Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Moving Target
Or
Home Plate
“If
you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier; she left here last early
spring, is livin’ there I hear. Say for me that I’m alright, though things get kinda
slow; she may think that I’ve forgotten her, don’t tell her it isn’t so”
--B. Dylan
I have a musician friend who can get better
gigs and recognition if he moves to Mexico City; I have an artist friend that
loves her new digs in New Mexico; the culinary graduate that I helped cannot wait
to get back to San Antonio; and our favorite old bartender prefers San Miguel
Allende. They say they’ve had enough;
they say they can’t live like this anymore; they say life is better elsewhere.
Costa Rica. Houston. New Jersey, for god sake!
Over
15,000 last year; 9,000 the year before--left New Orleans metro area. They’re
movin’ out. Why? What is so alienating? Who are these turncoats? Why did they
treat us so thoughtlessly; how could they do this to me?
Here’s
some of the reasons I’ve heard: Cost of living and housing prices; economic
opportunities (better elsewhere) and the big one: (violent) crime. Other than
that they’ve pointed out there’s sub standard education here; lack of
infrastructure; ineffective government and overall condition of our streets.
Also, flooding, storm possibilities, power outages and price hikes on everyday
expenditures such as electricity, gas, food, clothing, insurance and
entertainment. Salt water intrusion. Margaret Orr retiring.
I say “is that all? It’s always been like that
on Plantation New Orleans!” And, here it comes: the ‘Get A Clue Phone’: ring,
ring…. Get a clue. The challenge is not that New Orleans has gotten to be a worse
place to live in the last twenty-five years; it’s that it hasn’t gotten any
better.
It’s
like you’re on a path going; it’s a hike, the hike of life. You got your ups
and downs but you’re headed for home, a quiet space, a happy place; the road is
a little rough but you’re going on and on because that’s just what you do: you
travel that path, watching your footing, friends along and going in the same
direction; you’re singing, you’re laughing, maybe even dancing.
Then
you notice that it’s not only not getting easier, it’s, in fact, getting harder
and you’re getting tired. Some of your friends are dropping out to take easier
routes; some have left you all together. Somebody passes you a note: “P.S. your
cat has died.” You’re having second thoughts.
I
love New Orleans, that faded starlet, that tipsy vaudevillian, that sly old fox
wrapped in her muddy old river stole. I’m at home in her arms and we’re
lovers. I’ve resided in over a dozen
cities and towns and visited a score more. I’ve hitchhiked and driven the
length of this country more times than any normal person should. I’ve ‘Driven
every kind of rig that’s ever been made’ and been willin’ to keep movin’.
“I’ve
been all over the world” he said; “I’ve been to North Carolina.”
I
first came here in the 60’s and spent seven years. I returned from my travels
in 1999, coming to the conclusion that the other places that I wandered in and
out of were fine; however, they were not New Orleans.
I
drove back into town in a twenty foot U-Haul on a 2,300 mile road run and left
the freeway as soon as I saw the skyline and realized that I was, in fact, back
home. The first thing I did was swing low, park that chariot and get me a bowl
of gumbo; the waitress was not impressed with the poor boy’s return and
exuberance just to have my feet planted again on this firmament.
I
glanced out the café window and spotted two boys on three bicycles and mused on
how sweet it was that kids were still stealing bikes; until I hipped that this
was thirty years later and the kids I saw were children or even grandchildren
of the kids that had stolen my bike the last time that I lived here. I remember
thinking “you mean, we still haven’t taught our kids that it ain’t right to
take someone else’s bike?”
Reality
check. Things have not gotten worse living here; things have not gotten any
better.
I’ve
roamed all over town here since my return and I’ve been reminded of the
poverty, abandon and general demolition of spirit and property by neglect. I’ve
seen how manufacturing jobs have disappeared. I see a ‘For Rent’ sign on the
Coca-Cola bottling plant; condominiums in the CIVIC Theater; homeless camps
under the I-10 overpass. I’ve witnessed the two edged sword of short term
rentals that flip sub standard housing and re-energize residential
neighborhoods at the cost of dislocating residents.
And
still, as Lafcadio Hearn wrote: “I wouldn’t trade it for the whole state of
Ohio.”
Debbie
and I bought a house here, first time home owners; the note is about the same
as the money that we’d be paying in rent here; added expenses of owning are
sometimes daunting. Owning comes with its own challenges and it’s a bear
keeping up with them all. It’s tough living here; but I wouldn’t live anywhere
else (at least not in this country) and neither would she. Did we want to have
to buy a house at our age? No. Are we going to be able to live out our thirty
year mortgage? Odds are against it; but, my spirit was born here and I know New
Orleans, the then, the now and I’m still in love with her nebulous and evasive
character.
Sundown yellow moon, I replay the past; I
know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast. If she’s passing back this
way, I’m not that hard to find, tell her she can look me up, if she’s got the
time. (more Dylan)
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