During this dark time in the South, with the horror of Hurricane Katrina still surrounding us, I would like to invite people to submit stories of their fond memories of the towns that were affected by this storm. I would like stories of Gulfport, Biloxi, Mobile, Dauphin Island, New Orleans, and all the little towns in between that are destroyed or deeply affected by the storm.
Many of these towns will never again be the way they were just two weeks ago.
If you have some memories of living in these places, vacationing, or just driving thru..... please share with us! Share pictures too!
All books. All the Time. Established 2005
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
Monday, September 5, 2005
The City Time Forgot
New Orleans is a state of mind. Anyone entering the city feels the spirit of the city almost immediately. No, I am not talking about the stifling heat and dripping humidity! I am talking about the attitude of the locals. In good times, there was no better place to be. Everyday burdens are lifted from shoulders, frowns are replaced with smiles. And common courtesy is extended to everyone.
I have a lifelong history with this fine old style Southern city. My earliest childhood memories go back to trips as a toddler to City Park and riding on the old world style carousel. Now that was some kind of fun.
At the age of nine years I went to New Orleans with my parents for a medical procedure at Teuro Hospital. Charity Hospital was a world class emergency facility. That hospital treated the city's poorest as well as police injured in the line of duty. Some of its expertise came from dealing with the frequent gun battles by thugs and others who prey on the weaker among us. It was a well know fact that if you were in an auto accident, you should ask the ambulance to take you to Charity. I was at Teuro as they had saved the life of my father several years before from injuries caused by an auto accident on the bridge into the city from the Mississippi border. Fog, you know. For many years the local medical schools would use his case as part of the final exams. To read the case you would swear the patient died.
The music in the city is legendary. Preservation Jazz Hall, all the clubs throughout the French Quarter with live music could set your foot tapping. Tipitina's was a club uptown that showcased folks like Irma Thomas and the Neville Brothers before and after they hit it big. Pete Fountain and Al Hirt, from my parents generation, and Fats Domino from my generation all were known for giving back to the city as they became wealthy with success.
The food is the best in the world. Who can forget Breakfast at Brennans's, fat, juicy oysters at Tyler's Beer Garden, muffolottos at Central Grocery, Cafe au Lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde, blackened redfish at K-Pauls. Any of those memories is enough to make my mouth water. The smells of the huge open air farmers market alone were worth the trip. Shrimp and oyster po'boys could cure about anything ailing you.
Where else do the grieving give the departed a jazz funeral complete with a parade? The spirit of New Orleans will remain in me until new memories can be made.
I have a lifelong history with this fine old style Southern city. My earliest childhood memories go back to trips as a toddler to City Park and riding on the old world style carousel. Now that was some kind of fun.
At the age of nine years I went to New Orleans with my parents for a medical procedure at Teuro Hospital. Charity Hospital was a world class emergency facility. That hospital treated the city's poorest as well as police injured in the line of duty. Some of its expertise came from dealing with the frequent gun battles by thugs and others who prey on the weaker among us. It was a well know fact that if you were in an auto accident, you should ask the ambulance to take you to Charity. I was at Teuro as they had saved the life of my father several years before from injuries caused by an auto accident on the bridge into the city from the Mississippi border. Fog, you know. For many years the local medical schools would use his case as part of the final exams. To read the case you would swear the patient died.
The music in the city is legendary. Preservation Jazz Hall, all the clubs throughout the French Quarter with live music could set your foot tapping. Tipitina's was a club uptown that showcased folks like Irma Thomas and the Neville Brothers before and after they hit it big. Pete Fountain and Al Hirt, from my parents generation, and Fats Domino from my generation all were known for giving back to the city as they became wealthy with success.
The food is the best in the world. Who can forget Breakfast at Brennans's, fat, juicy oysters at Tyler's Beer Garden, muffolottos at Central Grocery, Cafe au Lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde, blackened redfish at K-Pauls. Any of those memories is enough to make my mouth water. The smells of the huge open air farmers market alone were worth the trip. Shrimp and oyster po'boys could cure about anything ailing you.
