I saw some very interesting people one Mardi Gras. Who pops out of the elevator but Ray Charles himself as I live and breathe. He had blonds on both his arms to guide him through his darkness. Ray is blind but I swear he could see with his ears as well as anyone with eyes. They were laughing and carrying on having the best of times. I would have asked for an autograph but seeing him happy was enough for me. I remember the moment as if it were today.
Mardi Gras is about beautiful girls with beautiful eyes. It is a sea of blue eyes all flashing in unison. Sometimes they are looking at you and laughing. The only thing I saw that was close to this phenomena was schooling fish. That many eyes are powerful. Ferlinghetti the poet called it walking on eye beams.
The Ecology Club rented a UHaul van. We filled it with 55 gallon steel barrels to collect the colored glass that wound up in the street after a parade had passed. We were stationed at the very end of the parade dressed in costumes that hid our features. I chose to wear a Arab head dress and dark sunglasses with a handmade gorotti headband. This was a bad idea though, because it attracted the wrath of the public that hated the Saudis.
The Ecology Club rented a UHaul van. We filled it with 55 gallon steel barrels to collect the colored glass that wound up in the street after a parade had passed. We were stationed at the very end of the parade dressed in costumes that hid our features. I chose to wear a Arab head dress and dark sunglasses with a handmade gorotti headband. This was a bad idea though, because it attracted the wrath of the public that hated the Saudis.
I was using a heavy steel ram to break bottles to make room in the barrels. The bottle collectors were dressed in flight crew overalls and other protective gear. They dragged giant cotton picking sacks to collect the bottles. These were subsequently passed to the truck crew. We were stopped for a few minutes. I always get nervous when we stopped.
If a drunk does not like your looks he unloads by throwing objects like beads or bottles. This drunk threw beads this time. I barely saved a girl from getting hit in the face by Mardi Gras beads which would leave a mark. I am grateful for my quick hands and awareness of disgruntled spectators. This is learned from years of interaction with inebriated Southern crowds.
One year when I was very young, the Mardi Gras came in February which is the coldest of months. It is based on the start of Lent season and Easter which is determined by the full moon. My dad pushed me up on the street light so I could be in the bright sunlight and warm up. I was six years old. The scene was wall to wall masses of humanity all churning toward some unknown goal. This is a rare moment when you can take in the many millions of people who come to the Mardi Gras to celebrate the beginning of Lent.
As night descended we retreated to the balcony on Bourbon Street above the Guys and Dolls Strip Joint that Uncle Tony owned. The riot police were clearing the streets now by riding their horses into the crowds and swinging their batons. Many a head was cracked and bleeding as the cops sought to restore some semblance of order to this seething mass of urinating drunks. Soon, a squad car with both doors open would drive down the middle of Bourbon Street with the cop's foot acting like a spring as it bounced off the lines of beaded drunks scrambling out of the way.
One year when I was very young, the Mardi Gras came in February which is the coldest of months. It is based on the start of Lent season and Easter which is determined by the full moon. My dad pushed me up on the street light so I could be in the bright sunlight and warm up. I was six years old. The scene was wall to wall masses of humanity all churning toward some unknown goal. This is a rare moment when you can take in the many millions of people who come to the Mardi Gras to celebrate the beginning of Lent.
As night descended we retreated to the balcony on Bourbon Street above the Guys and Dolls Strip Joint that Uncle Tony owned. The riot police were clearing the streets now by riding their horses into the crowds and swinging their batons. Many a head was cracked and bleeding as the cops sought to restore some semblance of order to this seething mass of urinating drunks. Soon, a squad car with both doors open would drive down the middle of Bourbon Street with the cop's foot acting like a spring as it bounced off the lines of beaded drunks scrambling out of the way.
Nighttime was not good for these celebrants. Fights would break out. Huge circles would open in the crowds. These fights were vicious and quite bloody. It is advisable to call it quits at dusk before the drunks get rowdy.
Rick and I shared shared a Vieux Carre' apt one winter on Bienville St. It was not cheap thus we took in roomies. We had to work to sustain ourselves. There was a lot happening. Between the University and piece work around the French Quarter, we were always on the run. My art teacher Vin Scully sold his art at Jackson Square. The gays survived this way.
