April 27th

On Thursday night, Gibson Guitars and Music Rising presented new instruments to the Preservation Jazz Band and helped to officially re-open Preservation Hall in the French Quarter. One day before the official kick off of the miraculous Jazz Fest, this was symbolic of the work that we had all been doing to preserve the musical heritage of the Gulf Coast region by replacing lost instruments and gear for 1,400 professional musicians since we launched the initiative on Thanksgiving weekend, 2005. A number of the folks who were there for the party came up to Edge, Henry and me and thanked us for providing them with the tools they needed to be themselves once more. Henry presented a new Music Rising guitar to the band and talked about our efforts. Then the band invited Edge up and proceeded to do a Second Line version of “Vertigo” that had the crowd laughing and shouting with appreciation. It was great – funky, slinky and swingin’! Edge loved it. After a brief set, the band picked up their instruments and headed for the streets, parading through the Quarter with the crowd in tow behind them, dancing and singing and radiating the joy of rebirth.

Henry treated us all to dinner and regaled us with amazing stories about his formative years, his start in business and the early days of Gibson. He is a unique character – one of the smartest people I’ve ever met with a very special view of the world that was forged in the fires of a rare and fantastic childhood. It’s his story to tell so I won’t get into it here except to say that he was born in South America, came to the US and became a musician, a B School geek, a successful entreprenuer, and then a visionary who is now the CEO of one of the best run and most principled companies in the world. It’s an enormous honor to work with a man of his caliber.

Henry had a 6 am flight to catch so he returned to the hotel and some of us went on to Tipitina’s to see the phenomenal Trombone Shorty and his incredibly talented cousin, Glen Andrews, sit in with the fusion/funk band, Gallactic. They brought special electricity to the stage and had everyone in the club literally jumping up and down to the music. New Orleans crowds don’t just listen to music, they participate in it physically. Everyone in the joint was dancing. We stayed until 3 and then headed back to our hotel. Everyone in the party was on a real emotional high.

April 28th

Edge, Lori, Caroline, Andy, Dallas, John, Ed and I drove down to the Lower 9th along with the Frantic Films crew to meet with Reverend Leonard Lucas at Light City. I really wanted Edge and Caroline both to meet him and to see the neighborhood surrounding the church and community center. Light City was more than a church. It was a whole city block of hope and education, ministry and love. But since the flooding, it had become a shell that needed to be rebuilt.

Reverend Lucas still had the same small marquee in the parking lot that he had when Lynne, Don, Reid and I met him for the first time back in December when we were astounded at the breadth and depth of the destruction and the wasteland that stretched for miles in all directions, and we saw a sad irony in the Light City sign that marked this place of darkness and what we thought was despair. But then we went into the parking lot where Reverend Lucas and the remnants of his once mighty congregation were conducting their Sunday service under the little white canopy and we found a man of God filled with a sense of purpose and the determination to rebuild both his center and the community that surrounds it.

Back then, the streets all around him were deserted and there was no traffic in any direction. The ladies of the church, dressed in their Sunday finery, stood in dramatic contrast to the grayness all around them. We were very moved by this encounter and we determined to keep in touch with him and to be there to provide the instruments he would need when he was ready to bring his choir and band back into the sanctuary. Don even stayed on in December and spent part of Christmas with the Reverend’s family and part of it shooting some of the more affluent areas of the city as they observed the first Christian holy day since the floods.

Now here we were 4 months later coming to meet Pastor Lucas again and to hook up with some folks that had begun to rebuild their homes – even without official sanction or support.

On the drive to the church, I was amazed that virtually nothing had changed in that time except that the roadways were cleared of debris, one or two shops were open and there seemed to be more, though still light, traffic. The homes on either side of the roadway were still destroyed and derelict and still bore the markings left by rescue teams in September signifying that they had been searched. Some bore legends like “two dogs and cat”. Thankfully none that we saw had numbers in the lower quadrant of the circled X. Those signified the number of bodies found inside. We had only seen a very few of those on earlier trips and that had been more than enough to make it tough to sleep. Still there were flattened buildings, collapsing houses, homes moved off their foundations and down the street, lots filled with nothing but mounds of debris that had once been a shop or someone’s home. Block after block of total decay (see photo above). Caroline, Lori, Dallas, John and Andy were speechless as we drove through this wasteland. They were experiencing the same shock and horror that we did the first times we came down in the fall and winter of last year. To the first-timers, it was horrifying. To Edge, the film crew and me it was maddening because virtually nothing had changed in all that time.

