Stairs to Nowhere

Spring Break! Two words that conjure up images of scantily clad teens and twenty-somethings partying away on a beach… or, perhaps to you socially conscious types, painting and hammering by day and partying by night. For me, spring break this year brought neither; instead, I took a trip to Chicago. “Chicago” you say? Indeed. The windy city, home of deep dish pizza, hot dogs and the POTUS. Luckily for me, the three days I was there were some of the hottest on record for this time of year, easily in the upper 70s or low 80s.

The trip began by train. In the interest of saving money, and in the spirit of adventure, I decided to take the train from New Orleans to Chicago. The “City of New Orleans” is Amtrak’s route between the two cities; the trip takes approximately 19 hours from point to point. As I mentioned, this was to be travel on the cheap, so unlike my previous experience on the Crescent, I did not indulge in sleeping accommodations. Take home lesson: the sleeping car is worth every penny. Though the trip was pleasant, I only managed a few hours of sleep. The combination of hyperactive air conditioning and attempting to sleep while seated produced uncomfortable results.

After a hearty breakfast of pancakes and ham at the Billy Goat tavern in Chicago, I was joined by my partner in crime, Chris, who himself had traveled by train from Poughkeepsie, NY.

For the next few days, we explored Chicago a bit and did some cool things. One of the highlights of the trip was an excursion down to the Rockefeller Chapel at the University of Chicago. Chris had found out that they gave tours of the carillon there daily; given his interest and my illustrious background as a change ringer at the Trinity College chapel, we decided to check it out. After getting throughly lost on campus, we made it to the chapel with but a minute to spare; before we knew it were were spiraling up the tower with a few other brave souls. The carillon is the second largest in the United States (first is in NYC), and was given by John D. Rockefeller Jr. in memory of his mother. The largest bell, the one used to signal the hour, weighs in at 18.5 tons! We were able to see the bells, the keyboard, and, as a bonus, the view of the city from the roof of the chapel. True to form, it was windy as hell, but absolutely beautiful as the sun was setting behind the massive skyscrapers in the distance.

We also did some shopping, checked out some bars (including the Glenwood, a very friendly and cool neighborhood gay bar), stopped by Lincoln Park, saw some art, and went on a boat tour. As for food, the menu included: sushi, pizza and one unfortunate trip to McDonalds.

While the loop area of downtown Chicago is mostly quite glamorous, there were a few seedy and abandoned buildings that caught our eye. The first is the Tokyo Hotel. Located just a block away from the palatial Bloomingdales, this tired looking place stands out among it better groomed peers. It took a little nerve to walk inside, but I managed to do so, only to find a dingy lobby with a old Chinese man in a wheelchair. From the outside, the place looked like a flophouse, home to near ‘do wells who just have to be downtown. My brief trip inside confirmed that. Upon further research I found that the place is indeed a “hotel” that caters to travelers on a budget and Japanese businessmen on the cheap. There’s not much more info about the place, but you can find some amusing reviews here, along with this video of two funny sounding foreigners who had the misfortune of staying there.

Another curiosity was a building right by Millennium Park that appeared to last belong to the Chicago Athletic Association. At first, I was surprised; the building looked more like an abandoned hotel than a fitness club. Again, a little research turned up that it was indeed a fitness club, but not like a Bally’s or 24 Hour Fitness, but rather a fine gentleman’s club. The club was founded in 1890 and served as a gathering place for the city’s elite. Not only were there fitness facilities, including a marble clad pool, but there were bars, restaurants and hotel rooms. In all, it was a place for important people to meet and socialize. In the summer of 2007, however, it closed. Perhaps times had changed or the facility was no longer adequate; to me, an outsider, the true circumstances of the Association’s demise will remain a mystery. Apparently the building is now caught up between developers and the city, so it sits there, empty, it’s former glory reflected only by its slowly deteriorating facade.

On a somewhat related note, I was intrigued by a building that I saw while departing New Orleans on the train. What appeared to be the headquarters of the New Orleans Streets Department appeared to be a decrepit and abandoned looking hulk. When I got back to town, I looked up the agency and lo and behold, that was indeed its headquarters. Given the horrid condition of streets in New Orleans, I wasn’t surprised to find the place itself in a state of near complete disrepair. Compared to Chicago (which admittedly has a nasty subway/El), New Orleans is like a third world country. No surprise that those in charge of maintenance can’t even keep their own house in order.

So yes, Chicago was a much needed break. Big city, bright lights, proper college campuses, beautiful people, and curiosities abound. Back home in this messed up city I wonder why the hell I chose to come here… a foolish whim perhaps. But all is not bad; a warm welcome from a furry friend and okra jambalaya for lunch make me content, for now, to be back.

Trip to the Jackson Barracks

It was a beautiful Monday here in New Orleans… blue skies and temperatures in the upper 60s. Today was also my first law school field trip. As part of my class on disaster response, we visited the Jackson Barracks, downriver from the lower ninth ward. We heard about the efforts to restore buildings that took on 12 feet of water, the difficulties of historic preservation, and pilot projects for military housing. Attached are some pictures from the trip… enjoy!

Also, see photos from WPA work at the Jackson Barracks.

Into the Mass

Most of you who know me know that I’m no football fan. Admittedly, I’d been resisting the Saints mania that had been building here, brushing it off as a silly distraction from more pressing issues. But on Sunday I succumbed to the inevitable and joined WHO DAT nation. After watching the game at a great party I stepped outside to find neighbors toasting, honking, shouting and setting off fireworks in the street. I couldn’t resist.

Down to the CDB and French Quarter where flags were waving, people high fiving, smiling, shouting, hugging, crying. Bourbon street as crowded as I have ever seen it. Oz off the hook. It was all overwhelming in a great way.

I feel lucky to have been there; Sunday’s victory and the ensuing gaiety was a real moment, watershed perhaps. The Saints victory, combined with the landslide election of Mitch Landrieu, the first white mayor since the 1970s, signals that perhaps the divisive racism that has so hurt this once great city might be receding into the past, as it well should. While the path ahead, for New Orleans and this country, remains difficult, perhaps now it can be tread with a renewed sense of pride and purpose.

From the Big Easy,

~WD