Oh man, oh man, oh man.
This whole thing is heartbreaking. I'm not sure New Orleans will recover or if it's even wise to rebuild in the same place. The human and monetary costs are staggering, and I also mourn the loss of the architecture and vitality of that city. It was beautiful, though poor, and funky.
Here's my personal history of New Orleans:
I was there once, for about twenty-four hours. It was my last overnight stay in a city during my 1979 rail adventure. I headed into NO from New York on a train I believe was named the Silver Crescent. Since I was leaving New York I was, of course, flat broke. I had a canteen filled with Myer's Rum and water and survived on a few sandwiches I bought in the club car.
It was a delightful journey, though, and gave me my first-ever look at Alabama and the red dirt of Georgia. I learned about kudzu and was happy, though broke. The bridge into New Orleans caught me by surprise, but it was a great ride over all that water. That same water that's now threatening everything in the town.
When I arrived in New Orleans I needed a place to stay. I considered camping out in the train station, but decided to stay overnight at the YMCA. I'd never stayed in a Y before (or, since), but I knew it was cheap. I wasn't worried about anything else, and up for the novel adventure.
The man who signed me in may or may not have asked any questions. If he did, I answered them correctly, but I was focusing more on his lack of legs and hook. He gave me a key and I proceeded upstairs to find a tiny cubicle which I would call home for the next day.
I quickly tired of the cell and went out to see what New Orleans was like. I bought some horribly strong Picayune cigarettes and found a bar where I sat, talked, and drank Dixie beer. I remember banging away at cockroaches on the bar with the stamped metal ashtray and picked up a few cans to take back to my "room."
The next morning I remember smiling while I showered. I was alone but kept thinking about "dropping the soap." I actually think I did once, but survived intact.
Following that, I took a little ride around the town on some tram thing. I don't think it was pulled by a horse, but it followed a track up and down and around. I passed a great number of restaurants and, when the ride was over, went back to one and had some jumbalaya or gumbo or something like that. I remember having to pick carefully because I was allergic to shellfish, the most prevalent ingredient.
I went back to the train station and got a picture of a guy I'd been talking with. He looked as if he was fleeing, which I thought was funny, but the picture was a slide so I can't upload it.
I made my way onto the Sunset Limited and left New Orleans, never to return.
My New Orleans History
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4 comments:
Off topic: There's too many great lines in this one, I'd have to quote em all. Anyways,
"I remember banging away at cockroaches on the bar with the stamped metal ashtray and picked up a few cans to take back to my “room.â€
Maybe it's a combination of your subject matter and my current reading selections; your writing today is like something between Henry Miller and James Lee Burke.
These days I'm thinking about fiction that's more earthbound, if not underground, or at least barely above a sidewalk. But I don't think I could carry it off - I'd have to adopt too high a perspective on the low down in order to capture any authenticity - and that ain't authentic.
This would be a classic novel-ending line, "I made my way onto the Sunset Limited and left New Orleans, never to return." You oughta write all the bits that go before that line. If a ride's interesting, it never needs to go anywhere. The novel adventure.
I'm with Voyaging. This is good stuff, Russ. I read it like a short short story and it hangs together. You paint a complete scene with your words. There's enough detail for me to hear the sounds and smell the funk. I've had some might fine adventures in that bebopin' town. You've just added another one.
Thanks, guys.
When I don't think about what I'm writing, it often comes out better than when I obsess over it! I may need to remember that.
I haven't been online much lately, except to read message boards that piss me off.
Voyaging, why would you need to adopt "too high a perspective." Sometimes I think it's enough to record, not to judge or comment. It may be a version of "showing, not telling", if you catch my drift. The details chosen for inclusion, the take on them, all that.
I've not thought about my trip as a "story," but as I was writing it details were coming up. Maybe I should do something with it, with that whole trip.
I agree, it is enough to record. In my comment, I'm thinking more of my own authenticity of voice and the old adage "write what you know" (an adage I don't entirely agree with, btw, but at least it can make things easier sometimes).
When Kerouac wrote about that roadtrip, he was really writing about well off college kids *playing* at being poor, etc. but really they could up and run back to "mommy" whenever they got tired or bored or just felt like it. Experiential Tourism, strangers to the experience, pretending to fit in because they consider it amusing and cool, for some unenlightened reason.
So, for example, I just don't think I could write from the perspective of people living hand to mouth and do it any "justice." I think I'd feel more "authentic," maybe, if I tried it through the eyes of a social worker, if you see what I'm getting at.
I'm not saying writers can't, haven't, or shouldn't, "fake it" - we all do this to varying extents as a matter of our writing art [(Working title): More Hoaxer Hats] , but I want my "faking it" to reflect, as much as possible, a "truth."
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