Living in the Crossfire

When I first moved back to New Orleans in 1996 (from NYC), my new home was a beautiful 1920’s craftsmen cottage located Uptown near the universities. A porch swing. A big yard. Trees. Flowers. Idyllic, right? Well, not exactly. I forgot to mention the white wrought iron burglar bars on every door and window. “Is this really necessary?” I thought. But within 24 hours my new home had been robbed (someone pulled the burglar bars off the kitchen window) and several service industry workers were murdered at the Louisiana Pizza Kitchen in the French Quarter.

As a house warming gift my big brother brought me a gun. He was worried that someone would hurt me living alone and all. I didn’t touch the thing after stashing it in a locked location. To tell you the truth, it creeped me out.

I’m older and wiser now…and much more cynical. I love this city. But I fear for its future. After a very brief respite from crime last winter, the free wheeling violence is back. And not just in the "bad" neighborhoods. And the Times Picayune reports the details. Add that to the fact that insurance rates, propety taxes, and utilities are out of control and the mayor is a total moron and I don't really know how long I can hang.

Thank God for Chris Rose. Every time I find myself scratching my head and saying "Am I the only one who thinks this is unacceptable? Mr. Rose put out a column that says exactly what I'm thinking.

Monday night three people shot on Frenchmen Street (where my son had walked only moments before on his way to work on Decatur). Tuesday night, two blocks from my house an attempted robbery. The perp (I'm learning the lingo) put a gun in the wrong person's back and her companion made as if to reach for his wallet and pulled out his own gun killing the would-be robber. I found my inner voice saying "Score one for our side" and instantly felt a surge of self-loathing for feeling that way.

I'm scared. I'm worried. But I'm here. For now.