We recently returned from a four day trip to the Big
Easy.
Our last visit was in 1972 and we
felt that we wanted to see the city again and also incorporate a meeting with
the archivist at the WWII Museum to which I donated my father’s WWII scrapbook,
his letters and hundreds of photographs as well as 16mm films.
My father was a Signal Corp photographer in
the European side of the battle.
I’ve written about it extensively in my blog.
I called him the accidental
soldier, but weren’t most? The Museum
was very grateful to receive his collection (and I was relieved that it went to
a good home). That’s the good news but
Jennifer Waxman, the museum’s archivist, indicated there is a long backlog in
cataloging, digitizing and arranging for exhibitions of materials. The museum is also involved in a substantial
physical expansion. So maybe in 2018 my
father’s materials will see the light of day there.
We toured the museum and marveled at the scope and
quality of the exhibitions, including the traveling exhibition from the United
States Holocaust Memorial Museum, State
of Deception: The Power of Nazi Propaganda.
Posters, photos, and newsreels tell the story of how the Nazi propaganda
machine used biased information to sway public opinion during World War II. There are obvious ominous parallels today to
our ubiquitous fake-news-laden social media, so could it happen here? Yes, unless we are capable of learning from
the past.
The museum gives you a dog tag so you can follow the
story of just one ordinary GI, with various posts to hear his story.
It makes you feel connected to the
content.
This massive war was not just
something you read about in the history books, it touched everyone and those
who had to fight it, like my father, are heroes, each in his or her way.
Other well known GI’s have plaques in the
museum, such as the writer Kurt Vonnegut who was a POW, and the filmmaker George
Stevens who became a Lieutenant Colonel in the Signal Corps.
I felt a special connection to each as I worked
with Vonnegut publishing
The Vonnegut
Encyclopedia and Stevens would have been my father’s ultimate commanding officer
in the European Theatre.
Special efforts have been made by the museum to give
credit also to the Afro-Americans and Japanese who fought courageously for the
U.S. although one group was still segregated and the other had families living
in internment camps.
And efforts are
made to memorialize the women who “manned” the posts in heavy industry normally
held by the men who were now toiling on the various battlefields.
I left with tears in my eyes, just trying to
take in what this country sacrificed in lives, and how they all pulled
together.
Indeed, they were the greatest
generation. Compare that to today as we are coming apart at the seams, where
the words sacrifice, compassion, and pulling-together are absent.
From there, you can visit separate exhibits for the
European and Pacific Theatres.
The US
Freedom Pavilion: The Boeing Center is also a must visit with vintage aircraft
and armed vehicles of the era.
Watch the
exhibit come into being
by clicking onto the video at this link. In particular, watch the reassembly of the
B-17 ‘My Gal Sal” after it was recreated after countless hours of volunteer
work, having been retrieved from where it lay abandoned on a Greenland ice cap for
decades.
Be sure to visit their vintage 1940's soda shop where Ann and I shared an old fashioned malted milk shake. I told her that as a kid I couldn't afford one, so we had NYC's famous "egg cream" which I remembered cost 10 cents vs. the malted milk's 25 cents. (Now they're $7.00! at the WWII soda shop, but worth every drop of chocolate sweetness!) No wonder the WWII Museum has become a #1 must see when
in NOLA.
Of course, there were other reasons to be in New Orleans:
to soak up the jazz culture and to indulge in its culinary pleasures. No grass grew under our feet in either
department, Ann having researched restaurants and made reservations. Luckily, our friends David and his sister,
Nina, were great reconnoiters as they had recently been there for David’s
daughter’s first jazz performance in the US.
She is a young jazz singer going to school in France and flew over to
NOLA for an internship with the Parks Department.
David is a professional bass player and knew the “in”
spots.
And with a recommendation from
Nina, upon our arrival Sunday morning we made a beeline for the brunch at Atchafalaya
–where we had made reservations a month in advance.
Knowledgeable locals go there for the best
jazz and Bloody Mary’s (you make the latter yourself from a side bar brimming
over with an extensive stash of ingredients, a virgin for me, vodka for
Ann).
We took the St. Charles streetcar
to get there, and ended up with a very long walk working up a hardy appetite
which was more than fulfilled by an incredibly delicious brunch!
One thing about walking in NOLA, watch your feet!
Many of the old oak trees are forcing their
roots towards the sidewalks, making them crack and heave.
We imagined an endless number of injuries as
a consequence.
Half the time Ann needed
me to hold onto her when it was very treacherous going.
