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My Day, Monday the 13th
Feb. 13th, 2006 10:43 pmThis morning I drove from home near the Riverbend to the station in the lower French Quarter via Claiborne Avenue, and saw no less than three seperate fires sending up large plumes of smoke in the distance to the lake side of Claiborne; it looked to be one around Mid-City, one somewhere around Gentilly, and the third on the upper side of Esplanade Ridge.
Last night had been the coldest night of the winter. With so much wiring that had been under water for weeks, and people trying to keep warm in houses missing chunks of windows, roofs, and walls often without gas heat back, perhaps the number of fires is not surprising. Still, rumors of arsonists have been circulating.
I could see smoke rising over the cityscape through the window while doing my radio show, perhaps from one of the fires I'd seen earlier, perhaps from another; someone else at the station says they heard there was a fire in Treme.
Though some of the old eating places are closed, at least one for good, I found a good lunch in the on Charters upper Quarter. I pondered what a Quarter again oriented at least as much as catering to locals as tourists might be like. After lunch I looked around Canal Street a bit. Groups of New Orleanians were being evicted from hotels, FEMA having cut them off, as their requests for trailers or loans are still lost somewhere in the swamp of bureuacracy. Some had new jobs and kids in the newly reopened schools, and face such choices as relocating to shelters in Houston or Shreveport or staying in town living in their cars or tents.
I took a streetcar named St. Charles (the 900 Pearly Thomas cars apparently no longer have "Canal" as an option of their display) in on Canal and down on the Riverfront line. Still no charge.
I got a strikingly enthusiastic assessment of my radio show from someone who'd been in the business for over half a century.
Around 4pm, at the Lakefront, I saw one of the now almost common fire fighting helicopters over Pontchartrain, though I saw no smoke. The helicopters have large bulbs of water hanging from lines below them; they dip these into the Lake, the River, or a nearby bayou or canal to fill and then fly over the fire and release the water, then fly back for more. I don't recall ever seeing them in the city before the big mess.
As the sun sank low, before heading home I walked across Bayou St. John. No bridge needed; Low tide.
Last night had been the coldest night of the winter. With so much wiring that had been under water for weeks, and people trying to keep warm in houses missing chunks of windows, roofs, and walls often without gas heat back, perhaps the number of fires is not surprising. Still, rumors of arsonists have been circulating.
I could see smoke rising over the cityscape through the window while doing my radio show, perhaps from one of the fires I'd seen earlier, perhaps from another; someone else at the station says they heard there was a fire in Treme.
Though some of the old eating places are closed, at least one for good, I found a good lunch in the on Charters upper Quarter. I pondered what a Quarter again oriented at least as much as catering to locals as tourists might be like. After lunch I looked around Canal Street a bit. Groups of New Orleanians were being evicted from hotels, FEMA having cut them off, as their requests for trailers or loans are still lost somewhere in the swamp of bureuacracy. Some had new jobs and kids in the newly reopened schools, and face such choices as relocating to shelters in Houston or Shreveport or staying in town living in their cars or tents.
I took a streetcar named St. Charles (the 900 Pearly Thomas cars apparently no longer have "Canal" as an option of their display) in on Canal and down on the Riverfront line. Still no charge.
I got a strikingly enthusiastic assessment of my radio show from someone who'd been in the business for over half a century.
Around 4pm, at the Lakefront, I saw one of the now almost common fire fighting helicopters over Pontchartrain, though I saw no smoke. The helicopters have large bulbs of water hanging from lines below them; they dip these into the Lake, the River, or a nearby bayou or canal to fill and then fly over the fire and release the water, then fly back for more. I don't recall ever seeing them in the city before the big mess.
As the sun sank low, before heading home I walked across Bayou St. John. No bridge needed; Low tide.
