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Thursday, August 31, 2006
Hurricane Katrina
One year has passed since Hurricane Katrina. For those of us in the south, especially in New Orleans and the gulf coast, everything is now referred to as “pre-Katrina� or “post Katrina�. That storm was the biggest natural disaster to ever hit the United States. I certainly hope the only one of it’s devastation to hit like that in my lifetime. The storm rolled in on my birthday last year so this year I decided I wanted to go to New Orleans to see it for myself.
We headed out Friday afternoon, Randy and Carol Lucky, my husband Jay and I. As we drove to New Orleans we talked about the Hurricane. As we drove from Baton Rouge into the city it was hard to see really anything. Randy pointed out the FEMA trailers and then there it was, the Superdome. I held unconsciously my breath as we drove by the massive structure that held all those people. The people who fled to it for safety from the storm who did not realize that had just entered a hell on earth. To this day I will never, ever understand why we could not get those people trapped there their basic necessities of food, water, and shelter, which to me means safety, as well as, a roof over are heads. Aren’t we a country who put a man on the moon? I would think we could have gotten our people water. People died from lack of water for God’s sake.
Randy brought us to our destination and pulled up on the sidewalk down in the quarter for us to unload our bags. Then he drove off to find parking which is quite a big deal in the quarter. As we entered the gate that took us down a long brick walled walkway to our apartment, we entered this lush tropical courtyard complete with a three tiered black flowing fountain. Fans had been positioned below the overhanging balconies that blew a warm, sultry breeze as we inhaled the scent and aroma of the quarter.
Nothing on the earth to me smells like the quarter in New Orleans. A combination of damp old buildings, sweat, incense, urine, and spicy cooking aromas fill the air. It takes me two washings to get that smell out of my clothes and hair when I get home. As much as I would like to say it stinks, I have to say, I love that smell. It is the smell of decades of lives and history. A story unfolds as you turn every corner of the streets, like page in a book to every visitor. This is truly a unique city that unfortunately rests below sea level, now that is a problem.
As I entered the frigid cold apartment with suitcases in tow, I marveled at how we were in a building that was who knows how old and perfectly restored. Rest would come easy in the Big Easy.
The next morning I awoke at 4:30 a.m. I shuffled out to the living room that faced St. Anne Street and thought I would read until everybody else awoke. I had brought “The Hearse You Came In On� by Tim Cockney, one of his Hitchcock Sewell mysteries. It seemed appropriate. I read. I loft my concentration soon as I noticed that somebody was walking by the front street windows every few seconds. I had never seen so much traffic at this time in the morning. Two young men had sat down to share a beer on the curb of the sidewalk in front of the apartment. My eyes were instantly drawn to the drama playing out on the street.
7:30 a.m. Jay awoke and we climbed the black wrought iron stairs to go to Randy’s brother’s, Robbie’s apartment directly above ours. Randy and Carol were staying in their apartment that was in the back corner of the compound. It’s brick walls backed Cokie Robert’s New Orleans courtyard and address. Robbie and his mother, Rose who was also visiting from Natchitoches,Louisiana greeted us with hot coffee is these sunny Clementine Hunter coffee mugs. Biscuits, sausage, and orange juice followed. We walked out the open window, floor to my chin height to sit out on the balcony. Polo, Robbie’s fluffy and precious Persian cat awaited standing on a wrought iron rolling cart, cat brush at its feet, waiting to be brushed. I brushed Polo as I took in my first look at New Orleans in the morning light.
One roof was obviously being re-roofed, gutters bent, and you could see hints and remnants of the storm. Overall, the quarter looked in fair shape. I watched a young man carry a mixed drink and three cups of beer down the street to his home. I could see Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo and a place that was fairly hopping on the corner down the street complete with gigantic disco ball hanging under its balcony. I would learn later that this was one of the largest gay bars in the quarter with another, the most famous, across the street. A big green garbage truck slowly pulled by with two men hanging off the back. They hollered up something that I took for ‘Good Morning�. We all waved. Yes, I was in New Orleans.
We called my sister, Karen and her husband, Richard as they were already in the city. They had been working in New Orleans since the Hurricane doing inventory on businesses for an insurance company. They had become a part of the quarter and I had heard the stories. They were still finding bodies and each day revealed another layer of the devastation. They joined us and we went out into the quarter.
Randy and Carol wanted to know my opinion of the quarter since the Hurricane. My first impression (I have been to New Orleans many times on previous occasions, usually for our Mid-South Bookseller’s Association conventions). I told them I was impressed, I thought it looked fine. In fact, it seemed cleaner to me and appeared very safe. I was very comfortable walking the brick lined streets and shopping the boutiques and art galleries, which I love.
