An interview with LAINEY LOVE who, as a Ruth's Chris waitress since 1988, has seen it all. And she's Ruth's biggest fan.

I hired waitress Lainey Love in the late 80s and it’s been love ever since — between Lainey and Ruth’s Chris and between Ruth’s Chris customers and Lainey.  Few get more call parties — customers who insist they be served by Lainey.  Married to R&B artist CP Love who has opened for BB King and Fats Domino, Lainey is an avid participant in the New Orleans music scene.  After Katrina she worked for a while in Tampa FL and then returned to New Orleans with the opening of the downtown Ruth’s Chris.  She is known as one of the beloved Broads from Broad St. (with Robin Arena and Connie Sylvain). In 2006 she won the third annual The Ruth U. Fertel Award, “Do What You Love and Love What You Do” — there’s that Love again, see what I mean?!

Q: Lainey, thanks for taking time out from serving table 81 to share some stories about Ruth’s Chris and New Orleans.  Tells us about your early years at Ruth’s Chris.  But first, where’d you serve before you came to Broad St.?
A: Before I became a “Broad from Broad Street,” I was an original “Georgie Girl” from Georgie Porgie’s in (what was then) the new Hyatt Regency New Orleans. It was the place to be for nights out on the town and Saints games. Blaring disco music, popping Dom Perignon, and dancing with celebrity guests, sports heroes and their entourages. I took a To Go order for The Jackson 5 because they were too young to enter. Michael must have been 9 or 10 years old.

When business there took a hit from The Gas Crisis with long gas lines I went to Genghis Khan. What a change!  Disco craziness to classical music played by members of the New Orleans Symphony. The owner was the 1^st violinist and invited many entertainers to come to the restaurant after hours to perform. Famous Conductors, Opera Singers, and Musicians from Al Hirt to Yo Yo Ma. Now, I enter Ruth’s Chris Steak House. With my restaurant background, I know to come in and apply “dressed to work”.  Interviewed by you, Randy, we both must’ve known what was to be. You hired me, March 24, 1988. Maybe it was my answer to the question on the application, “Are you nuts?” And I answered, “Yes, indeed.” Right away, I knew I was home. I was now a member of this awesome restaurant family I would soon learn to know I could never leave.

Guests have often asked me what it’s like to work for Ruth Fertel. My answer has always been the same. I never felt I worked “for” Miz Ruth. I worked “with” her. She was a Mom, a sister, a friend and a co-worker. And was always a phone call away in troubled times. She trusted us with everything! Early mornings when we were opening the restaurant, I’d go to her house behind the restaurant to pick up “the bank” — what the register started with for the day. “Mornin’ Miz Ruth”, “Mornin’ Lainey,” She’d hand me $986.50 in a bank envelope. “Fix me a pot of coffee?” “Sure, Miz Ruth”. “And stir it, please?” Well the pots kept comin’ and stayed in her kitchen. One mornin’ Velma is throwing a fit, “Where’s all the damn coffee pots?” Miz Ruth looks at me, laughs holding her finger to her lips and slips me the key to her house. “They’re all on the kitchen counter.”

At the end of long busy nights, the staff hung out and had our famous “Parkin’ Lot Parties” and drank beer. Many nights, Miz Ruth would come outside sometimes 1:00 in the morning dressed in her robe. “Sorry, did we wake you?” “No, I’ve been waiting for ya’ll, busy night, huh? Here’s $40, who’s goin’ on the beer run?”        

Q: Lot of great servers on Broad Street.  Can you tell us about Shirley Barlett and some of the other “old broads”? And then of course there was my mother’s right hand, her housekeeper Earner Sylvain.

A: This is another book, Randy! Wow, Shirley had to be one of the funniest people I’ve ever worked with. She would totally wreck me with her jokes. Dirrrteeee! She told one to Miz Ruth and her dinner guests one night. It was dirty and she chose the V.P. of Ruth’s Chris to be the butt of the joke. Well, Miz Ruth went into hysterics and nearly slid out of her chair, cryin’-laughin’. Shirley would verbally offer a “Pierre Martini” to the guests. When asked what it was, she’d say, “It’s a Martini that’s so dry, when you go to the bathroom, you pee air.” I’ve certainly archived her jokes but will never have the nerve to tell some of them to the guests. Especially the Chicken  Joke!  Shirley decided to only work one day a week. Ruth’s Chris waitresses don’t retire, we fade away. She wanted to work on an easy night like Wednesday. Wellllll…everyone in town was coming in the restaurant requesting Shirley. She wasn’t too happy to be that busy, then she finds out why. There were billboards put up all over town that read, SHIRLEY ONLY WORKS ON WEDNESDAYS! That was it. Plain and simple.  But that’s all it needed to say because the whole city knew who “SHIRLEY” was. She was mumbling “Damn, Randy!” under her breath all night. Well it turned out to be Mr. Ralph the V.P. who did it. Shirley’s response was,” I’m gonna get my own billboards and they’re gonna read, RALPH WORKS……..ON MY NERVES!” [Randy’s NOTE: I was marketing director at the time, and I'd like to take credit for that marketing campaign. Maybe Ralph okayed it. They kept me on short leash. In their book, my Harvard PhD in English was proof that I was an idiot and could sling neither hash nor advertising copy.]

Earner Sylvain my friend!  The Lady with the Spoon always stirring. Miz Earner knew everybody’s bid’ness. You could trust her as a confidant but if you did a funny she’d tell everybody and mess with you so bad. She always hung out in the restaurant kitchen even though she worked next door for Miz Ruth. She was Louisiana Creole from Edgard/Vacherie and could cook some of the best food you’ve ever tasted. The laugh…always went into the pot. I’ll never forget her laugh. [NOTE: read about Earner Sylvain in my Kenyon Review piece Eshu on the Bayou and see her impersonated in a video of that name by actress Charlotte Lang from Native Tongues: The Food Edition.