Where else do the grieving give the departed a jazz funeral complete with a parade? The spirit of New Orleans will remain in me until new memories can be made.
Blue Ribbon Good Times
Today marks the beginning of the week long tradition known as the Dyer County Fair . Now in its' 58th year, the county fair offers something for everyone who passes through the gates into another world. As a child, fair week was a tradition with my family. My Dad was president one year and on the board of directors forever and my Mom would work in the office where she took care of everything from emergency calls for carnival workers to cutting checks for prizes in the various lots, classes and divisions of competition. The money was just gravy for competitors though, for the real prize was a blue, red or white ribbon awarded to their entries.
I sold admission tickets at one of the two gates which was a good way to see everybody who came pouring in and my brother directed traffic, a job reserved for good old boys decked out in neon with flashlights waving.
Food is a highlight of the event with some of the best cooks in the county manning booths sponsored by civic organizations such as 4-H, band boosters and the usual Civitan, Rotary and Jaycee organizations. Following a good old greasy burger or white beans one can pass on the homemade cake or pie and take a stroll down the midway in search of other treats such as funnel cake, cotton candy or fiddlesticks. Careful not to eat too much though! You sure don't want to get queasy while riding those gut clenching adventures like "Tilt-a-Whirl" or "The Zipper". Many a southern romance has begun with a young man winning his girl a big stuffed animal playing a game of chance. The spook house always scared me to death with its' dark mazes and distorting mirrors!
No visit to the fair is complete without a tour of the commercial building where employees construct and man booths advertising various local businesses. These are judged as well and a place ribbon is a coveted award for any business owner. Many of them hold drawings for visitors during the course of the week giving away nice door prizes at the end. There is a nightly drawing for cash from the admission ticket stubs and on Saturday night the big prize is drawn for....a new vehicle!!
Currently housed in a spacious area near the youth league baseball fields, the former fairgrounds was located adjacent to the city cemetary. I will never forget how odd it felt to attend my uncle's funeral with a ferris wheel as the backdrop to the somber occasion. Fundraising efforts for a new building there included proceeds from the sale of my mother's cookbook "From the Back Burner" which was dedicated to one of the fair's most notable fixtures, Vernon "Red" Henson. What a character he was! His gruff exterior quickly vanished when approached by a lost child or someone in need. Getting that cookbook back into print is a goal for my daughter and myself because people STILL clamor for it. Mom was a newspaper columnist for the local paper for years and shared recipes from everyone she knew and the sensible ending to that career was a compilation of recipes from the best of Dyer County.
As the midway barker would sing " Step right up and try your luck!" There's something for everybody at the Dyer County Fair. See y'all in the hog barn.
I sold admission tickets at one of the two gates which was a good way to see everybody who came pouring in and my brother directed traffic, a job reserved for good old boys decked out in neon with flashlights waving.
Food is a highlight of the event with some of the best cooks in the county manning booths sponsored by civic organizations such as 4-H, band boosters and the usual Civitan, Rotary and Jaycee organizations. Following a good old greasy burger or white beans one can pass on the homemade cake or pie and take a stroll down the midway in search of other treats such as funnel cake, cotton candy or fiddlesticks. Careful not to eat too much though! You sure don't want to get queasy while riding those gut clenching adventures like "Tilt-a-Whirl" or "The Zipper". Many a southern romance has begun with a young man winning his girl a big stuffed animal playing a game of chance. The spook house always scared me to death with its' dark mazes and distorting mirrors!
No visit to the fair is complete without a tour of the commercial building where employees construct and man booths advertising various local businesses. These are judged as well and a place ribbon is a coveted award for any business owner. Many of them hold drawings for visitors during the course of the week giving away nice door prizes at the end. There is a nightly drawing for cash from the admission ticket stubs and on Saturday night the big prize is drawn for....a new vehicle!!
