This we have learned: Extraordinary tragedy begets extraordinary generosity. Listen to the story of one couple's dream, wiped out by The Flood, then resurrected with a random act of kindness.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Chris Rose
Luis Bernhard and Sandra Bahhur, husband and wife, were chasing a dream. He is a retinal angiographer in the ophthalmology department of the Veterans Affairs Medical Center, which, translated into English, means he's a highly specialized photographer of the eyes. She is an operating room nurse at Tulane Medical Center.
That's what they do for a living, and a good living it is. But it's not their dream or their passion, really. What they really wanted out of life was to be New Orleans restaurateurs.
They're foodies, Luis and Sandra. They eat out a lot and they talk about what's good and what's bad and what they would do if they could have a real New Orleans restaurant of their own.
“Any time we go out to dinner, we critique everything," Sandra says. "We talk about things we could do better. It's been a dream of ours for 15 years. It was something I really wanted to try before I turned 40."
They took small steps toward their dream many years ago, when they opened a lunch and breakfast joint called Arabesque in the medical district of downtown New Orleans, next door to their day jobs.
But that was just eggs, sandwiches and Middle Eastern appetizers. It wasn't the dream -- a bustling, eclectic destination bistro with daily specials and cool furniture, fancy lighting, art on the walls and all that intangible stuff that makes a restaurant great, gives it that magic, sensual allure of the fine dining world.
They got real close to the dream in the fall of 2005. A year and a half earlier, they had bought a funky, dilapidated shotgun house on Carrollton, right by Canal, the site of a former sign shop.
"Truth is, it was ugly," Sandra said. "It didn't say 'restaurant' at all." Nevertheless, they bought the place and poured all their sweat, energy and savings -- and loans -- into it. Luis, a very capable carpenter and artist, did all the physical renovation himself.
They were set to open in November of that year. But then.
But then, in one afternoon, the new restaurant, the old restaurant, their home in Lakeview and their jobs were wiped out. You know the deal. "It's the same miserable story everyone else has around here," Sandra says.
Luis was transferred to the VA in Miami. The dream -- just one of a million dreams around here, really -- was over. They bought a place in Miami. Started over. Moved on. But then.
But then that uncanny and imperceptible New Orleans virus bloomed in their blood, their brains, their souls.
"How do we leave?" Sandra asks. "We had unfinished business here. I mean, Miami is gorgeous; really gorgeous. But when we'd go out to dinner, we'd realize how much we missed New Orleans, how much we missed the friendly environment of the city's restaurants, and the variety of life here. In Miami, every restaurant is high-end Italian. And, truthfully, Miami is pretty high strung."
So they came back. They got their old jobs back. Took out more loans. Gutted the house and the new restaurant; lost the lease on the old one. Started over, moved on -- sure. But started over and moved on here.
"We wanted to be part of the rebuilding," Sandra says. "We wanted to be pioneers."
Luis rolled up his sleeves and renovated the building at 127 N. Carrollton Ave. for the second time in two years. They developed an eclectic menu that merges Middle Eastern, Cuban and Louisiana cuisine. They got cool furniture and fancy lighting and nice art on the walls. They poured what was left of their physical and emotional selves into the dream, a one-of-a-kind bistro called, again, Arabesque.
But then.
But then they ran out of money. And this time for good. They had maxed out their loans and tapped their in-laws for everything. This fall, just weeks from opening their restaurant, still refurbishing their Lakeview home and still sitting on a fat bank note in Miami, they hit bottom. Flat broke and busted.
They were desperate. "We got laughed out of four banks," Sandra says. "We began to feel pretty stupid for thinking we could do this."
But then. A quick back story:
In September 2005, Dr. Toney Russell and his wife Gina, residents of Houston, had heard about everyone in trouble over here in New Orleans and decided to do what they could to help. Toney tracked down Dr. Kyle Dickson of New Orleans, a colleague in arms, who along with his wife Susan had been wiped out by the storm. The Russells wrote a check to the Dicksons for $10,000. No strings attached. Rise up and fix yourself, with a little help from a stranger.
