South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 24 ~
Marcus…Kent & Kenny…Music…Spider…Frenchmen St.
When my backseat bed was made at 10am, felt rested from the
past arduous three days. Today would be a beautifully busy day spent mostly on
Decatur Street collecting stories of strangers who would become friends. I
wrote in the front seat office of Tumbler till noon. Started transitioning from
geek mode to street mode as my laptop was put away and my scuffed-up shoes were
laced. Saw a young Walmart employed man who had been collecting shopping carts
throughout the morning. I love these men and women who do this never-ending job
of corralling the carts that are often not put back in the corals. I try to
greet them and thank them when they are passed by. This young guy stood out to
me for no particular reasons other than sensing that he needed an “atta boy” for
his thankless job. Went to throw some trash away at the coral he was tending to
and the two of us struck up a conversation over his cart duties. His name was Malcolm.
He had moved from Milwaukee, WI a few years ago to provide a better life for
his son here in Louisiana. “You go downtown to the French Quarters much?” ---
“No, I used to party pretty hard back in Milwaukee, but down here, I stay away
from the places that could get me caught up again. My focus is my son now. Want
to give him a better life than I had growing up.” --- “Totally respect that,
Marcus. If no one has told you that they are proud of you, then here’s a ‘I’m
proud of you’ from someone who just met you. You’re doing a great job of
raising your son. It’s honorable that you are being intentional about your
choices.” --- “It’s hard, Katie. It’s easier to revert back to the past. But
when I’m tempted, I see my son’s face, and then the right choice is easier.” I
listed off about five different words and asked him to pick one that resonated
with him. Malcolm chose “Purpose in the Pain” … so that is the rock I gave him
along with a big, proud hug.
Hopped back in Tumbler and we headed for the downtown area.
Prayed for Marcus on the drive as well as the people God would place on my path
today. He must have been smiling, for He had some colorful people along the
afternoon and evening gift of another day. Bourbon Street and Royal Street were
walked down and then back up. It was 1pm on Friday and both were already packed
with people, whether just beginning their weekend or continuing it from the
night before. It’s a 24-hour party in this place. Kind of like “Dirty 6th
Street” in Austin… except multiplied times 39. Many homeless people were
already sitting on the corner, the sidewalks, and the select store stoops that
didn’t push them along. I saw “I.M.No.One” again and we sat together on the
dirty sidewalk for a while. There were two young kids banging on make-shift
drums consisting of 5-gallon buckets right down the sidewalk from us. We
practically had to yell to have a conversation over the clangorous noise. We
started silently mouthing words to each other in fun. This produced laughter… a
gift for both of us. Sometimes the simple act of laughing is so valuable to
someone who has temporarily lost the luster in their eyes. “No One” has blue
eyes that are the color of the sky on a sunny day. Last night, when we first
met, his eyes were beautifully blue, yet sad. Today, as we laughed and sat
together watching the people walk by, his eyes were beautifully blue, and
happy. It was the last time we would see each other and I’m glad for the
parting memory of laughter.
It was 2pm and I wanted to find a quieter place to set up my
rocks. Walked to Decatur Street and was grateful for the pulsating bass music
of Bourbon Street to be replaced for this areas jazz, blues, and funk music
that came from the restaurants and street musicians. Saw a cool place by an art
gallery and dropped my heavy backpack. I was still running low on pre-scribed
rocks since my zipper bag had been left in an unknown location last night, but
I had a few that I found in Tumbler. They were placed on my green hanker chief
and a dozen differing colored Sharpies were spread out next to it. I stayed in
this spot for the next 4 hours, drawing on rocks and meeting people who stopped
to look at the rocks or peek over my curled-up knees to look at the rock I was
drawing on. It was such a different atmosphere than that of a few blocks over.
Decatur draws more of a musical and artistic group of people. They were more
warm and welcoming. I met some really rad individuals and couples here. One of
those couples was 2 guys named Kent and Kenny. They were visiting New Orleans
for the weekend. These guys were super friendly and loved the rocks. Kent
bought one for his partner Kenny and the three of us started talking about how
we all have a story. This being one of my favorite topics, the sidewalk
conversation could have been one to have at a cozy coffee shop. We talked about
the ripple effect that our stories have when we put a voice to them, about God
entrusting us with pain and how that pain has purpose, and about the people we
meet along our journey that are not coincidental. Kent and Kenny had hearts
full of kindness and they have a great sense of humor. It would not be the last
time our paths merged in New Orleans. I love how there are oceans of people
here, yet God kept placing familiar faces on the path in my short time here.
After the 4 hours perched by the art gallery, I packed up to
stretch my legs and bumped into another one of those familiar faces… Jamie, the
dreadlock Deadhead fan. Boy, was this ever the start to an evening of more
people to fall in love with and more stellar music that has lyrical depth.
