A Tuesday in New Orleans

The smell hung somewhere between a swamp and the ocean. Still, our mouths watered in anticipation of filling our bellies with anything that wasn't still alive. We had our bus tickets and ten bucks; it was painfully obvious we wouldn't be dining on Rue St. Louis in New Orleans. We passed Antoine's, where people with good shoes dined behind the glass. We headed straight for Buster Brown's red beans and rice, where for under a buck, we all ate like kings.

On the street corners, barefoot boys sang and danced as though on Broadway. I could tell by a missing tooth here and there that they weren't even two digits old. I threw the kid my few coins and he followed me in thanks doing circus flips all the way to the end of the block. As a youth myself, I felt sorry enough for him and gave the kid my sneakers, so now we had to go shoe shopping.

We had enough dough between us to get a cheap pair of no-names. Since I wasn't allowed in the store barefoot, I was at the mercy of whatever my friends brought out. Should I have turned down a pair of flaming red sneakers with white laces and clowns on the outside edge? Against the knee-length army jacket I wore over my shorts and tank top, I looked like an idiot. But, this idiot could run now with the red clown shoes when a stranger thought I'd stolen his coat. Clearly he was a mad-man, but who in all of New Orleans cared?

On the Move

I hopped on a slow moving trolley or a tram, (or whatever it was) by grasping the brass bar. In horror I watched the man shrink into the distance next to my laughing friends who I thought were right behind me. It was so crowded, I felt the hot breath of what felt like a gorilla behind me and I didn't dare turn to look. I jumped off at the next stop, separated from my friends. Keep in mind, this was a time before cell phones.

On the street, I crinkled my forehead trying to get a look at why all the people on the opposite corner were hollering and moving as though dancing without music. Was there a fight going on? I looked up to the sign: Melpomene St. "Hmph." I shrugged and headed away from the street that I would later learn was home to the methadone clinic. I hoped to bump into my friends; unlikely during Mardi gras week.

Men, Women and In Between

Half-naked women danced at the entrances to glittering, and some, not-so-glittering nightclubs. Except it was broad daylight, only two o'clock in the afternoon. On the sidewalk they pulled at my clothing, touched my 1970-ish big, hair and followed me half the block until the next temptress tried her best. Man or woman, didn't matter. Age: unimportant. I worked my way to the center of the street where still, half-naked women jiggled their breasts for all passersby. Wouldn't see any party like this in Dracut, Massachusetts, I thought.

Police whistles blew over a man's shouting and a hole in the crowd widened. Some nut with a knife was trying to cut up a tall blonde lady with red high-heels and a chest full of hair. I looked down at my own shoes and headed through the crowd which spit me out into an open area. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath. My shoulders sank and I thrust my chin toward the sun.

Live Re-Make of "The Birds"

Lovers petted one another on the park benches and little kids fed the pigeons in Jackson Square. There were hundreds of pigeons. I traipsed through the middle of the flock. "Yes," I yelled out. No one heard me. I threw my hands in the air, no one saw me. At once, the innumerable pigeons took off, their wings flapping me in the face and hands; I'd never felt anything like it. Then, everyone saw me. One of the beasts got caught in my hair.

Flapping away, slapping me in the face with its wings, screaming like a horror movie, its claws tangled deeper and deeper into my hair. Naturally, I tried freeing the bird - and naturally it began pecking me in the hands. By now, I'm screaming, bleeding and running through the center of Jackson Square. In the foggy distance, I saw the bench lovers falling over one another in laughter. People pointed and children squealed in delight thinking I was another street show. Just as I considered ripping the bird from its own legs, the thing freed itself, flying away with twelve or so inches of five hundred hair strands.

One-Eyed Jack

Looking like the bride of Frankenstein, I made a speedy exit out of the square more from embarrassment than necessity, not daring to look back. I ducked into Moriarty's Bar and ran straight to the bathroom. I hung over the sink and wet my face, letting the trickle of water sting my hands. The bartender burst through the bathroom door. I bolted up with the highly teased hair, the bleeding hands and my face dripping wet. I'd have thrown the likes of me out, too, but that's when I met one-eyed Jack.

Now, Jack was a real man, but I was sure that wasn't his real name because it didn't seem like black men in New Orleans would be named Jack. The man was all of five feet, five inches tall and wore no patch over his puckered right eye socket. I tried not to stare, but I knew that he knew I wanted to.

"You want a drink?"

I nodded, trying to smooth my hair. "Sure."

He walked away with his arm around the bartender, pool cue in his right hand. He returned with a Coke.

"You play?"

"Not good," I said. "But I'll give it a shot."

He stood behind me. "See. Y'neva, neva hold the cue like this." He put his cue down. "Y'gutta be loose. Easy. See?"

It wasn't long before one-eyed Jack's motive became clear to me. Several Cokes into my crash course training he stood up, stretched his specialty cue over his head then, stood like a movie star with the cue on one side and his right foot pointed down on his left boot he said, "Time to make some money." There was no time to resist.

A few hours had passed in what seemed like minutes. My friends were probably already waiting for me at the bus station. The deal was that if we got separated, we'd wait for the last bus out of town. After that, I'd be on my own. With my pocket full of money and my belly full of the French Quarter, though having the time of my life, New Orleans was one place I realized I didn't want to be on my own. Jack smiled in his crooked way making his bad eye look like it was winking at me. I had to go.

I met my friends at the bus station and we boarded and slept all the way to Florida. The bus let us off close to the beach.

"What'll we do now?" one of them said.

I pointed to the tallest building within walking distance; the one with the double-decker beach terrace smartly covered in blue and white striped awnings and bronzed bodied locals serving pink-skinned visitors. "Let's stay there."

They all laughed. "Yeah, right!"

A slow smile came over my face. "Aww, c'mon. We'll just shoot a coupla games of pool."