About six weeks ago, just when Sandra and Luis had reached the end of their road, the Dicksons tried to repay the Russells. But Tony explained that it wasn't a loan, it was a gift. He advised the Dicksons, now back on their feet, to pass it along to the next guy who might need it.
Kyle and Susan had once lived next door to Luis and Sandra. And I think you know what happens next.
At the very moment Sandra and Luis pondered closing down the whole New Orleans operation and going back to Miami with their tails between their legs -- what were they thinking when they tried this, really? -- Sandra showed up with a check. For $10,000. No strings attached. Rise up and fix yourself.
In truth, $10,000 doesn't get you far in the restaurant business. But it bought Sandra and Luis a month and that's all they needed. With the help of a local printer who refused to take their money, they ran off their menus and dusted off the tabletops with enough capital to open 10 days ago, enough capital to get butts in the seats and start serving meals, start being real New Orleans restaurateurs.
"He decided to give it to us because he heard that we were helping rebuild the city," Luis says. "And it came at such a desperate time. We didn't know how -- or if -- we were ever going to open our doors. We were despondent."
And folks have been pouring in the door ever since, and with the cash register ringing and capital coming in, they have survived, so far, thanks to the kindness of strangers, a strange pipeline begun by a man in Houston who simply gave a damn and then a couple in New Orleans who clearly understand the concept of karma.
And the story doesn't end there. Or, at least, hopefully not. You don't break a chain like this.
Sitting in his hip new bistro a week ago, Luis acknowledged that, ultimately, the survival of his restaurant is up to market forces -- and whether the food is actually any good. But he smiled and said: "We're going to make this happen. And we realize what a helping hand we had. And when we get an extra $10,000 -- whenever that may be -- we're going to pass it along. We're going to pay it forward to the next person who might need it."
And somewhere down the road, a dream awaits salvation, Katrina-style.
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309, or (504) 352-2535.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
New Orleans Flood Control System NOT as Advertised or Can We PLEASE Get This Right?
NEW ORLEANS FLOOD CONTROL SYSTEM NOT AS ADVERTISED
Floodgates, pumps provide less protection than predicted
Flooding reduction of 5.5 feet actually just 6 inches, maps show
Engineer calls it "correction"; professor calls it sloppiness
Homeowners worry change could affect building permits, insurance
NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (AP) -- A system of floodgates and pumps built since Hurricane Katrina to help alleviate flooding in several New Orleans neighborhoods may not be as much help as authorities first said.
The Army Corps of Engineers released flood risk maps on a block-by-block basis on June 20, but didn't include some technical data, preventing independent assessments of the accuracy of the maps.
The maps showed that the improvements made to the city canals' drainage systems would reduce flooding during a major storm by about 5.5 feet in Lakeview and nearby neighborhoods. The maps were based on a storm that has the likelihood of occurring at least once in 100 years.
But in a report released November 7, Corps scientists estimated that the actual benefit the system would provide would be just 6 inches.
The discrepancy was tucked into the voluminous report's appendices, and neither the Corps nor the scientists hired to conduct the study brought the changes to the public's attention when the report was released. It wasn't until New Orleans television station WWL-TV asked an engineer involved in the assessment about the discrepancy that it became known.
"We've made some corrections," the engineer, Ed Link, told The Associated Press on Friday night.
Link said the mistakes were apparently made in the calculations for two sub-basins that include Lakeview and nearby neighborhoods. In one, a minus sign was used instead of a plus sign.
Ivor van Heerden, a hurricane and levee expert with Louisiana State University, said the mistakes are the latest example of sloppiness and a lack of scientific peer review in Corps work.
"It's people's lives we're playing with and all we're getting is fuzzy science," van Heerden said.
Walter Baumy, a chief Corps engineer in New Orleans, said he was unfamiliar with the mistakes, but said, "I wouldn't contest what Dr. Link says."
