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Started By
Message
A walk on the sidewalks of New Orleans
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am
Dear Friends,
The four best walking cities in America are New York, D.C., San Francisco, and New Orleans. My favorite place to walk is New Orleans, and 15 to 20 mile walks in the city are not uncommon for me. I will never criticize one for riding a streetcar, but walking, especially on nice days, is the best way to experience any city, to learn it from the ground up. Each footstep on a city’s sidewalks and soil is a new communion with its stories and soul.
Because Front Day has been painstakingly close to reality the last two Saturdays, Mother asked if she could join me on my daily walk the other day. She had some things she needed to get off her chest, so I wholeheartedly welcomed her. She rarely joins me these days, instead, preferring the comfort of our Mid-City home.
Our journey started there before winding to Jeff Davis Parkway, which gives a straight shot uptown. Mother, an accomplished hiker, set a fast pace, around 12 minutes per mile, so we were in our old neighborhood in no time at all, less than an hour. We crossed I-10 before making that zig zag in the oddest of neighborhoods, I think they call it Fontainebleau, where I once attended a birthday party. Mother assumed my friend, Aaron, was deprived because he lived north of Claiborne, so she gave him an Omega Supreme. After that gift, I received birthday invites to all the big parties the rest of the year. But Mother never bought another Omega Supreme, and eventually the invitations dried up.
One of the great travesties in New Orleans over the three decades has been the veiling with shrubs and trees of 1305 Eighth St., not far from our ancestral home. The owners, whom Mother knew, had planted in the early 80s a hedgerow that grew to more than 20 feet and only had the smallest of apertures for entering its front gate. The hedge successfully obscured the view of this historic house, which I was able to tour only once around 2000 when I first read George Washington Cable’s works.
Cable, in my view, is America’s greatest writer. Even though his works have fallen out of favor and writers like his friend Mark Twain, Steinbeck, Hemingway, F. Scott, and others have gained more traction nationally, I think in a thousand years it will be Mr. Cable’s works that endure as great examples of American literature.
The house where he lived as an adult sold last year for a song. The new owners have torn out the antisocial trees and made the home most inviting. The new white exterior suits it well and I have many times in the last year stood out in front, sometimes with a Leo’s Caboose shrimp poorboy in hand, staring at its balcony, imaging the stately GWC sipping on Earl Grey tea on his balcony sitting just above the first flood floor.
We walked down Prytania, reminiscing about what was taken from us, before making a detour to the Buckner Mansion on Jackson Avenue. Neither of us enjoyed this year’s The Haunted Mansion remake, but it, like So Under Cover and The Free State of Jones, extensively used this majestic home in its filming.
St. Charles Avenue was looking resplendent on this Autumnal morning. But one thing that is always ready to disappoint is the old Eiffel Tower, where I had my first real Caesar salad, made tableside, in 1989, just months before it closed after just a four year run. Since the restaurant’s close, the building has been floundering, changing ownership time and again. The succession of terrible ideas from the Red Room to the Cricket Room to the Eiffel Society to the 504 Society to the current Nieux Society, which apparently wants to make it a center for worthless NFTs. Each of these ideas has been stupid in its own right. It seems the only thing that will work there is a world class French restaurant.
We were most disappointed to see two stalwarts of the Avenue no longer there. Although Sushi Brothers’ sign remains, it has been gutted and renovated. It does not appear to be reopening. The other sign of the times changing is the new signage on the St. Charles Tavern’s old building. As you know, this building was for decades Sylvester “Silver Dollar Sam” Carollo’s hangout and hub for the Mafia. It closed in 2021, but they still seek me, and I fear one day they will find me for my ancestor’s role in deporting some of them.
Just as we were about to go beneath the Pontchartrain Expressway, which I have since childhood incorrectly called the interstate, we caught a glimpse of RummelTiger in his Celica. I waved, but I do not think he saw us. It would have been nice for him to join us, as we had planned to meet several OT friends. We did take note of the beautiful tent architectural features beneath the overpass, including one tent that had a queen-size mattress with box springs. The owner offered us a tour, but Mother told me to walk quickly and she did not answer his entreaties. The overpass, though, is quite architecturally stunning, and perhaps will make the list of Top 10 overpasses in New Orleans, an idea created by our board’s bard.
