Column: Trip to New Orleans left indelible impression
Published 12:00 am Thursday, September 8, 2005
Back in the 1950s the Women’s Press Association was given a tour of Mississippi. It was extremely elegant, friendly and free. I enjoyed every minute of it and probably some dry day will write about it more fully.
I didn’t finish the tour. At that time, before I found out what my family was really like, I wanted to visit New Orleans, from whence I believed my great-great French grandmother hailed.
I was able to spend only a day there, but I was hooked. I knew I would go back and twice I did, enjoying it both times. Hearing and reading about the catastrophe that has befallen it is like reading about a murderous attack upon an old friend.
There were so many things I learned about the city. At the time I was there it was the second largest shipping port in the world, the first largest was in Holland. It was also the place where in this country the Mafia had its beginning. I had thought it started in Chicago.
First victim of the New Orleans Mafia was a professional musician fingered by another musician, possibly a rival.
They take their music seriously down there. I have a cousin once removed, who is the great-great-great granddaughter of my great-great grandmother. My cousin, practically a professional genealogist, told me I couldn’t go around saying our ancestor came from New Orleans without records to back it up. We both are sure that after said ancestor was married she and her husband went with Daniel Toone’s party to Kentucky.
The last time I was in New Orleans I did find a family in the telephone directory with the same name as my great-great grandmother’s maiden name.
Our family was so divided at the time of the war between the states that it was difficult to get it straight. The lady I talked to informed me that if I were part of their family, my ancestors were there long before the state was sold by Napoleon to the United States.
French Huguenots from Normandy, she said.
I attended a Cajun cooking class the first time I stayed for awhile in New Orleans. The teacher and one of his friends owned a lovely little restaurant. Clean and simple, white-washed walls decorated with huge cartoons of Cajun chefs. Some of the chefs talking to each other through cartoon printing.
&uot;Why did the good Lord make the Cajuns such good cooks?”
“Because the good Lord is Cajun.”
To me New Orleans is a special place and will remain so.’
Now changing the subject, I thank Linda Kane for the beautiful article she wrote about our scout troop. I think we all feel a longing to be part of history. And now we are.
The interview on which the article was partly based was conducted by telephone. Probably the hardest way to do an interview. The only objection I could find was the remark that I didn’t particularly like the dress given me by my scouts.
If it had been made of cloth of gold, stitched in pearls, I couldn’t have been more impressed or more grateful.
I never look critically at a kindness. I even appreciated the snake. The trouble with the snake, it seemed to be bigger than I am. Frightening.
(Love Cruikshank is an Albert Lea resident. Her column runs Thursday.)