The attendees are back home, and they're blogging

Judy Merrill Larsen (whom I didn't get the chance to meet) had a blast in what sounds like her first visit to New Orleans. And thanks for spreading the word that the people in town are friendly, funny, and just plain nice...because they are.

And then there's Amy Guth, whom I met briefly. I wish I knew that she was looking for vegetarian food, because I could've steered her around (I'm not vegetarian, but there actually are some really good vegetarian [if not vegan] options in the French Quarter and thereabouts). Her New Orleans story needs to be read in its entirety, because the city was working all its weirdness on her, and she had the good sense to be more amused than alarmed.

...and this is how it ends for another year...

...so you end a literary festival with a party (free to the public, of course, with free food and free drink and free readings and free laughs, all those things that still flow like water in New Orleans, even after Katrina) in a building where the Louisiana Purchase was signed in 1803, and you fill it with a few dozen authors who range from a former Bourbon Street stripper to a distinguished professor and winner of an O.Henry award, all of whom contributed to an anthology with 110 contributors, and all of whom attempted to summarize Louisiana in the space of a single page.

Meanwhile, down the street, dozens of crazy people have gathered in the street below a balcony of America's oldest apartment building, all shouting "STAAAANLEY!" in their best Streetcar Named Desire impressions, hoping to win a prize or at least a few seconds of airtime on the evening news, and one of the distinguished litterateurs from the upstairs party notes, "New Orleans is a place where you can have good sex," and a seventyish gentleman passing by stops to correct her sternly: "Good sex? No--GREAT sex."

And, a few steps away, the preliminary winners from the screaming contest are herded into the courtyard of an 87-year-old theater, where the Festival president Peggy Scott Laborde is giving them all last-minute instructions or advice or just passing the time of day, while a giant sheet cake and hundreds of cups of sweet tea are being handed out at a table by some exhausted and stressed-out Festival volunteers and assistants, who are still managing to smile despite a four-day weekend of sweat, humidity, logistical high-wire acts, and thousands of book fans in various states of decorum, intelligence, and inebriation.

And inside the theater, a group has gathered, including the actor Jeremy Lawrence (who plays Tennessee Williams) and the memoirist, essayist, journalist, and foodie Calvin Trillin, who are dragooned into judging the finalists, which include everything from a modern Stanley who tries to call Stella on his cellphone to a generously proportioned man who gets the crowd screaming by ripping his T-shirt and exposing his ample belly. And while the judges total up their ballots, yet another pair of actors takes the stage and enacts an entire four-minute "Tennessee" play, with Stanley stuck on the roof of his tenement in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina while his wife paddles away in a rowboat.

And then a winner is crowned, and the dates of next year's Festival are being yelled from the stage (not by Stanley Kowalski), and I'm too tired to get 'em straight, and it really is over, except for word of an impromptu dinner gathering at Galatoire's and word of a few people gathering later in the evening at a sketchy bar at the other end of the French Quarter...

Louisiana in (French) words

Cheré Coen of the Lafayette Daily Advertiser wrote today about the launch party for Louisiana in Words, which was held Mar. 18 at the Maple Leaf Bar in New Orleans:

Erlene Stewart of Lafayette, one of the many writers of Louisiana in Words, Pelican Publishing's collection of "one-minute" nonfiction entries that complete a day in Louisiana, attended the book release party March 18 at the Maple Leaf Bar in New Orleans. The place was packed, Stewart said, and there were live music and refreshments.

"Mais, chèr, everyone passed a good time," she said. "I signed so many books, my fingers cramped and my signature became almost illegible."

More blogger reaction

Local blogger Ernie the Attorney attended Michael Lewis' panel on Thursday and had more thoughts on what Lewis had to say about Ray Nagin and the state of the city.

48 hours: hitting the wall

48 hours of little to no sleep (hello, insomnia) and I finally crashed this afternoon after my last panel. Missed the dinner with John Mariani at the Windsor Court, missed the reception for Calvin Trillin at Brennan's, missed the birthday party for Marva Wright at the Ritz-Carlton...all of which looked fantastic (especially the Trillin reception). Frankly, the amount of panels and parties seems to have outgrown the four days of the Festival. Or maybe I'm getting old.

Tonight? I got nothin' except this room.