We were always ambivalent about the Robert E Lee statue, but as time moves on, the vacuum that it has left in that space is regretful. It is now called Harmony Circle, and for the first time in my life, I realized that harm exists within harmony. It is far easier to destroy than it is to create. Clodpates have as one of their few abilities destruction, and even geniuses struggle at times to create. Destroying public art without having a replacement seems foolish.
Walking downtown along St. Charles is pleasant and blends urban and suburban life and history. I would love to do walking tours of this area some day.
]
The four best walking cities in America are New York, D.C., San Francisco, and New Orleans. My favorite place to walk is New Orleans, and 15 to 20 mile walks in the city are not uncommon for me. I will never criticize one for riding a streetcar, but walking, especially on nice days, is the best way to experience any city, to learn it from the ground up. Each footstep on a city’s sidewalks and soil is a new communion with its stories and soul.
Because Front Day has been painstakingly close to reality the last two Saturdays, Mother asked if she could join me on my daily walk the other day. She had some things she needed to get off her chest, so I wholeheartedly welcomed her. She rarely joins me these days, instead, preferring the comfort of our Mid-City home.
Our journey started there before winding to Jeff Davis Parkway, which gives a straight shot uptown. Mother, an accomplished hiker, set a fast pace, around 12 minutes per mile, so we were in our old neighborhood in no time at all, less than an hour. We crossed I-10 before making that zig zag in the oddest of neighborhoods, I think they call it Fontainebleau, where I once attended a birthday party. Mother assumed my friend, Aaron, was deprived because he lived north of Claiborne, so she gave him an Omega Supreme. After that gift, I received birthday invites to all the big parties the rest of the year. But Mother never bought another Omega Supreme, and eventually the invitations dried up.
One of the great travesties in New Orleans over the three decades has been the veiling with shrubs and trees of 1305 Eighth St., not far from our ancestral home. The owners, whom Mother knew, had planted in the early 80s a hedgerow that grew to more than 20 feet and only had the smallest of apertures for entering its front gate. The hedge successfully obscured the view of this historic house, which I was able to tour only once around 2000 when I first read George Washington Cable’s works.
Cable, in my view, is America’s greatest writer. Even though his works have fallen out of favor and writers like his friend Mark Twain, Steinbeck, Hemingway, F. Scott, and others have gained more traction nationally, I think in a thousand years it will be Mr. Cable’s works that endure as great examples of American literature.
The house where he lived as an adult sold last year for a song. The new owners have torn out the antisocial trees and made the home most inviting. The new white exterior suits it well and I have many times in the last year stood out in front, sometimes with a Leo’s Caboose shrimp poorboy in hand, staring at its balcony, imaging the stately GWC sipping on Earl Grey tea on his balcony sitting just above the first flood floor.
We walked down Prytania, reminiscing about what was taken from us, before making a detour to the Buckner Mansion on Jackson Avenue. Neither of us enjoyed this year’s The Haunted Mansion remake, but it, like So Under Cover and The Free State of Jones, extensively used this majestic home in its filming.
St. Charles Avenue was looking resplendent on this Autumnal morning. But one thing that is always ready to disappoint is the old Eiffel Tower, where I had my first real Caesar salad, made tableside, in 1989, just months before it closed after just a four year run. Since the restaurant’s close, the building has been floundering, changing ownership time and again. The succession of terrible ideas from the Red Room to the Cricket Room to the Eiffel Society to the 504 Society to the current Nieux Society, which apparently wants to make it a center for worthless NFTs. Each of these ideas has been stupid in its own right. It seems the only thing that will work there is a world class French restaurant.
We were most disappointed to see two stalwarts of the Avenue no longer there. Although Sushi Brothers’ sign remains, it has been gutted and renovated. It does not appear to be reopening. The other sign of the times changing is the new signage on the St. Charles Tavern’s old building. As you know, this building was for decades Sylvester “Silver Dollar Sam” Carollo’s hangout and hub for the Mafia. It closed in 2021, but they still seek me, and I fear one day they will find me for my ancestor’s role in deporting some of them.
Just as we were about to go beneath the Pontchartrain Expressway, which I have since childhood incorrectly called the interstate, we caught a glimpse of RummelTiger in his Celica. I waved, but I do not think he saw us. It would have been nice for him to join us, as we had planned to meet several OT friends. We did take note of the beautiful tent architectural features beneath the overpass, including one tent that had a queen-size mattress with box springs. The owner offered us a tour, but Mother told me to walk quickly and she did not answer his entreaties. The overpass, though, is quite architecturally stunning, and perhaps will make the list of Top 10 overpasses in New Orleans, an idea created by our board’s bard.