But he added that the floodgates installed on the canals have given New Orleans "far superior" protection.
Donald Powell, federal coordinator for Gulf Coast rebuilding, said in a statement he was only informed of the errors in the maps on Friday night.
"Our team immediately contacted Dr. Link to express my strong concerns and my expectations on how the public will be better informed in the future. While the news is disappointing, it is an indication that the ongoing review process of the draft materials is working as intended."
Other Corps officials would not comment on the mistakes or did not return telephone calls.
Tami Do, 46, said she and her family rebuilt in Lakeview because they felt the Corps was doing a good job. Now, she said, her faith is shaken.
"I have confidence in what they're doing all along the levee, with the pumps. That's one of the reasons we're back here," she said. "But these kinds of things put doubt back in your mind. If they got this wrong, what else have they gotten wrong?"
Her husband, Tommy Do, wondered if the mistake would mean an increase in insurance rates, or perhaps a change in building requirements.
"Now all these people who have built these $300,000, $400,000 homes should be higher?" Tommy Do said. "That's not good. We're going to have to sue the Corps again!" E-mail to a friend
Floodgates, pumps provide less protection than predicted
Flooding reduction of 5.5 feet actually just 6 inches, maps show
Engineer calls it "correction"; professor calls it sloppiness
Homeowners worry change could affect building permits, insurance
NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (AP) -- A system of floodgates and pumps built since Hurricane Katrina to help alleviate flooding in several New Orleans neighborhoods may not be as much help as authorities first said.
The Army Corps of Engineers released flood risk maps on a block-by-block basis on June 20, but didn't include some technical data, preventing independent assessments of the accuracy of the maps.
The maps showed that the improvements made to the city canals' drainage systems would reduce flooding during a major storm by about 5.5 feet in Lakeview and nearby neighborhoods. The maps were based on a storm that has the likelihood of occurring at least once in 100 years.
But in a report released November 7, Corps scientists estimated that the actual benefit the system would provide would be just 6 inches.
The discrepancy was tucked into the voluminous report's appendices, and neither the Corps nor the scientists hired to conduct the study brought the changes to the public's attention when the report was released. It wasn't until New Orleans television station WWL-TV asked an engineer involved in the assessment about the discrepancy that it became known.
"We've made some corrections," the engineer, Ed Link, told The Associated Press on Friday night.
Link said the mistakes were apparently made in the calculations for two sub-basins that include Lakeview and nearby neighborhoods. In one, a minus sign was used instead of a plus sign.
Ivor van Heerden, a hurricane and levee expert with Louisiana State University, said the mistakes are the latest example of sloppiness and a lack of scientific peer review in Corps work.
"It's people's lives we're playing with and all we're getting is fuzzy science," van Heerden said.
Walter Baumy, a chief Corps engineer in New Orleans, said he was unfamiliar with the mistakes, but said, "I wouldn't contest what Dr. Link says."
But he added that the floodgates installed on the canals have given New Orleans "far superior" protection.
Donald Powell, federal coordinator for Gulf Coast rebuilding, said in a statement he was only informed of the errors in the maps on Friday night.
"Our team immediately contacted Dr. Link to express my strong concerns and my expectations on how the public will be better informed in the future. While the news is disappointing, it is an indication that the ongoing review process of the draft materials is working as intended."
Other Corps officials would not comment on the mistakes or did not return telephone calls.
Tami Do, 46, said she and her family rebuilt in Lakeview because they felt the Corps was doing a good job. Now, she said, her faith is shaken.
"I have confidence in what they're doing all along the levee, with the pumps. That's one of the reasons we're back here," she said. "But these kinds of things put doubt back in your mind. If they got this wrong, what else have they gotten wrong?"
Her husband, Tommy Do, wondered if the mistake would mean an increase in insurance rates, or perhaps a change in building requirements.