Several years ago, when Harrah's wanted to come into New Orleans, the city allowed them to build a casino, but no hotel; the already-here hoteliers used their pull to shut down hotel plans. Later, when it went through, there were worries that a casino hotel wouldn't be "New Orleans" enough (as if the chain hotel skyscrapers on Canal Street were antebellum mansions).

Anyway, the place is plenty luxe and completely separate from the casino, but what strikes me is the amount of local art in the rooms. I have two lithographs by the photographer Richard Sexton and one by Lee Tucker in one room, and all three are striking original works of art. The hotel could've put up prints of a Mardi Gras parade or Jackson Square in each room, and the guests probably would've found it sufficiently picturesque, but someone put some thought into buying work from local artists for out-of-towners to enjoy. And that impresses me more than the huge sunken bath, which is plenty nice but could be anywhere.

Tomorrow, four panels, a play, two parties, and a dinner, and I don't know how much I can fit in. This requires a mule team of bloggers.

Michael Lewis on what's holding New Orleans back

Another blogger, Dangermond, attended the Michael Lewis panel this afternoon and recorded Mr. Lewis' thoughts on what's holding the city back post-Katrina. It's well worth a read if you haven't figured it out from the fiendishly clever clue on the left.

Another food event: Willie Mae's Scotch House

Got a note this a.m. from Mary Beth Lasseter of the Southern Foodways Alliance:

John Egerton, a guest at the TW festival in NOLA, has been reading your blog and suggested that I get in touch with you to let you know of a special event planned for Sunday night, April 1, after the festival. Several guests of TWF, including Egerton and Calvin Trillin, will join the Southern Foodways Alliance to celebrate the re-opening of Willie Mae's Scotch House in the Tremé. The rebuilding of this restaurant began last January, has cost over $200K, and has been led by a volunteer crew from all over the nation.

On Sunday night, we'll have a dinner (it's sold out now) and a film screening (which isn't). If time/space are available, might you mention this film event to your readers? Info on the film screening is available here. To read more about the rebuilding effort, visit here.

We hope that you, and others, might join us for a celebration on Sunday night. And, if your time allows, stop by Willie Mae's on Monday for a plate of fried chicken.

That is tempting. As you can see by the pre-storm photo, the Scotch House was basically a small living room with a few tables, and the one time I tried to go there, I couldn't get in. Fried chicken, smothered pork chops, red beans: as a good friend of mine once remarked, "That isn't soul food--that's food food."

Opening day and master classes

So far, so good; the organizers are walking around looking sanguine, whether that's really how they feel or not. This is the scrum at the checkin table. Somewhere in there is executive director Paul Willis, associate director Karissa Kary, v.p. Doug Brantley, LouAnn Morehouse, and program assistant Marika Christian. Marika was a longtime Festival attendee who just up and moved to New Orleans one day, and the city opened up its magic box for her; she found an attic apartment above the city's most notable TW scholar, Dr. Kenneth Holditch, got a job with the Fest, and is now working on her first novel under the tutelage of local writer Julie Smith...all of which is the sort of thing that happens in New Orleans with alarming regularity if you just strip off your defenses and dive right in.

Here's the table from the Garden District Book Shop, which came through Katrina just fine and is actually bucking the brick-and-mortar bookstore trend by, well, not going out of business and actually making a little bit of scratch. It's in a great area; the Garden District is, if anything, cleaner than it was before the storm, Commander's Palace is (thank God) open again, and all that's missing is the streetcar running up St. Charles Avenue. Taking the "St. Charles bus" just doesn't have that romance to it.


And here's the Festival president, Pat Brady, with her inamorato/main squeeze Michael Ledet. Pat is also the author of Martha Washington: An American Life, which has gotten the sort of reviews that writers could (and have) killed for. Michael, who owns 2 Martini Press with the Gumbo Shop's Richard Stewart, was about to present a master class on self-publishing with Richard and Allain Andry, the author of the children's book Louie the Buoy.

Is anything going wrong? Well, they ran out of free coffee (which is, fortunately, not in short supply in the Quarter), and the out-of-towners are mopping sweat from their brows and looking slightly poleaxed. Wusses! It's only March.

They all ast for you

Before spending four days immersed in books, I decided to walk on the wilder side of New Orleans with a visit to the Audubon Zoo. Years ago, the zoo was a local and national disgrace, but today it's one of the best zoos in the nation, with beautiful plantings everywhere. And thanks to the heroic staff, they only lost a few animals during Hurricane Katrina.

