Wrong!

No, no, no! Most of the signs along the length of Frenchmen Street get it right, but this one at the intersection of Elysian Fields is all wrong. It's Frenchmen Street not Frenchman. There were SIX of them.

Here's how it all went down: In 1762 France gave Louisiana to Spain in a secret treaty -- so secret that the people who actually lived here didn't even find out about it till a couple of years after the fact. So when the Spanish governor finally showed up to take charge, apparently nobody was glad to see him. Turns out everybody pretty much wanted to be French even though France didn't want them. So they had this little rebellion, and the governor got scared and got right back on the boat. Then the next governor came and rounded up six ringleaders of the rebellion and had them shot right about the spot where Frenchmen Street now starts at Esplanade (in front of the old Mint). So Frenchmen Street was named in honor of those six -- count them, SIX! -- Frenchmen who died there because they wanted to be French men and not Spanish men.

If the guy who did this street sign had taken my carriage tour, he would have known better. He's probably one of those guys who walk by me every day, and I say, "Would you like to do a carriage tour?", and they say, "No, I'm a local."

Fun history-repeats-itself footnote: Ninety-three years after the death of the Frenchmen... Um, can we just round off to a hundred? Because it sounds better, and I'm a tour guide after all, not a history professor. So anyway, a hundred years later (more or less), the Union troops took New Orleans in the Civil War and raised the American flag from the Mint. And this local guy by the name of William Mumford climbed up on the Mint, tore down the flag, tore it into pieces, and passed them out to his friends. So there on the same spot (more or less) where the six Frenchmen had been executed one hundred years earlier (more or less), William Mumford was hanged for the same crime (more or less) -- refusing to recognize the new political reality!

The Kaintucks take over New Orleans -- again

Congratulations to the University of Kentucky for their victory in the NCAA basketball championship. The Superdome was certainly rocking Monday night, if not from the cheers of wildcat fans on the inside then from the violent spring thunderstorm on the outside. More about that thunderstorm in a bit.

New Orleans was awash with Kentuckians during the Final Four just as it had been three weeks earlier during the Southeastern Conference tournament. Judging by the color of the crowds thronging the Quarter, it appeared that at both events citizens of the Big Blue Nation far outnumbered the fans of all the other teams combined. A random sample of riders on my rickshaw would have confirmed this. In fact, ESPN reported that even when the wildcats took on LSU -- practically the hometown team -- in the SEC tournament, almost everyone in the near-capacity crowd was wearing Kentucky blue. "The Tigers... had hardly any representation outside of the players' families", the article said.

Noting all those blue t-shirts on Bourbon St. one night, I remarked to a colleague that Kentucky appeared to have colonized New Orleans -- which triggered a memory of something I had learned recently as I was preparing to take a test for a New Orleans tour guide's license. Bear with me here for a very brief (I promise!) history lesson.

During its colonial days Louisiana was bounced around like a basketball, a situation which couldn't have been easy on the colony's residents. Sovereignty over the swampy soil beneath their feet shifted constantly without anyone bothering to consult them -- or in some cases even to notify them. Here are some of the highlights:

• Soon after establishing the colony, France privatized it, handing over control to a rich banker named Antoine Crozat. Contrary to his hopes of exploiting Louisiana to add to his personal fortune,  Crozat found the colony to be a financial black hole, and just five years into what was to have been a 15-year charter, he gave Louisiana back.
• Control of the colony was then handed over to a corporation headed by a Scotsman named John Law, one of the most notorious (and brilliant) con men in the history of the humanity. Just to give you an idea what kind of man we're talking about here, one modern biography of John Law is entitled The Moneymaker: The True Story of a Philanderer, Gambler, Murderer, and the Father of Modern Finance. 
• In 1762 France gave Louisiana to Spain in a secret treaty, which the colonists didn't even hear about till two years later. (Frenchmen St., now home to many of New Orleans' best music venues, is named in honor of a group of colonists who were executed for their role in resisting the handover to Spain.)
• In 1800 Napoleon twisted the arm of Charles IV of Spain to make him give Louisiana back to France.
• By the time Spain and France got around to actually doing the transfer in 1803, Napoleon had already decided to sell Louisiana to the United States.

