An Interview with Lakeview’s Carl & Joey Neumann

My friend Ryan asked my wife and me to participate in an on-line interview, giving our background and current life, complete with Q&A to establish our perceptions of post Katrina life for the “non-returning New Orleanian.” First of all, let me state that I don't believe that there is such a designation possible. My wife and I, regardless of current address or future plans, have never, and will never, leave New Orleans - not in our hearts - how could we? There has been so much written, so eloquently, about the pull of the city and it's culture of “studied uniqueness,” I'm not certain I should even try to explain how it inhabits our emotions, or if I'm able to, but I'll try anyway. Our story is not unlike many others, the end is still being written and the status of “non-returning New Orleanians” doesn't sit easily in our consciousness or self image yet - from different backgrounds to a shared sense of loss, we are still emotionally citizens together of that place unlike any other.

We came from different worlds and ended up building a life together in New Orleans. My wife is a true product of the City, born and nurtured in the world of the Quarter, her father tended bar for years at the Carousel Bar in the Monteleone, her mother kept the books at the old Patio Royale Restaurant (later to be known as Brennan's). They moved to the country (Gentilly) for her school days; then moved to Lakeview for her days at McDonogh High, then it was LSU and UNO graduate school. A New Orleans story told many times over. My background was as non New Orleans as it could be - born and raised in the outskirts of Houston, father an oilfield career man with Humble Oil, mother a teacher in local schools. I attended college at Texas A&M in the old school days of all male, all military - on to 4 years in the military to be followed by a presumed career in the oilfields of Texas. That presumption ended abruptly when “I met this girl from New Orleans…..” (and everyone knows it's hard to get a girl from New Orleans to leave home).

We met through mutual friends on the beach at Panama City and she brought this uncultured, though well traveled, Texan to New Orleans for a visit. It was a visit that, 33 years later, Katrina cut short. I believe that in the intervening years I became as solidly converted to the charms of life in New Orleans as any native born could ever be. There truly is a uniqueness, an easy familiarity and acceptance that is not found elsewhere and, from that first visit, I felt at home. We built lives, careers, raised three totally different daughters (each as unique as the city that colors and enriches their lives - yet undoubtedly sisters), cared for and about friends and neighbors, and are now mourning the passing of life as we knew it in Lakeview.

We have relocated to The Woodlands, a beautiful Disneyesque planned community in the northern provinces of the greater Houston area. We purchased a home that is actually above sea level, which must account for the different/lack of flavor in the air. The first few months were spent marveling at the efficiency and order of our new world, enjoying an endless stream of amenities and comforts with a golly gee delight that was palpable and soothing. The delights of our new environment were particularly emphasized by the repeated trips to New Orleans during those first months to gut walls and retrieve valuables from our flooded home in Lakeview (the continued lack of progress on our street and neighborhood some eight months post storm is amazing and heartbreaking). We were among the first to sell, in early January. The closing gave us no closure - we thought it would - but the pain of returning each time and seeing the vacant moonscape that is now Florida Blvd. is still painful beyond words. We are unable to divorce ourselves from the emotional ties that bind and all of the beauty in our new world can't yet erase the sense that it's not home here for us. We are New Orleanians, one natural - one naturalized - but I don't know if we can ever go back knowing that there is not much “there” there either. Maybe in the course of answering some of Ryan's questions for the interview I'll find some answers for us to use as well. Thanks for listening.

Carl and Joey Neumann

Q: Can you give a quick history of your life in New Orleans prior to 29 Aug, 2005?

A: We lived in Metairie for a year and a half, I worked offshore for Exxon at that time and Joey was in special education. We moved to New Orleans East in 1974, with the first wave, Joey then worked with the Special Education Center at UNO and I was transitioning into sales and consulting in the oilfield. In 1984 we (temporarily) moved into the home in Lakeview where Joey's family had lived since her teen years, fell in love with the neighborhood and made it our home until the storm in 2005. Joey worked until retirement in St. Bernard Parish Special Education and I continued business consulting in the oilfield.

