I know nothing about the planning for the June of 1958 road trip to New Orleans.
My father was a member of the Civitan Club. The Civitans were having a convention in that famous city.
Founded in 1917, the Civitans are an international organization “of volunteer service clubs, dedicated to helping people in their own communities.”
This convention was the reason for the road trip. By car, we traveled with another couple from Burlington, Melvin and Tula Wilson. The Wilsons were a delightful older couple who also were a part of the congregation of Davis Street Methodist Church where my parents attended.
As far as the road trip, I remember a stop somewhere on a beach along the Gulf of Mexico. I also recall a long ride over a bridge. I assume this was across Lake Pontchartrain.
Once in New Orleans, there was a bus tour of the city. The tour guide referenced a swimming pool we passed. He said it was filled with muddy water from the Mississippi River.
Another memory was a cafeteria that had fresh watermelon on the serving line.
My mother tracked down her father who deserted her mother and her siblings early in their Mississippi lives.
For some reason, we took the train back to North Carolina. I recall a kind porter who made me a ham sandwich. I think one of my father’s brothers picked us up at the train station in Greensboro and drove us home to Burlington.
And thanks to my parents, I was decked out as a five year old tourist.
Now 66 years later, on Wednesday, May 8, 2024, my wife and I are traveling back to New Orleans. This isn’t a road trip to a Civitan convention. No, my main purpose is to visit the National World War II Museum.
Luckily for me, I benefit from the detailed trip planning from my wife, the Commander Supreme. No one is better at trip planning.
We left Richmond on a Boeing 757-200(HD) with a stop in Atlanta. On this first leg, I continued my reading of Isabel Wilkerson’s book The Warmth of Other Suns. From Atlanta to Richmond, there was lots of cloud cover. I watched part of a documentary about Jimmy Carter.
As we approached New Orleans, the visibility improved, and I saw lots of brown water.
Once we landed, the driver of the jetway had a tough time connecting to the front exit door of the plane. Eventually, the mechanical gods cooperated. This was followed by the rush of passengers exiting the plane.
New Orleans has a very nice airport.
Through our son’s in-laws, we had a driver ready to pick us up. The driver drove us into the business district and dropped us at the Magnolia Hotel. This hotel gave us good access to the places we wanted to visit in the city. With the exception of a street car ride, we walked everywhere.
Our feet wasted no time in immersing us into the city.
In the French Quarter, we enjoyed lunch at Landry’s Seafood.
We walked into Jackson Square. We were immediately taken by the St. Louis Cathedral.
With its ties to the King of France, this stunning building dates back to 1720. Lots of adjectives have been used to recount the exterior and interior beauty of the building.
From Jackson Square, we were able to catch our first views of the mighty Mississippi River. With an assist from Mark Twain, the Mississippi might reveal the soul of America.
We made the predictable tourist stops at the Cafe Du Monde and Pat O’Brien’s. For some reason, the famous Hurricane drink reminded me of drinking Kool-Aid as a kid.
As we worked our way back to the hotel, no matter where our eyes scanned, the architecture of the buildings and homes held us captive. Brick work, wrought iron, flowers, and a palette of just right paint shades were in every direction.
After a quick refresh at the hotel, we mapped out our walk to our dinner restaurant—Herbsaint. Located on St. Charles Avenue, we enjoyed our exceptional food and service at an outside table on this pretty May evening.
From our early start in Richmond, our day had been long, but our first afternoon in New Orleans was enjoyable.
Despite the treasured prettiness of New Orleans, I noted that the city isn’t immune from what I see back home.
Struggles that are small and large—missing street signs, sidewalks in need of repair, impatient beeps, a mix of aromas some pleasant, some unpleasant, and the homeless.
No matter these challenges, New Orleans has a soul. A soul that still draws people to it. A soul that continues to survive no matter what comes its way.
With a good night of rest, I hope to learn more about the city’s perseverance on Thursday.
might be baloney 