Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

I've read a number of blog entries with personal stories of New Orleans. I was going to forego one, but I changed my mind. Any time you lose something (and let's hope for just a little while), sharing memories is an important part of healing and rebuilding. Before the ramblings, a couple of brief points:

1. I hope all the players in my stories and their friends and family are safe and healthy.

2. A shout out to the U.S. Coast Guard. I was just watching Washington Week, and it was noted that within the federal response that was "Not acceptable" (thanks for clearing that up Mr. President), the Coast Guard was singled out as one of the few groups that brought aid and services effectively and rapidly. Thanks, guys.

Let the rambling begin.
Of the various cliques in medical school, I was more or less adopted by the "Southern Boys", since I shared a fondness for cheap beer and college football. Mardi Gras fell nicely after one of our exams, so about 11 of us piled into cars (including my Neon) and drove to New Orleans. I spent my first couple of nights in Slidell, where we stayed with my friend's fiance's parents, who had never met most of us until that weekend. I still don't know how that conversation went:

"Dad, can I bring Chris and nine of his drunk friends here to crash over Mardi Gras?"
"Sure."

I haven't experienced that level of hospitality much outside of New Orleans. And it didn't stop there.

If you've been to Mardi Gras, you know that the most important things to have other than a place to flop at night are bathrooms and a place to stash drinks during the day. He not only provided a room for us to stink up at night, but handled our daytime spots as well. He owned the McDonald's on Canal St. where the parades turned, and he closed off the second floor of the McDonald's so we could watch the parades from the balcony. For some of the evening parades, he opened up his offices further up Canal St. And the burgers and fries were discounted.

After a couple of days of debauchery, most of the folks left and we closed down the Slidell operation. But my friend from Chalmette wanted to stay for Monday-Gras to hang with his girlfriend. So I spent that day with his girlfriend's family, who had a house in Chalmette, but still drove their motor home to the Hotel Intercontinental and got a suite there -- all of which they opened up to us. They kept us in food and drink, and her Mom, upon finding out I was in medical school, even tried to set me up:

Bryan: "Miss Bitty, this is Joel. He's in medical school with me." She was called Miss Bitty because she was "itty-bitty".
Miss Bitty: "So, you're going to be a doctor. Do you like red-heads? Jen has a little sister, ya know."

That night her husband took us all out for oysters at Felix's. For some odd reason gave me a Oscar Meyer wiener whistle that he picked up during the parades. He made me promise I'd keep it forever. I've still got it, and it always goes to the Big Easy with me.

On a later visit, for a wedding, we actually stayed with Bryan's family in Chalmette. Like the folks in Slidell, his grandmother let him troop a bunch of strangers into her house for the purpose of getting lit every night. Every morning, as we nursed our hangovers, Miss Janie would tap lightly on the door and say "Boys, breakfast is ready." She had a breakfast cycle that restarted every time we stayed -- I think it was pancakes and sausage day one, bacon and eggs day two, and day three -- biscuits and sausage gravy. Yum. Other that the taste, the best part was her husband, Mr. R.H. Mr. R.H. was a big old southern man -- gruff and un-PC. I asked him once what the R.H. stood for, and he said "R.H." Cooking and cleaning were women's work (I was laughed at for thinking I would iron my own shirt for the wedding). But Mr. R.H., with a slightly dirty white undershirt covering his belly and suspenders on top of that, dutifully stood buttering pancakes for us as they came off the griddle. I wish to God I could download the picture from my brain for you.

When we came back from the wedding, we couldn't decide what to do with one of our friends. He was passed out in a chair with a drink in his hand. We didn't want to leave him, but we wanted to go out. On cue, Miss Janie came out of her bedroom, gently lifted the scotch from his hand, and put an afghan over him. "You kids go have fun, I'll take care of Jeff, she said. Needless to say, we had a great night.

If you hoping for raunchier stories, I apologize. This tragedy is not about losing a city where you can get silly -- it's about people. The people I know from New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are generous, caring, and fun. Anyone who thinks New Orleans won't be rebuilt is nuts. My money says Mardi Gras 2006 will go off on schedule, even if the "floats" really have to do so. And it won't be because of FEMA or the Red Cross or any of the other wonderful organizations that will help. It's just that the people won't have it any other way. Americans have some faults, but we are unmatched in our generosity and tenacity when faced with an immediate problem. Which is a large part of why I'm proud to be one and keep a flag hanging from my deck.

My best wishes to everyone looking for friends and family, or just trying to keep going.