Whether it was my mom, dad or grandparents, I was, between them, introduced to the whole city, the good and the bad, the calm and the crazy, because as my grandmother would say often “That’s how life is Christopher (she never called me Chris), you gotta see all sides of it.”

The French Quarter was so much different in those days. When I was growing up the whole family, grandparents and all would go down to the Quarter on Mardi Gras day, and walk down Bourbon Street in full costume. I remember a year where we were dressed like a cross between gypsies and the wise men. We had full satin outfits complete with headdresses, with sequins and glitter in all the appropriate places.

Now the Quarter had a smell about it and that smell changed with each block you walked. In an instant it went from a lot like what the bathroom at my elementary school smelled like, to the wonderful smell of gumbo cooking. The music coming from the different bars and clubs did its best to send something pleasant to your senses and maybe confuse your sense of smell for awhile. It was always good to pay attention where you were walking too. Policeman rode horses through those streets and overworked mules pulled tourists in buggies often leaving behind what horses and mules do. And sometimes a tourist from Kansas might leave behind a little token of their previous night out. I knew it was vomit, I mean sick kids threw up at school all the time. I had just never seen it on the street I guess.

“Come on in Dahlin, have a drink with us. 2 for 1! Happy hour all day! Come on baaabe, try us out.” barked the doormen mainly to my dad and granddaddy. As a child New Orleans happened to you. You controlled nothing. You simply soaked it in and filtered out what didn’t make sense. I was being introduced to the 24 hour party that was raging 365 days a year just a short couple of miles away from where I lived and I would never forget it. Only later would I learn of all the horror that had been and was still alive in the historic French Quarter.

Now these were the days before the beloved Quarter turned into just another version of Spring Break. Maybe New Orleanians will do something about that someday. There were strip clubs then alright and of course people drinking and having a good time. But there were no hoards of drunken co-ed bead wenches up on balconies and in the street flashing their breasts. This unfortunately year upon year is eroding what our carnival is all about and is really kind of sad if you really think about it too long.