Down And Out In New Orleans

The last time I saw Mitch, he was lying in the gutter.  It wasn't just any gutter, either.  He was in the Florida Avenue Canal.  Luckily, it hadn't rained recently so the canal was mostly empty except for a trickle of water in the deepest part of the cement ditch.  Here he was, down and out in New Orleans.

Other than Mitch and thick weeds, there was trash, a couple of tires, a few shopping carts filled with tattered plastic shopping bags and full diapers.  When I stopped to see if that was really Mitch, the stink from the canal was overwhelming.  This is a part of New Orleans that few tourists visit.  It's a part of New Orleans few New Orleanians visit.  As Jimmy says, it's a good neighborhood to take someone if you're a kidnapper.

Jimmy was born in New Orleans.  Mitch wasn't.  Jimmy's been down and out in New Orleans but he's gotten back up.  Here's to hoping the same will happen with Mitch.

Mitch moved to New Orleans in the fall of 2008, one of the bright-eyed and eager kids looking to help the city rebuild after Katrina.  He had visited the city once before, as part of a church group to help rebuild houses in 2006.  He felt drawn to the place after he got home to Ohio and he couldn't focus on his school work after that.  All he could think of was getting back to New Orleans.

It took awhile.  He had to graduate from high school first.  Then, he had to flunk out of community college.  Then, he had to ride his bicycle down here, doing odd jobs along the way.  That last part took four months.

When Mitch finally got to New Orleans he started out doing odd jobs.  He stayed at the St. Vincent Guest House on Magazine Street, which, as of this writing is being renovated into a boutique hotel.  It was originally an orphanage.  When Mitch was there he shared a bunk bed in a room with two double bunks and one bathroom that was equipped with a toilet, a sink, a mirror, and a walk-in shower. 

From what I know about Mitch, which is more than I care to admit, he made some friends while he was bunked at the St. Vincent Guest House.  It's in the Lower Garden District, so I'm sure he met all sorts of people.  Some of them were nogoodniks while others were trust fund babies, most were probably working stiffs like you and me.  I'm sure he took the good with the bad, the way anyone would.  He was young then.  

He's not an old man now.  For some people, it doesn't take long to become down and out in New Orleans.  For some people, it just comes naturally, like rolling into the Florida Avenue Canal.

After knocking around New Orleans for a year and finally passing the legal age at which he could order a drink at a bar, and, thus, able to become a bartender, Mitch became a bartender at a 24-hour neighborhood joint that I'm not going to name.  At first he was good at his job.  He was on an upward trajectory, making good tips.  It was more spending money than he had ever earned before.

As with a lot of people who think they know what New Orleans is all about without really getting it, Mitch got caught up in a life that isn't advantageous to retiring with a fat 401(k).  He never committed a crime, neither a felony nor a misdemeanor, and he was alway polite.  Everyone from Ohio is polite.

He did, however, embark on a personal downward spiral.  It didn't take him long to become down and out in New Orleans.

You can drink on the street in New Orleans and no one will bat an eye.  Public drunkeness is not a crime here.  New Orleanians have a high tolerance for alcohol. 

Nobody bats an eye, even in this day of age, when businesspeople have cocktails at lunch.  Most public drunkards in New Orleans are lovable.  You have to be a really nasty drunk, really nasty, to be kicked out of a New Orleans barroom.  The problem is, most nasty drunks are too drunk to realize when they are being really nasty.  They think everyone's against them even when it's the other way around.

Mitch turned into one of those guys and he turned that way pretty quickly.  You can blame demon rum if you want to.  Mitch did tell me one time, "The Devil made me do it."

It takes two to tango, even in New Orleans.

Mitch lasted at his bartender gig for eleven months.  The boss was complaining the last two months that Mitch was off his game, was irresponsible, was giving away too much free booze, was always late for his shift, was passed out behind the bar when his relief showed up. That's no way to be a career bartender, even in New Orleans.  

New Orleans bartenders have a code of ethics and they live up to a higher standard.  Esprit de corps.  Serving the public is not just an honor, it is a privilege.  Tip your bartender well.  He or she is carrying on a proud profession that is steeped in tradition in this wonderful city we call home.

Mitch didn't have enough time to dope that out.  Finally, his boss had had enough the last time he found Mitch passed out, drunk, on the ladies room floor.  He hauled Mitch out by his shirt collar and a belt loop and he tossed Mitch out on the street.  "And don't you ever come back," the boss said.  Mitch just dozed on the sidewalk, oblivious that his life had just taken a turn for the worse.  Down and out in New Orleans and not even age 22.

*********

How may years ago was it that Mitch lost that job?  I don't even know. Time moves at a different pace in New Orleans.  We've seen each other off and on over the years.  Each time he looked worse than the time before.  I probably did, too.  Time takes its toll on us all even when it moves at a different pace.

Mitch was lying in the Florida Avenue Canal, downstream from Lowe's, when I found him.  I went down into the canal to fetch him out.  Whoof!  What a stench down there.  It was worse than a City Park garbage can after a crawfish boil.

I hauled him up, fireman's carry, onto Florida Avenue and slapped him awake.  He didn't know what hit him.  "Where am I?" he finally mumbled after he opened his eyes.

"Well, Mitch," I told him, "you're a long, long way from where you want to be.  It's a long, long way.  It's too far you to see."

Mitch closed his eyes again.  "I can see it," he said.  "I see the promised land.  It looks like Ohio."

Yeah, for some people it may look like Ohio.  It takes a special kind of man to stand up to the temptations he finds in New Orleans and not break.  Mitch broke.

I called United Cab Company and, when the taxi arrived, I paid the fare to Bridge House for Mitch.  I gave the cabbie a $20 tip to get him there and I apologized for the smell.  

"Don't worry about it," the cabbie said.  "I get calls like this all the time.  The next time you have a real stinker like this, though, do me a favor and call an Uber."  I told him I would even though I don't have the app.  I like to give United Cab my business.

TODAY'S BLOG POST IS SPONSORED BY:

LA BELLE ESPLANADE.

La Belle Esplanade has been ranked the #1 boutique B&B in New Orleans on TripAdvisor every month since April 2014.  All those reviews can't be wrong, even if this blog makes you think otherwise.

Visit New Orleans like you belong here and visit like you mean it.  Good memories are made in New Orleans every day----it's not all stories about drunks and misfits.  September is Man-Breaker Month on the New Orleans State of Mind blog so we are focusing on tragedies and stories of resilience.  For more light-hearted fare, go through this blog's archives, which go back to 2012.

You have a friend in New Orleans.  I know two of them.  They are at La Belle Esplanade.  Make a reservation today.  You should read that blog!