What is New Orleans without the Love?
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Dr. Love is the tuning fork I use to guage the soul of New Orleans. Today she is tuned down, maybe a little flat, and singing a sad, soulful dirge with a cracking voice. "Come to think of it, I didn't see him out today," my mother tells me about Dr. Love, "You can tell he was sad. We talked him out of doing something that woulda got him in trouble. Wouldn't surprise me if he was in jail right now." I have written previously about Dr. Love and New Orleans. New Orleans is hard to describe to anyone who hasn't been there before--it's particularly hard to tell them what it was like before Katrina. Between horrific suicides and brazen murders, New Orleans has become a city on the edge. Dr. Love told me--over a few early morning beers--that he became Dr. Love after Katrina. He said that people became crazy in the void that was/is "post-Katrina" New Orleans. "I decided I was gonna be all about the love," he said. He dances every day in Latrobe park, regardless of whether he has a partner or not. Crazy, perhaps, but never without heart. But he wasn't there a few days ago, according to my close sources. It seems that even the seemingly infallable love of the Doctor knows the poison of sadness and vengeance. Who can blame him? Nicola Cotton--the recently fallen Crescent City Police Officer--was his niece. Officer Nicola Cotton, 24, approached the suspect in her police cruiser and began questioning him. When she tried to handcuff him he attacked her, and a seven-minute fight ensued, Riley said. The officer managed to use her radio during the struggle to call for backup, but the man grabbed her weapon and shot her repeatedly, Riley said. "I soi'ved two tours in Vee-et-nam as a Marine, and never seen anything like what I saw after Katrina" I remember Dr. Love telling me. He, like thousands upon thousands of New Orleanians, is bound to this city--a bondage that appears more like a curse every day. In their shackles they march on, defiant in the face of a world that has forgotten what freedom means. Some days, that burden must seem unbearable. Officer Cotton gave her life in a war that New Orleans battles internally--an epidemic of mental sickness that hangs thick in the air. May she rest in peace and honor. |
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JB-
Thanks for this.
I've been meaning to respond for a few days.
I've been reading Jane Jacobs's book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, (yep death and life, not life and death), which was published in 1961. There's a passage that has stayed with me and which came to mind immediately when I read your blog entry:
"The social structure of sidewalk life [which is one of the important aspects of the city, in her view] hangs partly on what can be called self-appointed public characters. A public character is anyone who is in frequent contact with a wide circle of people and who is sufficiently interested to make himself a public character. A public character need have no special talents or wisdom to fulfill his function--although he often does. He just needs to be present, and there need to be enough of his counterparts. His main qualification is that he *is* public, that he talks to lots of different people...."
To Jacobs, the city is dependent upon folks like Dr. Love, and I don't think she meant "public character" in any cute way. I hope public characters aren't disappearing, and I hope Dr. Love comes back.
Wow. I was going to say "I'm getting really excited to see New Orleans," but that's not exactly right. I'll just say I'm very, very interested to see what it's like. It's a highly-anticipated stop. And I wish I had seen it "before"...