Q: Lot of shenanigans too.  Any you’d care to relate?  Were you witness to the locally famous fistfight between Councilman Joe Giarusso with Mayor Sidney Barthelemy’s right hand, Hank Braden?
A: Shenanigans doesn’t come close to describing what went on at 711. There were a couple of fistfights in the dining room. Joe and Hank made their way into Ruth’s Chris history with that one!
        

Another afternoon, the waitstaff was standing around the bar talking. An Irish Coffee was ordered and Lou couldn’t get our new whip cream aerosol can to work. I changed the bullet, shook it real good and sprayed some on my finger and licked it off. Lou says, “Gimme that! Ya wanna see how it’s really done?” She takes the can and goes into this Wild Old Broad Erotica Thing with the whipped cream. She puts the nozzle into her mouth and hits the button and whip cream comes flying out of her nose! 3 servers hit the floor laughing. I had to be carried into the kitchen.

One time, Lil Betty, (known to us as the Fading Waitress) was coming through the dining room with a large stack of menus trying to hold something else in her hand.” Here, Betty, let me help you.” “Underneath, underneath,” she says. I said, “ On Your Knees! What did you say? On Your Knees!” That was many years ago and last week my General Manager, Pete walked past me and said, “On Your Knees!”

Q: You used to date Fats Domino’s son Antoine.  Got any good stories about hanging out at Fats’ house on Caffin Avenue in the Lower 9^th Ward?
A: One very late night (maybe 3 in the morning) Antoine and I came tip toeing into the house. (My first time there.) He said, “Go and get us something to drink.” The house was pretty dark and he pointed to a light coming from the kitchen. I slowly walked through this big house, quiet and dark, toward the light. I get there and notice it’s coming from the open refrigerator. Right then, someone comes upright from looking on the bottom shelf, sees me and says,”Ahhh, I thought you were a ghost!”  Good call. I’m very light-complected, blue eyes and blonde hair down to my waist wearing a white silk suit. Lainey, meet Fats Domino!

Q: Customers are very particular at Ruth’s Chris.  They know what table they want, exactly how they want their steak and all the fixings.  Tell us about Sunday nights on Broad Street.
A: Oh!!! Sunday nights everyone knew everyone. It was a table-hopping club. The middle dining room was locked down. All the regulars had there own tables and servers. One night, I estimated 5 tables, 81-85 were a combined wealth of a billion dollars. I had the hottest station 81,82, and 71. All tables of 6. I called it The Station from Hell. Guests would love to make up special salads we’d name after them.

One time Earner made garlic mashed potatoes for a long time guest. Everyone in the dining room had to have some. They’re now on the menu. One regular guest who reminded me of Howard Hughes (germaphobic) would always order his Root Beer unopened unless I was his waitress.

Q: I'm sure you’ve served the who’s who of New Orleans and quite a few famous Americans.  Who are some of your favorites? 
A: At Georgie Porgie’s, The cast from Taxi.  I loved Danny DeVito!  Superstars, Liza Minnelli and Elizabeth Taylor, The Harlem Globetrotters, The Jackson Five, and George Stanford Brown who took me to breakfast. At Genghis Khan, I loved meeting Ginger Rogers, Yo Yo Ma, and Beverly Sills. At Ruth’s Chris, The Princess of Morocco, Rue McClanahan, Alice Faye and her husband Phil Harris. He was so funny, he sang the song he did in the movie, The Jungle Book. On his way out the door, holding my arm, with the whole restaurant loving him, he sings out in his “Baloo the Bear” voice, “Take Me Home, Daddy!”

Q: I don’t know anyone more devoted to my mother.  Can you tell us about Ruth and what she means to you?
A: Your mother changed my life. She offered me the opportunity to work in one of the finest restaurants in the world. Years back, as a waitress aged, she would lose her place in the better restaurants. Not at Ruth’s Chris! Ruth knew that these older women would be dependable and were pros at southern hospitality. We still make our guests eat all their vegetables.

One day, after Miz Ruth had told everyone she was ill, she came in with 4 other people to have dinner. I watched her from across the room. Thoughts ran through my head of all the wonderful things she had done for so many. Me included. I wanted her to know how I felt about her and how thankful I was to be part of her awesome restaurant family. I walked up to the table, knelt down beside her and she reached for my hand. I said, “I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” She said , “I love you too, Lainey” That’s the last time I saw your Mom.

Q: Lainey, I think table 81 is ready for dessert . . .
Go see what they want for me, Randy. I’m goin’ home. Love you. Goodnight.

An interview with LAINEY LOVE who, as a Ruth's Chris waitress since 1988, has seen it all. And she's Ruth's biggest fan.

I hired waitress Lainey Love in the late 80s and it’s been love ever since — between Lainey and Ruth’s Chris and between Ruth’s Chris customers and Lainey.  Few get more call parties — customers who insist they are served by Lainey.  Married to R&B artist CP Love who has opened for BB King and Fats Domino, Lainey is an avid participant in the New Orleans music scene.  After Katrina she worked for a while in Tampa FL and then returned to New Orleans with the opening of the downtown Ruth’s Chris.  She is known as one of the beloved Broads from Broad St. (with Robin Arena and Connie Sylvain). In 2006 she won the third annual The Ruth U. Fertel Award, “Do What You Love and Love What You Do” — there’s that Love again, see what I mean?!

