My Years in the French Quarter, New Orleans! Nostalgia (part 8)

New.Orl.Mist.Hand to the heavens these are all true stories of my life in New Orleans. 1977-79 was a wonderful time to live in the French Quarter.  I was working full-time as an actor (stage, radio, TV) and since that never pays anything regular, I had a part-time job as personal assistant to the publisher of a tourist magazine.  So now to the storytelling:

My apartment was a two room attic above a restored (1860’s) town house. I couldn’t afford the downstairs. (starving artist, remember)  The slave quarters on the other side of the garden was also a luxury apartment.  But I loved my little place where when you opened the windows you could look out over the French roof tops and see just the upper structure of freighters moving slowly up the river.  Late at night I would lie there with the windows open and listen to the clip-clop of the horse-drawn carriages wearily making their way back to the stables.  The tenants changed out below me and  my new neighbors, it turned out, was the mob boss’s nephew coming up through the ranks and his (high-end call girl) girl friend who worked at Lucky Pierre’s (a lounge and escort service).  I’ll tell you more about the ‘connected guy’ later.  Continue reading “My Years in the French Quarter, New Orleans! Nostalgia (part 8)”

Prologue to a Saturday Post

Saturday I will post a nostalgic piece about my years living in the Vieux Carré of New Orleans.  Full time actress, part time day job (gotta pay the rent) radio and TV talent.  Hookers, mob bosses, millionaires all supporting our live theatre productions. Rehearsing in the cellar of the Performing Arts Building, where little beady red eyes watched from the shadows.   So we will start with a little poetry to wet your curiosity:

New.Orl.Mist.Adieux My Beauty  ©

Standing outside the gate,
eager to say goodbye, remembering
all the reasons to say hello

New Orleans, that witchy woman, whose song is
loved and never forgotten, whose taste
lingers on the tongue forever.
Where love bloomed on a rain slick night

Now, as I bend to kiss the powdered, rouged
cheek, my nostrils are assailed by
the sweet odor of rotting flesh eaten
away in the darkest recesses by a decadent,
self indulgent cancer Continue reading “Prologue to a Saturday Post”