Blessing #27 -- Windex Pete

 

As noted earlier, I'm compiling these memories of Deb for my daughter's sake. 

So that they will have a lasting document of her beauty, warmth and limitless kind spirit. Many of these memories/blessings came before the girls were born. Or happened in their absence.

This was neither. 

We were all in New Orleans visiting potential colleges. 

I loved the potential college trips. There's something inviting and promising about universities. Perhaps it's all the young people with their lives in front of them. Perhaps it's the college bookstores with their well-rounded selection of logo-adorned fleece wear -- available in Dad XXL. Or maybe it's my own flashbacks to a time when I was free from the heavy responsibilities and skidmarks of life.

On this trip, which started with a wing-ripping turbulent pass through a violent Gulf of Mexico storm, we were checking out Tulane as well as the nearby Loyola School. After a long day of campus cruising and a visit to the Treme District, which was every bit as gritty and funky as the HBO must-see show, the girls wanted some alone time. 

Truth be told, so did Deb and I. 

In a rare display of unthriftiness, I had secured a separate room for my daughters. They were old enough and independent minded enough to be set free. Which allowed Deb and I to visit the hotel bar and become acquainted with NOLA's very own Sazerac -- a rye based cocktail that necessitates no ice or any manner of watering down.

For the unfamiliar, it is quite delicious as well as potent. 

I did not know it at the time, but one Sazerac demands another. And possibly another. By the time we walked out of the hotel, and it might have been on  Deb's birthday, January 6th (Fuck you Insurrectionists for tainting that date), we were both smiling from ear to jazz-filled ear.

We started walking around the French Quarter, remarking how dingy, dirty and unappealing Bourbon Street had become. We made our way to the fringes where we found Lafitte's, the oldest and darkest bar in all of Louisiana. There, we came across Windex Pete (pictured above), a staple in the Treme.

Pete, who also appeared to have an excess of Sazeracs, cornered Deb and I, clearly looking to hustle us for  some greenbacks. Feeling kindly and generous during my heyday freelancing days, I obliged. I even filmed the encounter, which you can see here...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yBxFVbh9d4&t=2s

Now you know why my burgeoning career as a cinematographer went nowhere. If you listen closely you can hear Deb giggling at the beginning of the video. 

(PAUSE, to dry my eyes.)

And if you make your way to the end, you can hear yours truly cackling with delight. I gave Windex Pete a $20 for the personal performance. When I asked him where we could go to see good live jazz -- not the touristy crap -- WP offered to take us to the other side of the city if I paid for the cab and bought him a drink. Or two.

After much back and forth and Deb tugging on my jacket, we declined. In hindsight I wish we had gone.

Nevertheless, and if I may paraphrase Bukowski, "we were with the gods, the night flamed with fire, and we rode life straight to perfect laughter."  

A New Orleans memory/blessing I will never forget.