Memories of Bourbon Street

Leslie: Do you remember what you said to me five years ago when Eagleton offered me that job and I asked you for your advice?

Ron: Uh, "Do whatever the hell you want. What do I care?"

Leslie: Right, but then... after, when I pressed you, what did you say?

Ron: I believe I said that "I thought we worked well together, and that I might disagree with your philosophy but I respected you." And I said that "you'll get a lot of job offers in your life, but you only have one hometown."

My Saints beat the Rams 31-28 on December 30th, 2000 for their first ever playoff win. The Saints were in the midst of blowing a 31-7 lead when Rams punt returner Az-Zahir Hakim muffed a punt and the Saints won.

I was 17.

Afterwards, my buddies and I marched down to Bourbon Street where one — whose name I will protect — got drunk for the first time and eventually got us kicked out of a nearby hotel lobby where we were taking refuge for reasons that made sense at the time.

I was back on Bourbon Street on New Year’s Eve 2003 and drank an inappropriate number of Hand Grenades (the appropriate number is zero) before losing my friends and hanging out with the Oklahoma Sooners football team who were scheduled to play LSU a few days later. At least that’s what I told myself, to this day I don’t actually know who I met.

Thankfully this was all before the proliferation of smartphone cameras.

Bourbon Street filling with New Orleanians after Garrett Hartley sent the Saints to the Super Bowl in 2010 still gives me chills, and it was to Bourbon Street that I felt drawn like a magnet when the Saints won the Super Bowl two weeks later. I had to walk a mile to get there because traffic downtown was not moving and my ride couldn’t drop me off closer, and then walked a mile away to get home because traffic downtown was still not moving several hours later.

When I got engaged, I had dinner on Bourbon Street — ring in my jacket pocket, then walked to the nearby Mississippi River to pop the question (the jumbotron of a Hornets game being my plan B).

Dad and I at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Bar on Bourbon before a Saints playoff game.

There are many other stories, but my kids may read this blog one day so let’s keep things PG.

Yes, it’s frequently dingy and that smell is uniquely weird and bad, but Bourbon Street is also at the heart of the New Orleans experience. Not because of the tourists or the Huge Ass Beers, but because of the memories I (and many of you) have made down there, especially on and around New Year’s Eve for me.

No doubt like all of you, I’m deeply saddened for all the people whose beautiful lives were either lost or irrevocably altered yesterday. My thoughts are with those who are dealing with such impossible grief at this moment. There will be time to go through a host of other emotions, but for those who are interested in giving, this might be a good place to start (I’m sure there’ll be other places to donate as well).

I don’t know what today or tomorrow will bring, but I wanted to be able to express my thoughts in some way. I love y’all, New Orleans.

I’ll be back with more on crime data on the 13th.