Q: Lainey, thanks for taking time out from serving table 81 to share some stories about Ruth’s Chris and New Orleans.  Tells us about your early years at Ruth’s Chris.  But first, where’d you serve before you came to Broad St.
A: Before I became a “Broad from Broad Street”, I was an original “Georgie Girl” from Georgie Porgie’s in (what was then) the new Hyatt Regency New Orleans. It was the place to be for nights out on the town and Saints games. Blaring disco music, popping Dom Perignon, and dancing with celebrity guests, sports heroes and their entourages. I took a To Go order for The Jackson 5 because they were too young to enter. Michael must have been 9 or 10 years old.
When business there took a hit from The Gas Crisis with long gas lines I went to Genghis Khan. What a change!  Disco craziness to classical music played by members of the New Orleans Symphony. The owner was the 1^st violinist and invited many entertainers to come to the restaurant after hours to perform. Famous Conductors, Opera Singers, and Musicians from Al Hirt to Yo Yo Ma.  Now, I enter Ruth’s Chris Steak House. With my restaurant background I know to come in and apply “dressed to work”.  Interviewed by you, Randy, we both must’ve known what was to be. You hired me, March 24, 1988. Maybe it was my answer to the question on the application, “Are you nuts?” And I answered, “Yes, indeed.” Right away, I knew I was home. I was now a member of this awesome restaurant family I would soon learn to know I could never leave.

Guests have often asked me what it’s like to work for Ruth Fertel. My answer has always been the same. I never felt I worked “for” Miz Ruth. I worked “with” her. She was a Mom, a sister, a friend and a co-worker. And was always a phone call away in troubled times. She trusted us with everything! Early mornings when we were opening the restaurant, I’d go to her house behind the restaurant to pick up “the bank” — what the register started with for the day. “Mornin’ Miz Ruth”, “Mornin’ Lainey,” She’d hand me $986.50 in a bank envelope. “Fix me a pot of coffee?” “Sure, Miz Ruth”. “And stir it, please?” Well the pots kept comin’ and stayed in her kitchen. One mornin’ Velma is throwing a fit, “Where’s all the damn coffee pots?” Miz Ruth looks at me, laughs holding her finger to her lips and slips me the key to her house. “They’re all on the kitchen counter.”At the end of long busy nights, the staff hung out and had our famous “Parkin’ Lot Parties” and drank beer. Many nights, Miz Ruth would come outside sometimes 1:00 in the morning dressed in her robe. “Sorry, did we wake you?” “No, I’ve been waiting for ya’ll, busy night, huh? Here’s $40, who’s goin’ on the beer run?”        

Q: Lot of great servers on Broad Street.  Can you tell us about Shirley Barlett and some of the other “old broads”? And then of course there was my mother’s right hand, her housekeeper Earner Sylvain.

A: This is another book, Randy! Wow, Shirley had to be one of the funniest people I’ve ever worked with. She would totally wreck me with her jokes. Dirrrteeee! She told one to Miz Ruth and her dinner guests one night. It was dirty and she chose the V.P. of Ruth’s Chris to be the butt of the joke. Well, Miz Ruth went into hysterics and nearly slid out of her chair, cryin’ laughin’. Shirley would verbally offer a “Pierre Martini” to the guests. When asked what it was, she’d say, “It’s a Martini that’s so dry, when you go to the bathroom, you pee air.” I’ve certainly archived her jokes but will never have the nerve to tell some of them to the guests. Especially the Chicken  Joke!  Shirley decided to only work one day a week. Ruth’s Chris waitresses don’t retire, we fade away. She wanted to work on an easy night like Wednesday. Wellllll…everyone in town was coming in the restaurant requesting Shirley. She wasn’t too happy to be that busy, then she finds out why. There were billboards put up all over town that read, SHIRLEY ONLY WORKS ON WEDNESDAYS! That was it. Plain and simple.  But that’s all it needed to say because the whole city knew who “SHIRLEY” was. She was mumbling “Damn, Randy!” under her breath all night. Well it turned out to be Mr. Ralph the V.P. who did it. Shirley’s response was,” I’m gonna get my own billboards and they’re gonna read, RALPH WORKS……..ON MY NERVES!” [Randy’s NOTE: I was marketing director at the time, and I'd like to take credit for that marketing campaign. Maybe Ralph okayed it. They kept me on short leash. In their book, my Harvard PhD in English was proof that I was an idiot and could sling neither hash nor advertising copy.]

Earner Sylvain my friend!  The Lady with the Spoon always stirring. Miz Earner knew everybody’s bid’ness. You could trust her as a confidant but if you did a funny she’d tell everybody and mess with you so bad. She always hung out in the restaurant kitchen even though she worked next door for Miz Ruth. She was Louisiana Creole from Edgard/Vacherie and could cook some of the best food you’ve ever tasted. The laugh…always went into the pot. I’ll never forget her laugh. [NOTE: read about Earner Sylvain in my Kenyon Review piece Eshu on the Bayou and see her monologue from Native Tongues: The Food Edition hilariously and movingly  performed by Charlotte Lang.]

Q: Lot of shenanigans too.  Any you’d care to relate?  Were you witness to the locally famous fistfight between Councilman Joe Giarusso with Mayor Sidney Barthelemy’s right hand, Hank Braden?
A: Shenanigans doesn’t come close to describing what went on at 711. There were a couple of fistfights in the dining room. Joe and Hank made their way into Ruth’s Chris history with that one!
        

Another afternoon, the waitstaff was standing around the bar talking. An Irish Coffee was ordered and Lou couldn’t get our new whip cream aerosol can to work. I changed the bullet, shook it real good and sprayed some on my finger and licked it off. Lou says, “Gimme that! Ya wanna see how it’s really done?” She takes the can and goes into this Wild Old Broad Erotica Thing with the whipped cream. She puts the nozzle into her mouth and hits the button and whip cream comes flying out of her nose! 3 servers hit the floor laughing. I had to be carried into the kitchen.

One time, Lil Betty, (known to us as the Fading Waitress) was coming through the dining room with a large stack of menus trying to hold something else in her hand.” Here, Betty, let me help you.” “Underneath, underneath,” she says. I said, “ On Your Knees! What did you say? On Your Knees!” That was many years ago and last week my General Manager, Pete walked past me and said, “On Your Knees!”

