Easter On River of Bourbon Street / April 2020
Each Easter for several years we have reprinted
EASTER ON THE RIVER OF BOURBON STREET.
We are doing so again this year, but with the caveat of the COVID-19 Virus watching over our shoulder
humming Mozart's Requiem.
humming Mozart's Requiem.
Damn Yankee Puritans, please!
Dry land hypocrites, know-nothings
chipping away at our civic judgement to host millions during Carnival.
Such numbers somberly crowded your subways and buses every day, did they not?
And they died same as we did,
but without the party.
~ LEJ.org✍
🗣😷
Dry land hypocrites, know-nothings
chipping away at our civic judgement to host millions during Carnival.
Such numbers somberly crowded your subways and buses every day, did they not?
And they died same as we did,
but without the party.
~ LEJ.org✍
🗣😷
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| “The Fight Between Carnival and Lent” by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (ca. 1525-1569) |
Here we go again.
"There will always be a New Orleans,
and some bluenose wagging a finger at it."
~ L. A. Norma
and some bluenose wagging a finger at it."
~ L. A. Norma
⇓
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April 2020
Easter On The River of Bourbon Street,
with the Caveat of COVID-19 Virus
© 2020, Leonard Earl Johnson, All Rights Reserved
Dedication
Ellis Marsalis, Jr.
~ November 14, 1934 - April 1, 2020 ~
Pianist, educator, celebrated member of the New Orleans parade,
in New Orleans, at age 85, of pneumonia / COVID-19
💜💚💛
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Spring in New Orleans, Photo-credit: Jessica Reeves Tullos
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ONE EASTER
Long ago, L. A. Norma and I left the witch-hat-towers of Saint Louis Cathedral 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 Street 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 street grid of New Orleans ~ in use today.
These two illustrious dance halls flank Bourbon Street ~ shoulder to shoulder ~ where it intersects Rue Saint Ann. Once populated exclusively by gay men. Then gay women and gay men. They are today ~ like King Cakes ~ made of most anything. Especially in Spring when balcony seating opens.
They stand watch at a demarcation point between Reader's Digest- tourists ebbing back up towards Canal Street; and those tourists yearning to venture further into the literary mysteries of the gentrified Faubourgs.
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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.
* * *
Among such a human eddy no one would usually give notice to a walking Jesus. But this day, a tourist Family standing against the downstream wall of Pete Fountain's (today's 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 neat with an ice-water back.
Jesus looked down and bellowed: "Don't you know what holiday this is? It is Easter, I have no cross!"
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| Atop the Presbyter, NOLa, the year after Katrina.
When I wore a younger man's beard.
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It wasn't. It was Easter on the River of Bourbon Street ~ a long time ago.
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(A lesser version of this story first appeared in the mid 1990s)
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CANCELED
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Go here For
 If you wish to read any month's column go to www.LEJ.org anytime. They are posted on the first of each month and polished for the next few years. |
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LEJ's Louisiana, Yours Truly in a Swamp
is a monthly e-column @ www.LEJ.org
~ Hosted on GOOGLE Blogger ~
and historically at
Les Amis de Marigny, New Orleans,
publication of the
It is written by Leonard Earl Johnson
of Lafayette and New Orleans, Louisiana
© 2020, Leonard Earl Johnson,
All Rights Reserved.
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