Rene's family goes all the way back to Bienville. His family has New Orleans roots that go deep down into the mud. Ask him about anybody and he knows them. He has cousins in all strata of New Orleans society, Uptown, Downtown, Leonidas, Black Pearl, Uptown, Garden District, Vieux Carré, the Marigny, the Bywater, Desire, St. Roch, Lakeview, Pontchartrain Park, out in the East, in the Lower 9, even in St. Bernard Parish and in Old Metarie. René is part of the warp and the woof of New Orleans.
René makes his living being a living statue in Jackson Square. You can have someone take your picture with him for $5.00.
René walks from his home in Tremé to the French Quarter every day. He takes Governor Nicholls Street. Every part of him, including his clothes, is painted silver. He's a living statue. He is an honest-to-goodness New Orleans living statue. You can touch him.
It isn't easy to make a living in New Orleans but it isn't hard, either, during normal times. A monkey in a zoo can do it. Give the people what they want. Monkey Hill is the highest point in Orleans Parish.
Rene' is getting older than he looks. He is much older than he used to be.
When the bells ring at St. Louis Cathedral, Rene' makes the sign of the cross, even when he's a statue. He makes his living being a New Orleans living statue. Pay attention when the cathedral bells ring.
Even a man painted silver has a heart. In New Orleans, everyone has heart, brains, courage and a home. Gold, silver, bronze, New Orleans. This is the Age of New Orleans. This, too, shall pass. An old city knows how to ride out a storm.
René used to be a waiter at a swanky steak house Uptown that has since gone out of business. Then he moved to a swanky steak house in Mid-City called The Beef Baron. Since the Beef Baron closed, he's been making his living as a living statue in the French Quarter.
Tips for being a server are good at a steak restaurant (nothing is inexpensive in a good steak restaurant) were good but the money earned by a living statue is better. René hadn't made so much reliably good money in all his waiting career. Painting himself silver has paid very well, and, it's all cash too.
No IRS.
No 401(k).
No unemployment benefits, either.
When no one from out of town is in New Orleans to marvel at a living statue and have their picture taken with him, there is no income. René works in the informal economy in a city that thrives because of tourism. All cash. No records. Good time, guaranteed.
No tourists: no money. No money: no honey. No woman: no smile. No rent: get a tent. Rene' is thinking about getting a tent.
Rene' is broke in New Orleans. It's no wonder some people call this wonderful city, "The Man-Breaker." September is Man-Breaker Month on (this) A New Orleans State of Mind blog. Welcome aboard. The stories for this month will be about how New Orleans breaks men. Next month being October, we will continue our annual tradition of a month of weird stories. Come November, we'll be accentuating the positive the way we are known to do most months of the year.
Anyhow...
I was talking to René yesterday and he was complaining how there haven't been any tourists to speak of in New Orleans since the middle of March when the COVID-19 pandemic was official.
"I'm in a funk. Most days, it's hard for me to paint myself silver to come down here," René said. "Most days, since March, I don't make any money. I'm going to hock for silver spray paint."
René sat down on the curb on the corner of Royal and Conti Streets and I sat down next to him. He said, "There's no work. Hotels are closed, restaurants are closed, anything I'd be good at is closed, and, if they are open, a thousand people are applying for that job. Who's going to hire a washed-up living statue like me?"
I would have put my arm around him to console him but I didn't want to get silver paint all over my clothes. It's impossible to get that stuff out in the laundry.
A lady was walking down Royal Street. I waved at her. "Lady," I said, "would you mind taking a picture of the two us here on the curb."
"Sure," she said, giggling.
I handed her my phone and she took a picture of René and I on the curb. She took another one to give us a choice of two. I thanked her and she walked away.
I gave René ten dollars. I got two pictures.
"Thanks, Cousin," René said to me. "Can you put this story on the internet so that our other cousins can read it and maybe come get their pictures taken, too?"
I said I would do it. This is it.
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