But here around Light City there were a few folks working, digging and clearing out, removing debris and beginning to rebuild. In the parking lot, we met a crew of young roofers who were also part of a rap posse. C-Styles stood bravely in front of us and the camera and delivered a passionate and moving flow about the realities of life in the 9th and, though written months before, prophetically speaking about the sense of abandonment and being left behind. We made sure we got a clean recording of it and are going to try to use it in the documentary.

The building had been swept out, stripped to its skeleton and the mold that had blackened even the outer walls was gone. There was electricity and running water, though Reverend Lucas said that no one was drinking it yet since it had not yet been tested. There was space for volunteers to come and stay as they participated in the rebuilding effort. Reverend Lucas said that thousands of university students had come from all over the country during spring break to help in the clean up. They had done an amazing job though there were still parts of the vast complex that had pooling water and were open to the elements. Pigeons had roosted in some of the rafters and there was bird excrement on the concrete floor. I wondered about health issues.

But basically, the place was ready to receive new materials and furnishings and to become a vital center once again. There was traffic and even a passing taxi cab – signs of life. Folks had come down to meet us and to show us that they were committed to working on rehabilitating the neighborhood, a concept bordering on grandiosity or even madness in the face of the enormity of the task. There were no signs whatsoever of a government presence or of any systematic work begin done either to clean up or rebuild anything. There were no trailers that we could see though we heard that some had been delivered but remained locked until they were approved. We were told that FEMA would not send trailers to the area or approve the ones already there because there was no potable water. The residents said they didn’t want to drink the stuff anyway and were using bottled water. They didn’t care about water conditions, they needed somewhere to live while they dug out their homes and attempted to restore or replace them.

Everything was mired in profound absurdity and paradox. As an example, nothing could be done to rebuild without tearing down most if not all of the existing structures. The structures could not be bulldozed without giving the owners 30 days notice in writing. Writing could not be given to the owners because no one knew where most of them were. So, the decision was made to post notices to homeowners of the fate of their properties on the internet. On the internet! These people were either living hand to mouth, couch surfing or living in borrowed quarters somewhere far from home without any of their possessions. How the hell were they expected to have internet access? What genius made that decision? Or was it, as the residents believed, something more sinister than that? Was this part of a veiled plan to appropriate their homes and land from them and put it into the hands of the city to do with as it pleases? And the notices on the internet could appear at any time. So, if someone looked today and did not see their house, it did not mean that they wouldn’t find it tomorrow or even 15 minutes later. This is not commonly known – even to the owners themselves.

There weren’t even piles of building materials that could be used by the residents if they had wished to try to rebuild on their own. Pastor Lucas told us that sheet rock was now going for $17 a sheet, versus $2.50 prior to the hurricanes. He said there was price gouging everywhere. And they had no budget for rebuilding. They simply looked to God to provide.

Pastor took us to see another church down the street. It had suffered the same level of water damage and needed to replace everything but the building itself which, because it was made of brick, withstood the rushing water very well. We could see how important the churches are to the communities surrounding them. In this part of the world, they are the hub of community activity and they provide many essential services in place of the government. It is clear to us that they are the key to the rebirth of this area – if that will ultimately be allowed.