Rick and I shared shared a Vieux Carre' apt one winter on Bienville St. It was not cheap thus we took in roomies. We had to work to sustain ourselves. There was a lot happening. Between the University and piece work around the French Quarter, we were always on the run. My art teacher Vin Scully sold his art at Jackson Square. The gays survived this way.
Coming home one night, I met Crystal from Miami. We immediately found solace with each other. She stayed with me at the apt. telling me stories about her time with the Blues Image Band in Miami. She was their groupie. She probably had STDs. They threw her away.
Life was fast in New Orleans. Crystal would go out at night to dance for the Turkish sailors who were in Port. It was their brief respite before returning to the Mideast and the Muslim lifestyle.. In those days, the girls did things that no good girl would ever do. Nothing sexual, although Crystal would dance for them making big bucks. This helped with the rent and food. We were struggling to survive
My brother Duke would crash at the apt when the old man kicked him out. He would entice the flaming gays into a liaison then steal their money. He joined the Navy soon after that. The Vietnam War was still raging. For some unknown reason we lost that apt. I jumped for another apt near St Phillip St. that my Mother helped me pay for. That's when I found a beautiful Persian cat in the wall crying for help. I figured out how to get him out. He stayed with me for quite a while. I gave him to my brother.
This was the time of Bodhi Satva with Kumi Maitreya. She had a storefront center where the freaks came to to hear her lectures and pronouncements. Her Sacrament was morning glory seeds.
I went to one of these programs. I was being pulled in many directions. I am no bum. I had never been to jail like many of these people. They were simply looking for a new start. I was working at Vaucresson's Cafe Creole Restaurant on Bourbon St. It was a crazy, busy time for me with hardly enough time in the day to do anything well. My grades started slipping. Too much science made me stress too much. The end came with Chem 2B. I needed a break. That is when I met Sheila at the restaurant on Christmas Eve. She invited me to LA. Soon, I was hitching rides in late April through dangerous Texas.
You'd see everything and everybody who are stopping in the New Orleans French Quarter. There was a German riding a BMW motorcycle with the side firing pistons. This was a new design he was testing by driving it across the country. I would meet different travelers like the bike rider from Minnesota who rode his drop handled racer all the way from the cornfields of the upper mid west. You could tell by his posture and arm positions that were frozen in that position. He had been at this for some time.
The two dykes from England were rebuilding their station wagon with a second story sleeping area. They were financing this overhaul with their craftsmanship of antique earrings very popular with the hippie girls.. These gals were jewelers assembling those dangle earrings which have the antique look. They enhanced them with Mardi Gras beads to accent their designs and make them more appealing. To each his own. I call it as I see it. Dykes are wire cutters to the electrician.
I went to one of these programs. I was being pulled in many directions. I am no bum. I had never been to jail like many of these people. They were simply looking for a new start. I was working at Vaucresson's Cafe Creole Restaurant on Bourbon St. It was a crazy, busy time for me with hardly enough time in the day to do anything well. My grades started slipping. Too much science made me stress too much. The end came with Chem 2B. I needed a break. That is when I met Sheila at the restaurant on Christmas Eve. She invited me to LA. Soon, I was hitching rides in late April through dangerous Texas.
You'd see everything and everybody who are stopping in the New Orleans French Quarter. There was a German riding a BMW motorcycle with the side firing pistons. This was a new design he was testing by driving it across the country. I would meet different travelers like the bike rider from Minnesota who rode his drop handled racer all the way from the cornfields of the upper mid west. You could tell by his posture and arm positions that were frozen in that position. He had been at this for some time.
The two dykes from England were rebuilding their station wagon with a second story sleeping area. They were financing this overhaul with their craftsmanship of antique earrings very popular with the hippie girls.. These gals were jewelers assembling those dangle earrings which have the antique look. They enhanced them with Mardi Gras beads to accent their designs and make them more appealing. To each his own. I call it as I see it. Dykes are wire cutters to the electrician.
These women used dykes and needle nose pliers to assemble jewelry kits ordered from a New York City mail order house. They would then display the works of art on a black velvet covered board at Jackson Square. The velvet certainly brought out the colors in the bright light. It was common for artisans to present their wares at Jackson Square on Sundays. You can get away with this without having a vending license on Sundays. Cafe' Du Monde is close by so all the coffee addicted people can go for a coffee fix anytime time of the day or night. It was interesting to be part of the artistic community that came to New Orleans.
