January 25, 2020
McDonalds at Canal and Broad Streets
New Orleans, Louisiana
First and foremost, I wish you Happy Year of the Rat. Today is the day, January 25, 2020. I have visited Chinatowns in San Francisco, Toronto, Montreal, Chicago, New York City and Washington DC. I can only imagine what glorious parades I have missed this morning. Most importantly, 1996 is your birthday, making you a Chinese Rat.
I really hope your Chinese friends have explained all the advantages of life as a Rat. The Rat has first place status in the Zodiac, and the Rat gets credit for quick wit and charm. In the Year of the Metal Rat, take pride in your birth as a Fire Rat. I am afraid I have read too many placemats when we went out for Chinese food together. This would be your third time enjoying the Year of the Rat, just in time for your twenty-fourth birthday.
The cable car progressed today out of the terminal near the Amtrak Station, operated by a woman on her first solo run as a cable car driver. She made conversation with two young women, new to town, who were looking for a currency counter where their foreign currency could be changed into American dollars. The two didn’t reveal the country of the currency. I eavesdropped, but I didn’t recommend looking on lower Canal Street near the Harrah’s Casino. A few shops existed on that stretch of the street, but my knowledge comes from three years ago.
We turned onto Canal Street north to make our way to the Cemeteries stop, the top of the line. The number of cemeteries at Cemeteries makes people stand in awe, even people who have visited the Arlington Military Cemetery.
I'll have to investigate how New Orleans became famous as a place to be buried. The cities of memory open for tourists and families during the day. I’ve walked among the crypts and mausoleums on previous visits, reading the names listed on the memorials. Most were entered into their final resting place in the late eighteen hundreds. A few of the crypts have recent entries, sometimes the family name remaining the same as time passes, sometimes the last names changing as a result of marriage.
After a while, the act of reading unfamiliar names in a cemetery far from home always becomes overwhelming. It has taken about an hour before that feeling arrives. Then I awkwardly find my way to the exit, marked by a glorious arch, which has always proven to require looking up my location on my cell phone. The city of the dead proves to have a maze like quality and I wonder if people have called 911, feeling lost and anxious as night raced into the walled necropolis.
About three months ago, construction was proceeding rapidly on the Hard Rock Casino near Rampart and Canal. An industrial accident caused the partial collapse, unfortunately dooming the workers caught in the rubble. Three men have yet to be recovered.
The Cemeteries Cable Car provides a view of the rubble, which hasn’t been imploded. A planned implosion in November was halted by the developers. Maybe the developers had hoped to remove the collapsed floors and build upon the solid floors. A second demolition has been planned for March. The massive wreck dominates the northwestern corner of the French Quarter and will attract the eyes of visitors during Mardi Gras.
Three men, known by name, have yet to be removed because no one can safely work near the rubble. A man on the cable car narrated the unfortunate event, a story of low bids, shoddy planning and a crane operator who had too much to drink the night before work. At least, that’s what I heard from his narrative. The lawyers have begun to go over the details, contract by contract, with painless skill. Investigative reporters have opened files and begun interviewing whomever will talk. The lawsuits have begun and will progress endlessly for years to come.
I have a friend who makes her living as an investigative reporter. While I was in Washington, I kept mentioning the people I met because she knew many of them, especially the reporters.
She has two techniques that have worked for her when cracking the nut on a story. She asks questions to open up a conversation. And then she follows up with the same question, “Great information. Yes, and how do you know that information”? It always works, a shovel for digging into the mess of opinion and fact.
Second, she always reaches out to everyone involved, making sure each person inside the story knows how to reach her. As the pressure increases, the pressure to talk increases too. Usually, the first person to talk can use their information to become a protected class, either as a whistleblower or a witness with immunity. The person who talks earlier has more power than the person who talks later. Sometimes, my reporter friend is needed to leak information that turns the tables in the game. She must do this game well because she has worked at the New York Times and Newsday for years and broken many stories.
She knows that what she does attracts angry energy, often expressed as lawsuits. She routinely clears out her email log, so very little of what we've corresponded exists on her end.
I feel sorry for the families of the people caught in the wreck and for the honest workmen who lost their lives. The wreck will be on the main street of New Orleans for the entire celebration of Mardi Gras.
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