Currently housed in a spacious area near the youth league baseball fields, the former fairgrounds was located adjacent to the city cemetary. I will never forget how odd it felt to attend my uncle's funeral with a ferris wheel as the backdrop to the somber occasion. Fundraising efforts for a new building there included proceeds from the sale of my mother's cookbook "From the Back Burner" which was dedicated to one of the fair's most notable fixtures, Vernon "Red" Henson. What a character he was! His gruff exterior quickly vanished when approached by a lost child or someone in need. Getting that cookbook back into print is a goal for my daughter and myself because people STILL clamor for it. Mom was a newspaper columnist for the local paper for years and shared recipes from everyone she knew and the sensible ending to that career was a compilation of recipes from the best of Dyer County.
As the midway barker would sing " Step right up and try your luck!" There's something for everybody at the Dyer County Fair. See y'all in the hog barn.
Friday, September 2, 2005
This is How I Choose to Remember New Orleans
I am a Louisiana Girl and proud of it. I lived three hours north of New Orleans, but was able to visit enough for it to become a place I loved to go.
It's funny how memories come flooding back (no pun intended) while watching the Katrina coverage. I sit here and think of the time when Joel and I visited while in college. We were visiting his parents who lived in Slidell at the time and went over for the 4th of July fireworks that took place on the Mississippi off of the French Quarter. It rained that day while we were visiting the Riverwalk Mall and we strolled back to our viewing area in a fine mist.
For the three years his parents lived in Slidell, we tried to go into New Orleans every chance we visited. We explored the French Quarter, went to the Aquarium, ate messy benigets at Cafe Du Monde, shopped in the French Market, and ate some of the best food you've ever tasted.
After we got married and had Amanda, we visited my sister-- in law who had moved into New Orleans. I have photos of Amanda playing at the Aquarium, and me shopping at Saks in the Westin Hotel. We took Amanda to the Children's Museum and wandered around Canal Street. It was several years after that before I went back.
Joel and I divorced and two weeks after the divorce was final, I went with my brother, and my friend Erin for a party weekend in the Big Easy. We stayed at the Marriott on the edge of the French Quarter, and danced and drank up and down Bourbon St. I celebrated my independence by getting a tattoo at a shop on North Rampart St. It was the one chance that I actually partied in the Quarter.
When Joel and I got back together, we celebrated by going on a long weekend to the city that held so many memories. We stayed at the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon. If you watched any of the Fox News Coverage, and you saw Shepard Smith on the balcony of a hotel, I'm almost positive it's the same suite we were in. It was a rainy ,cold November weekend, but we didn't care.It rained just enough to keep the drunks off of Bourbon at night.
We walked though Pirate's Alley behind the St. Louis Cathedral and took pictures in the rain that made the sidewalks shimmer. We had dinner at Galatorie's Restaurant. On Sunday, we watched a Saints game at the Super Dome and talked to some die hard local Saints fans. I wonder where they are now, if they evacuated, or if they were back in the Super Dome under much less pleasant conditions.
The next year, we had Thanksgiving Dinner at Laura's house in LaPlace and took Amanda to the Ritz Carleton for her first High Tea. The waiter was a doll, and made sure that Amanda had her own set of refreshments so that she didn't have to have the things we had. He treated her like a princess.
So many memories of New Orleans that it hurts to watch the television footage. I have no idea what it must be like there. I know what hurricane damage looks like, living so close to Punta Gorda, but what I am seeing on television makes that look like a birthday party.
If by some chance you come across this entry, or if you are reading this, and you know people in New Orleans and Gulf Coast, please be assured that my family is praying for you. I loved the city of New Orleans. I hope it comes back better than ever. It didn't survive the French, the Spanish, and the Civil War and the damned Yankees to let a storm named Katrina be the end of it.
Thursday, September 1, 2005
Deep Fried Yankee
I'm sure you see it every year.