In fact, you wouldn't even know there'd been a hurricane. The sea lion exhibit was closed for repairs, but there was lots to see, and the Louisiana swamp habitat was packed with people gawking at alligators, nutria, the black bear, and the famous white alligator. But the best things were two six-month-old endangered leopard cubs, which were gamboling and frisking and dive-bombing their tolerant parents just like a pair of housecats.

Leaving the zoo, I turned on WWOZ-FM, America's best radio station, and listened to local music interspersed with a live interview with Miss Tee-Eva--chef, caterer, and sometime backup singer to the great Ernie K-Doe--just laughing and carrying on and talking about her famous gumbo recipe.

I don't care about Katrina, about Ray Nagin, Bill Jefferson, Kathleen Blanco, George W. Bush, Entergy, Allstate, or the Road Home program. Thanks to the people, this is still the best city in America.

In my room at Harrah's now, which is worth a post in itself. Later. After dinner and an hour in the jazz club downstairs, where John Boutté is playing tonight. And tomorrow: the Festival.

Festival eve

Tonight's the kickoff party for the TW Festival. The major donors and swellelegant folks will be getting together at the Palm Court Jazz Café for dinner, drinks, and music. I'll be spending the day at the Audubon Zoo and then checking into my hotel. Having dinner with some visiting journalists at Riche, the new Todd English restaurant in Harrah's, and then plan on checking out 528, the jazz club next door.

TENNESSEE AND HIS WOMEN: AN EVENING OF LITERARY REVELRY
Wed., Mar. 28, 7:30 pm
Palm Court Jazz Café, 1204 Decatur St.
$150

Chris Rose and the Tennessee Ernie Ford Festival

Chris Rose is a columnist for The Times-Picayune, who underwent a metamorphosis from Britney-chronicler to Outraged Man of the City after the levees collapsed. Since then, he's been shortlisted for the Pulitzer Prize and become a contributor to both PBS' NewsHour with Jim Lehrer and NPR's Morning Edition, and his book of post-K essays, 1 dead in attic, has raised more than $25,000 for New Orleans musicians' charities.

Today's Rose column is about the incredible sights and sounds of spring in the Crescent City, but it also has this intriguing mention:

Springtime in New Orleans is when and where the highbrow Tennessee Williams literary festival concludes with a contest to see who can scream "Stella!" the best in a dirty T-shirt, and the Tennessee Ernie Ford Festival in a local juke joint around the corner serves as a cultural counterpoint, seducing unsuspecting tourists into drunken singalongs to "16 Tons."

A Tennessee Ernie Ford Festival? I am so there. But, Chris, which juke joint is it?

Fri., Mar. 30, 1 pm
"Southern Culture on the Skids?"

Panelists: Chris Rose, Mike Swindle, Helen Taylor, and Charles Wilson. Moderator: Joshua Clark.

Brad, Angelina, and Tennessee: a generous offer

It's no secret that the French Quarter has two rather well-known recent transplants. Made a couple of movies, I gather. Heard something about them starting a family, too.

After lunch today, I walked past their new house, which has its own history; it was once owned by the New Orleans record producer Cosimo Matassa, who used it as a recording studio. Fats Domino recorded "It's Raining" and "Walkin' to New Orleans" there. Irma Thomas cut "It's Raining." And it's where Ernie K-Doe immortalized his "Mother-in-Law." Once an avocado warehouse near the Mississippi River docks, it's now more Architectural Digest than Avocado Digest.

What has this to do with the Tennessee Williams Festival? Well, among Ms. Jolie's extensive collection of tattoos is this quote emblazoned on the inside of her forearm:

"A PRAYER FOR THE WILD AT HEART KEPT IN CAGES"

It's the subtitle for TW's 1941 play Stairs to the Roof, but it's probably better known today in its abbreviated form as Wild at Heart, the Barry Gifford novel that became a David Lynch film. And since Mr. Gifford is going to be at the Festival...is it completely out of the realm of possibility that Mr. Pitt and Ms. Jolie might walk down the street and attend a panel or two? After all, everyone who's run across them in the Quarter says they're about as nice and down-to-earth as they possibly could be.

This would be a great idea for several reasons, not the least of which is that there aren't two better people to helm a remake of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Just the thought of her in a white slip and him in an undershirt would probably guarantee sold-out performances for months. (And they both can actually act, which I gather is optional for an "actor" these days.)

