New Orleans Today

I committed myself to write this, but talking about New Orleans today is hard.

The physical part, first. The New Orleans most tourists know, the French Quarter, the Garden District, and the rest of Uptown stretching between Canal Street and Carrollton, escaped the floodwaters. But many of the old, wonderful sections of the city were inundated—Jackson Barracks, the Bywater, Broadmore, Gentilly, Mid-City. I suspect that most of those areas will, in time, be revived, although many of the graceful old homes that once stood there probably won’t make it. Lakeside—the largely white, affluent area to the northwest—will eventually also return, doubtless more gentrified than ever because lots there are selling for surprising sums. Large homes in that area are being restored, while many of the smaller, single-story, three bedroom brick houses that were built there after World War II are being torn down, to be replaced with MacMansions. But a drive through the older areas of the city that once had largely black populations is depressing. Many of those houses were rentals, and even residents who owned their own homes found it difficult to afford insurance. Yes, the “Road Home” program is promising to release funds to people in those circumstances, but by the time the money appears, many of those houses will be fit only for demolition. Time is passing, and the elements in New Orleans are not kind to broken homes. Something like 20% of the houses in the city have already been demolished or are slated to be torn down. And it’s only beginning.

Huge swaths of the city are still largely deserted. Take a drive through New Orleans East, the Lower Ninth Ward, Chalmette, and you will see tens of thousands of ruined houses standing empty beside the empty shopping malls, churches, schools, and businesses that once served them. There is no way to adequately describe the devastation that simply goes on, mile after mile. Try to imagine a huge modern city, street after street, block after block, of houses without people, streets without cars or bicycles, overgrown yards without children, without dogs and cats, without anything except the wind and an ugly brown water line. Officials say the population today is considerably less than half of what it was pre-Katrina, around 180-200,000, although no one really knows. I personally think their estimates are high. The city is struggling to repair and replace everything from streetlights and stoplights to street signs, pumps, gas lines, sewage lines, water lines—you name it. New Orleans has always had a problem with potholes, but we now have potholes big enough to swallow washing machines. This is not an exaggeration.

Life here has improved enormously since the fall and winter of 2005-6, when schools, grocery stores, and almost everything else you can think of were closed. If you’ve been reading my blog since the beginning, you’ve doubtless sensed the changes. But small businesses in the area are still hurting. The lack of workers has driven up wages, and the conventioneers and tourists who once drove the city’s economy have not returned.

Yet New Orleans has been through hell before. Hurricanes, floods, a brutal military occupation, yellow fever epidemics that claimed tens of thousands—each event, doubtless, wrought enormous changes on the city. New Orleans always survived, still vibrant, still unique. Yes, life in New Orleans is hard at the moment, and everyone here is more than a little crazy. And yet I can honestly say I wouldn’t want to be living anyplace else. The rebirth of this city truly is something glorious to see and to experience and to contribute to.

In just a few weeks, we will begin celebrating Mardi Gras. I must admit I’m not a huge Mardi Gras fan, although I always go to a few favorite parades. But this year, I find I’m looking forward to it, and I suspect it’s because of Katrina. Last year, critics scolded the city for throwing what is essentially a huge party when the city was still in ruins. Some people seemed to think it was morally wrong for us to take a few hours off from gutting our houses to go stand out in the street and catch beads. Well, you know what? The city is still in ruins, and it will be for years to come. Our lives go on. Last year, when the parades rolled, their floats and riders severely reduced in number but still gamely THERE, those few of us who were here cheered. Many of us also cried. But make no mistake, they were tears of joy, and determination, and pride. New Orleans is coming back.

On a side note…
The proposal for the fourth Sebastian St. Cyr Regency Mystery, currently entitled WHERE SERPENTS SLEEP (I don’t like that title; suggestions are welcome), is finished. That horrendous sound you hear is my gears grinding as I shift from early nineteenth century London to 21st century Washington, D.C. and the world of power politics. THE ARCHANGEL PROJECT is due 1 March. That’s scary enough, but when I think about that the fact my sister is coming for a ten-day visit at Mardi Gras, I start to hyperventilate.