Q: You used to date Fats Domino’s son Antoine.  Got any good stories about hanging out at Fats’ house on Caffin Avenue in the Lower 9^th Ward?
A: One very late night (maybe 3 in the morning) Antoine and I came tip toeing into the house. (My first time there.) He said, “Go and get us something to drink.” The house was pretty dark and he pointed to a light coming from the kitchen. I slowly walked through this big house, quiet and dark, toward the light. I get there and notice it’s coming from the open refrigerator. Right then, someone comes upright from looking on the bottom shelf, sees me and says,”Ahhh, I thought you were a ghost!”  Good call. I’m very light-complected, blue eyes and blonde hair down to my waist wearing a white silk suit. Lainey, meet Fats Domino!

Q: Customers are very particular at Ruth’s Chris.  They know what table they want, exactly how they want their steak and all the fixings.  Tell us about Sunday nights on Broad Street.
A: Oh!!! Sunday nights everyone knew everyone. It was a table-hopping club. The middle dining room was locked down. All the regulars had there own tables and servers. One night, I estimated 5 tables, 81-85 were a combined wealth of a billion dollars. I had the hottest station 81,82, and 71. All tables of 6. I called it The Station from Hell. Guests would love to make up special salads we’d name after them.

One time Earner made garlic mashed potatoes for a long time guest. Everyone in the dining room had to have some. They’re now on the menu. One regular guest who reminded me of Howard Hughes (germaphobic) would always order his Root Beer unopened unless I was his waitress.

Q: I'm sure you’ve served the who’s who of New Orleans and quite a few famous Americans.  Who are some of your favorites? 
A: At Georgie Porgie’s, The cast from Taxi.  I loved Danny DeVito!  Superstars, Liza Minnelli and Elizabeth Taylor, The Harlem Globetrotters, The Jackson Five, and George Stanford Brown who took me to breakfast. At Genghis Khan, I loved meeting Ginger Rogers, Yo Yo Ma, and Beverly Sills. At Ruth’s Chris, The Princess of Morocco, Rue McClanahan, Alice Faye and her husband Phil Harris. He was so funny, he sang the song he did in the movie, The Jungle Book. On his way out the door, holding my arm, with the whole restaurant loving him, he sings out in his “Baloo the Bear” voice, “Take Me Home, Daddy!”

Q: I don’t know anyone more devoted to my mother.  Can you tell us about Ruth and what she means to you?
A: Your mother changed my life. She offered me the opportunity to work in one of the finest restaurants in the world. Years back, as a waitress aged, she would lose her place in the better restaurants. Not at Ruth’s Chris! Ruth knew that these older women would be dependable and were pros at southern hospitality. We still make our guests eat all their vegetables.

One day, after Miz Ruth had told everyone she was ill, she came in with 4 other people to have dinner. I watched her from across the room. Thoughts ran through my head of all the wonderful things she had done for so many. Me included. I wanted her to know how I felt about her and how thankful I was to be part of her awesome restaurant family. I walked up to the table, knelt down beside her and she reached for my hand. I said, “I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” She said , “I love you too, Lainey” That’s the last time I saw your Mom.

Q: Lainey, I think table 81 is ready for dessert . . .
Go see what they want for me, Randy. I’m goin’ home. Love you. Goodnight.

Q. I don’t know Lainey, maybe you should take tomorrow off and work on that library of Shirley jokes to share with yo

An interview with ROSEMARY JAMES, former “publicist for the Gorilla Man,” now the doyenne of literary New Orleans

Rosemary James, a former reporter for The New Orleans States-Item and WWL-TV, is co-founder of The Pirate's Alley Faulkner Society, a nonprofit organization devoted to writers and their readers. The author of Plot or Politics, and My New Orleans: Ballads to the Big Easy by Her Sons, Daughters, and Lovers, she and her husband own Faulkner House Books, one of the country's most famous independent bookstores, and are at the heart of the literary scene in New Orleans.  She and her husband Joe DeSalvo host the annual conference dedicated to Faulkner’s memory Words & Music: A Literary Feast in New Orleans. I'll be speaking there and signing books in mid-November. Y'all come! 

Q. Rosemary, thanks for taking the time to tell our readers about your New Orleans.  As a political reporter at The States-Item you were sometimes assigned to cover my dad’s mayoral campaign.  Since some folks out there may still be wondering if I made all that up, could you tell us about your coverage?  You got to know Dad fairly well, didn’t you?

A: As a matter of fact, I wrote and/or suggested so many stories on Rodney that people in the newsroom at The States-Item began calling me, some times, Rodney’s public relations lady or, alternatively, the Fertel campaign manager.  Your Dad appealed to me because he believed in his cause, a cause I liked, too, and he gave us a unique twist for campaign coverage. He was charming.  He was fun, arriving at the newspaper offices on occasion in a gorilla suit or, alternatively, safari drag. There were, as I recall, 22 candidates who qualified in 1968 to run for Mayor in the Democratic primary, including Lieutenant Governor Jimmy Fitzmorris, who wanted, essentially, to maintain the status quo at City Hall in terms of haves and have-nots and who was supported by most of the municipal political establishment; City Councilman Moon Landrieu, who pledged to give black New Orleanians a fair piece of the political pie; A. Roswell Thompson, the operator of a taxi stand and a member of the Ku Klux Klan who hated everyone who was not a WASP; and your father, an eccentric animal lover, outraged by the sorry condition of the Audubon Park Zoo, a place where resident polar bears were at the time walking around with green mildew/algae covering their fur.  The campaign for the nomination was prolonged when Landrieu was forced into a run-off for the Democratic nomination with Fitzmorris but Landrieu won with a coalition comprising 90 percent of black voters and 39 percent of whites. In the general election, Landrieu defeated Ben C. Toledano, the only Republican to make a serious bid for mayor of New Orleans in the 20th century. In that contest, Landrieu's pro-civil rights stance was rewarded when he received an overwhelming 99 percent of the black vote.  Long story short, Landrieu was elected, your Dad was not but Moon and Rodney were the only two politicians in the election to keep their promises. Rodney ran on a campaign to “Get a Gorilla for the Zoo,” a means of calling public attention to the deplorable conditions at the zoo. His campaign strategy was successful. While he didn’t become Mayor, he was responsible for making people about the horrid conditions at the Audubon Park Zoo and instigated its renaissance. And he bought and donated not one but two adorable gorillas for the Zoo. Moon ran on a Civil Rights platform, calling attention to the lack of equal rights in New Orleans politics.  When he took office, about 20 per cent of city employees were Afro-America but that percentage quickly rose to about 45 per cent. 