"Now all these people who have built these $300,000, $400,000 homes should be higher?" Tommy Do said. "That's not good. We're going to have to sue the Corps again!" E-mail to a friend
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The Advocate: Why Harry Shearer Has Become a Tireless Spokesman for New Orleans
"The Advocate" by Chris Rose for the Times Picayune, Sunday, November 11, 2007
Harry Shearer is one of those multifaceted personalities whose career has always been characterized with lots of dashes and slashes; he is an actor/writer/comedian/political satirist/ broadcaster/commentator/blogger -- among other job titles.
Perhaps his greatest fame -- and best pay -- has come from his role as the animated voices of Mr. Burns and Ned Flanders on "The Simpsons." But for residents of his adopted home of New Orleans, his preeminent job for the past two years might best be described as: cheerleader/truth teller/banner waver.
Since the fall of 2005, perhaps no celebrity has matched Shearer's steady, visible and insistent support for and defense of the city. At risk of alienating fans who'd rather not think too hard or too much about it, Shearer continues to use all forms of media to challenge Americans to remain dialed in to the battered physical and emotional landscapes of the Gulf Coast.
How Shearer ended up as one of the city's chief spokesmen, sometimes assigned the exalted position of "The Voice of New Orleans," is as multifaceted as the man himself. One motivation, he admits, was guilt.
"I was off making a movie during the first two months of the disaster," he says. "I was suffering, but at long distance. And when I finally came back for the first time, in November, everyone was telling me how lucky I was to have missed the worst part; that I had gotten in after the smell had dissipated a little bit."
Shearer and his wife, chanteuse Judith Owen, have had a French Quarter condo for 12 years. It started as a vacation getaway but in recent years has served as their home for up to half the year. It was undamaged by Katrina.
"So, yes, I felt lucky," he says. "But yet, I still felt: When it was all so much worse, I was off making a movie. And I realized that I wasn't going to be spending my next six months or a year doing what everybody else was going to be doing -- plunging into their insurance companies and Road Home and all the rest -- so I figured that energy should be used for keeping -- no, getting -- the story of the city out and keeping it alive."
Another motivating factor, he says, was the abdication of support from other celebrities with New Orleans connections, folks who had the power and influence to get their voices heard and make things happen -- but who didn't.
"Seeing certain people of certain fame trash the city publicly just made me more determined to try and balance the scale in the other direction," he says. "I don't hold anything against anybody who got whacked and split, but people who had nothing bad happen to them and then just walked away saying 'screw you' ticked me off."
On this subject, Shearer doesn't call out any names in particular, save one -- that of another New Orleans celebrity transplant named Harry.
"I'm the un-Harry Anderson," Shearer says of the notoriously prickly TV star whose post-storm departure from New Orleans was accompanied by a slew of withering comments that did neither him nor the city any justice. "I'm trying to be the nice Harry," Shearer says. "I'm trying to rescue the name."
And so Shearer blogs incessantly on the popular Huffington Post Web site, spreading the straight dope on the city and referring readers to newspaper and magazine stories. He regularly invites New Orleans musicians, chefs and artists on his weekly syndicated radio show. He went on "Celebrity Jeopardy," representing -- and winning $50,000 for -- the Tipitina's Foundation.
He recently wrote a guest editorial for The San Francisco Chronicle, which heralded the city's spirit and can-do-ness.
"Despite it all, the city's joie de vivre, its celebration of the quotidian as well as the occasion, and its bawdy, take-no-prisoners sense of humor survive," he wrote. "(And) slowly, perhaps more slowly than they imagined, New Orleanians are sending a message that the rest of the nation seems to have difficulty receiving: Today, two years after their world got turned upside down, New Orleans is Bootstrap City."
Yeah, you right, Harry! And on and on he goes, on Bill Maher's HBO program, on National Public Radio, on every radio station in Scotland during a publicity blitz there -- anywhere and everywhere he can get people to listen. So, naturally, two years into this thing, some fans are telling him it's time to give it a rest.
