In the spring of 2009 William flew to New Orleans to start a job. This was three and half years after the Katrina disaster. I hadn't visited the Crescent City in many years and was saddened by horrible images of the city on television.
William's departure fell during spring break for The Shakespeare Club, so I was free to follow. We were in Louisiana Luck.
We arrived in New Orleans too late for Mardi Gras (good) and too early for Jazz Fest (sad) but right on target for Pirate Week (spelled Pyrate down here).
Pirates of all ages, colors and genres. Gay and straight pirates. Fat and skinny pirates. Dressed in full regalia, they stomped through the French Quarter and continued to do so for the week. Toddlers wearing eye patches and headscarves brandished swords from their strollers. The most common types of buccaneer were chubby middle-aged white men strutting in packs of three or four, gray hair springing out of their bandannas and cummerbunds stretched to the point of snapping.
I was reminded of Civil War re-enactors on battlefields in Virginia. These aged pirates wore a similar braggadocio of commitment and careful planning. Their faces registered ecstasy as they waved to the crowds. Their black breeches billowed above silly striped-stockinged calves. They dressed in gem-colored brocade coats, thigh-high leather boots and great three-corner hats with wild feathers aplume. They smoked, drank and cussed like, well, pirates. Everyone was acting with a capital A.
William and I wandered into the Jean Lafitte Blacksmith Shop Bar. A low-ceilinged, dark cave-like building with original blackened brick fireplaces and charred wood beams, it was the oldest building in the Quarter, dating from the 1770s. Story has it the pub was a blacksmith shop run by New Orleans' famous hero-pirate, Jean Lafitte. In reality, Monsieur Lafitte and his crew set this joint up to sell their glorious plunder to willing New Orleans buyers. Years later, the bar became a favorite drinking spot of Tennessee Williams.
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