NOLA Gras 2009

This past February, a group of 20 or so lawyers, law clerks, and office drones flew out to Louisiana to help out with the reconstruction of the Lower Ninth Ward for a few days. Not that I believe it for a second, but apparently, the planners of this excursion swear they had no idea we'd be there during Mardi Gras. Our hotel was on Bourbon Street. So, awesome.

The bus trip to the hotel was worrying. As denizens of Hell A, we'd seen our fair share of debauchery, but this was lush, gorgeous Gomorrah the likes of which I hadn't imagined. Pictures of New Orleans in full party mode always show crowds of people obscuring the bottom of the image, with bead-flinging revellers on balconies above, so the occupants of the bottom floor businesses were a shock. Sex shows, strip bars, billions of drinkeries and dance clubs packed together like sardines, tourist shops outfitted like voodoo supply stores. It was jarring to see in the daylight of the early evening.

MARDI GRAS MYTH #1- Mardi gras is a Tuesday.

It's not. It's a month. We were there a week ahead of the actual day, and it was insane. But the timing couldn't be better, because

MARDI GRAS MYTH #2- Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street is overcrowded, dangerous, and gross.

Not if you go the week before. After we had checked into our hotel, freshened up and attended a manditory cocktail mixer with some of our on-location co-workers, we decided to hit the streets. They weren't so difficult to hit. While several of the more popular bars got a bit crowded, it was no more than any other club I've been through, and the crowds wandering beneath the bead-showers were completely manegeable. It was too easy to get out and catch your breath.

The first club my friends and I hit served me a redbull-and-vodka (my first ever) in what was basically a Big-Gulp cup. It cost next to nothing, and since they served it in plastic, I was free to roam anywhere I wanted for the rest of the night with it as my constant companion. Considering that the following morning was to be my first foray into power-tool usage, this was unwise. I managed, and then got ever unwiser.

After three hours of sleep, I dragged my sloshy self out of bed and made it to the lobby in time to catch our bus to the jobsite. Lowernine.org was to assemble us, break us into groups, and send us to different locations to work. I'm not sure what they expected when they saw an assortment of Los Angelinos that were mostly young hungover women with good manicures and tight jeans, (gentlemen were present, as well, but our firm looks like the first season of Boston Legal) but we were proud to prove them wrong. My group got our two-day assignment knocked out in three hours, and moved on to help a neighboring group.

The Lower Ninth Ward got mostly washed away in a flood during the Katrina hurricane, and years later, it's one of the saddest places I've ever seen. There are neighborhood blocks that hold nothing but concrete porch steps, ornate old cast-iron gates, and grass. Spray painted markers tell how many bodies had been found in the houses still blearily standing. It was a sobering sight, which was helpful, as we all needed a little sobering.

So, we got to work.

The first job was to pull leftover belongings out of a house that was nearly rebuilt, and pile them in a yard, which was once another house. It was done quickly, and then we were off to the next house. It seems that the second house's prior residents had tried rebuilding themselves, but hadn't done it correctly, so Lowernine.org stepped in to pull apart and reuse the building materials, while rebuilding it up to code. The work force was three veterans and ten newbies who'd never held a nail-gun before.

We were not coddled. For five hours I was charged with pulling reusable nails out of reusable lumber, using a claw hammer. The dust and mildew were unpleasant, but nowhere as unpleasant as the facemasks on a wet, drizzly, humid day of exertion. My back hurt, my head hurt, my feet hurt, and I was dehydrated, but there was never much time to internally complain. There was so much to do.

We were just exhausted, filthy, and crabby by the end of the day, so when we got back to the hotel, we did what any responsible adult would- we got dressed up and went out to get even drunker than the night before. This is not my usual style, and I knew I was going to regret it in the morning, but I was not interested in missing a moment of that trip. We ventured off of Bourbon street to a reggae bar, and then further out to a club where a band I'd never heard, Rotary Downs, was performing. I bought the CD and brought it home- turns out, they sound just as good when you're sober as when you're drunk. That's a good sign. I don't remember the last three drinks, or any of the faces to go with the names in my cell phone. I don't remember how I got that formidable stack of bright color beads. What I do remember is waking up feeling like deep-fried death 45 minutes after I allegedly passed out, and getting ready for work again.

The Lowernine clan does not send it's volunteers to plant flowers, pick up nails, or lick postage stamps. When I came to on my feet, I found myself and another lawyer being put in charge of reconstructing and framing a window in a house that had it's fixtures protected because of some kind of historical relevance. Framing windows is not intuitive in the slightest. I had to measure, mark, and cut wood with a circular saw. A misstep up on a ladder with a nail gun made up my mind not to be on ladders with nailguns anymore. (They all healed up just fine. Don't look at me that way.) When the window was framed, I was sent off to help erect walls. Heavy, exacting, ridiculously satisfying work. I don't remember ever feeling so worn out as the last hour of the day dragged by. But we'd basically demolished and rebuilt the interior of a home, in the middle of what was once a vibrant community and is now a house graveyard.

So we all went out to drink to celebrate.

Check out Lowernine.org. It's a group of people who relocate to their barracks to spend their days undoing the disaster, and they are so inspiring to be around. But they need help, and in return, they can give you an unforgettable experience and a really intriguing lesson in construction.

And to all you people who want to try New Orleans Mardi Gras- go the week before. It's a bit drizzly, but it's perfect.