"All the time," he confirms. "The same thing happens to Brian Williams (from the 'NBC Nightly News'). And my point with Brian, which I made to him personally, was maybe if he told people why they should care as opposed to just doing victim stories all the time, maybe they wouldn't be bitching so much."
Why people should care, he says, is simple, an argument well-worn in New Orleans: "People outside of here should care because their tax dollars paid to flood the city. Their tax dollars paid to do it wrong. That's a pretty big story, I think. And my prediction is that five years from now, somebody in Washington will win a Pulitzer Prize for finally discovering that."
Another reason for Katrina fatigue, he says, is racism. "It comes through every pore of what some people say. And for that, I have to blame the national media, which framed this very early on as a 'poor suffering black' story. They couldn't get their cameras out to St. Bernard Parish. They got them to the Convention Center and figured, well: That's all we need. And so, they misframed the story, and being New York liberals, it appealed to them that way anyway."
But despite -- or maybe because of -- a growing chorus of fans who think Shearer needs new subject matter, he keeps coming up with new ways to spread the gospel. His most recent offering is the lovingly crafted "Crescent City Stories," a sweet, poignant and melodic series of interviews and musical cameos currently airing on the new entertainment Web site www.MyDamnChannel.com.
"I was thinking: OK, what am I going to do next?" he says. "So much of what has come out of here in video documentation has been done by New Yorkers and I thought, as a quasi-local, it would be a good thing to let other locals give their view of things. And I thought -- again -- I could try to counteract the barrage of victim stories we get from the national media. The idea was to put some people I know for their loquacity and their cogency on the air, without an agenda, and just let them tell me something about their last two years."
"Crescent City Stories" debuted its first episode several weeks ago and Shearer has added a new one each week. In addition to his own commentary, he has profiled LSU hurricane specialist Ivor van Heerden, singer/composer Phillip Manuel and torch singer Leah Chase.
Ambiance for most of the episodes is set by local keyboard master David Torkanowsky, who is also profiled. An emotional apex of the series is certainly when Torkanowsky mournfully accompanies Chase as she sings: "Was this storm sent to make me realize what living is/It's the beauty of love/The joy of Life/Is this what 'rebirth' means?"
Printed words do not do the segment justice. Go see it for yourself. All the stories are archived on the site, along with a wealth of Shearer's more familiar brand of non-Katrina related political satire.
For a one-man phenomenon, Shearer smartly underplays his own role in "Crescent City Stories," simply serving as on-air interviewer and occasional narrator. It's great stuff, and uncharacteristically unfunny for Shearer.
"Most of the subjects were musicians, so there was a way to have music carry through it all," Shearer says. "But it was all mainly about counteracting that steady diet of 'poor pitiful me' that we get from the national media."
And they're great pieces to remind locals why we love it here, part of the continuing and sometimes arduous process of loving this place -- and a phenomenon Shearer recently experienced.
"I was just showing a friend of mine from Great Britain, a travel writer, around town," he says. "And, watching it all through her eyes enriched my appreciation of the city. What I saw in the people -- what came through -- was the ability, no matter how much angst you may be going through, to experience joy. And that's part of what makes this place different from, say, New York or L.A., where, no matter how much advantage you may have, you're always open to experiencing unhappiness; where, no matter how good things are, you find a reason to be unhappy."
All this cheerleading and boosterism is a far cry from the Harry Shearer who carved a career as a funnyman with no particular agenda. And he is well aware of that.
"When I was a kid, I was relentless about making fun of celebrities with causes. You know, pick a disease, any disease. So to change gears like that and suddenly have a cause and now be asked: 'You're the voice of a cartoon character; why should we believe what you have to say about this?' I guess you could say there's a credibility problem there.
"But this is not what I would choose to be doing -- if I had a choice," he says. "There's a part of me -- a part in all of us, I guess -- that would like to just go back to the way it all was before, just doing what I used to do.
"I wish circumstances were different. I wish there were more well-known people from here or living here who had reason to do this, but there aren't, so we all just play the cards we are dealt."
