As a resident of NW Louisiana, I am familiar with the N.O. culture as a visitor. I have always been a little jealous because it is so much richer than the one I grew up in here. I see many disheartened N.O. displaced people here in Shreveport and in a way, I'm still jealous because of that sense of home and community that they have known that is so rare in our time. It is my deepest hope and desire that that community will endure and be restored. Its hard to stomach the U.S.s overseas expenses when N.O. is in this state. But, then look at our inner cities? The U.S. spends very little to take care of its poor. They have always been left on their own to suffer. Why would N.O. be any different. Mr. Goodman's story is one of courage and a humanity that comes out of that hardship and for that reason, he and his ilke will probably be survive the rest.

I was slogging back from my friend's shop on Dumaine to retrieve my car from the very last non-tourist parking lot over on Elysian Fields behind (that is Riverside) the French Market.

I was making my way down, I think, Chartres ('Charters') and had just crossed Frenchman when I looked up to see a group of about 7 very large black guys making their way towards me on the otherwise utterly deserted sidewalk. I was out of 'Tourist World' for sure.

Worried? Who me?

They were carrying the pieces of a MG chief's costume. This one the headdress, that one the cape.

'Which tribe?', I asked. 'Creole Wild West', they answered, laughing. "And you, "Don't Bow Down'?" "Never."

I laughed and joked ("Which of you is the Spy Boy?" "That would be me, ma'am.") with them and went my merry, white middle-aged woman, way much bouyed by the encounter.