Moon Over Bourbon Street

It Was Many Years Ago That I Became What I Am--I Was Trapped In This Life Like An Innocent Lamb


Looking For A Job
New Orleans, '70

I was in the most visited
of all southern cities and before I went job-hunting, I wanted to
soak up some of the local culture. Without spending much money, I
took in the sights and sounds of Bourbon St. and Royal St. The
closest thing I could find to hip-culture was a little boutique at
the end of Royal St. called the Far Out. Here, the hippies would
linger until the pigs moved them along. There were a lot of hippie-
looking people around, but they were scattered about the French
Quarter with no apparent cohesiveness. I believe the pigs were the
reason there was no organization to hip culture down here. Oh, I'm
sure there was some organization, be it at concerts, or at a
friend's houses, but it's just that it wasn't happening on the
street. This lack of organization, I am sure, had something to do
with my living a solitary existence in the middle of a city known
for conviviality and its party atmosphere.

I had to cross Canal St., the main street in New Orleans, in order
to get to the French Quarter, which was more than a mile away from
where I lived on Jackson Ave. Public transportation was cheap; ten
cents would get you anywhere you wanted to go. A nickel would buy a
phone call and I was only paying $15.00 a week for my kitchenette-
equipped apartment. I guess you could say the cost of living wasn't
that bad in New Orleans. Even though I could afford public
transportation, I preferred to walk. I found walking therapeutic.
New Orleans' French Quarter was a very interesting place. It was an
assortment of shops, art boutiques, strip joints, quaint bars, and
exclusive bars. I spent most of my time just walking and observing,
sometimes though, after job-hunting, I would go to a small park
located at the top of Bourbon St. and read my book, or just lie down
in the sun. I was reading Roszak's The Making of the Counter
Culture. On other occasions, I would stand around outside the park
and watch the local artists make their living sketching portraits of
the tourists. Some of these artists were damn good; I could spend
hours watching them.

I taught myself how to tie a tie in New Orleans. I've never needed a
tie up until then, so I never learned how to tie one. I needed a job
and I was willing to do just about anything to get one. I found that
wearing a tie didn't help much though. I was turned away by every
store on Canal St., finally, a guy who owned a bookstore
said, "Maybe," but later said, "No thanks." My landlady told me to
try the boat docks. There's hardly anything more depressing than not
being able to find work. After a long day looking for a job, I would
end up back at the French Quarter.

In many ways New Orleans was a conservative city, but when it came
to drinking and strip joints, it was also a very open city. The
French Quarter was unique in that on the street you could just as
easily find yourself walking shoulder-to-shoulder with a drunk, or
the rich and famous. Make no mistake about it; the passengers
getting out their glistening chauffeured limousines did not relish
rubbing shoulders with unwashed degenerates. On more than one
occasion, while walking next to a sophisticated lady or gent, I was
made to feel like an object for somebody else's amusement. This
mixing of classes was made possible, I suppose, because of the
French Quarter's celebration of public alcohol consumption. While
the more affluent would go into expensive bars, the less affluent
would sit on the curb with their six packs. On the street, it was
just one big drunk.

It wasn't that the entertainment was reserved only for those who
could afford it though. The music created inside the bars carried
out on to the street with no problem. I'm sure the cat on the
street, holding his beer bottle, had just as much fun as the drunks
inside. One bar even brought the entertainment to the street.
Inside, a girl swung on a trapeze and when she reached the limit of
her swing, her legs would thrust through a window and over the heads
of the people on the sidewalk. From the street you saw bare legs,
giving the impression of a nude body, a rather nice impression.