Our Happy, Horrific, New Orleans New Year (part 3 of 3)
Tragedy and Triumph.
If you missed Part 1 or Part 2…
Part 3…
New Year’s Day, Wednesday, January 1, 2025.
We were all tired after the fireworks, so we returned to the hotel and were in bed by 1:00 a.m. We slept well, oblivious to the horror happening just blocks away.
When I woke the next morning, I reached for my phone, as I often do. I checked for texts, then opened my email and immediately saw a “breaking news” story from the New York Times that made me gasp.
“Oh, no. No!” I said aloud.
Tom and the kids stirred and asked what was wrong. I read the headline to them: “At Least 10 Killed and 30 More Injured After Vehicle Drives Into Crowd in New Orleans on Bourbon Street.” Stunned, we turned on the TV and slowly began to absorb the horrific events that had transpired just blocks away while we slept.
The local news covered the story continuously for at least the next two days. Their cameras were stationed at the corner of Bourbon and Canal (where the driver of the white truck mowed down 14 innocents), a corner we had stood on just two days earlier. The Walgreens Chloe had run into appeared every few minutes on the broadcast. There were police cars and yellow crime scene tape, behind which stood the figure of “Touchdown Jesus,” arms still open wide.
Not knowing what else to do, we put on our ND garb, preparing for the game we still planned to attend that evening. We took a Lyft over to the Garden District and began hearing reports that the game had been postponed to the next day, to allow for a complete sweep of the stadium and more security.
The Red Dog Diner was our choice for brunch and it did not disappoint. As we waited for our table and later browsed the shops on Magazine Street, we bumped into several people donned in ND and Georgia colors.
“Are you still going to make it to the game?” was one of the first questions. Often followed by, “Where are you from?” and more small talk.
Luckily, we had planned to head home on Friday, so we had no conflicts, but countless others had to change flights and extend hotel reservations. Or go home.
Besides our stories, we also shared an unspoken grief. A recurring theme on the news and in conversation was to not let fear and this one evil person keep us from living our lives. I reminded our kids to be grateful for each day we’ve been given, taking nothing for granted.
We ambled through the Garden District with its majestic, historic homes, pausing at Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, with its unusual (to us) above-ground tombs. We gazed up at the massive live oak trees, covered with resurrection ferns, a reminder that even in the face of death, there is hope for new life. (These tiny ferns appear shriveled, dry, and dead until it rains, when they suddenly come “back to life.”)
Eventually, we got a Lyft back to the French Quarter, and Tom and I walked a couple of blocks to Rampart Treehouse for New York-style pizza. Though the crowd was small and subdued, every time someone walked in wearing ND clothes, the place erupted with shouts of “Go Irish!” After a quiet, somber day, excitement for the game we had all come for was beginning to build again.
Thursday, January 2, 2025
Game day. Once again, we woke up to continuous local news updates followed by a press conference mid-morning. Once again, we donned our ND colors and headed out around 11:00 a.m. We took a Lyft to Heard Dat Kitchen, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant Jared had eaten at on a previous visit. Despite the very modest facility, the food was amazing. Jared and I both had the Benson Boogie, i.e. blackened fish served over grits, with “Crawdat” cream sauce and fried shrimp.
We ordered one more Lyft—this time to Saint X Brewery, near the Superdome. The place was packed with fans from both teams. We ordered drinks and chatted until it was time to walk to the stadium.
The police presence was heavy. We made our way through security and arrived in time to watch the pre-game activities (team warmups and band shows). The vibe was electric, but the events of that morning were never far from our minds. There was a moment of silence before the game and several references throughout about the resilience of New Orleans and thoughts and prayers for the victims and their families. Samyra’s singing of the National Anthem and Notre Dame’s band playing “America the Beautiful” were both incredibly moving.
Then it was game on! Notre Dame won 23-10, in a great matchup with strong defense on both sides and a few surprise plays by the Irish.
Afterward, we walked back in a massive crowd on streets lined with police, uniformed Homeland Security guards, and the National Guard. We joined others in saying “thanks for your service” as we passed them.
After a short wait, we were seated at the Streetcar Cafe, a lovely little place on St. Charles Avenue serving delicious fare—seafood and Cajun pasta, jambalaya, and a shrimp Po-boy were on the menu for our final NOLA meal.
After dinner, Jared and Chloe headed toward Cafe du Monde to pick up some Beignet mix, Tony Chachera’s spice (IYKYK), and one more round of beignets for breakfast the next morning.
Tom and I walked back to the hotel, passing by the scene of the terrorist attack. A small memorial with a cross, roses, candles, and beads leaned against the Walgreens at Canal and Bourbon. The crowd milled quietly along Bourbon, paying respects to the lives lost there. I said a silent prayer for the victims and their families.
The incomprehensible violence juxtaposed with the excitement of the game and the beauty and joy of New Orleans was a surreal experience we’ll never forget.
But New Orleans, the Big Easy, had faced tragedy before and knew something about resilience. Farther down the street, musicians began to play their songs again.
As a writer, I struggled with how to tell this story.
Yes, we bore witness to tragedy. We also bore witness to love and joy, security and celebration. As with all of life, the beautiful and the terrible coexist. Light and darkness blend at dawn and dusk. The sweetness of sugar and the bitterness of coffee together awaken our senses.
If life wasn’t so darn good, losing a life wouldn’t hurt like it does.
So that is our story—our whole bittersweet story.
Sounds like a holiday you didn't plan on and I am glad you are all safe. We never really know what situation we will find ourselves in. We need to learn to roll with the punches. I think we get better at it with age when we come to realize the most important things in our lives are not those with a monetary value.
Well told, Linda. Glad you are all safe!