Q: Why was Houston your evacuation destination?

A: We had always evacuated to my sister's home near the Woodlands for the ritual hurricane visit (4 times in the last two or three years) expecting 2-3 days there and then home again and back to normal.

Q: How soon after Katrina did you decide to stay in Houston? Did a visit to New Orleans convince you to stay?

A: That's hard to answer in some ways. The unrelenting TV coverage of the ineptitude of our local officials actually began the process. At some point it occurred to us that these were the same people that would be in charge of rebuilding and the despair was overwhelming. We started looking at houses here the first weeks after the storm, and had committed emotionally before my first visit back the day after the water was pumped out of Lakeview. It was the most difficult decision we've ever made.

Q: Is your career different? Is Joey's?

A: Perhaps that is the only reason we could make the decision we did. Joey had retired after 34 years working with children in the school system (St. Bernard Parish mostly) that previous June. My oilfield consulting business was not dependent on my residing in New Orleans, I just preferred to. I traveled often to Mexico and Texas so I eliminated one flight change in Houston in my commute. We were very lucky in that regard.

Q: You visit New Orleans fairly regularly, how come?

A: We have one of our three daughters, her husband and our three grandchildren who still live in the area. They had total losses in the aftermath of the storm due to the unconscionable and, as yet unpunished, act of turning the pumps off in Metairie. They now reside in Hammond where she teaches at Southeastern. My son-in-law commutes to downtown New Orleans for work everyday, then a few hours of work on the ruined house in Metairie before the long drive home. We go to New Orleans to see them and, whenever possible, to spend time with friends.

Q: What do you miss about New Orleans? Can you be specific (restaurants, events/people)

A: We miss the feeling of walking into adventure every time you go out to eat - not the most well known places (those too) - we had a regular group that went to new restaurants often to keep up with the changing scene and had a rule that it had to be someplace no one had been before - we always had one cheater (you know who you are) that would sneak a visit, but we didn't hold it against him because we're not supposed to “care” - I miss those times and those people, terribly. I couldn't begin to name the restaurants - just think of one you love - and, yes we miss that one too. And always miss the Quarter, Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest - fishing and hunting the marsh around Reggio, camp life, sea breezes, sailing on the lake --just, life in New Orleans.

Q: What don't you miss about New Orleans?

A: End of fun. I don't miss the venality of the politicians, the petty self-promotion at the expense of the children and the citizens of the city. I was there long enough and politically aware enough to catalogue the disastrous slide we've been on for a long time. I hated the television network's coverage of the aftermath of the storm because it revealed in such stark, unblinking terms the rot that we had allowed to grow and fester underneath all of the fun that the City represented to the world. How could you miss the school board? The council? The Mayor, or Police Chief, or the horrible lack of character exhibited by so many public servants? The staring eye of the TV cameras certainly revealed the result of “forgetting to care”, didn't it? I don't miss any of that at all.

Q: In you opinion are there virtues of Houston that New Orleans will never achieve?

Or the reverse?

A: Of course not. Houston has numerous problems that I don't even want to go into. Having said that, they can get out of their own way at times and achieve wonderful things, such as their response to help Katrina affected people. That was uplifting to witness and made everyone proud. Did it reflect poorly on our response in New Orleans to help ourselves? Absolutely. There is dynamism and an infectious enthusiasm for the future in Houston but it is lacking in much of the character and charm that New Orleans has in abundance. Perhaps those virtues are incompatible in a city, though I believe New Orleans was dynamic and alive and full of opportunities in my early time there. We just allowed the life to be squeezed out the business community with lousy response to education and governance and an over-reliance on the service industry. Corruption doesn't belong exclusively to any area or city, but New Orleans certainly came to symbolize that it can become the dominant industry if you allow it to. Which characteristic of a city is more important in your life - or our life - or in anyone's? That comes down to personal preference and to what your goals in life are. Can you have more fun in New Orleans? Sure. Is it a place to find opportunity? Build a career? Raise a family? I don't know the answers to those questions, but how New Orleans addresses them will make all of the difference for the future of the City. So far, I'm not encouraged by the efforts to rebuild - can anyone claim to be?