Buster Holmes Restaurant is famous for serving a plate of red beans and rice for the remarkable price of 27 cents to the young Beats that stay hidden in New Orleans. They come out when the chances of getting arrested or mugged are low which is mid day. Buster makes a giant pot of red beans and white rice everyday as part of his Christian belief that he should feed the hungry. Of course, you had to pay extra for anything else like a piece of sausage or side order. The plate of red beans and rice served with a piece of french bread that was welcomed by any and all who happened to find this little counter restaurant on the outskirts of the Quarter. We studied the proper timing for these cheap feeds. Arriving too late was just as bad as arriving too early. The deal was to eat as fast as humanly possible because you were taking up a paying customer's place and setting. Buster introduced the uncouth to the discipline of manners in a restaurant which is a public service in itself. His crawfish bisque was to die for as was his fried 'strimps'. Long live his heart.
Some years, I would wander to the foot of Canal St. and the Algiers Ferry. This is a free passenger ferry although the cars need to pay. The ride over is full of different perspectives and different smells. Once you reach Algiers things suddenly become quiet. Walking towards the residential section you are immediately struck by the huge oaks and the variously colored homes that make you think of the Caribbean. There are many cultural treasures to be discovered if you have the time to wander in New Orleans along the river.
You start wandering around with no direction in this sea of humanity that was slowly becoming intoxicated beyond measure. There were always naval ships at the Mardi Gras. I wandered down to the docks which is dangerous anytime. During Mardi Gras it can be especially dangerous because there are roving bands of youth who prey on easy targets. I was one of those easy targets.
I bought a pint of whisky that fit in my back pocket nicely. I boarded the aircraft carrier for the tour below decks. This took longer than I expected so when I finally decided enough was enough, I started back to the Quarter. Darkness was closing in. It was not long before I was accosted by a group of white street rats from the infamous Irish Channel. They circled me and started with their taunts. I told them I had nothing but a little whiskey which I readily surrendered to the ring leader.
Buster Holmes Restaurant is famous for serving a plate of red beans and rice for the remarkable price of 27 cents to the young Beats that stay hidden in New Orleans. They come out when the chances of getting arrested or mugged are low which is mid day. Buster makes a giant pot of red beans and white rice everyday as part of his Christian belief that he should feed the hungry. Of course, you had to pay extra for anything else like a piece of sausage or side order. The plate of red beans and rice served with a piece of french bread that was welcomed by any and all who happened to find this little counter restaurant on the outskirts of the Quarter. We studied the proper timing for these cheap feeds. Arriving too late was just as bad as arriving too early. The deal was to eat as fast as humanly possible because you were taking up a paying customer's place and setting. Buster introduced the uncouth to the discipline of manners in a restaurant which is a public service in itself. His crawfish bisque was to die for as was his fried 'strimps'. Long live his heart.
Some years, I would wander to the foot of Canal St. and the Algiers Ferry. This is a free passenger ferry although the cars need to pay. The ride over is full of different perspectives and different smells. Once you reach Algiers things suddenly become quiet. Walking towards the residential section you are immediately struck by the huge oaks and the variously colored homes that make you think of the Caribbean. There are many cultural treasures to be discovered if you have the time to wander in New Orleans along the river.
You start wandering around with no direction in this sea of humanity that was slowly becoming intoxicated beyond measure. There were always naval ships at the Mardi Gras. I wandered down to the docks which is dangerous anytime. During Mardi Gras it can be especially dangerous because there are roving bands of youth who prey on easy targets. I was one of those easy targets.
I bought a pint of whisky that fit in my back pocket nicely. I boarded the aircraft carrier for the tour below decks. This took longer than I expected so when I finally decided enough was enough, I started back to the Quarter. Darkness was closing in. It was not long before I was accosted by a group of white street rats from the infamous Irish Channel. They circled me and started with their taunts. I told them I had nothing but a little whiskey which I readily surrendered to the ring leader.
As I was walking away the punk sneaked up and hit me over the head with the pint I just gave him. I started running which probably saved me from a beating. The streets are filled with opportunistic types from all over. You must develop a plan of escape before you need it. A gun will just be taken away from you. Pepper spray works but not that well on a gang. Once a weapon is out you will be helpless. If they are drugged they will still come at you.