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309, or (504) 352-2535.
Harry Shearer is one of those multifaceted personalities whose career has always been characterized with lots of dashes and slashes; he is an actor/writer/comedian/political satirist/ broadcaster/commentator/blogger -- among other job titles.
Perhaps his greatest fame -- and best pay -- has come from his role as the animated voices of Mr. Burns and Ned Flanders on "The Simpsons." But for residents of his adopted home of New Orleans, his preeminent job for the past two years might best be described as: cheerleader/truth teller/banner waver.
Since the fall of 2005, perhaps no celebrity has matched Shearer's steady, visible and insistent support for and defense of the city. At risk of alienating fans who'd rather not think too hard or too much about it, Shearer continues to use all forms of media to challenge Americans to remain dialed in to the battered physical and emotional landscapes of the Gulf Coast.
How Shearer ended up as one of the city's chief spokesmen, sometimes assigned the exalted position of "The Voice of New Orleans," is as multifaceted as the man himself. One motivation, he admits, was guilt.
"I was off making a movie during the first two months of the disaster," he says. "I was suffering, but at long distance. And when I finally came back for the first time, in November, everyone was telling me how lucky I was to have missed the worst part; that I had gotten in after the smell had dissipated a little bit."
Shearer and his wife, chanteuse Judith Owen, have had a French Quarter condo for 12 years. It started as a vacation getaway but in recent years has served as their home for up to half the year. It was undamaged by Katrina.
"So, yes, I felt lucky," he says. "But yet, I still felt: When it was all so much worse, I was off making a movie. And I realized that I wasn't going to be spending my next six months or a year doing what everybody else was going to be doing -- plunging into their insurance companies and Road Home and all the rest -- so I figured that energy should be used for keeping -- no, getting -- the story of the city out and keeping it alive."
Another motivating factor, he says, was the abdication of support from other celebrities with New Orleans connections, folks who had the power and influence to get their voices heard and make things happen -- but who didn't.
"Seeing certain people of certain fame trash the city publicly just made me more determined to try and balance the scale in the other direction," he says. "I don't hold anything against anybody who got whacked and split, but people who had nothing bad happen to them and then just walked away saying 'screw you' ticked me off."
On this subject, Shearer doesn't call out any names in particular, save one -- that of another New Orleans celebrity transplant named Harry.
"I'm the un-Harry Anderson," Shearer says of the notoriously prickly TV star whose post-storm departure from New Orleans was accompanied by a slew of withering comments that did neither him nor the city any justice. "I'm trying to be the nice Harry," Shearer says. "I'm trying to rescue the name."
And so Shearer blogs incessantly on the popular Huffington Post Web site, spreading the straight dope on the city and referring readers to newspaper and magazine stories. He regularly invites New Orleans musicians, chefs and artists on his weekly syndicated radio show. He went on "Celebrity Jeopardy," representing -- and winning $50,000 for -- the Tipitina's Foundation.
He recently wrote a guest editorial for The San Francisco Chronicle, which heralded the city's spirit and can-do-ness.
"Despite it all, the city's joie de vivre, its celebration of the quotidian as well as the occasion, and its bawdy, take-no-prisoners sense of humor survive," he wrote. "(And) slowly, perhaps more slowly than they imagined, New Orleanians are sending a message that the rest of the nation seems to have difficulty receiving: Today, two years after their world got turned upside down, New Orleans is Bootstrap City."
Yeah, you right, Harry! And on and on he goes, on Bill Maher's HBO program, on National Public Radio, on every radio station in Scotland during a publicity blitz there -- anywhere and everywhere he can get people to listen. So, naturally, two years into this thing, some fans are telling him it's time to give it a rest.
"All the time," he confirms. "The same thing happens to Brian Williams (from the 'NBC Nightly News'). And my point with Brian, which I made to him personally, was maybe if he told people why they should care as opposed to just doing victim stories all the time, maybe they wouldn't be bitching so much."
