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| THE NEW REVIEW |
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| LOVE LETTER TO NEW ORLEANS 3/9/2005 by Marc Goldin |
| If you would be interested in reviewing films/books for the site, contact me here |
 A classic sign in New Orleans French Market |
| Mon Cher, Yes, the faux French seemed appropriate in this case. Where do I begin? Your poor battered geography seemed doomed from the beginning, yet you beat the odds and lived. Like someone's Creole mistress, you weren't always treated as well as the wife but you did all right for yourself. |
 Bloke in the Treme Brass Band parading down a street in the French Quarter |
| Yes, you did fine and I loved you. From the beginning, I'd heard about you - your myth and legend preceded you but when I finally got there, I found more than I'd expected. Every cliche they'd thrown around about you was true. But that was a cover - like all the shuttered houses in the Quarter that hid the secret gardens from passersby. Once I was allowed in, I beheld your secret hanging gardens of Babylon and was smitten. I tried to make you mine but you were too cool for that. I had to share you but that was all right. |
| You'd fallen on hard times of late. Though I hadn't succumbed to your more obvious fabled attractions - Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street., Brennan's - the rest of the country had and I encouraged that. Like some anxious pimp on a Saturday night, I'd lurk in the shadows on Iberville or Conti, off Bourbon Street., watching the tricks stumble around spending money on you. You were better than I though, you welcomed everyone. You allowed anonymity - all could re-invent themselves for a long weekend. Teachers from Omaha, insurance salesmen from Des Moines - in your embrace, everyone went a little crazy. Those that stayed longer sometimes morphed into someone else completely. I'd always wanted to stay longer. Yes, you were so much more. Thursday nights at Donna's - Evan and Tom conjuring up the musical spirit of your past, 150 years ago, and then on to Vaughn's, and Kermit's set, lately too packed with over-enthusiastic Tulane students. All aboard, anyone? The first Saturday night of each month on Julia St. - the little art galleries open and welcoming - or perhaps a smart martini at the Bombay Club. |
 The tomb of the legendary Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau |
| Earlier times - stompin at the savoy, or in this case, Freddy Kemp's - Rebirth Brass Band shaking the place, the floor levitating, Kermit singing 'Happy Birthday' to Deana in the parking lot, sounding like a young Louis Armstrong, muggle in hand. Or the last time - Nancy's birthday party at Cafe Brasil. Treme Brass Band and the R&B band whose name I forget but featured Fats Domino's brother-in-law... Earlier and later begin to blur - I remember what happened but no longer exactly when. Halloween in the Quarter - All Saints Day, cleaning of the graves in the crumbling cemeteries. St. Louis Cemetery #1, where I saw the grave of voodoo priestess Marie Laveaux - how I wanted to leave my xxx on it but I didn't dare. (I'm sorry Caroline, if I've trivialized this). Or standing in Armstrong Park, on the site of the once famous Congo Square - if you listen hard enough, you may be able to hear faint drums pounding a Bamboula rhythm... |
| What's become of all of you now? Miss Nancy, Kathy and Greg, Miss Susan - yes, I know you all got out. But Miss Nancy - what of your nephew? Andrew said he was going to stay and ride it out and now, no-one's heard a thing from him yet. Poor old Charlie from Donna's - how many ex-wives and children was it that you left back in Chicago? I forgot, but I think you did, too. Did you manage to get out, Charlie, when the floodwaters came? Somehow, I picture you still at Donna's, climbing onto the bar as the waters rise, glad to be safe but more glad that the exes and kids aren't looking for you. |
 Ancient Live Oak in City park |
| My dear Alison Miner (R.I.P) - I know you departed several years ago - a good thing too. How you would've hated this. Not just for the obvious reasons but the archivist in you would've been crushed by the loss. Crushed by the loss - yes, that's kind of how it is... |
| My Dear, what of your future plans? You'll reconstruct yourself, I know. But will I still recognize you? Will I still take the St. Charles streetcar with the rest of the tourists but get off at the Camelia Grill? Or sip a turtle soup at Mandina's (yes, I'll have a dash of sherry in that, please). How will I recognize you? Maybe you can find me instead - I'll be at the end of the bar in the Bombay Club - martini in front of me, two olives, looking at nothing in particular. It probably won't be that busy in there - we'll spot each other...... With Love - |
| Text & Images copyright Marc Goldin Reproduced with Permission |