Jamie walked me down Decatur Street and he introduced me to many of his street
family. I met Peanut, Spider, Pretty, Fish Tacos, Smiley and many others. I
fell in love with each of them. Pretty and her husband were leaving New Orleans
and finally making the courageous journey back home to their family in Rhode
Island. They were both emotional and I felt their mixture of excitement laced
with a more pronounced pain and trepidation. Pretty and I hugged for a long
time as words were whispered in her ear. Her pink hair, tan skin, and blue eyes
gave validation to her street name. She pulled a “Faith” rock from my bag of
pebbles. Her tears increased into a flow. Her husband pulled “Press Through”
and how fitting that was to him, as he began to cry as well. Jamie was standing
off to the side, smiling at the witness of strangers becoming friends…rather
family. The street life, and people who join it, is a collection, a unit, a community,
a family. It is dangerous and dark, with mostly bad consequences around every
corner. Yet there is a scattering of good consequences, and one of those is
that you bond with people immediately. Part of this is to help one survive the
lifestyle. Part of it is that we are wandering travelers who still crave
something solid despite our crumbling lifestyle. The bonds we form with people
along the way are that solidarity, even if for less than an hour at a time. A
bond was formed with Pretty. There have been so many bonds along this journey.
Countless Throughout my whole life-journey.
Jamie, Spider and I walked down to the end of Decatur where
it curves into Frenchmen Street. It’s a neighborhood of music and art all on
one small stretch of a street. It was amazing. Spider sat down on a concrete
step and Jamie and I started to dance to the music playing from the bar. We met
new faces and many stopped to dance or to sit in this corner spot. I bought an
authentic oyster and shrimp PoBoy sandwich and shared it with Spider and
Peanut. It was delicious not because I was super hungry, but because it was
just a doggone good sandwich. Spider and I sat on the concrete stoop while
Peanut leaned against the street light and Jamie danced to the band cover songs
from Creedence Clearwater Revival, Fleetwood Mac, Doobie Brothers, Rolling
Stones, and Tom Petty. The bar was crowded and you had to be drinking or eating
to go inside. My new brothers were drinking, but from brown-bagged flasks and
bottles. The side of the inside stage had wide-open double doors that connected
to the sidewalk we were on. It was like we had side stage tickets to the bands
that played for 90min each. The music was loud and I joined Jaime in dancing to
many of the sets, but my heart was drawn to Spider. I sat with him often during
the 4 hours of the side-show. Spider was around my age, but with his bad back
and taxing years on the streets, he walked and sat like a man in his 80’s. His
wooden can and long, worn-in leather trench coat added years to this young man.
Spider had a 2-inch crew cut on the front half of his head and then long, brown
dread locks on the sides and back of his head. Not the hair style that would
grace the cover of a hairdresser’s magazine, but this look was perfect for
Spider. There was a handsomeness about him that made it hard not to just look
at him. He would catch me looking at him every once and awhile and would
“Hhmmmpp, waa?” at me. Spider spoke very little. And when he did, he grunted
more than he used words. He was the real, live version of the movie parts that
Tom Hardy often plays… big, burly, oddly handsome, and a script of mainly
grunts. When Spider would grunt at me staring at my new burly brother, I would
just lean on his broad shoulder and tell him, “You are loved, my friend.” A
“Spider” rock was made for him. He smiled, grunted, and put it in his pocket. I
didn’t get much of Spider’s story because he didn’t really talk, but oh how I
would love to know what this man who is my age yet looked three times our age,
was like as a little boy. The childhood of a person greatly shapes them as they
grow into adulthood. It can define us if we allow it to. Or it can refine us,
if we choose it to.
It was around 10pm when the Spirit nudged me to move along
from my friends on Frenchmen Street. Jamie tried to get me to stay a few more
hours because “Don’t go, Daisy! The good groups are going to start playing in
an hour and you got to see Jason Neville’s Funkysoul Band.” As much as I wanted
to stay with the boys and the good music, it was clearly time to move on. Gave
Jamie, Peanut, and Spider big hugs and swung my backpack on. Walked back to
Bourbon Street and this place was popping. It was shoulder-to-shoulder people
from one side of the long stretch of bars to the other side. The separation of
the sidewalk and road was non-existent. Neon restaurant and bar signs glowed
above and the necklaces and masks worn by people were also lit up with colorful
lights. It was like a mile-long rave party for adults. I made my way through
the crowds and managed to go unscathed of getting more than a few splatterings
of alcohol spilled on me. It was crazy wild and the partying would only get
more amped up as the evening progressed. Craving solitude and stillness, I
walked to Canal Street and went to the same spot I found quietness at last
night. While there, I drew on rocks and processed the busy day in New Orleans.
My heart was heavy with carrying the pain of many I had met, but my spirit was
full of expectation and joy as I prayed for them to have the courage to
surrender to the Savior and eventually see the purpose in their pain.
Love people in such a way
That they truly feel they are loved.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
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