We were always ambivalent about the Robert E Lee statue, but as time moves on, the vacuum that it has left in that space is regretful. It is now called Harmony Circle, and for the first time in my life, I realized that harm exists within harmony. It is far easier to destroy than it is to create. Clodpates have as one of their few abilities destruction, and even geniuses struggle at times to create. Destroying public art without having a replacement seems foolish.
Walking downtown along St. Charles is pleasant and blends urban and suburban life and history. I would love to do walking tours of this area some day.
]
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 11:01 am
19
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am to TulaneLSU
We stopped at Lafayette Square and watched them set up for the Blues Festival. We have not been to this festival since its opening year in 2007, when it was hardly a festival at all. The food was not yet ready, so we continued our walk upriver into the old city. Grandfather always called this part of the Quarter along Camp Street the Greek Section. We always, when in the Quarter, stop at Great Grandfather’s Whitney branch before entering America’s greatest public square.
The entertainers in Jackson Square were not at winter’s peak, but they were definitely better than the buskers we saw this summer. As tourism ebbs and flows throughout the season, so too does the quality of our street performers.
The lines at some of the breakfast restaurants on Camp closer to Canal were ridiculously long. Meanwhile, in a much more beautiful setting, the superior Stanley had no line, so Mother asked if we could eat outside. While ordering, I ran into owner Scott Boswell, Lake Charles’ greatest export between Michael DeBakey and SlowFlowPro. We struck up a short conversation, as we were once regulars at his other restaurant, Stella!, which arguably is the best restaurant in New Orleans’ history. It opened in the Spring of 2001, and we were there on opening night.
When Stella! suddenly closed a decade or so ago, Mr. Boswell became persona non grata in the dining community because the closure was so abrupt. Stella! staff dogged him on the nola.com forums, when they were a thing. The simple problem, though, was Stella! lost enormous amounts of money.
Shortly before its closure, Mr. Boswell was on the brink of national fame. His plans included opening Stanley locations in all the major cities of the world and he was angling to become the next Emeril. He had recently opened a food lab behind the Quarter that Uncle and I visited twice. One day he welcomed us wearing a black apron that had white powder all over it. “Do not worry; we are distilling caffeine!”he told us. Behind him was a professional chemistry setup I have not seen since I took chemistry at Tulane when the chem building was called Stern. He was talking about doing a tasting course with distilled caffeine as its uniting theme. A few months later in 2014, Stella! closed.
Stanley!, though, remains open and always makes a great breakfast or lunch. When visiting friends want a good restaurant in the Quarter, I never hesitate to mention Stanley. On this morning, I chose the Eggs Stanley, which is now $25, and the vegan gumbo, which was a bit salty. Mother only got a coffee. We sat outside and enjoyed the sights and sounds of Jackson Square.
One delightful vision was the traveling performance troupe called Beyond Small Faith.They were just in front St. Louis Cathedral. The master of ceremonies was not particularly good at involving the crowd, but the show was very enjoyable. At one point, the host invited me to step forward to dance, as he could see me tapping my feet and bending my knees while pivoting my hips. But I told him I was still exhausted from dancing at the Taylor Swift Eras Tour movie the previous two nights.
As is our custom, we took a break from the outside business to pray in St. Louis Cathedral for all the needs of a lost and broken world. I always feel like a bit of a bandit praying from the Book of Common Prayer while in a Roman church, but I know God does not care about our petty divisions as much as we do. We walked around the cathedral after our prayer time, and for the first time in my life, I saw a Muslim couple inside a church. It made me smile.
We also gave thanks to God for Our Lady of Prompt Succor, who many Catholics believe protects the city from hurricanes. She is also credited with defeating the imperial British at the Battle of New Orleans. Andrew Jackson, a confused Presbyterian who rejected TULIP, is said to have gone straight from the battle field in Chalmette to the cathedral to pray to Our Lady, thanking her for the resounding victory.
The entertainers in Jackson Square were not at winter’s peak, but they were definitely better than the buskers we saw this summer. As tourism ebbs and flows throughout the season, so too does the quality of our street performers.
