It was pandemonium in the streets of New Orleans last night. Spontaneous second lines, enormous crowds of joyous people, exuberance on every face. Rosie & I wandered from a party on Coliseum Square down to Canal Street, with a mind to get Rosie on to Bourbon Street for the first time ever. Crossing Coliseum Park, we encountered the first of the second lines we would see last night. The percussionists of Casa Samba marched past the International School as I stood on the sidewalk, blowing my trumpet to their rhythms. Soon enough, I joined their parade for a few blocks, improvising over a few choruses of everyone's favorite, "When the Saints Go Marching In".
Making our way downtown, we couldn't help but make a pit stop at Circle Bar, for refreshments. We ran into Indira & Jason, Caroline, Brian, and probably at least a few other people, all celebrating our Saints! Also hanging out underneath the overpass as I trumpeted a few more strains of "Saints" to passing traffic were Antoinette and her sister, Jasmine, and a few young ones running with them. That's what Circle Bar is good for...you're guaranteed to run into half of the everyone you know!
Push onward to Poydras Street, where passing cars (they weren't really passing all that fast since traffic wasn't moving) noticed the horn player on the side of the street and began tipping me! The best thing I remember from that intersection were two young kids in the back seat of a station wagon who danced up a storm as I pealed out another chorus of "Saints". By the way, "Saints" does not have the distinction of being the only song I played last night...I did play "My Bucket's Got a Hole in It" to the assembled population of Bridge House. Seemed fitting!
Seizing upon the idea of reimbursing ourselves for the evening's expenses, I pulled my trumpet back out and opened my case on several corners around and along Canal Street. In the middle of all the celebration, a gang of New Orleans police officers drove along the neutral ground in one of these:
As the officers unloaded themselves and their assorted gear from their disgustingly militaristic vehicle, I continued playing "Saints" to the obvious delight of everyone around me. I didn't even have my case out at this point since there was little chance of it surviving on the ground, so many people had gathered. After playing a few more choruses, one of the officers came up to me and informed me that I was causing a scene and that I had to stop playing or move along. He said the assembled officers were "getting ready to stage an operation at this location" and that my trumpet playing was causing too much attention to be drawn to them. I inquired what type of operation they were planning, and questioned his assertion that I, little old me, was the one causing the scene. It wasn't the fact that the Saints just won the Super Bowl that had everyone gathered on Canal Street last night. It was me, one guy playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" with tired lips. The officer was having none of it, insisting that the police operation took precedence over anything anyone else had to say and that I could move or that he would move me. Knowing that your average police officer has no tolerance for a citizen who actually asserts his rights, and fearing the collective wrath of this particular goon and his friends, I shuffled meekly across the street, where I played as loudly as I could right back to the police. Rosie, God Bless Her, did not believe this to be the just outcome of the situation, and marched directly up to the police captain in charge of the "operation" and questioned him as to the propriety of the orders given me moments earlier. The captain told her whoever wanted to play any instrument was more than welcome. So that's when I marched myself right back over to the forces of evil and blew my trumpet proudly. The night did not end there, friends, for your hero and heroine had empty bellies. Imagine our luck, too, for we stood a mere block away from Brothers Fried Chicken, the best, cheapest, 
greasiest fried chicken I know. I, for one, was fighting a full bladder and a headache from belting out so many choruses of "Saints". That place was so crowded we had to stand in line to even get into the store. The guys working didn't slow up one bit, though. We were in and out of there in 10 minutes, spending only $9 of the $30 I made playing to walk out of their with the most delicious 8 pieces of dark meat you could dream of. Popeye's eat your heart out!
As a nice postscript to this monstrous blog post, I want to tell you how peaceful it was this morning along St. Charles and in the Lower Garden District. Rosie and I walked back to
Coliseum Square to retrieve the car we left last night in our excitement to get downtown. We bought a special Super Bowl edition Times-Picayune at the corner of St. Charles and Melpomene Street. Funny, the vendor suggested we buy as many copies as possible because he promised they would be going for $20 each on e-Bay. We'll see about that.Anyway, though, it's done. Our New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl, beating the Indianapolis Colts 31-17. The night before, we elected Mitch Landrieu mayor with an astonishing 66% of the vote. Landrieu won We have a new mayor-elect with the mandate of every single neighborhood in the city (save one). Since I didn't vote this time around, the only way I know to close this blog is to say, "Who Dat?!"
...We Dat!