Why people should care, he says, is simple, an argument well-worn in New Orleans: "People outside of here should care because their tax dollars paid to flood the city. Their tax dollars paid to do it wrong. That's a pretty big story, I think. And my prediction is that five years from now, somebody in Washington will win a Pulitzer Prize for finally discovering that."
Another reason for Katrina fatigue, he says, is racism. "It comes through every pore of what some people say. And for that, I have to blame the national media, which framed this very early on as a 'poor suffering black' story. They couldn't get their cameras out to St. Bernard Parish. They got them to the Convention Center and figured, well: That's all we need. And so, they misframed the story, and being New York liberals, it appealed to them that way anyway."
But despite -- or maybe because of -- a growing chorus of fans who think Shearer needs new subject matter, he keeps coming up with new ways to spread the gospel. His most recent offering is the lovingly crafted "Crescent City Stories," a sweet, poignant and melodic series of interviews and musical cameos currently airing on the new entertainment Web site www.MyDamnChannel.com.
"I was thinking: OK, what am I going to do next?" he says. "So much of what has come out of here in video documentation has been done by New Yorkers and I thought, as a quasi-local, it would be a good thing to let other locals give their view of things. And I thought -- again -- I could try to counteract the barrage of victim stories we get from the national media. The idea was to put some people I know for their loquacity and their cogency on the air, without an agenda, and just let them tell me something about their last two years."
"Crescent City Stories" debuted its first episode several weeks ago and Shearer has added a new one each week. In addition to his own commentary, he has profiled LSU hurricane specialist Ivor van Heerden, singer/composer Phillip Manuel and torch singer Leah Chase.
Ambiance for most of the episodes is set by local keyboard master David Torkanowsky, who is also profiled. An emotional apex of the series is certainly when Torkanowsky mournfully accompanies Chase as she sings: "Was this storm sent to make me realize what living is/It's the beauty of love/The joy of Life/Is this what 'rebirth' means?"
Printed words do not do the segment justice. Go see it for yourself. All the stories are archived on the site, along with a wealth of Shearer's more familiar brand of non-Katrina related political satire.
For a one-man phenomenon, Shearer smartly underplays his own role in "Crescent City Stories," simply serving as on-air interviewer and occasional narrator. It's great stuff, and uncharacteristically unfunny for Shearer.
"Most of the subjects were musicians, so there was a way to have music carry through it all," Shearer says. "But it was all mainly about counteracting that steady diet of 'poor pitiful me' that we get from the national media."
And they're great pieces to remind locals why we love it here, part of the continuing and sometimes arduous process of loving this place -- and a phenomenon Shearer recently experienced.
"I was just showing a friend of mine from Great Britain, a travel writer, around town," he says. "And, watching it all through her eyes enriched my appreciation of the city. What I saw in the people -- what came through -- was the ability, no matter how much angst you may be going through, to experience joy. And that's part of what makes this place different from, say, New York or L.A., where, no matter how much advantage you may have, you're always open to experiencing unhappiness; where, no matter how good things are, you find a reason to be unhappy."
All this cheerleading and boosterism is a far cry from the Harry Shearer who carved a career as a funnyman with no particular agenda. And he is well aware of that.
"When I was a kid, I was relentless about making fun of celebrities with causes. You know, pick a disease, any disease. So to change gears like that and suddenly have a cause and now be asked: 'You're the voice of a cartoon character; why should we believe what you have to say about this?' I guess you could say there's a credibility problem there.
"But this is not what I would choose to be doing -- if I had a choice," he says. "There's a part of me -- a part in all of us, I guess -- that would like to just go back to the way it all was before, just doing what I used to do.
"I wish circumstances were different. I wish there were more well-known people from here or living here who had reason to do this, but there aren't, so we all just play the cards we are dealt."
. . . . . . .
Columnist Chris Rose can be reached at chris.rose@timespicayune.com, or (504) 826-3309, or (504) 352-2535.
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