City’s Rich Culture Proves Lucky Too

The worst storm to ever strike this old city has spared its most famous picture-postcard icons -- the French Quarter, the Garden District and the graceful, mansion-lined thoroughfare of St. Charles Avenue.

But although great swaths of these storied neighborhoods are unflooded, they have become eerie and sometimes menacing no man’s lands. The vegetable bins of the French Market -- usually open every day of the year -- are bare. The grand oaks that canopied the genteel Garden District neighborhood are trashed, their big twisted branches blocking the streets.

There is little traffic save for police or military vehicles patrolling for looters or heading toward rescue sites.

On an Uptown porch Sunday, the body of a man lay wrapped in plastic with a wilted bouquet at his feet. Someone had written his driver’s license number and name -- Alcede Johnson -- on a torn piece of cardboard and placed it on his chest.

And yet life goes on here for a small group of locals that will not, or cannot, leave. Some are holed up in their houses, protecting them from looting that seems to have largely subsided. Some have gathered at traditional hubs of social life -- a Bourbon Street bar, a fancy Uptown restaurant -- for camaraderie, medical help and military food drops. And a hardy few wander the streets, locals turned tourists in the new ghostscape that the city has become.

“We’re just riding around checking things out,” Art DePodesta said. The 30-year-old restaurant owner had pulled up to a Whole Foods market on Magazine Street on his bicycle Saturday, a .45-caliber handgun on his hip. As the police looked on approvingly, he and a friend joined a handful of locals who wandered through the glass-strewn store, rummaging for food. DePodesta chose a couple of gourmet salamis.

He surveyed Magazine Street, usually busy with cross-town traffic and antique shoppers. It was silent, but DePodesta was optimistic.

“This neighborhood’s going to be up and running in no time,” he said.

This rich swath of old New Orleans -- a portion of the 20% of the city that remained unflooded -- was saved in part because it was built along the river on higher ground than some of the newer neighborhoods.

A drive around New Orleans this weekend revealed that many of its world-famous buildings and institutions would probably survive. Jackson Square, the heart of the old Spanish colonial capital, was nearly immaculate. The St. Louis Cathedral was dry. Grand old creole restaurants like Galatoire’s only looked as if they had survived a night of hard French Quarter partying.

Many residents here feel bad for the other parts of New Orleans that are now underwater, along with the surrounding parishes. These lesser known, hard-hit areas -- including Mid-City, Lakeview and the 9th Ward -- are rarely visited by tourists, but they contribute mightily to the city’s piquant character.

A number of people said that the survival of so much of old New Orleans architecture and culture, though insignificant in the face of the death toll, is a rare and welcome bit of good news as the city turns toward an uncertain future.

“It’s good that the historical city survived,” said George Byrne, a 58-year-old lawyer who had been rescued from a part of Uptown that was covered in 9 feet of water. “The problem is a large part of the other residential parts of the city is never going to come back.”

With no power and no water service, the old neighborhoods were quieter than they’d ever been, save for the helicopters buzzing overhead. Yet they seemed to retain their distinctive personalities.

In the French Quarter, the strip clubs and booze joints of Bourbon Street were closed up and the street was oddly quiet. But over at Johnny White’s Sports Bar, perhaps the only bar open in town, a group of weathered locals pored over longnecks in the dim light.

Marcie Ramsey, the assistant manager, called the place “the only locals’ bar on Bourbon Street,” and said it had become more of a community center. She said the bartender, a former member of the Air Force named Joe, had been using his medical experience to treat the wounded and sick.

In the Faubourg Marigny, a more residential neighborhood that abuts the Quarter, a sort of bohemian block club has formed, watching for looters on the rooftops, hauling out trash and keeping neighbors informed. Resident Julia Li said the club was being headed up by a guitar player down the street.

“We’ve all banded together,” she said.

In the upscale environs of Uptown New Orleans, the hip holster had become a discreet but de rigueur accessory for the handful of upper-middle-class men who stayed put, often to protect showcase 19th century homes.

Jim Huger, a 37-year-old real estate developer, was packing a 9-millimeter pistol. He had sent his wife and children to Florida, but he stayed in his 107-year-old Webster Street house along with his mother and brother-in-law.

New Orleans is sweltering in early September, and almost everyone here -- from rescue workers to the mayor -- has been living without air conditioning. But Huger had installed a generator on his roof last year that runs on natural gas. The inside of his house was icy cool, and he offered a visitor a cold beer.