Q: Can you describe one of your favorite days spent in New Orleans?

A: That's easy, August 28th, 2005 - the last day in the life of the old New Orleans. We love and miss that old city but maybe the tragedy that befell her will force a rebirth of pride, energy and effort that results in a better place. Hope springs eternal and, maybe someday, we can be taken out of the category of “non-returning New Orleanians” and come home.

It was a calm sunny afternoon at Holy Name of Jesus on Calhoun Street uptown. The students who had been eliminated from the spelling bee in Ms. Broussard’s class were nodding in and out of sleep in a post-recess stupor. The only remaining contenders were Jehan Thibodeaux and myself; we were pitted against each other in a word-for-word spell-off. The first person to improperly spell a word would be asked to take a seat, and the victor could rightly take his or her throne as spell champion, a dubious yet coveted prize amongst fourth graders.

Ms. Broussard turned to Jehan and said, “Jehawn, spell da word, erruh.” I saw Jehan’s demise before she even made an attempt. You see, what Jehan did not know was that she was asked to spell the word that meant “mistake,” however, the word Jehan heard and thus spelled was the word that meant “a designated period of time.” Ms. Broussard had what we refer to in New Orleans as a “relaxed tongue.” Jehan requested that the word be repeated. The teacher slowly mouthed the word, annunciating carefully, “Err – uh.” So Jehan, knowing no better, went right for it. “Era, e-r-a, era.” Unfortunately, Jehan was not offered the option to have the word used in a sentence. It was my turn, “Error, e-r-r-o-r, error” I said. I walked away with the ironic victory, remorseless.

It was at this young age of nine that I first remember compensating for the New Orleans dialect. I grew to learn that phrases like “Pearce, get awn ya daddy’s shouldaz. Ya uncle’s ridin’ in Bawds of Buh – hemia awn float 18 awn da passenja side” were not spelled as heard but yielded to an actual hierarchy of phonetics and grammar taught in schools.

Since I was born, my grandfather has called me “Pearce – Arra.” I saw no need to question the name, as it sounded no more peculiar than “knucklehead,” “squirt,” “sport,” or any of the other names that my friends had received from their families. He would greet me with, “Watcha say dere Pearce- Arra?” and he would ask questions like “Pearce – arra, what time’s ya momma comin’ to pick ya up?” Curiosity had bitten me and the time came to ask him how he arrived at the bizarre name. A man of few words, he tersely responded, “It’s a truck.” From then on I kept my young eyes constantly peeled for a “Pearce - Arra.”

Years passed, my mind became sidetracked, and the quest for the “Pearce – Arra” quietly came to an end. My brain simply soaked up the word and grew not to question it anymore the same way no one questions words like “shuttlecock” or “sweetbreads.” I began to doubt the very idea of the existence of a “Pearce – Arra” and it became for me the stuff that myths and legends are based on. It wasn’t until I was seventeen years old sitting at a red light in my two-door Tercel on the corner of Jefferson and St. Charles Avenue that everything came together. Directly in front of me sat an NOFD fire truck, the model name – a Pierce Arrow. Arra… arrow… arra = arrow. My jaw dropped and I spilled coffee all over my khaki school uniform. I felt like Ponce de León staring directly at the Fountain of Youth. I never suspected a fire truck. Fire trucks have model names? Emergency vehicles had never even been a blip on the radar. Happening upon the truth after such a lengthy voyage is utter jubilation. I smiled knowing that an erruh had come to an end.