The lines at some of the breakfast restaurants on Camp closer to Canal were ridiculously long. Meanwhile, in a much more beautiful setting, the superior Stanley had no line, so Mother asked if we could eat outside. While ordering, I ran into owner Scott Boswell, Lake Charles’ greatest export between Michael DeBakey and SlowFlowPro. We struck up a short conversation, as we were once regulars at his other restaurant, Stella!, which arguably is the best restaurant in New Orleans’ history. It opened in the Spring of 2001, and we were there on opening night.
When Stella! suddenly closed a decade or so ago, Mr. Boswell became persona non grata in the dining community because the closure was so abrupt. Stella! staff dogged him on the nola.com forums, when they were a thing. The simple problem, though, was Stella! lost enormous amounts of money.
Shortly before its closure, Mr. Boswell was on the brink of national fame. His plans included opening Stanley locations in all the major cities of the world and he was angling to become the next Emeril. He had recently opened a food lab behind the Quarter that Uncle and I visited twice. One day he welcomed us wearing a black apron that had white powder all over it. “Do not worry; we are distilling caffeine!”he told us. Behind him was a professional chemistry setup I have not seen since I took chemistry at Tulane when the chem building was called Stern. He was talking about doing a tasting course with distilled caffeine as its uniting theme. A few months later in 2014, Stella! closed.
Stanley!, though, remains open and always makes a great breakfast or lunch. When visiting friends want a good restaurant in the Quarter, I never hesitate to mention Stanley. On this morning, I chose the Eggs Stanley, which is now $25, and the vegan gumbo, which was a bit salty. Mother only got a coffee. We sat outside and enjoyed the sights and sounds of Jackson Square.
One delightful vision was the traveling performance troupe called Beyond Small Faith.They were just in front St. Louis Cathedral. The master of ceremonies was not particularly good at involving the crowd, but the show was very enjoyable. At one point, the host invited me to step forward to dance, as he could see me tapping my feet and bending my knees while pivoting my hips. But I told him I was still exhausted from dancing at the Taylor Swift Eras Tour movie the previous two nights.
As is our custom, we took a break from the outside business to pray in St. Louis Cathedral for all the needs of a lost and broken world. I always feel like a bit of a bandit praying from the Book of Common Prayer while in a Roman church, but I know God does not care about our petty divisions as much as we do. We walked around the cathedral after our prayer time, and for the first time in my life, I saw a Muslim couple inside a church. It made me smile.
We also gave thanks to God for Our Lady of Prompt Succor, who many Catholics believe protects the city from hurricanes. She is also credited with defeating the imperial British at the Battle of New Orleans. Andrew Jackson, a confused Presbyterian who rejected TULIP, is said to have gone straight from the battle field in Chalmette to the cathedral to pray to Our Lady, thanking her for the resounding victory.
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 11:02 am
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am to TulaneLSU
From there, we meandered to the Faulkner House to the galleries and museums of Royal Street. There is no better an urban walk in America than that of the French Quarter on an Autumnal day. It is here where beauty and inspiration meet. I found many magnolia seed pods. As a child, I loved searching during Autumn for these pods. A group of friends would compete to find the most and we would then break up into teams. We tore the pods' stems and tossed them at each other, acting as though they were grenades. Mother hoped to see our friend, buttocks, but we did not see him outside his favorite haunt, and there was no possible way we would enter those walls.
Mother wanted to return to the Blues Festival to get lunch, so we crossed Canal. Fortuitously, we were on St. Charles, and passed Meyer the Hatter. We could see Mr. Sam Meyer was working that day, and Mother wanted to tell him hello. As some of you will remember, Mother bought my first streetcar conductor’s hat from Meyer’s. I still keep on my person the gift note, which reads, “As your grandfather always says, ‘Death rides the highway, but you are safe in the trolley car’. Love, Mother.” His sons do most of the business these days, but he still makes the celebrity appearance and is always happy to chat. He, and his grandfather’s store, which opened 130 years ago, are institutions few places in America can claim equivalents.
We sat on a patch of grass in the beautiful square and tried listening to the blues music. But we did not find it particularly good. The lines for the food were quite long, especially for Central City BBQ, so we left soon after arriving. My feet were quite tired, from the 10-15 miles we had already walked and from dancing at AMC the nights before, so I asked if we could take the red street car back to the Park. Mother said, “It is such a beautiful day. The walk will be good for us.” So we walked up Canal, to its Waist, and cut over past my alma mater and then arrived in City Park. The timing was great, as we arrived for the last concert given by the spectacular Houston-based ensemble, Kaminari Taiko. They are incredible performers!