“I figured that a hurricane is coming one day, and when you lose power sometimes you lose it for weeks,” he said.

Huger’s house had become a sort of clearinghouse of information for Uptowners checking on their homes or looking for loved ones. Friends were constantly dropping by, relaying information about possible break-ins and stranded people.

One such group came knocking Sunday afternoon. They were trying to arrange the rescue of a man living on the second floor of a water-clogged house. All were carrying firearms, and they were joined by members of an Israeli security company who had been hired to protect Audubon Place, a wealthy gated community off St. Charles Avenue.

Huger was most concerned, however, about the news that officials had begun leaning on residents to leave their homes. He said they had stayed only because of the state government’s mismanagement of the crisis.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I was here guarding our property while our idiot governor didn’t call out the National Guard troops early enough.”

Some black residents of Uptown New Orleans had different gripes about the military and police presence. Though none of the neighbors of Alcede Johnson -- the dead man on the porch -- could say definitively what happened to him, they were upset that his body had not been picked up.

Homemaker Alma MacBrowder, 43, was angry that police had hauled away all of the water in her neighborhood store for their own use.

Michael Chachere, a retired longshoreman who lives around the corner, said that he had tried to ask some National Guardsmen the best way out of town Saturday night. Instead of giving directions, he said, they drew their weapons on him. They later explained that a number of “refugees” had been wandering into the neighborhood.

“I’m not a refugee,” Chachere said angrily. “I’m not from another country. I’m a Vietnam Vet.”

Chachere said he had enough food for six months, but he was running out of gasoline for his generator. He planned to use his remaining gas to get out of town.

Meanwhile, rescue workers removed scores of people from homes in the parts of Uptown north of St. Charles Avenue. There, the water started ankle-deep but rose to as high as 9 feet along the major northern artery of Claiborne Avenue.

Leo Vitale and his wife, Frances, both 86, walked arm in arm down Carrollton Avenue on Sunday afternoon after a boat rescued them from the second story of their house. Vitale said he would find a way to head down to the French Quarter. For years, he has run a dry-cleaning business there called Pop’s Cleaners. There was a place on the second floor of the shop where he and his wife could stay.

Vitale’s father came to New Orleans in 1898 from Palermo, part of a great wave of Sicilian immigrants that was eventually incorporated into the city’s overall character. Evacuating was not a consideration for now.

“I’ve lived here all my life,” he said.

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Surveying history

In addition to its let-the-good-times-roll attitude, New Orleans is famous for its architectural history and restaurants. Here’s the story on some of landmarks:

1. Galatoire’s: Still standing. Said to be Tennessee Williams’ favorite eatery; established in 1905.

2. Preservation Hall: Fate unknown. Built as a private home in 1750 and now a sanctuary and showplace of New Orleans jazz history.

3. Jean Laffite’s Blacksmith Shop: Escaped flooding. Dates to 1772, served as a front for the pirate’s illegal activities; now a bar.

4. St. Louis Cathedral: Still standing. Consecrated in 1794, it’s the oldest continuously active cathedral in the U.S.

5. Cafe du Monde: Still standing. Coffee shop built in 1862; famous for its dark roasted coffee and chicory.

6. U.S. Mint: Still standing. Served as a mint until 1909; became a museum housing jazz and Mardi Gras exhibits and, reportedly, the streetcar made famous by Tennessee Williams.

7. Fair Grounds: Grandstand roof was damaged but racetrack is underwater. Best known as the home of the city’s jazz festival and its racetrack; dates to 1852.

8. Acme Oyster House: Thought to have escaped the flooding. Home of raw oysters and fried oyster sandwiches (po’ boys); a city institution since 1910.

9. St. Charles Avenue: Damaged by high winds. Historic area runs along the streetcar tracks; known for its gracious homes and moss-draped oak trees.

10. Anne Rice home: Fate unknown. Former home of the “Vampire Chronicles” author is in an area hit by high winds.

11. Commander’s Palace: Partially destroyed. One of the city’s most famous restaurants, the turquoise-and-white Victorian was established in 1880.

12. National D-Day Museum: No damage. The museum, in a renovated 19th century warehouse, opened June 6, 2000, the 56th anniversary of the Normandy invasion.

Sources: Associated Press, “New Orleans Directions,” “New Orleans,” ESRI, TeleAtlas