Q: You also did some pretty famous coverage of another outsized New Orleans personality – Jim Garrison, who prosecuted Clay Shaw and others for conspiracy in the assassination of President Kennedy. Tell us about that story. 

A: That was a story of the tragic death of Camelot’s hero, an around-the-bend paranoic-schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur, and a scapegoat, the likes of which had not been seen since the French persecuted Dreyfus. An American tragedy, the assassination of a beloved American President became a three-ring circus, when the Warren Commission, the government appointed investigative body charged with answering all of the questions raised by John Kennedy’s death, failed miserably in its mission, leaving most questions unanswered, therefore shedding doubt on the Commission’s conclusion that there was a single assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald.  The Warren Commission did not satisfy the public’s demand to know who killed JFK.  Rather, the Commission opened the door for a barrage of conspiracy theorists and political parasites, such as New Orleans District attorney Jim Garrison, who had ambitions for higher office, including the U. S. Senate and/or Governor of Louisiana.   This flamboyant high-flying rabble-rouser had been discharged from the Army for mental illness but was able hide this fact and convince New Orleans voters he was the man to clean up crime in the city. Even before his assassination investigation, Garrison demonstrated his vampirish need for feeding on others to create the headlines he needed to keep his manic-depressive ego alive. Although a regular free customer at strip joints and houses of ill-repute and on the take from mobsters who owned the city’s nightlife himself, Garrison sought “crime-buster” headlines regularly rounding up the working girls and jailing them to get media attention. They were released, of course, as soon as the headlines appeared and Garrison would be back on Bourbon Street B-drinking with them.  Senator Russell Long had questions about the conclusions of the Warren Commission and he encouraged Garrison to claim jurisdiction and begin an investigation.  Garrison kept the investigation on the Q-T initially but the States-Item’s police reporter Jack Dempsey, got wind of it and mentioned it casually in one line in one of his weekly columns.  States-Item Managing Editor Walter Cowan and City Editor John Wilds decided we needed to find out what was going on and assigned me and two other reporters, Jack Wardlaw and David Snyder to work the story.  We proceeded on the basis that even the fact that Garrison thought he had jurisdiction to investigate the death of a President was news worthy of reporting.  Since Garrison was not talking to us, we quizzed our various sources in state and local government and at the Criminal District Courthouse and police headquarters.  At the time, fines and fees collected in Criminal Courts were placed in a fund, which the DA could utilize for investigations.  Sources, including Garrisons former chief investigator and first assistant DA confirmed to me that he was, indeed, off on a wild hair investigation and, then, the fines and fees fund, public record, revealed that his investigators were spending public funds for trips to Dallas, etc. So, we wrote a straight forward, very short story stating that the District Attorney of New Orleans was spending (an we itemized the expenditures we found) public funds to investigate the assassination of President Kennedy.  I made an appointment with Garrison, showed him the story and asked him to comment.  He said only, “I refuse to confirm or deny.”  And he smiled like the Cheshire cat when he said it.

We ran the story the next day with his comment and very quickly the national media descended upon New Orleans.  He called a news conference and, not for the first time or the last, he lied to the media.  He said he had never had an opportunity to see the story before it was published and he said that the story had ruined his investigation. 

Thereafter, every time press interest in the case would start to wane, he would propound a new theory. “The Theory du Jour,” we began calling his pronouncements, most of them entirely bizarre.  One week it would be 14 Cubans shooting from storm drains. The next week it would be LBJ or H. L. Hunt and the far right in Dallas. What he first called a "homosexual thrill killing" evolved, under the influence of the conspiracy buffs who flocked to New Orleans, into a massive CIA and federal government plot.

The only conspiracy theory he refused to accept was the one most thinking journalists believed to be the right one, that the mob did it in outrage over the loss of their assets in Cuba. Every time a journalist proposed this concept to Garrison he either hauled that person before the Grand Jury or threatened to do so.  He was so vindictive when the mob theory came up that representatives of key media, including the New York Times and NBC, left town.

Finally, during a dry period of no headlines, Garrison pronounced that he had solved the crime of the century. He arrested Clay Shaw—a self-made, erudite, much-admired man within the international trade and cultural arenas of New Orleans—for conspiracy to murder President Kennedy, alleging that he was the mysterious man referred to as “Clay Bertrand” in an FBI interview with New Orleans lawyer Dean Andrews, a Runyanesque, minor mob figure in New Orleans. Dean told the FBI that “Clay Bertrand” called him and told him to go to Dallas to represent Oswald.  Insiders said later that Garrison, nuts as he was, knew very well that Clay Shaw was not “Clay Bertrand,” and that the decision to arrest was cynically based on a dislike of Shaw and a desire for a new round of national headlines.  Dean Andrews told me before he died that he had told Garrison Clay Shaw was not Clay Bertrand, well before Clay Shaw was arrested and that he was, essentially, told by Garrison to keep his mouth shut.

The whole case against Shaw was manufactured and the jury, which heard six weeks of nonsense testimony from Garrison’s witnesses, returned a not-guilty verdict in less than hour.  Oliver Stone, not known for sane thinking himself, swallowed Garrison’s line of blarney and produced a despicable film, JFK, which portrayed Garrison as an innocent, honest, hard-working, family man kind of hero, when, in fact, Garrison was a wife-beater, a closet homosexual pedophile whose target was young boys, and a Machiavellian fanatic who would stop at nothing to get attention. Hardly the “untouchable” as portrayed by Kevin Costner.  Garrison destroyed Clay Shaw’s life and in the process he destroyed himself.  He went from a highly intelligent, manic-depressive eccentric—who once told me and another reporter that he had to lie in bed until he felt like “one big amoeba-like blob of guilt” before he could get up and do any productive work—to an out-of-control lunatic in the period of a couple of years or so. 