Yet, NOLA’s streets invite walking, Mardi
Gras beads still hanging from fences, trees.
It is senseless to name all the great restaurants we ate
at, but Felix’s had to be our favorite as we went back for a second lunch. Raw oysters by the dozen or charbroiled! The raw oysters were unlike any we’ve ever
had, large, sweet, juicy, and served with personality at the bar. At the Oyster Bar in NYC they’d cost a
fortune. A dozen at Felix’s cost $15!
The Royal Sonesta Hotel’s Jazz Playhouse features the
incredible Germaine Bazzle who at 84 can still scat with the best of them.
It’s first come first serve to see her Sunday
8.00 PM show so we were seated at 7.15, enjoying their appetizers which
satisfied as dinner (imagine, fried chicken and waffles!).
My Twitter entry has a brief clip of her performance.
The Royal Sonesta is on the infamous Bourbon Street which
has always been and still is a tourist Mecca, particularly for the very
inebriated so we were grateful to get an Uber back to our hotel which was in
the business district, right around the corner from the French Quarter, but a
good place to stay if you are allergic to all night noise as we are.
Another night we had a fabulous fish dinner at GW Fins, chatted
with the very debonair owner and then followed that up with a visit to a local
dive, Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub (serving drinks only) to see the local jazz
legend Richard Scott. Finding a seat is
a battle. He has a huge following and plays with such abandoned joy as one can
see from his face (upper left in the photograph). This place is also on Bourbon Street so,
again, Uber back to the hotel.
A visit to the Mississippi River was a must which also
involved touring the French Market (mostly tourist shops unfortunately, but,
still, Ann bought a beautiful African-design dress there), and then we enjoyed
the obligatory consumption of NOLA’s famous Beignets and chicory coffee.
The New Orleans Holocaust Memorial is located
in Woldenberg Park, right on the Mississippi as well, an “optical and kinetic
sculpture, which is both a somber and hopeful tribute to Holocaust victims and
Jewish people,” which looks different depending on your viewpoint. It’s an unusual place for it, but its message powerful.
The river itself is the muddy one I remember, broad and
powerful currents, one of the longest rivers in the world. By its banks I caught a violinist engrossed
in his music and the river’s flow.
Much of our last day was spent at the old US Mint, which
is also near the French Market. The New
Orleans Jazz Museum is currently housed here and so we had the double enjoyment
of touring what was once a fully operating Mint as well as the Jazz Museum
which is operated by the US Parks Department (where David’s daughter, Stacy,
interned).
There are free 2 PM concerts
there and we were lucky enough to catch the Kris Tokarski Trio which plays
traditional NOLA jazz.
It was so
enjoyable that my cheeks ached from smiling during the one hour
performance.
A brief video can be seen on my Twitter feed here
There is also a special exhibit honoring the great Louis
Armstrong, such an innovator and symbol of the city itself. One can see the white piano of Fats Domino
there as well. Together, the concert and
the exhibits make for a very moving history and keeping this going represents
such a small expense, one that is apparently slated for elimination in the new
US budget. How we can abandon our very
culture in favor of buying a few more bullets is dismaying.
That final night we saved the best for last, dining in a
very innovative space, Restaurant Rebirth, housed in an old warehouse is now a
farm to table restaurant with an unusual and creative menu. The photograph of the shrimp-stuffed-with-eggplant
appetizer speaks for itself!
Our hotel was across the street from what we came to call
the “shop around the corner,” in this case a Watch and Clock Shop.
Every time we returned to the hotel its
lamppost, clock and eagle grabbed our attention and so we finally decided to
take a closer look.
I was curious how it
still survived in this age of electronic everything and the answer is simple:
old fashioned friendliness, service, and craftsmanship.
There we found a very reasonably priced
pocket watch, one Ann can wear at the end of a necklace, so she can abandon her
wrist watch and look stylish as well.
This
has mechanical elements and one has to wind up the watch.
How many remember doing that in this
age?
I also enjoyed their cat who they
call Venus, as she’s like a fly trap, enticing you to pat her belly and then
grabbing your arm by all fours.
I respectfully
said hello to the kitty from a distance.
Early the next morning we were on our way home. What a great
city to visit for a few days and to take in a culture unlike any other.
And that is sort of the way I feel at this stage of my
life. Christmases are now dreams of the
past, anticipating the holiday as a child and then the pleasures Ann and I had
in creating memorable holiday moments for our children as they grew up. The classic song itself is particularly evocative
of the distant past popularized by Bing Crosby and so many others, first
recorded at the peak of WW II. 