I was walking to my girlfriend's apt after a set at one of the nightclubs. It was very early in the morning when we played our last note. The apt was a few blocks away. I started out in a fast walk hoping not be seen. They saw me. I could hear them overtaking me. I was hoping they would simply pass by. They grabbed me and threw me down with my arm twisted behind me. They took my omega astronomers' watch and wallet. They wasted no time in leaving the scene of a crumpled man on the sidewalk. I could tell they were high on heroin and probably from the projects which is a nest for criminals. I soon left New Orleans never to return.
My brother was similarly attacked. He picked up two riders on his way to work. They jumped in the back seat. As he drove down Royal St one of these bandits hit him over the head fracturing his skull. He crashed his car into the wall. They jumped out and ran away. My brother was arrested for this until a witness came forward and explained what he saw. My brother had brain surgery for his injuries with a permanent metal plate.
George McGovern III is the nephew of Senator George McGovern. He came to New Orleans after his stint in Vietnam. He also had a head injury that required a metal plate. He hung out with us at UNO for awhile as I tried to overcome obvious difficulties of these times. I was being torn by the war protests and academia. I held to a view that war is the outcome of unrest within societies around the world instigated by ruthless rulers. I have three uncles who fought in WWII so protesting was not possible for me. There was no way out of this dilemma. I simply stopped functioning. One vacation led to another. I was on the road to nowhere soon.
During those years we kept hearing about huge drug busts. Like the time the tug from Colombia was inspected and found to be carrying a huge bounty of marijuana. The incinerator used to destroy these bales of green was next to the Parish Prison in New Orleans. The inmates struggled for a place at the window hoping for a wafting of the smoke to drift in. During my DLM days we used to visit the Prison. It was not pleasant. The building itself was antiquated and hostile. It was painted with lead based paint which was peeling. It was the toxic box of New Orleans.
I've seen some nasty jails but the one in Puerto Jimenez in Costa Rica is very high on the list of noxious. Not only is it small with a dirt floor and no bed but they give you a bucket for your toilet and water to drink as well. The survival rate is very low and death comes in different forms with neglect being high on the list of causes. Never do anything that gets you arrested in Latin America. There is no coming home after that.
I was walking to my girlfriend's apt after a set at one of the nightclubs. It was very early in the morning when we played our last note. The apt was a few blocks away. I started out in a fast walk hoping not be seen. They saw me. I could hear them overtaking me. I was hoping they would simply pass by. They grabbed me and threw me down with my arm twisted behind me. They took my omega astronomers' watch and wallet. They wasted no time in leaving the scene of a crumpled man on the sidewalk. I could tell they were high on heroin and probably from the projects which is a nest for criminals. I soon left New Orleans never to return.
My brother was similarly attacked. He picked up two riders on his way to work. They jumped in the back seat. As he drove down Royal St one of these bandits hit him over the head fracturing his skull. He crashed his car into the wall. They jumped out and ran away. My brother was arrested for this until a witness came forward and explained what he saw. My brother had brain surgery for his injuries with a permanent metal plate.
George McGovern III is the nephew of Senator George McGovern. He came to New Orleans after his stint in Vietnam. He also had a head injury that required a metal plate. He hung out with us at UNO for awhile as I tried to overcome obvious difficulties of these times. I was being torn by the war protests and academia. I held to a view that war is the outcome of unrest within societies around the world instigated by ruthless rulers. I have three uncles who fought in WWII so protesting was not possible for me. There was no way out of this dilemma. I simply stopped functioning. One vacation led to another. I was on the road to nowhere soon.
During those years we kept hearing about huge drug busts. Like the time the tug from Colombia was inspected and found to be carrying a huge bounty of marijuana. The incinerator used to destroy these bales of green was next to the Parish Prison in New Orleans. The inmates struggled for a place at the window hoping for a wafting of the smoke to drift in. During my DLM days we used to visit the Prison. It was not pleasant. The building itself was antiquated and hostile. It was painted with lead based paint which was peeling. It was the toxic box of New Orleans.
I've seen some nasty jails but the one in Puerto Jimenez in Costa Rica is very high on the list of noxious. Not only is it small with a dirt floor and no bed but they give you a bucket for your toilet and water to drink as well. The survival rate is very low and death comes in different forms with neglect being high on the list of causes. Never do anything that gets you arrested in Latin America. There is no coming home after that.
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