The Good, The Bad And The Fugly

"There ain't nothin' big or easy about it."
-random bar guy

As a New Orleans blogger, I have committed to celebrating the glories of this Enchanted City, not because I haven't experienced anything negative, but because I still believe that the city that I fell in love with long ago still exists amid the staggering crime rate and abject poverty that is constantly reported or covered up by a notoriously corrupt local government or ridiculously unprofessional media. Have you read the Picayune? I mean, there are some very informative and smart reporters out there, but come on. The paper generally reads like some backwater Pentecostal church bulletin. To adequately report the crime here in the Crescent City would probably require a weekly gazette the size of a Sunday paper without the funnies and Best Buy and Target circulars.

I moved to New Orleans in the Spring of 2008 with the full knowledge of the crime level of the city. I took an apartment in the Faubourg Treme knowing that it is a tough neighborhood. Across Esplanade Avenue from my house there is a church that displays a Murder List. It must be up to 175 murders so far in November (slow year). Still, I behaved as though I was untouchable. If I was careful to notice any suspicious cretin walking behind me on my way home from the bars at 2:27 am, I would rob any would be assailant of their greatest power, the element of surprise, before they could rob me. The other night as Toenisha and I parted at my stoop on Marais Street and she headed toward her own tony Esplanade address (immediately around the corner), she was accosted by some thug who thinks it is far quicker to stick a gun into someones back and then forehead instead of working an "honest" job to get whatever he can. Unfortunately, he is right. In less that a minutes work, he got away with a single dollar, some shoes and a cell phone amongst other things that would eventually prove absolutely useless to him. The greatest of his spoils was an iPod that any honest person can probably pick up at Wal-Mart for $50. Even though Toenisha carries herself like a person of immense wealth, it is purely charisma. Wealth of talent and character. Yes. Try as you might, you will never steal that from my dear companion.

My dear friend Angelique, who, by the way is turning into Earth Mother Angie by the day due to her common sense and frugality with a buck and affinity for organic anything, has been offering me the sagest (is that a word?) of advice since I moved to New Orleans. "Take cabs. We live in a city where things like muggings and jackings are commonplace. You better start acting like you live in a city like that, because you know what? You do." Really, it makes the most sense. What business on Earth does a white guy, gay or otherwise, have to walk home under the influence of alcohol into one of the most dangerous areas in the city? I mean, New Orleans is the most pocketed city in the country as far as crime and income levels go. Even our friends who live above Canal Street have the same outlook and they have lawns! I happen to think that I live on the most gentrified and beautiful street in the Treme, but right next door a few months ago, a drive by shooting occurred and it shook me apart. Obviously it was what is known widely as retaliation crime, but what the fuck? When I reported it to the police I was called a "snitch" at work by the guys who fit the description of Toenisha's attacker to the T. Shoulder length braids, dark complected, medium build, about 5' 11", around 26 years of age wearing a black hoodie. I have just described about 35% of the black male population in New Orleans. Shit! I work with two of that guy!

Within my first year in New Orleans, I was confronted with a most dastardly crime that hit so close to home and threatened to alter my view of this lovely place. A beloved French Quarter bartender that seemingly everyone knew was gunned down on Governor Nicholls in the residential area of the Quarter by kids for about $40. I did not know Wendy personally. I mean, she served me drinks a time or two at The Starlight Lounge, and I saw her performance as a naughty Dorothy Gale in a turn-about-show, but her tragedy affected me deeply. "This is a person in my community", I thought as I grasped for answers as everyone else did. I walked that same beat alone most nights, and she was shot to death around eight p.m. Still, I walked these streets, determined not to give into fear. Out of that horrible instance, I got to experience one of the most revered and beautiful of New Orleans customs: The Jazz Funeral. Literally hundreds of people showed up that day to demonstrate respect and support for the unfortunate demise of a well loved lady. The second-line route was lined with mourners who, if they weren't marching, were waving hankies like snow white doves in the streets of the French Quarter. We observed a moment of silence where she died to the strains of "Just A Closer Walk With Thee" played simply and mournfully on a trumpet. Afterwards, the music gained in glorious tempo and we marchers filled the streets in celebration of life. I will never forget hearing a choir of 300 singing the chorus of "St. James Infirmary" on Decatur Street that afternoon. Not an eye was dry, I can tell you. Even in writing this, I am wiping tears from my eyes from the overwhelmingly emotional experience that it was and obviously still is.

Even though I am disgusted by the incident and so sorry for my sister's experience within the first few days of her own independent New Orleans life, I am greatly heartened by her insistence to progress in the wonderful place that we call home. I am grateful to God for not allowing it to have been any worse. I believe that good always triumphs over evil. I think that no one gets away with anything for very long, and I still believe that New Orleans is the place that I love the most.