In any other city, if you told this story, people would not believe you.  In New Orleans, tell the story and those in your audience will immediately clamor to compete and tell a down-the-rabbit-hole story of their own set in New Orleans. 

Q: After your career as a journalist, you and your husband Joe DeSalvo started Faulkner House Books in the building where Faulkner lived and where he wrote his first novel, Soldiers’ Pay, New Orleans Sketches, Sherwood Anderson and Other Famous Creoles, and Mosquitoes and worked on Wild Palms and Pylon. I know that has been a labor of love.  Tell us about Faulkner House Books. 

 A: My husband is a recovering attorney and, when we met in 1981, he’d been acquiring books for 25 years or more and had an impressive collection.  One of the first things he told me was that his retirement dream would be to operate a bookstore specializing in good contemporary literature and signed and rare editions.  We married in 1982 and had a nice life going, dividing our time between the house I had renovated in the French Quarter and the house we bought on the lakefront in old Mandeville, where we created a marvelous garden with 300 varieties of roses and every imaginable flower we could get to grow in Zone 9 humidity and heat.  We talked about his dream and one Sunday, when reading the real estate section, I discovered that the Faulkner House at 624 Pirate’s Alley was for sale.  Ironically, I had seen this house on my first visit to New Orleans and had told my companions then that I intended to live in that very house one day.  After much agonizing, we put in a low-ball offer and it was accepted. That was in 1988. Two years and an extensive renovation later we opened Faulkner House Books in the room in which Faulkner wrote his first novel on his birthday. And we took up residence on the upper floors, selling both my house on St. Philip Street and the Mandeville house.  We made a decision early on that living in a residence with such an interesting literary heritage, obligated us to share it with others.

On a lark, and with several others, we invited everyone we knew to “The First Annual Meeting of the Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society,” a black-tie event  at Le Petit Theatre du Vieux Carre of dramatic readings and toasts to Faulkner by men and women, including one of Faulkner’s romantic interests, novelist Joan Williams, our first overnight guest at Faulkner House.  The theatre event was followed by a block party with food and music and Faulkneresque décor (old cars and wild palms were added and the mosquitoes came on their own) in Pirate’s Alley.  Guests who attended encouraged us to do it every year and we have, plus adding to the event considerably each year.

Q: And y'all are the force behind the annual conference Words and Music: A Literary Feast in New Orleans.  Tell us about how that came to be and what will happen a bit later this fall and especially about your annual literary prizes.

A: We were granted (501) (c) (3) status by the IRS in 1992 and since then we have created a prestigious literary competition, which attracts entries annually from as far away as Australia and Malaysia, and offers prizes ranging from $1,000 to $7,500 for winners in seven categories: novel, novella, novel-in-progress, short story, essay, poetry, and short story by a High School Student. The prizes are awarded during our multi-discipline fall festival, Words & Music, which this year takes place November 9 – 13. 

We are very proud of the writers we have been able to attract to Words & Music, thanks in no small part to the patronage of the Ruth U. Fertel Foundation and other private foundations and individuals.  Our presenters have included such writers  as National Book Award winners Tim O’Brien and Julia Glass last year and this year Pulitzer Prize winners, novelist Junot Díaz  and playwright Nilo Cruz, and critically acclaimed Vietnamese American author Andrew Lam.  We are delighted that you have agreed to lead a round table discussion featuring Díaz and Lam on the subject of Exile Literature, incidentally, as well as a discussion on memoir writing with Signe Pike.   (Our schedule and pricing info for 2011 can be found on our web site, www.wordsandmusic.org) Our annual free master class for creative writing students and teachers, this year on November 9 will feature Tom Carson, author of the new novel, Daisy Buchanan’s Daughter, and our interns volunteers are working on various literary projects including and on-line literary journal, The Double Dealer, which we hope will go live before the end of the year.

We also host a year-round calendar of free events featuring authors such as yourself with new books, and are looking forward to the event celebrating publication of “ The Gorilla Man and The Empress of Steak,” Sunday, October 9th from 4 to 6:30 p. m. at The Cabildo, one of the historic seats of colonial government in Louisiana which overlook Jackson Square.  In addition to your talk and signing, the event will feature New Orleans musician Armand St. Martin, playing, appropriately, such old Professor Longhair favorities, as “They All Axed for You.” The public is invited to these events but we require rsvps so that we can adequately prepare food and drink.

Q: You grew up in Charleston and spend several months a year there.  I only visited there once and found it like a small New Orleans but with water (since our water is hidden behind levees).  And I was struck by how much more serious they are about history: the carriage drivers seem to know what they were talking about.  How do you compare the cities?
A: Charlestonians do take their history seriously, some might say too seriously. Some of my best friends are re-enacters!  During the recent re-enactment of the firing on Fort Sumter, which set off the Civil War, I was reminded of a tale told by Oscar Wilde.  Wilde was visiting Charleston and was feted by all of the grandest of dames.  At each tea party or dinner party or ball, Wilde would make the obligatory polite compliments to his hostess, such as “your ballroom is stunning.” And the hostess, without fail would reply, “but, oh, Mr. Wilde, you should have seen it before the wahhhr.” This went on for days and days.  Finally, on his last evening in Charleston, Wilde was standing on one of the grand piazzas of East Battery overlooking the Atlantic, conversing with his hostess, thanking her for her generous hospitality.  It was fall and there was a full harvest moon and he commented, “What a glorious evening and look at that georgeous harvest moon!”  The hostess replied, “Oh, yes, Mr. Wilde, but you should have seen it before the waahhr.” [Did John Guare have this in mind when in Louis Malle's Atlantic City he has Burt Lancaster deliver the nostalgic line: "You should have seen the Atlantic Ocean back then"?]