So fast forward a decade to one Hurricane Katrina. When the wind stopped blowing I found myself living in Brooklyn, NY working as a waiter in a creole restaurant in Manhattan’s East Village. One afternoon the boss’s sister walks into the restaurant and introduces herself. “How are you? My name is Palma,” she says. “Nice to meet you Palmer, I’m Pearce.” She corrected me, “Palm – UH.” It just wasn’t sinking in; I made another stab, “Palm – ER” I replied. “Palm –UH, UH, UH, ” she retorted. The whole episode had to have looked like a parent instructing their three-year-old on the proper pronunciation of “spaghetti.” Up until that point in time, Palma was the name of the street uptown parallel to Calhoun that my aunt lived on. My ears may have heard Palma, but my brain heard Palmer. I laughed to myself, knowing that even if I did try to explain it to her, she just wouldn’t get it... ya just have ta be from dere.

A.J Liebling wrote in “The Earl of Louisiana:”

“There is a New Orleans city accent . . . associated with downtown New Orleans, particularly with the German and Irish Third Ward, that is hard to distinguish from the accent of Hobo-ken, Jersey City, and Astoria, Long Island, where the Al Smith inflection, extinct in Manhattan, has taken refuge. The reason, as you might expect, is that the same stocks that brought the accent to Manhattan imposed it on New Orleans...”

Perhaps it is no coincidence I landed in Brooklyn. I moved to a place where the locals speak like New Orleanians, I serve New Orleans food for a living, and somehow manage to have have a social network consisting largely of New Orleanians; despite being 1800 miles from home. It took me awhile to put my finger on what makes the sound of the light rail train passing by my window at a late hour so soothing… it sounds like a streetcar. Bagels temporarily fill the void left there by beignets, however I still receive packages of necessities from the motherland such as CDM, olive salad, and Dr. Tichenor’s. I suppose now more than ever I know what it means to miss New Orleans, but there is no question that until I am able to return home, I will enjoy every minute in America’s second coolest city.

Each morning when I wake up

At night before I sleep

I hear the pounding

Pilings being driven

At the levee breach

I ask my neighbor

He says, “Progress”

I think “Band-Aid”

Cocktail Festival Is a Highlight of N.O. Summer.

NEW ORLEANS—May 2006 – You may not have heard of a Rum Baja Martini, but that will quickly change if you find yourself in New Orleans this summer.

The drink is the official cocktail of Tales of the Cocktail, which celebrates the history and spirit of the cocktail. This year's edition goes from July 19-23, with stars from around the world including Carson Kressley of Bravo's "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," NPR's "Kitchen Sisters," award-winning chefs, best-selling authors and master mixologists.

"The Rum Baja Martini is the perfect summer cocktail,” said Ann Rogers, founder of Tales of the Cocktail. “It’s a great refresher for a warm New Orleans evening.”

The Rum Baja Martini includes 2 oz. Bacardi Superior Rum, 1 oz. Lemon Juice, 1 oz. Lime Juice, 2 oz. Pineapple Juice, 1 oz. Orange Juice, 1 oz. Malibu Rum, 4 sprigs Cilantro, and 2 slices Avocado. Mix juices and muddle with cilantro and avocado. Add Bacardi and Malibu. Chill with ice and strain in martini glass.

Tales of the Cocktail features book signings, cooking and cocktail mixing demos, seminars, dinner pairings, cocktail parties and more.

Events include a walking tour of historic French Quarter establishments; seminars such as “Classic New Orleans Cocktails,” “Get the Hot Dish,” which explores trends in flavors, and “Pairing Cocktails and Food.” Also scheduled is an interior-design showcase with seven different themes for guests to peruse while enjoying libations.

Tales of the Cocktail is produced by The New Orleans Culinary and Cultural Preservation Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to raising funds to benefit the hospitality industry and to preserve the rich culinary history of New Orleans.

Tickets are on sale at www.TalesoftheCocktail.com
or by phone, 800-299-0404. Tickets are being sold individually or in special packages for the 35 events.
The Hotel Monteleone is headquarters hotel and will feature a special rate of $88 a night from July 19-23.

Port Reduction welcomes Mandeville artist Jim Tweedy to our little rag. Locally, Jim’s “Friendly Doggies” Cartoons runs in the St. Tammany News Banner/Slidell Sentry. He has donated copies for publication with us. Hope you like them.