TulaneLSU's Top 10 staircases of Auburn University

Dear Friends,

No one on his deathbed ever looks back and says, “I wish I had been less generous in my life.” When Great Aunt died at the good age of 97 -- I say good because she oddly enough enjoyed listening to B-97 FM and was particularly a fan of Walton and Johnson when they were in New Orleans -- she did so with almost no money in her bank account. Her father had been part of the corrupt corps of New Orleans businessmen who betrayed the poor farmers and oystermen of St. Bernard during the 1927 Flood. Speaking of floods, what a shame there was no public commemoration of the Great May 8 Flood. We celebrated the 25th anniversary a week ago today on the road to Auburn in Uncle’s Lincoln Navigator. Everyone shared their flood story. Perhaps I will share my story with you one day. There has not been a single drop of rain thus far on our trip. It surprises me to read how much rain south Louisiana has received in the last 24 hours.

Aunt’s largesse seemed to come naturally, but I wonder if it was really a largesse tied to guilt. No one in the family really knows how much she inherited, but if her Christmas presents were any indication, it was more than most McMansion subdivisions are worthl. She gave freely and anonymously to many causes. I know anonymously only because once in the late 1990s while looking for my Voltron, I came across a cashier’s check made out to a local arts society to the tune of several hundreds of thousands.

Great Aunt never had any children. In fact, she never married or mentioned any interest in romance. Her life seemed devoted entirely to charity and almsgiving. I can remember one incident walking up St. Charles Avenue a beggar approached her asking for money. Rather than simply give the haggard man folded paper, she invited him to lunch. The nearest restaurant was Houston’s, so we broke bread with this man. If I recall correctly his name was Russ, or maybe it was Jim, James, or John.

As we ate our cheeseburgers, the best burger in New Orleans at that time, as the Magazine Whole Foods had not yet opened and started serving smoked burger samples, Great Aunt clearly wanted to get to know this plan.

“What do you do?” She asked.

The man, whose skin was youthfully taut yet bronzed by day after day of sun exposure, told his story. “I am the youngest of three brothers. My father raised us after our mom died when I was five. Dad ran a contracting firm and when he retired, it was supposed to become The Three Sons Contracting Co.” He became teary-eyed. “My brothers conspired against me and tricked me into signing a contract. They didn’t tell me I was selling my portion for peanuts.”

I was youngish, pretentious, and not yet tactful. I blurted out, “That’s just like Jacob and Esau from Genesis! Esau was really hungry and Jacob had a bowl of lentil soup, like a thick gumbo. Jacob offered his brother the soup for Esau’s birthright. And Esau the moron gave it away for a bowl of soup, just like you did with your peanuts.”

Again, I had not yet mastered the art of socializing. The young man brushed me off and spoke directly to Great Aunt, “So I just need a few hundred dollars to get on my feet again. Get some tools. Start getting some jobs. I know I can get it going again.”

Great Aunt was finishing her only dish, the spinach and artichoke dip with thick polychromic tortilla chips. She quietly signaled for the waitress to bring our check. “I have an idea. Cedric (his name I think is correct, but I am not sure), a dear friend, works at Harry’s Ace Hardware store. Let’s see what he says.” The man seemed disappointed he didn’t get the quick payoff.

After paying, we jumped on the streetcar uptown and got off at Foucher for the short walk. I could tell by the man’s expression he was impressed by Harry’s. Even today it is a stately and strong three story red-bricked building with impressive pediment and raking cornice. The fire escape ladder on the building’s west side was peeling paint, just as a northern European’s skin would after a few days of homelessness in a city whose latitude is at 30 degrees.

Inside the store, Cedric, a man of smiles but few words, gave us a tour. His smile was filled with little stained pellets, much like the ovaries of a pineapple. Although unsightly, his grin was as welcoming as the smell of Mother’s hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night after caroling. “What’re you looking for?”

Great Aunt was brief but polite. “We need to get this young man back on his feet. We need some tools that can get him some work.”

Credric pinched his chin with his sausage-like fingers. His finger paused as his eyes drifted outwardly as though he had just found what he had been seeking. “You know what. We need those stairs power washed. What you thinking about a power washer?”

Russ, Jim, James, or John stepped in, “That is just what I was looking for. My dad was an expert power washer at home. That’s what I want and that’s what I need.”

Cedric then brought him to the aisle with power washers. He pointed at the largest one there. “This here Pressure Pro is the best in the biz.”

Great Aunt was sold and bought it. No sooner did the man open the box and prepare it for cleaning. Cedric has a gas tank in the back and filled it with gas and hooked it up to the store’s water hose. Within minutes the home-challenged man was blasting away years of fading paint, exposing a rather fetching iron works ladder.