So...here's my offer. If you're reading, Angelina and Brad, I will personally pick up the cost of your panel passes if you want to walk up to the Historic New Orleans Collection on Thursday and take in Barry Gifford's master class (if there's room for you). Since tickets are $25 apiece, that's a $50 value.

I will even buy one of you a T-shirt (you can decide which one of you wants it). Think about it.

Thu., Mar. 29
1:30 pm

"Barry Gifford: Translating Life to the Screen" (master class)
Historic New Orleans Collection

Where is Richard Ford? Right here, as it turns out

In the earlier profile of Richard Ford, one of the leading lights at this year's Festival, I mentioned that I wasn't sure if Ford and his wife were staying in New Orleans. Thanks to a commenter named Teresa, I discovered that it seems he is, and he's helping with hurricane recovery in a truly hands-on way: as a volunteer "carpenter, painter, and jack of some trades," working on the first houses to be rebuilt in the Lower Ninth Ward.

The homeowners, Josephine Butler and Gwendolyn Guice, moved back in during the last week of February, in an event clogged with politicos and covered by The New York Times. Mr. Ford addressed the crowd there, and here's a transcript of his statements. I was particularly struck by this:

I want to just say this to Ms. Butler and Ms. Guice. There's a lot of cheap talk we hear every day about whether this community will come back, can come back, should be allowed to come back. But if it's going to come back, that will depend a lot less on politicians' talk, or land developers' greedy plans, or on "the economy" (whatever that means); and instead it will depend on people like you two, who let their feet and their hearts and their determination do their talking, and who know that "community" is not just a word on a sign.

Deep-fried pickles and art museums

If there's one good reason to come to town a few days before the Festival, it's to squeeze in a few more meals and a little more sightseeing. Yesterday I hit Liuzza's, a Mid-City institution that got creamed by Katrina and finally reopened last July. It's classic New Orleans blue-collar Italian fare--shrimp-and-artichoke soup, gumbo, po-boys, red beans, and all the comfort foods that mean so much to people here, particularly after The Thing. I had a smoked sausage po-boy and a plate of Liuzza's surprisingly light and completely addictive fried pickle chips:


Waddled off that lunch with a walk up N. Carrollton Avenue, where the streetcars are running again--but they're the old olive-green streetcars from St. Charles Avenue, not the bright-red ones that normally run up Carrollton (they were flooded). Green streetcars on N. Carrollton? I guess you have to live here to understand how wrong that looks.

Over in City Park, I thought about going into the New Orleans Museum of Art to see "Femme, Femme, Femme: Paintings of Women in French Society from Daumier to Picasso," their new exhibit on loan from the government of France. But it was late in the afternoon and the weather was too perfect, so I walked in the museum's sculpture garden instead. Whatever damage Katrina did there isn't visible; it looks better than it did before the storm. And there was a new, post-K addition: George Rodrigue's Blue Dog, which, surprisingly, looks more natural in the Louisiana landscape than it does on the wall of an art gallery.

First day of spring, New Orleans style

Spring--early spring--is the very best time of the year to come to New Orleans, as people seem hellbent on getting outside before it gets hellishly hot (which it always does before the end of April; 'spring' is more a seasonette than a season here). And the flowers always seem to be at their best during the time of the Festival--the azaleas are going crazy, and I saw rivers of crimson-and-clover growing wild alongside the highway this afternoon.

Like all things in New Orleans, though, the good is inextricably twined with the regrettable, and with all this lushness comes some of the worst hay fever in the country. Pollen.com listed today's pollen count as 10.7 on a scale that I thought only went to 10, and said that the oak, grass, juniper, and cedar are busily budding and spor-ing and sending sinuses haywire.

Everyone knows that if you're coming to the Jazz Festival, you bring a hat and sunscreen. For Tennessee Williams? Claritin and Kleenex. Trust me.

Back in town

I arrived in New Orleans last night about midnight. My luggage did not. Fortunately I had my one-quart Ziploc bag with no more than 3 oz. of essential liquids and gels on my person rather than in my suitcase...

Will it be found in time for the Festival? Or will I be covering it in a T-shirt and gym shorts?

Edited to add: Man and bag are one again. Thanks, American Airlines!

Arriving today

By the grace and mercy of the U.S. airline system, I'll be pulling into the New Orleans airport tonight at an ungodly hour and flopping at the house of some friends in Metairie. Dinner will be eaten in the concourse of the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, where I'll have my choice of Popeyes or Subway and be dreaming of a muffuletta from Napoleon House.