We went first to Randy’s sister and brother in-law’s place to check out their apartment. As we climbed the old wooden staircase to their upstairs apartment, I could feel the many, many layers of black paint on the banister. We entered heaven as red is my favorite color. The walls were drenched with deep cherry red. A gilded mirror with gold and silver Mardi Gras beads dripping from the top with gilded cherubs hung over the fireplace. A crystal chandelier hung from the medallion at the ceiling. Robbie had decorated this apartment too. Divine. Yet another second floor balcony view that overlooked my absolute favorite shop in the quarter, the Fleur de Lis on Royal Street. This shop has exquisite gowns and a real French milliner in residence. I have always said if I “ever arrive�; I am having a hat made for me at the Fleur de Lis. There was Jackson Square with it mule drawn carriages, tarot and palm readers, street artists and performers, and the beautiful St. Louis Cathedral. Everything seemed in intact.
Next stop was where Randy’s brother, Robert Lucky, Jr. worked at M. S. Rau Antiques. As we entered, a uniformed and white gloved guard let us in as we buzzed to enter. All I can say is this a museum of a store that has galleries after galleries of museum quality jewelry, heirlooms, artifacts, furniture, and art for view and sale. They do a catalog four times a year and full time photographers year round to photograph their continuous turning of treasures. I viewed nothing that was less than a couple thousand dollars and most was in the $40,000 to one million dollar range. Robbie unlocked a glass case through a series of punched numbers to take out a small box that had an oval hand painted view of a London river scene. When opened the mechanism popped out a little bird covered with real hummingbird feathers that sang to us a real birdcall. The piece was only $178,000 dollars.
I viewed a blue diamond. Price tag was something like $399,000. My favorite piece was a Handel lamp, an apprentice of Tiffany, that’s lamp shade looked as if touched it would reveal to your fingertips cut velvet entitled “Jungle Bird�, a mere $38,000. Then the next couple of rooms ahead we gasped at the crystal Baccarat and gold chandelier that they had to have cut a special door to get the lighting fixture in the building at the cost of $3,000. Its cost was $350,000 then the ship made entirely of jade bought on a purchase to San Francisco. The jade chains leading up to the mast where carved each link out of the same stone. I had never been this up close and personal on any museum visit. This was the ultimate art lover’s tour.
The Monet that Robbie had just told me about they had purchased was missing from its display. They had packed it for a show in Baltimore. Robbie was headed to Paris, London, and possibly Prague soon on a buying trip.
We talked of how they had faired during the Hurricane. The shop had done fine. They had armed guards with dogs to protect against looters but the warehouse; they had lost millions as each room swirled in the swollen waters. I thought of all the lost treasures each with a story to tell. Robbie took us also to the behind the scenes library of books where they researched each piece. I had no idea how much money was spent on those books but I saw one that I knew cost $1,000 dollars. The walls were floor to ceiling on books everything from silver, porcelain, 15th century furniture to world famous artists and artisans.
Last, was the packing room that overwhelmed us on “how in the world would you ship that thing”? They had a Portugeuse man that was in his seventies that had been meticulously packing and sending items for decades. He had no replacement. The bigger items were personally packed, trucked to location, and unpacked and placed. This was one of the highlights of my trip toNew Orleans, being an art major and a treat for anyone who appreciates amazing art. I personally had no idea you could actually buy such things except from maybe a private collector. I was enlightened.
We headed over to the Port of Call for lunch. I had a Corona while some of those in our entourage dived into a Monsoon. I took a taste and decided that I wanted to remember this trip, not have it disappear into oblivion.
As we left the building, the sky had fallen. We ran to a covered balcony to wait out the downpour. My sister, Karen made a call to her New Orleans friend, Julia and the next thing I knew we were diving into her Lincoln jumping from the curb to car as the water in the street had now formed a fast running stream. We headed over to Karen and Richard’s apartment to dry off and check out where they had been living.
The thing about the quarter is until you see behind the iron gates and shuttered doors, you have no idea of what is inside. Treasures of architectural delights lie beyond those doors. I instantly thought of the book “The Secret Garden�, where a lock and key are discovered behind all the foliage. I explored their and Julia’s apartments that lined the street. I have never seen more spiral staircases, secret alcoves, balconies, each turn revealing another surprise. I actually felt like I was inside the story of one of many books that I have read. I could not wait for the next adventure just as I did when reading the next page.
The rain had let up so we headed back out to explore the quarter. Karen brought my attention to a very large blown up newspaper story that was taped in a storefront window. “Isn’t that the author of your book club selection?�
Sure enough there, in large black and white print, was a feature written for the Times Picayune by none other than author, Mark Childress who wrote “One Mississippi� our Pulpwood Queen August Official Book Club Selection. We stood and read the story.
I thought of all the authors that had lived in New Orleans, how funny to have our book club selection author featured. New Orleans is a magical place and to me, a national treasure. The only thing that even comes close as far as a city is Venice, Italy and that is another story all unto itself. As I walked, I thought to myself, “I love New Orleans�. As I love to people watch, what could be better than a city that is living theater? You never know what you are going to see or what you are going to experience. I delight to the eye and to all the senses. As they say in Louisiana, “Laissez les bontemps roulez� or “let the good times roll�. I could not agree more.
Continued next week……..