We were both hungry, so we decided to cross Bayou Saint John to see if The Deutsches Haus had any good food. Entrance was $10 each, a far cry from the days I remember when it was just a couple of dollars. It was apparent early on entrance that this festival has become another excuse to hijack a cultural celebration to turn it into a drunken mess. No less than a quarter of the people there were walking around with steins of beer.
Mother wanted to return to the Blues Festival to get lunch, so we crossed Canal. Fortuitously, we were on St. Charles, and passed Meyer the Hatter. We could see Mr. Sam Meyer was working that day, and Mother wanted to tell him hello. As some of you will remember, Mother bought my first streetcar conductor’s hat from Meyer’s. I still keep on my person the gift note, which reads, “As your grandfather always says, ‘Death rides the highway, but you are safe in the trolley car’. Love, Mother.” His sons do most of the business these days, but he still makes the celebrity appearance and is always happy to chat. He, and his grandfather’s store, which opened 130 years ago, are institutions few places in America can claim equivalents.
We sat on a patch of grass in the beautiful square and tried listening to the blues music. But we did not find it particularly good. The lines for the food were quite long, especially for Central City BBQ, so we left soon after arriving. My feet were quite tired, from the 10-15 miles we had already walked and from dancing at AMC the nights before, so I asked if we could take the red street car back to the Park. Mother said, “It is such a beautiful day. The walk will be good for us.” So we walked up Canal, to its Waist, and cut over past my alma mater and then arrived in City Park. The timing was great, as we arrived for the last concert given by the spectacular Houston-based ensemble, Kaminari Taiko. They are incredible performers!
We were both hungry, so we decided to cross Bayou Saint John to see if The Deutsches Haus had any good food. Entrance was $10 each, a far cry from the days I remember when it was just a couple of dollars. It was apparent early on entrance that this festival has become another excuse to hijack a cultural celebration to turn it into a drunken mess. No less than a quarter of the people there were walking around with steins of beer.
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 11:12 am
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am to TulaneLSU
We were not deterred. We arrived just in time for a large Chicken Dance. I am an expert chicken dancer, having learned the dance at the now defunct Kolb’s. Mother and I led the dance and I think it was a success, despite a few of the dancers looking inebriated. I settled for a schnitzel, which was decent, thanks to the slice of lemon atop it. It was not close to the quality of Kolb's Schnitzel, but it, with the sausage and two sides, was not a bad deal for $18. We met several new friends while we enjoyed our meal.
On the walk home, we admired Lynda Benglis’ great sculpture, which was made for the ‘84 World’s Fair, “The Wave of the World.” Through utter incompetence, this famous piece sat in storage in a sewage treatment plant in Kenner for three decades until it was rediscovered in 2013.
While still going through the park, I realized I was hungry for dessert, so I asked if we could go to Brocato’s. Mother responded, “Son, I am too tired. You go.” So I went. I got seven desserts and brought Mother a pint of strawberry Italian ice, her favorite. My favorite, as you know, is the baked Alaska, which is practically an extinct dessert these days. For $3.95, it is such a bargain. I will one day release a Top 10 desserts of Brocato’s.
Mother was not pleased that I had spent $65 on dessert, but when I showed her the Italian ice for her, all was forgiven. The walk had so famished me, that I decided pizza was next. So I walked to Tower of Pizza in Old Metairie. The walk is not as nice as a Quarter walk, but Metairie Road has its moments. I brought it and one of their famous salads, which they package in a Chinese to go box, home, and enjoyed it. I must say, though, that eating it in the restaurant is much preferable, as the salad obtains that soggy church salad texture after an hour in a box. Toof and friends will soon be joining me for dinner there, so please sign up.
Friends, I hope each of you one day gets to spend a day walking on the beautiful sidewalks of New Orleans. It is a special place, filled with history and life and happiness, a place that makes me feel at sea level that I am atop a mountain.
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
On the walk home, we admired Lynda Benglis’ great sculpture, which was made for the ‘84 World’s Fair, “The Wave of the World.” Through utter incompetence, this famous piece sat in storage in a sewage treatment plant in Kenner for three decades until it was rediscovered in 2013.
While still going through the park, I realized I was hungry for dessert, so I asked if we could go to Brocato’s. Mother responded, “Son, I am too tired. You go.” So I went. I got seven desserts and brought Mother a pint of strawberry Italian ice, her favorite. My favorite, as you know, is the baked Alaska, which is practically an extinct dessert these days. For $3.95, it is such a bargain. I will one day release a Top 10 desserts of Brocato’s.
