For my wife and me, the French Quarter Festival has long been one of the highlights of our calendar. Less well known and thus less crowded than its more famous cousin, the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, the French Quarter Fest is a local celebration of music and food (what else?) that takes place in some of the best weather of the year (mid-spring), in a lag period in the tourist season (between Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest). Most importantly, it is, in the best spirit of New Orleans, totally free.
During the FQF small stages are set up in the middle of the narrow streets throughout the Quarter. We spend the day wandering from stage to stage, taking in whatever we stumble across. In Jackson Square the bands are mostly blues acts, on Royal Street are the traditional and contemporary jazz performers. Woldenburg park on the riverfront is the home of the funk and rock scene. Near the old U.S. Mint is the Cajun and Zydeco stage. And if you look hard enough, just off Decatur Street near the French Market you can find classical chamber music.
The crowd was substantial but not overwhelming. On the balconies over the banquettes were a few scattered campaign signs -- otherwise, things looked so normal one would think this was a typical spring day and not the first election after Hurricane Katrina.
We started in Jackson Square, which was more about food than music. One stage for music, and about 20 tents with vendors from the best restaurants in the city. We had crawfish pies, mirlitons stuffed with shrimp and crabmeat, and finished it off with a mango and Southern Comfort slush.
I had the sense that everyone knew we were lucky just to be here. In our wanderings from stage to stage we ran into a nurse my wife worked with at Touro Infirmary, a few old colleagues we both knew from various stages in my residency and career, and a good friend from my old territory in Chalmette. In soft voices we efficiently exchanged well-rehearsed storm stories. (It is the new custom in this traditional city -- meet a friend, tell how you made out.) Some had stayed, some had left town, but that day everyone was missing the city as it was.
We strolled down to the 500 block of Royal Street and lingered over the rhythms of the Kathleen Lee Jazz All-Stars. As I listened to Kathleen sing some of my favorite jazz standards, I thought about all the musicians and chefs taking part in this elegant festival, and how they were bringing New Orleans back, not by any heroic effort but by simply carrying on as before.
Since Katrina, New Orleans has sorely lacked the kind of leadership that would dramatically bring the city together. Instead, what we have had is something much less obvious and immeasurably more wonderful -- thousands of people simply picking up their crosses and carrying on. If New Orleans survives it will not be through the work of governors, presidents, or generals. The harvest of the new city is being sown even now by a thousand Kathleen Lees.
On the way home, as we drove down Magazine Street looking for a place for dinner I spotted an old beloved name -- Mona's. Mona's originated as Mid-City restaurant. First burned to the ground a few years ago, possibly by an arsonist, Mona's was rebuilt within the last year before being flooded with 5 feet of water after Katrina. Even as it rebuilt on its twice-destroyed original site, the owners of Mona's reopened on the high ground near the river and were up and running again. If there was ever a phoenix from the ashes, it was Mona's.
The original Mona's was about a mile from Charity Hospital. It had very creditable Lebanese food, and the cheap too, making it a favorite among residents from LSU Medical School. Rarely did I complete a month rotation during my training at Charity without at least one run to Mona's. Finding Mona's was like running into an old friend in a city where I thought I knew no one. Hummus has never been so good.
That night, having witnessed the recovery of the common folk, we watched the story of leadership as the mayoral returns came in. The race was remarkable for many reasons, not the least of which was the ease at which the city brought it off. Minority groups, including the NAACP and Jessie Jackson's coalition of the week, argued that the results would be skewed because most of the people who evacuated were black. Concerned that evacuated blacks would not be able to vote, these activist groups had been threatening for months that they would challenge the results if there was the slightest hint of imjustice in the outcome.
When the results came in, the naysayers slunk out of town without a whimper. The two candidates who qualified for the runoff, Ray Nagin and Mitch Landrieu, ran first and second in the predominantly black precincts, polling 65% and 25% respectively. Put another way, the African-Americans handpicked the two runoff candidates. There was simply no way the outcome could have been more favorable for the blacks of New Orleans.
Although they have decided the primary election, it is doubtful that black voters will decide the runoff. Landrieu and Nagin divided over 90% of the black vote between them. The white vote, however, splintered among 3 candidates. Since the black vote is already committed, it is the uncommitted vote in the white districts that is most likely to provide the swing vote the second time around.
The smart money is on Landrieu. In 2002 Nagin ran one of the most amazing campaigns in New Orleans history, taking 80% of the white vote and only a small fraction of the black. He was a black mayor elected mainly by whites. This weekend, Nagin polled about 3% of the white vote in the primary. It is hard to see why all his former supporters would go back to him in the runoff after passing on him in the primary.
On the other hand, in post-Katrina New Orleans, one sees surprising things.
The most memorable moment of election night, though, had nothing to do with the mayoral race. Oliver Thomas, candidate for a city councilman-at-large seat, won his election going way, with 39% of the vote (voters could choose two candidates, so he only needed 26% to win). There would be no runoff race for him, having qualified with a simple plurality.
Mr. Thomas was not enjoying his resounding victory. Instead, his face was darkened, tired, and he spoke of his win through tears. His brother had died the previous day, unexpectedly, of a massive heart attack.
I am not one who has much sympathy for politicians. But considering how much Mr. Thomas suffered in personal loss from Katrina, the agonizing eight months of public service he fought through since, and now this, it was impossible for me to watch his interview unmoved.
Mr. Thomas dedicated his victory to his brother's memory, but somehow I sensed that he would give the victory back if he could have his brother again.
We all wish we could have so many things back. But the only way out of this is to go forward with or without political leadership, one song at a time, like Kathleen Lee in the French Quarter.