We moved on to visit with some folks in the neighborhood who had begun to rebuild their homes on their own. We met an 83 year old man who was rebuilding his house while living in it by himself – without electricity, water or gas. He had been sleeping on an army cot and using a Coleman camping stove with a single burner to heat his meals. He drank bottled water. He said that, for his meals, he would drive his truck down to the one restaurant that had re-opened in the area. He told us that he had built this house himself 50 years ago and that he had raised 9 children and many grandchildren in it and that no one was going to tell him what he could or could not do with it. He had stripped all the walls and ceilings bare, exposing the studs and beams. He showed us where the water line had reached 3 feet into the attic. He had to evacuate through a back window before the water choked off his exit and was plucked from his roof by rescuers. He returned to the house as soon as the waters had receded enough for him to drive his truck back there. He had been rebuilding ever since. It seemed to us that this sinewy, small old man might die before ever completing the daunting task of reconstructing his home. And as we contemplated that, our eyes filling with tears, two vehicles drove up outside and out poured two volunteer building teams of about 6 people each, one from Missouri and one from Texas, and they marched up to the front door and into the house with an air of confidence, determination and even something that felt like joy as they basically took over and told the old man that they would “take care of it”. He was disoriented at first, almost a bit shell-shocked. “How I’m gonna organize all y’all”, he said into the air. But they said they’d work it out and that he should not worry anymore. Amazingly, we got all of this on camera for the documentary. We could not believe the turn of events and our tears were replaced with laughs and warm smiles. It was truly a miracle.

But outside, everywhere around him, was that same profound and broad destruction that characterized the whole coast. Houses were flattened. Vehicles of all kinds lay on their backs and sides. Everything was ruin and rubble.

There were two happier stories as well. We met another Pastor and his wife who had almost completely restored their home themselves. He had stripped the house bare and brought it back to livable conditions, even improving on some things like the old flooring, and prayed to God to provide the necessities. God did better than that and the Pastor and his wife had a lovely, comfortable living room with TV and a music system, a couch and chairs, tables and lamps etc. - everything that was needed.

Another family, ironically named the Crafts, was renovating a once-derelict 10,000 sq foot building in the middle of what must once have been a grand neighborhood – before the blight of poverty deflowered it many generations ago. Rodney Crafts had been lovingly restoring it before the storms and now found himself redoing work that had taken him years to do. Fortunately, he is a contractor and builder by trade and has the skills necessary to do the job correctly. We were amazed at the size and layout of the place. It would provide housing for his entire extended family including parents, siblings, children and future grandchildren. He was a very determined, capable guy and we were impressed by his resourcefulness and ingenuity. He had both water and power, though the water was still not potable. Most of the interior of the house was still a disaster but he was painstakingly and unflaggingly working his way from the front to the back, restoring it room by room. He took us out on the huge rooftop where he had painted messages in enormous letters that could be read from the helicopters. WE LOVE YOU JESUS. THE CRAFTS FAMILY NEED GAS. WATER. ICE.

Everywhere we found people whose faith had been tested and remained stronger than ever. They were all Jobs in their way, having suffered deeply through the entire ordeal and still suffering for a lack of support and proper leadership, but still and always believing in God and that he would provide for them.

It was now past the time when we were supposed to be back at the Jazz Fest for the Bob Dylan show. Edge had even been thinking about getting up onstage with Bob. But we all decided that this tour was far more important for us all and that we should call ahead and let them know we weren’t going to be able to make it. We carried on.

On driving deeper into the area, we came upon the field headquarters for Common Ground, a volunteer organization from San Francisco made up mostly of young adults and dedicated to helping willing residents to clear and rebuild their homes. We interviewed Michelle Shin, a tiny young and blonde firebrand who came from providing legal services to the homeless in the Bay Area to southern Louisiana to brave personal danger, arrest, disease, injury and abuse while acting as an advocate for the poor folks of the Lower 9^th. She reminded me very much of the Freedom Riders of the 60’s civil rights movement. In fact, the situation reminded me of some of the inequities of that time: in the mayoral election – crucial to determining the fate of these neighborhoods – the displaced folks who wished to cast absentee ballots were only allowed to do so if the ballots were notarized. Now, it is understandable that, with all the displacement of people and essential documents as well, caution and validation are important in the electoral process and in the dispensing of aid. No one wants to see impostors walking away with relief money that should go to people with a legitimate need. And no one wants to see bad votes cast. On the other hand, if necessary, it is acceptable to make a few such errors in order to serve the larger group and ensure that the vast majority who are legitimate receive the proper support and are enfranchised. So, the imposition of this requirement which not only demands that the voter find a notary, but also that they have the $20 necessary to pay them becomes a de facto Poll Tax – something that people sacrificed and died to rid the South of over 40 years ago. It is unconscionable.