This last handover was by far the hardest for the colonists to take. Around this time there was a steady flow of thousands of Kentuckians -- "Kaintucks" as New Orleans' French-speaking residents called them -- floating downriver on keelboats and flatboats loaded with stuff to sell. Kentucky was the American frontier back then, and these riverboat men were a rough lot. In those days before the invention of the steamboat, travel upriver was next to impossible, so the Kaintucks, after selling their goods in the Crescent City, broke up their boats and sold them for lumber. Having filled their pockets with cash, their main interest was to indulge themselves with whores and whiskey before setting out on the long walk back upriver along the Natchez Trace. 

When the average French-speaking resident of New Orleans thought of an American, the image that came to mind was the Kaintuck -- a foul-mouthed, violent, dirty, drunken barbarian. New Orleanians had tolerated these Kaintucks for the economic benefits that they brought, but when word got out that Napoleon had sold Louisiana to the United States, the Creoles of New Orleans said, "Of God, please, no! We thought being under Spanish rule was bad, but now we've been bought by the KAINTUCKS!"

Now, more than 200 years later, thousands of Kentuckians were flooding New Orleans again, flowing down the freeway from the source of Bourbon whiskey to Bourbon St. So how do these modern sons of the Kaintucks compare to their uncouth ancestors? As it turned out, I found the Kentucky fans to be really nice folks. Just as a point of reference, they were definitely a much better-behaved bunch than the LSU-Alabama crowd that was here for the BCS Bowl. (But it may not be fair to compare a basketball crowd with a football crowd.)

That thunderstorm that I mentioned in the first paragraph probably played a part in limiting excesses as well. In the end it was the weather that was brutal, not the fans. The rain, which slacked up at times but never stopped entirely, made things miserable; and intense periods of lightening made the situation downright dangerous. The storm even caused a brief power outage in the French Quarter. 

For me, what should have been a very unpleasant night to be out on a pedicab was salvaged by the kindness of a pair of Kentucky belles who, out of gratitude for being given a ride to their hotel room in the driving rain, gave me a $100 tip for a ten minute trip. There's nothing like Benjamin Franklin's beautiful face to brighten up a cold, wet night. As far as I'm concerned, the Kaintucks can colonize us again anytime they want!

News flash: Idaho joins the Union!

I did it! I can now boast that I have transported passengers from all 50 states... Wait, that's not quite right, is it? I mean, I haven't actually transported anyone across any state lines. After all, hauling someone from Hawaii to New Orleans on a pedicab would be problematic, right? Anyway, I think that you get what I'm trying to say.

Yesterday, within a couple of hours of posting this entry, I picked up a pair of passengers from Idaho. I had been riding around looking for a fare, when I spotted a middle-aged couple poring over a map and looking a bit lost on the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine, so I stopped to ask them if they needed directions. (This is something that I make a practice of. It gets me rides sometimes, though not as often as you might think; but either way, I want my city's guests to have an impression of New Orleans as a friendly, helpful place. I know that sounds corny, but it's true.)

In this case the couple seemed happy for my help. They wanted to know if I could show them where they were on the map and where they might find a good seafood restaurant. This was right up my alley. "Sure!" I said. And just about that time I noticed that the man was wearing a Boise State baseball cap.

"Are you from Idaho?" I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.

"Yes, we are," they said.

"Then hop on," I ordered them, "because you're going to get a free ride anywhere you want to go!" Looking back, that was a bit rash. It's a good thing they didn't say, "OK then, take us back to Idaho!" As it turned out, I just took them a couple of blocks -- far enough for me to explain a bit breathlessly (Like I said, I was excited, not to mention the fact that they were as plump as a pair of Idaho potatoes, bless their hearts.) why I was so thrilled to have riders from Idaho.

When they got off, they asked how much, and I told them again that there was no charge. I didn't want them to think that the whole story was just a ploy to get them on board and get a fare. But they insisted on giving me a ten, which I finally (after a solid three or four seconds!) accepted.

And so -- barely four months into my pedicabbie career -- I have had the honor of transporting tourists who have come to the great city of New Orleans from every single state in the Union. I've also had riders from most of the provinces of Canada and from a number of other countries, including: Mexico, Argentina, the United Kingdom, Ireland, the Netherlands, Greece, India, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Syria, Taiwan, and Japan. What a wonderful job I have!