The northern tourists flocking through your town.
These Ijits not taking advantage of the temperate seasons but streaming down during the hottest part of summer.
When I was just a little tike my family packed itself together and heading for that slow journey through the south pulling a metal box on wheels behind us. The logic was that this box would afford us freedom to explore the more intimate regions of the south and to sample the flavors and people that are not propped up for the typical tourists. The joke was on us. There were thousands just like us playing a different game of tourism and slowly crawling through the south and spending time in those tourist trailer parks.
We saw the fields, we saw the Stuckey’s, we ate the pecans and we thought we saw the south. Now we could talk about the differences of what the real south is and what a Yankee's perception is, but being a New Yorker I am just in too big a hurry to get to my point so I'll avoid these details. (Plus I am too stubborn to admit that I really don't know the real south)
Imagine a fifteen-foot trailer, four kids and two stressed out parents riding hour after hour through the heat of the south. Being ages ago there was no air conditioning. There was simply hanging your head out a window and panting like a dog. Being ages ago there was no patience. A dad using this time to unwind from the stress of a job to find himself in close quarters with kids who were bored out of their minds. Amusement was found by nagging each other and testing the patience of cranky and tired adults.
Finally after years of traveling we reached the first beach where we would stay a few days. The parents were ready. The kids were ready. Being outdoors was the only solution for cooped up travelers. We hit the beach with other tourists. Southerners knew better.
I was northern bred. I was northern born. I am blue eyed, blond haired with fair skin. Sunscreen came in one strength and was not water proof. It wasn't long before I was red. Deep red. My parents hustled us off the beach and used cold cream to cool my redness. I continued to burn. I started to blister. I became delirious and experienced chills and shakes. It hurt to move.
Even with sun poisoning I had to crawl that ladder to an upper bunk that had no head room and barely let you roll over. Yep, we were tourists. We were Northerners. We had no clue that beaches during the height of the day during the hottest part of the year could be deadly.
We were deep fried Yankees.
The northern tourists flocking through your town.
These Ijits not taking advantage of the temperate seasons but streaming down during the hottest part of summer.
When I was just a little tike my family packed itself together and heading for that slow journey through the south pulling a metal box on wheels behind us. The logic was that this box would afford us freedom to explore the more intimate regions of the south and to sample the flavors and people that are not propped up for the typical tourists. The joke was on us. There were thousands just like us playing a different game of tourism and slowly crawling through the south and spending time in those tourist trailer parks.
We saw the fields, we saw the Stuckey’s, we ate the pecans and we thought we saw the south. Now we could talk about the differences of what the real south is and what a Yankee's perception is, but being a New Yorker I am just in too big a hurry to get to my point so I'll avoid these details. (Plus I am too stubborn to admit that I really don't know the real south)
Imagine a fifteen-foot trailer, four kids and two stressed out parents riding hour after hour through the heat of the south. Being ages ago there was no air conditioning. There was simply hanging your head out a window and panting like a dog. Being ages ago there was no patience. A dad using this time to unwind from the stress of a job to find himself in close quarters with kids who were bored out of their minds. Amusement was found by nagging each other and testing the patience of cranky and tired adults.
Finally after years of traveling we reached the first beach where we would stay a few days. The parents were ready. The kids were ready. Being outdoors was the only solution for cooped up travelers. We hit the beach with other tourists. Southerners knew better.
I was northern bred. I was northern born. I am blue eyed, blond haired with fair skin. Sunscreen came in one strength and was not water proof. It wasn't long before I was red. Deep red. My parents hustled us off the beach and used cold cream to cool my redness. I continued to burn. I started to blister. I became delirious and experienced chills and shakes. It hurt to move.
Even with sun poisoning I had to crawl that ladder to an upper bunk that had no head room and barely let you roll over. Yep, we were tourists. We were Northerners. We had no clue that beaches during the height of the day during the hottest part of the year could be deadly.
We were deep fried Yankees.
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