New Orleans

New Orleans is known for a lot of things, but for me it's always been the music: Dave Bartholomew, Fats Domino and Smiley Lewis; Professor Longhair and Dr. John; The Meters, the Neville Brothers and the Wild Tchaipatoulas; Louis Armstrong, Kid Ory, Sidney Bechet; the Dirty Dozen Brass Band.

When my wife and I got a chance to spend a long weekend in the French Quarter for my 45th birthday, we took in what we could while maintaining a cool, leisurely pace. Lisa and I have never been of a mind to set an agenda when we visit a new city. We've seen tourists rushing through cities with a list a mile long of places to hit and fifteen minutes to do it in. They always look out of breath and invariably they want to wind up at a Hard Rock Cafe.

During the 48 hours we were there, we really didn't come across the waves of music I hoped for. I didn't hear Longhair's piano or Louis' trumpet. There was no funeral march down Bourbon Street, no Big Chief Jolly, no flag boys. What we did find was cafe au lait and beignets at the Cafe du Monde, etoufee and bloody mary's at Mother's, shrimp creole at Oliver's and catfish po' boys everywhere.

The groove and the vibe of the French Quarter was beautiful, hip and for 48 hours I didn't feel like a visitor, I felt like I was home. That we weren't stumbling across great musician's at every turn was all right. We in fact were visitors without a clue where the clubs were or who was playing where and when.

The morning we were set to leave, we took a final walk down Decatur Street and then along the Mississippi. Down aways a guy was blowing standards on his saxophone and his notes reached out and pulled me to him. Lisa and I leaned against a railing until he finished the tune. Then, putting five bucks in his sax case, I asked him if he would play "Tenderly". He paused for a moment and said "Well, it's been awhile. If I screw it up it's all on you." He then played what will remain for me one of the finest and deepest versions I could ever hope to hear.

As New Orleans begins the long, slow and painful job of putting itself back together, the clubs, the markets, the bars, the streets and the boardwalks will begin to pulse with the music that the Crescent City gave birth to. And the songs and the tunes, like blood coursing through the body, will assure us all that New Orleans is still very much alive.

Peace to the Big Easy