Mother was not pleased that I had spent $65 on dessert, but when I showed her the Italian ice for her, all was forgiven. The walk had so famished me, that I decided pizza was next. So I walked to Tower of Pizza in Old Metairie. The walk is not as nice as a Quarter walk, but Metairie Road has its moments. I brought it and one of their famous salads, which they package in a Chinese to go box, home, and enjoyed it. I must say, though, that eating it in the restaurant is much preferable, as the salad obtains that soggy church salad texture after an hour in a box. Toof and friends will soon be joining me for dinner there, so please sign up.
Friends, I hope each of you one day gets to spend a day walking on the beautiful sidewalks of New Orleans. It is a special place, filled with history and life and happiness, a place that makes me feel at sea level that I am atop a mountain.
Faith, Hope, and Love,
TulaneLSU
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 11:08 am
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am to TulaneLSU
b
Posted on 10/17/23 at 10:59 am to JTM72
c
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:00 am to rowbear1922
d
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:00 am to lsuguy84
e
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 11:01 am
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:00 am to TulaneLSU
Oooooh, I like what's coming
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:00 am to Breesus
f
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:01 am to kywildcatfanone
g
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:01 am to TulaneLSU
Friend,
a a a a a are you having a stroke?
Yours,
Bard
a a a a a are you having a stroke?
Yours,
Bard
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:14 am to TulaneLSU
quote:
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:16 am to TulaneLSU
If you can stay alive, New Orleans is a very beautiful walkable city.
Not very bike friendly, but definitely fun to walk
Not very bike friendly, but definitely fun to walk
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:31 am to tgrbaitn08
TulaneLSU, my dear friend,
You should at some point delve into the history of the statues in Jackson square set upon each corner. They have no inscriptions at the bottom however each one represents one of the four seasons. My favorite is the one I believe to be Autumn.
My girlfriend (pardon me no photographic evidence) is an esteemed New Orleans historian and stands by the fact that these statues are the oldest standing statues in the entire city. Perhaps your scholarly passion and intellect could elucidate some history about these granite guardians of our city. The oak tree that fell a month or so ago luckily missed the statue in that corner - perhaps Jackson or St Louis himself had something to do with that.
Furthermore: one of my favorite houses to walk past in the Garden District is the house where Jefferson Davis passed away from the mortal realm. The house used to have a large granite monument to the historical significance of it but alas like Harmony Circle we believe reminders of controversial history should be effaced and destroyed for whatever reason.
You should at some point delve into the history of the statues in Jackson square set upon each corner. They have no inscriptions at the bottom however each one represents one of the four seasons. My favorite is the one I believe to be Autumn.
My girlfriend (pardon me no photographic evidence) is an esteemed New Orleans historian and stands by the fact that these statues are the oldest standing statues in the entire city. Perhaps your scholarly passion and intellect could elucidate some history about these granite guardians of our city. The oak tree that fell a month or so ago luckily missed the statue in that corner - perhaps Jackson or St Louis himself had something to do with that.
Furthermore: one of my favorite houses to walk past in the Garden District is the house where Jefferson Davis passed away from the mortal realm. The house used to have a large granite monument to the historical significance of it but alas like Harmony Circle we believe reminders of controversial history should be effaced and destroyed for whatever reason.
This post was edited on 10/17/23 at 12:53 pm
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:37 am to TulaneLSU
Yep
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:39 am to TulaneLSU
quote:
, we caught a glimpse of RummelTiger in his Celica. I waved, but I do not think he saw us
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:42 am to TulaneLSU
Friend,
It’s clear that our beloved mistress still has some magic left in her. Hope all is well.
“Aint no bitchin in my kitchen.”
-S
It’s clear that our beloved mistress still has some magic left in her. Hope all is well.
“Aint no bitchin in my kitchen.”
-S
Posted on 10/17/23 at 11:59 am to TulaneLSU
Not one pic of mother posted. We wanna see an old lady that can walk that far.
Posted on 10/17/23 at 12:15 pm to TulaneLSU
Fantastic thread as always, friend. Some of the photos are iconic enough to be in a photo book you'd keep on a coffee table. I hope you and mother enjoyed your Angelo Brocato's; the traditional cannoli with pistacchio Is my favorite.
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