclaimed in the name of the french but they dont seem to be doing much better in terms of race and class issues.
- dave 11-18-2005 7:21 pm [add a comment]
That would be Faubourg Louisville ~ I love it, Jim.
- Laureen (guest) 11-19-2005 2:14 am [add a comment]