Easter on The River of Bourbon Street / May 2017
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| Carnival Esprit / Janice Turk |
LEJ's Louisiana, Yours Truly in a Swamp
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May 2017
BY Leonard Earl Johnson
© 2017, Leonard Earl Johnson, All Rights Reserved
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2013 ~ Spring New Orleans, Photo-credit: Jessica ReeTull
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L. A. Norma and I left the witch-hat-towers of Saint Louis Cathedral, and headed for the soaring balconies of Bourbon Street.
There we were lifted on the chaliced wings of whiskey served from temporal cathedrals bearing names like Oz and Bourbon Pub.
There are bars named Oz and Pub on many streets in this World, but there is only one Bourbon Street. It is in New Orleans' French Quarter, and it flows like the Mississippi River towards Big Swamp City's first Faubourgs.
It is there, just inside Faubourg Marigny, where the street's name changes to Pauger, after Adrien de Pauger, the French engineer who designed the colonial streets of New Orleans ~ in use today, and the only grid system in Town.
The two dance halls flanking Bourbon Street ~ where it intersects Saint Ann ~ were once populated exclusively by gay men. Then came gay women and gay men. And today ~ especially when balcony seating opens ~ anyone, gay or not.
These dance halls stand at a demarcation point between Reader's Digest- tourists ebbing back towards Canal Street; and those yearning to venture towards the literary mysteries of the gentrified Faubourgs Marigny, Tremé, and Bywater.
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| Courtesy of French Quarter Festivals |
The masses raised their arms in jubilation of Christ's resurrection ~ or for beads!
This day, touched by Easter's spirit and the elfin Mr. Booze, I saw Jesus walking down this famed street of Sin.
He wore a crown of thorns over His long black hair. He wore sandals, too, and was naked save for a loincloth cut like the one in the paintings. He was thin and looked like He might be Filipino, but mostly He looked like Jesus. Everyone on the balcony thought so.
True to The Book, He was slumming with the local rabble. And reveling in their Easter experience. As were they in His.
Norma lifted her whiskey, inhaled from her cigarette, exhaled a plume of smoke larger than her head, and said, "Skip the crucifixion, forget fasting, go straight for the Resurrection!"
We all laughed ~ glowing in the clear and righteous wonder of her thought.
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Among such a human eddy no one would have given notice whatsoever to a walking Jesus.
But this day, a tourist Family standing against the downstream wall of Pete Fountain's (today, Oz) did. They were directly across the street from where we sat. The Father watched wide-eyed. The Girl, about seventeen, waved up to us. The pubescent Son giggled and hugged his Mother. Then, along came Jesus headed straight for them!
The tourist Mother looked offended. She gathered her brood and paddled them off down the street. Jesus did not seem bothered by their departure."After all," Norma said, "He wrote the book on forgiveness."
The Pope appeared on the balcony directly above them. He stood dressed, head-to-toe, in yellow and white satin. He blessed all who passed beneath him, and tossed beads at the tourist Family as they scurried away. He looked across Bourbon Street and blessed us, too. We waved, and he motioned us over. We crossed the street and took our seats at the Pope's table.
We looked back at the Bourbon Pub balcony. The Pope, ever so wise, said, "You cannot see yourself on the balcony you have just left." We had all had a lot to drink. The Pope handed out Wild Turkey and water. "Holy Water, from The Holy River," he said.
Three real nuns, in old-fashioned black-and-white habits, came trotting down Rue Saint Ann ~ on their return from a later mass. They passed our intersection headed towards Cathedral School. The sea of sinners parted. We joined the cheering. 
The Pope lay his hands on my shoulders, and said,"Watch that woman, do not let her fall over the communion rail." Green Carnival beads landed on the Pope's pointy hat. They looked interesting, but he took them off and tossed them to two college boys on the street below. Norma told him the two boys should have opened their pants. He frowned and said sternly, "This is not Carnival!"
I said, "It is not Laughingyette either," but the Pope did not hear me ~ he was gone to find Jesus.
Norma looked past my forehead, and talked of far-ranging things.
The Pope returned without Jesus. He was balancing fresh drinks, and passed them round the table. "He can not be found in this wicked den," said The Pope, handing me a Wild Turkey and water.
Jesus looked down and bellowed: "Don't you know what holiday this is? It is Easter, I have no cross!"
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| When I wore a younger man's beard |
It wasn't. It was Easter on the River of Bourbon Street.
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Copyright, 2017, Leonard Earl Johnson, All Rights Reserved
(A version of this story first appeared in the mid 1990s)
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LEJ's Louisiana, Yours Truly in a Swamp
© 2017, Leonard Earl Johnson,
is a monthly e-column @ www.LEJ.org
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and at Les Amis de Marigny, New Orleans,
publication of the
It is written by Leonard Earl Johnson
of Lafayette and New Orleans, Louisiana
© 2017, Leonard Earl Johnson,
All Rights Reserved.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *posted by LEJ's Louisiana | 5:07 AM
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