Another major problem is one of official categorization of the land and the houses on it. Before Katrina, this area was not considered a flood plain and no flood insurance was required of homeowners. Of course that absence of insurance has cost many of them what little hope they had to return to and rebuild their homes. But now, the area is considered flood lands which will require insurance, and also a new building requirement may be imposed demanding that all houses in the area be raised an additional 5 feet from the ground. And still, no one has determined exactly which houses can be rebuilt and which are marked for demolition. She talks about the internet postings with deep suspicion. Again, no one wants anyone to slip through the cracks so public posting is really the only solution to getting this vital information out. She points out that to be equitable (and humane) it is essential to ensure that all the evacuees are aware of the posting, have the means or access to the means to view them, and know exactly what rights they have and how to exercise them. None of that has happened. Michelle Shin’s fine complexion turns scarlet as she spits out these facts. And, at that very moment, a group from the State of Louisiana legislature including the state senator for the 9^th Ward walks right up to us and we are able to grill the senator on these and other questions. He is clearly uncomfortable but also very willing to stand and attempt to account for his part in the unfolding drama. The legislators are stymied, he says, by layers of bureaucracy at the federal, state and local levels and by conflicting regulations and rights that have created a form of gridlock. All levels of government and social services are feverishly hanging on to control over their small patch of the governmental process. What is clear once more is that there is no coherent and empowered leadership that is capable of coordinating all of these agencies and special interest groups in a concerted effort to provide some measure of relief and to bring home as much of the displaced population as possible before it is too late. We keep muttering the name, Colin Powell.

We end our afternoon in the 9^th Ward and head to St. Bernard’s Parish – the white, blue-collar neighborhood that adjoins it. Here there are definite signs of clean up and some small amount of rebuilding. There is a FEMA office and one can see trailers, though only a few. There are big box stores all along the main road here and, though none have reopened, the parking lots of these have been cleared and often house relief stations, tents or trailers. We are brought to meet Pastor Randy Millet of the Adullam Church in Christ, a fundamentalist church that was once the home of Jimmy Swaggart. We assume that there is no connection between the two ministries beyond location. Pastor Randy’s church has suffered as well. He is rebuilding the sanctuary and is adding quarters for relief workers and groups as well as classrooms and meeting rooms. His church is the center for rebuilding this neighborhood. In contrast to Pastor Lucas empty parking lot, this one sports a mobile dental clinic, a semi-tractor trailer full of food, some heavy equipment and a large tent with feeding stations for the people of the community – actually anyone is welcome as he is quick to point out. In the back of the church is a warehouse full of building materials neatly stacked and sorted – like the inside of a Home Depot store – which he says are available to his community.

In contrast to Light City, this church complex is completely covered and clean. Though Pastor Randy is the only one here, it has the feeling of a well-organized construction site and the appearance of having been worked on by the hands of many skilled craftspeople. We ask him point blank why there are so many resources in and around his church and so few just a half mile away at Light City. He tells us that it was only a matter of reaching out and organizing. He intimates, but in the most loving and concerned way, that he may just be better at pulling things together than his brothers from the 9^th Ward. He says that he had sent them whatever they needed whenever they asked and that he had pointed many of them in the direction of aid and resources. He says that they are welcome to anything that he has now. He and Reverend Lucas are on a first name basis. It is clear that they have worked together in the past.

He also tells us that this great devastation is the work of the Lord and a way to beat back The Enemy – his words for Satan. He says that The Enemy had taken hold of his beautiful city and made it unclean and a breeding ground for evil. In fact, just a few days after Katrina would have been a march of church folk from 85 different congregations in the area to protest the modern day orgy and celebration of the Golden Calf (my words, not his) and to bring God back to this dark place. In his view, God had provided an opportunity to rebuild now in His name and the expunge The Enemy and replace him with faith, hope and charity. He is a very compelling speaker and a man of obvious passion and conviction. We can see how he has grown this church and made it the social hub that it is.