New Orleans vs. Minnesota

Jesus said the meek would inherit the earth, but so far all we've gotten is Minnesota and North Dakota.
Garrison Keillor

I've had a couple of riders from Minnesota recently. I was glad for the chance to try out on them some personal observations which have been occupying my mind lately -- observations concerning the differences between their home state and mine. I was gratified when these Minnesota natives assured me that I was on the right track (assuming of course that it wasn't simply a matter of their being too polite to disagree) because truth be told, I've never been there. My image of Minnesota is based largely on the work of the groundbreaking cultural anthropologist Garrison Keillor. If the real Minnesota doesn't bear any resemblance to Lake Wobegone, then all my analysis is way off base.


Let's start with the facts of the case: Minnesota  is home to the headwaters of the Mississippi River; New Orleans, on the other hand, is located near the mouth of the Mississippi. The "mouth" of course is the place where the river discharges its contents into the great septic pool of the sea. Which raises an interesting question: Why is it called the mouth? If we're going to go with body parts, wouldn't it... Ummm, never mind...


OK, where was I? Oh yeah, so Minnesota and New Orleans are located at opposite ends of the Mississippi. They say you can wade across the Mississippi at its source in Minnesota. You could also wade across it at New Orleans -- if you were 202 feet tall. (I've read that it's 200 feet deep; I figure you'd need that extra two feet just to keep your head comfortably above water.)


Anyway, the idea that Minnesota and New Orleans are at opposite ends of the river got me thinking about all the ways that we, the inhabitants of these two places, are mirror images of one another. Their culture is built on a  northern European (Scandinavian) base; ours is built on a southern European (Mediterranean) base. They're Lutheran; we're Catholic. (Not me personally, but you get the idea.) They reward restraint; we practice excess. They're modest; we're flamboyant. Their big annual event is the state fair, the highlight of which is butter sculpture. (I'm not making this up!) Our big annual event is Mardi Gras, the highlight of which is girls exposing their boobs for a set of plastic beads. (I'm not making this up either!)


What about the food? Here's an actual quote from the Wikipedia article on Minnesota cuisine: "Minnesota is also known for hot dish and jello salads." I'm not sure what "hot dish" is exactly, but I doubt that the heat comes from an abundance of Tabasco. And jello salads? Seriously? And they think sucking crawfish heads is weird?  The closest thing you can get to jello salad in the Vieux Carre is jello shots, which they sell at a certain daiquiri shop. Presumably these appeal mostly to the under-21-with-fake-id crowd. Either that or tourists from Minnesota who've come here to really cut loose.


Let's consider music for a moment. Bob Dylan is undoubtedly Minnesota's most famous music man. Here on the south end of the river, if you're going to have pick one singer/musician who best represents New Orleans, I think you'd have to go with Louis Armstrong. Now, picture their faces. Look them both up on Google images if you want to. But really, why bother? You know what I'm talking about without even looking.


Let's start with Louis Armstrong. I estimate that those bulging eyes and that huge smile make the white to black ratio of his face something like 3:1. In every picture he he seems to be showing an expression of either delighted amazement or amazed delight. Look at Louis Armstrong and you see the very embodiment of laissez les bon temps rouler. (By the way, I'm aware that the happy negro stereotype was one that was all too comfortable for a lot of white racists and deeply disturbing to blacks and that Satchmo took plenty of flack from fellow African Americans for being an Uncle Tom. But scholars seem to be recognizing more and more that he made a substantial contribution to the civil rights struggle. And he pulled it off with that big grin on his face the whole time.)  


What about Dylan? For all his rebellion against conservative Midwestern values, he embodies an austere outlook that must have deep roots in his Minnesota milieu. Like Armstrong, he has two variations in his repertoire of facial expressions: sneer and scowl. Unlike Armstrong, his eyes and teeth aren't so prominent. In fact, we know that Bob Dylan has eyes because we sometimes get a glimpse of them through the narrow slits of his eyelids, but as to his teeth, there hasn't been a confirmed sighting in forty years. (Someone pointed out that the Wikipedia entry on Bob Dylan features a recent photo of him smiling slightly and revealing teeth. I would urge caution. We're all aware that Wikipedia isn't exactly known for its reliability.) 

If I'm right that the cultures at the north and south extremities of the river are polar opposites, my next question is: Why? Is it really coincidence? Do you suppose that the river might actually have something to do with it? Here's my theory: The Mississippi drains an area of well over a million square miles. And the drinking water in New Orleans comes from the river. So perhaps we're enriched by all the nutrients of more than a million square miles flowing right to our doorstep. Or, one might argue, poisoned by the pollutants... Depending on which end of the river you come from, I guess.