Charleston is home for me but I have spent more of my life in New Orleans than Charleston.   Quite unexpectedly, I was born at my grandmother’s home in the country in  North Carolina, while my parents were visiting.  My early years (until age six) were spent in Charleston and in Panama (until age 12), where my father coordinated Commissary activities for the Pacific Fleet during World War II and just after, then back to South Carolina. I left Charleston, where I had been working for the local daily, for New Orleans because I wanted to try something different, find a more liberal environment in which to live. I went to New Orleans to visit friends in graduate school at Tulane and on a lark asked Frank Allen, then States-Item managing editor, to give me a job. No one could have been more surprised than me when I got back home and discovered I had the job. A month later, I was in New Orleans, had an apartment on Esplanade and was ready for a new adventure. I went to work for the States-Item on January 1, 1964, arriving at work on foot during one of the city’s very rare snowfalls.

To me, there is no more beautifully situated city than Charleston, located as it is facing the Atlantic Ocean on a narrow peninsula between two tidal rivers, so that you are never out of sight of water or far from ocean breezes, where you are only 15 to 20 minutes away from good beaches. Charleston has an amazing array of architectural landmarks dating from as early as Hugenot edifices of late 17th, early 18th century to the ante-bellum sea island cotton money villas to the contemporary mac-mansion reinventions of the Charleston single house in planned communities such as Ion and Daniel Island.  I still think that Charleston is more beautiful aesthetically than New Orleans and her breathtaking qualities, along with my oldest friends, keep drawing me back.  

But living on the peninsula is not unlike living in the French Quarter, a time-warp village within a large metropolitan area with problems up the waszoo.  Charleston is beginning to make some of the same mistakes that New Orleans made over the years, spending too much money on monuments to political ego and not enough money on such important infrastructure improvements as roads and drainage and storm protection and allowing developers without taste put up insensitive condominium colonies in the middle of some of the oldest of the historic districts. Both cities are hurricane prone and Charleston was ravaged by Hugo just as New Orleans was by Katrina. Charleston is more relaxed socially than when I was growing up but remains priggish and uptight when compared to the Big Easy. And the creative juices of Charleston suffer by comparison to those of New Orleans. But, then, I can’t think of many cities anywhere in the world which can boast a cultural heritage as rich as that of New Orleans. While Charleston’s physical beauty is a joy to behold, the strength for me of New Orleans is its inner beauty, its ability to not only accept but to embrace people for who they are, what they are.  Ironically, New Orleans, labeled sin city by so many fundamentalists who don’t really know her, is one of the most Christian of all cities, practicing daily the teachings of Christ, such as, “Judge not!” or “Love Thy Neighbor as Thyself!” Many cities, including Charleston, frequently called the “Holy City” because of all of her churches, could learn a lot about true Christian behavior from New Orleanians and their remarkable faith.  And not many cities can emulate Christ in his miraculous ability to feed the multitudes with a few fish and loaves. But New Orleans does so daily.

Q: There are a number of restaurants in Charleston getting a lot of press.  How do you compare the quality of their dining to ours?  Do they have as much fun at table as we do?

A: Charleston had few in the way of good restaurants when I was becoming an adult.  The food was Lowcountry soul food…not unlike South Louisiana soul food…rice and beans and greens.  Today, there are many creative culinary professionals at work in Charleston and it is possible to get lots of really good food, both in terms of fresh products to prepare for entertaining at home and in terms of dishes consumed at Restaurants.  The problem in Charleston seems to be getting good wait staff at even the best restaurants.  The service is not at the same level as New Orleans.  Another problem is consistency.  We eat out a lot in Charleston and quality of the food preparation is not consistent.  Some of those restaurants getting national press are those who need to watch their consistency. While I do have fun with my friends when we dine out together the fun is their company, not in the food “scene.”  Charleston is still way behind New Orleans when it comes to boasting a lively Café Society, one that is living theatre, an ongoing drama in which people daily reinvent themselves. 

Q: After Hurricane Katrina, you published a collection of essays and memories called “My New Orleans: Ballads of the Big Easy from her Sons, Daughters and Lovers.” Why were you compelled to do this – and how do those ballads resonate after six years?

A: I was contacted by literary agent Michael Murphy and asked to consider doing the book and when Simon & Schuster agreed to the concept and agreed to donate a portion of their profits to the Pen fund for writers, I took on the assignment.  It was not an easy project, as New Orleanians and others we wanted to write a piece for the book were scattered all over Kingdom come and Simon & Schuster wanted the finished product by November 1, latest, which gave me just a bit over a month to assemble the essays and write the introduction.  There many I would have loved to have included, such as composer Allen Toussaint, that I simply could not reach in time.  Given the restraints, the book turned out the way we wanted it to be, not a storm chronicle but a momento to lift the morale of those who love New Orleans and thought she might not survive the blow.

I think the essays collected for the book remain “true” to their subject today because the authors of these essays see New Orleans for precisely what she is, good and bad, and were trying to capture the essence of the city at a time when we all thought we might lose it. Deep water was still standing in areas of New Orleans when some of those essays were written. We did not lose that “Come as you are” essence of New Orleans, that open-armed welcoming essence that snares people forever.

An interview with MARK CHILDRESS, prolific Southern novelist, who talks about hanging out with Jorge Luis Borges, Thelma Toole, and Chef Paul Prudhomme.

Monroeville, Alabama must have story-telling elixir in its water table.  Truman Capote summered there and the town gave birth to Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird) and Mark Childress.  A former part-time New Orleans resident, Mark has written the novels A World Made of Fire, V for Victor, Tender (named to several Ten Best of 1990 lists), Crazy in Alabama (made into a movie by Antonio Banderas with Melanie Griffith), Gone for Good, and One Mississippi. His articles and reviews have appeared in The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, The Times of London, San Francisco Chronicle, Saturday Review, Chicago Tribune, Philadelphia Inquirer, Travel and Leisure, and other national and international publications. His new novel Georgia Bottoms appeared in February to strong reviews.

