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12 October 2010
US Southwest
The great expanse of the American southwest, what a stretch! Texas alone is almost drearily empty; at least in its western half – empty but punctuated by traffic and population congestions. The eastern half becomes progressively greener. And I remember political billboards throughout ridiculing and lambasting Nancy Pelosi. We were mostly out of range of MSNBC – with the exception of my aunt Florence's in Hot Springs – and had to settle for CNN and occasionally even just Fox News. I found some of those interludes particularly depressing. Perhaps this last was further exacerbated when, in New Orleans, we went on Roberts Batson's 'Gay Heritage Tour' which highlighted both the persecutions and the courage that is Nola's gay history. Reading Herbert Schlossberg's 1983 Idols for Destruction, I find a degree of plausibility in his charges of statism and his arguments against 'social democracy'. The idols of today may no longer be those of Baal, Molech, Marduk or Zeus but instead the state or the humanitarian disincentive to encourage the poor to help themselves – presumably founded on feelings of guilt, envy and sentimentality. Mystification as well. Schlossberg, of course, sees an ethos that is biblically based and expressed through Christianity alone as the only course. I may not agree with his argument, but I find myself agreeing with his take on many of the political, social and economic shortcomings of our times.
But to re-see my aunt as well was a lovely experience – Florence as well as my cousins Judy and Larry and, as we were finally departing, Becca when she wished to take some photos just before we left. There is obviously deep loneliness for Florence, but I have also been steadily impressed by a resilience and previously non-perceived strength on her part.
We had a few days in and near Hot Springs, and I also had a surprisingly good and satisfactory massage from May, 82 years old, at the Quapaw Baths. Her health and strength she attributed to eating good foods and to working. Lily at the Chateau Hotel on Chartres and St. Philip in New Orleans, 78 years old and working the afternoon/evening shift to 02:00, also claimed working and keeping engaged with people as contributory to her health, stamina and vitality.
New Orleans' has a sleazy, raucous and wondrous stretch of Bourbon Street that has earned it her post- (if not also pre-)Sodomite status, but one learns quite quickly to circumambulate that patch for the wonders and joys found frequently if not ubiquitously elsewhere. We did the standard rituals like having café au lait and beignets at the Café du Monde, a visit to Jackson Square and the Cathedral of St. Louis, the jazz and bar peregrinations and the general Vieux Carré wanderings, but also, thanks to the artist Jon Graubarth, we got to see so much more of the city – including the Lower Ninth Ward, Marigny and Metairie. The rebuilding and developments – including the ecological houses sponsored by Brad Pitt – were impressive. We saved the cemetery where Marie Leveau is reputedly buried to last only to learn that it closes at noon on Sundays, but we had an insightful string of discoveries while circling around it – including an ancient tree on the cemetery boundary that has probably seen most 'everything'. The perpetual jazz band processions – whether memorial or marital – we encountered frequently, and all lent to the great affirmative spirit of this city on the edge.
Besides two enjoyable restaurants, Le Boucherie and Rio Mar (Spanish seafood), Jon took us to the Palm Court Café where we heard Lionel Febros, 99 years old and backed up by the Café's musicians, sing and play trumpet. There is so much magic in this town, and, along with New York and San Francisco, it has always been among my favourite cities in this country. This love on this occasion not only was not diminished but instead was augmented and furthered. We departed New Orleans with slightly heavy hearts but nonetheless filled with hope, promise and a surfeit of happy memories.