We offer to help in whatever way we can and, when he finds out that we’re in the music business, he asks us if we could help him to hook up his brand new PA system. He takes us out to another trailer truck and shows us a beautiful new, multi-component system that has been donated by some company in California. The only problem is that he had to dismantle it every Sunday after service and lock it back up in the truck for security reasons and, once he had done that, he was unable to get it working again. We agree to be at his church at 8 a.m. on Sunday morning to get it set up for him in time for his 10:30 services.

It is now 5 p.m. and Reverend Lucas accompanies us back into town for a very late lunch. In this upscale eatery in the Quarter, he is greeted by everyone from the busboys to the owners of the restaurant. Clearly, Leonard Lucas is a well known personality in New Orleans. The word travels quickly that the Edge is in the house but even so, people are polite and respectful and mostly leave him alone. A large table is arranged for us in the main dining room and we sit down to a huge communal meal with everyone from our crew, Leonard and some of his family and church members.

Before we break bread, Pastor Lucas has us all join hands and gives a prayer of thanks to God for the bounties that we has bestowed on us, and he asks God to bless this group of people who are here to help. The irony in all of this is almost overwhelming and it is a scene that I will remember forever.

We say good-bye to Reverend Lucas and his crew, drop off a few of us and Edge, Lori, Andy, John, Dallas and I go directly back to Tipitina’s where Walter “Wolfman” Washington – one of our Music Rising recipients - is opening for Dr. John. Tips is fairy quiet at the start of the show which is at a very early 8 p.m. We go directly up to the balcony to watch from above the stage. Walter hits the stage looking positively resplendent and pimped out in a beautiful new pin-stripe suit with mauve shirt and a shiny new Gibson guitar. His demeanor has changed completely from the last time I saw him back in December. He is really playing now – with a full band, on a real stage, making real money and playing his new axe. What more can a guitar player ask for?

Near the end of Walter’s set, Adam Shipley from the club fetches me to come out to the bus and see Dr. John. My friend Mac Rebbenac a.k.a. Dr. John The Night Tripper, is a true New Orleans icon. He is very much responsible for the modern love affair that I have had with this city. When I worked with him over 30 years ago, he brought New Orleans and his own personal voodoo to the living room of my little house in downtown Toronto. He was – and probably still is – a Grand Houngain of the Voodoo Church; a true practitioner of the magic and mystery. When he came to my house, a black cat perched on the windowsill outside the living room and remained there the entire time that he was inside. When he left, it left. The next day when he returned, it returned as well and stayed there, watching him, the whole time he was inside. This went on for 4 days. After he went back home, the cat never reappeared.

New Orleans was in his drawl, his fingers, his dress, his beliefs and his music. In the few months it took us to do his album, I became infused with it without ever having actually seen it. And now here we are so many years later, on a tour bus outside of Tipitina’s in the husk of the city he had taught me to love. We pick it up as though no time has passed. Except it has and many of the players with whom we had worked are now gone. Mac tells me all the stories and he revisits his youthful experiences with some of them. We talked about that magical night in 1974 when we turned Cherokee Studios in Los Angeles into Willie Purple’s - a club in Lafayette Louisiana - and put on a live show, which of course we recorded, for the musical elite all of whom were in town for the first American Music Awards. It was a musicians-only affair co-hosted by us and Ringo Starr and featuring a big band with 2 drummers, percussion, guitars, bass, full horn section under the guidance of the amazing Fred Wesley, three backing singers and two keyboards. We put a stage up in the studio with lights and p.a. and put tables and chairs around it. We had checkered table cloths and Creole cooking, tuxedoed wait staff and a sound crew all in costume. The control room glass was covered with a two way mirror so that we could look out but no one could see in and which completed the illusion of being in a real Louisiana club watching the Dr. John Rock’n’Rizzum Review. It was an amazing night and a whole other story.

Mac gets called to the stage and I return to join Edge and crew upstairs to watch the show. Mac hobbles out to the stage on his famous cane, sits down at the keyboards and proceeds to take us all to school. His band rocks and he rolls and the music is purely New Orleans. During the encore, Shorty gets up onstage and joins the horn section, picking up the energy again – as we see him do every time and everywhere he sits in. The old New Orleans meets the New New Orleans. White meets black. There is joy, brotherhood, respect, optimism and all the while the Music is Rising.

******************* Bob Ezrin