Q: You live in Key West now, having sold your New Orleans house right before Katrina.  You wrote a terrific piece in Salon called “Disaster Tourism” about the danger that “the country was ready to begin turning its back on the whole thing” and recounting your first return.  The piece ends, “Maybe New Orleans will be okay after all.”  You’ve been back since?  What’s your take now on New Orleans’ return to form?

A: I’ve been back to New Orleans a dozen times or more since Katrina.  It has been amazing to watch the city go from dead to barely alive to beginning to thrive again, although it still feels largely depopulated to me in certain districts.

Considering the paucity of effective local (or national) leadership at the time of the storm, I’d say the residents of NOLA have done an amazing job of climbing out of the hole they found themselves in.  Some things came back faster than I would have imagined at the time – the restaurant scene, tourism, violent crime.  And some parts of New Orleans are just dead or still mostly dying. 

My biggest fear, of course, is another storm that will demonstrate that the Corps of Engineers’ attempts to improve the levee system have been piecemeal and half-hearted.  I still don’t understand how America’s most important port city can be left exposed in this state of long-term, extended danger, and nobody outside of New Orleans seems to feel any urgency about it.  To me, the entire response to Katrina was a failure of our national will.

Q: How long were you a part-time resident?  What do you miss about New Orleans?

A: I’ve been visiting New Orleans regularly since I first made several pilgrimages as a college student in the 1970s.  During the 1980s when I lived near Mobile, I was here all the time.  Finally I bought a place here in 2000 and sold it in 2005. 

When I’m not here I miss everything about the city – the sounds, the smells of (most of) the streets, the heavy air coming in off the river, the way everybody calls you “baby.”  I know it’s a cliché to say The Food, but how can you not?  I tend to be fat anyway; this city encourages me in this. 

 When I am here, I don’t miss the storm drains that turn into lakes at each corner when it rains.  But then, we have those in Key West too.

Q: Your work has often been characterized as Southern Gothic in the tradition of Flannery O’Connor and those other southerners, Colombian Gabriel García Márquez, and the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges.  How does your experience of New Orleans relate to those traditions — Southern Gothic and Magical Realism?  Did New Orleans help feed those grotesque juices that seem to flow through your pen?

A:  Well, and don’t forget our local New Orleans master and wizard, John Kennedy Toole.  My most recent novel Georgia Bottoms is partly inspired by A Confederacy of Dunces.  I decided to try to take on the same challenge Toole set for himself:  to create a lead character who is unsympathetic in every possible way and make the reader fall in love with her.  For Georgia, my character, New Orleans represents an almost impossibly rich and unattainable fantasy.  She has spent her whole life in a little Alabama town, scheming and dreaming of a way to get to New Orleans.

My theory is that modern New Orleans is a city dedicated in every way to a celebration of decay.  This makes it unique on the continent.  It’s the only American city that actively and ritually acknowledges the existence of death, through the Carnival.  It’s the most Gothic, the most exotic city in America.  Where else could Anne Rice have placed her vampires?  Brooklyn?  Philly?  I don’t think so.

I find myself following in the footsteps of Tennessee Williams.  I have now lived in most of the places he lived.  He had excellent taste in places to live.

It’s funny you should mention Borges.  He’s a great hero of mine.  One of my proudest days came when a friend and I came to New Orleans in the late 1970s to interview the great man himself for Saturday Review (remember that magazine?). Borges stayed at the Fairmont [now once again the Roosevelt Hotel, birthplace of the Sazerac cocktail].  We spent most of an afternoon hanging out with him and trying to make out what he was saying.  He really loved Preservation Hall and hearing the “waves and waves of jazz.”

Q: You grew up partly in Ohio.  I'm going to guess you don’t miss too much about Mid-West cuisine (like “meat and 2”).  Given a long weekend in New Orleans, where would you eat?

A; Oh God, anywhere they would have me.  Bayona, Galatoire’s, NOLA, K-Paul’s, Casamento’s, the Rib Room, the Upperline, Commander’s Palace, Arnaud’s, Acme Oyster Bar, Restaurant August, Bouligny Tavern, Brigtsen’s, Stanley and Stella!, maybe a muffuletta from Central Grocery,…. Do I have to stop?

Q: Can you share one or two of your favorite New Orleans stories, food related or otherwise?

A: Back in the mists of time, when I was a young editor at Southern Living magazine, they sent me to New Orleans to do a story on this hot new cuisine everybody was talking about:  the “new Cajun” as exemplified by Paul Prudhomme.  This was the moment when people were lining up around the block and waiting three and four hours to eat at K-Paul’s.  I mean, Paul kind of invented modern foodie New Orleans with that restaurant. 

Anyway, I asked Paul what kind of story I could do on Cajun cooking in New Orleans, and he laughed.  “You won’t find much of it here,” he said.  “We have to go to the bayou.”

He was so busy at that time -- but he took a week off from all his work to conduct

me and our photographer, Mike Clemmer, on a tour of Cajun country.   We ate from morning to night.  Paul’s old auntie cooked us eggs at dawn, then we went off to little stores in the back towns searching for homemade boudin and rabbit stew.   Everywhere we went, of course, he was The King, the local boy who was making the big time, and the local people pulled out everything good they’d ever cooked and made us eat it with them. 

Everything I know about Louisiana food, I learned that week from Paul Prudhomme.

Another memorable evening brought about by Southern Living was the night I  took Thelma Toole     out to dinner.  Thelma was extremely peculiar, exactly like the character of the mother in A Confederacy of Dunces.  I had spent the whole day with her, trying to cut through the overwrought dramatic monologue and get her to tell me something true about her son Kenny. 

She picked the restaurant, Jonathan’s, a pricey place on North Rampart where everyone fussed over her.  I don’t remember much of what we said but the whole thing was transportingly odd.  Someone would stop by the table to say, “Oh I love your son’s book,” and she would swat his hand away and bark at him, “You are not FIT to appreciate my son’s GE-NEE-US.”

God, I do love that city.