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The editorial below, written by Reggie's friend, *Tom D�Antoni, was published in The Oregonian on Sept. 1, 2005. Reggie was so moved by the piece that he wanted to read it to the audience during the Blues For Katrina Benefit. The only problem was that every time he read it to himself he cried. So during the benefit Reggie brought Tom up on stage to recite the story to the 5,000 people in attendance while Reggie played his sax, low and sweet in the background. By the end of the recitation there wasn't a dry eye to be found....
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And miss it each night and day?
I know I'm not wrong . . . this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer I stay away.
-- Louis Armstrong tune
That song has taken on a whole new meaning to me. Before this week, I'd heard it in my head dozens of times, when I'd been sitting on a plane, ready to fly out of New Orleans, or as a young man, after being up all night, rushing to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets and then up the street to get a muffuletta from the Italian grocery to take with me on the train north.
That train, heading up the eastern seaboard, was as sad leaving New Orleans as it was happy on the way to it.
Or driving west over Lake Pontchartrain, on that long, low bridge over miles of water with the car full of food and the music still ringing in my ears.
Water. Water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.
Cliches, when you hear them in a different context, bring new meaning.
I've had a spiritual connection to New Orleans since I was a kid. I've never known why. I'm not one to believe in past lives. All I know is, there was a time when I was in my late 20s when I realized that all of the music that had moved me the most profoundly had come from New Orleans.
The first time I visited, I had a warm sense that I had come home. I've never understood why, but I've never lost the feeling.
That's why, on Tuesday night, when the world was learning that we will never have the same New Orleans again, I went to the Candlelight Cafe in downtown Portland. Reggie Houston was playing there. Reggie is a New Orleans native, a saxophonist who held one of the sax chairs in Fats Domino's band for 20 years, and co-led Charmine Neville's band for 17 years until, he moved to Portland last year around this time.
I didn't know if I could bear to hear that music, but having spoken to Reggie earlier in the day, trying to hold back the tears, I knew I had to be there. Reggie's family got out, but it was easy to tell that there were hundreds of friends he did not know about.
At the bandstand, Reggie played with a greater intensity than usual. At the other end of the room, the endless loops of devastation played on CNN. Reggie provided the soundtrack. The juxtaposition of the classic "Junko Partner," and the raucous brass band tune "It Ain't My Fault" with a ruined New Orleans was uplifting and heartbreaking all at the same time.
The traditional jazz funeral in New Orleans consists of a walking dirge, a memorial, and then a joyous second-line parade afterward. Reggie knows this; it is in his blood.
We're in the dirge right now. Images flash. Proposing marriage to my wife over dinner. Sitting in Buster Holmes' greasy spoon in 1979, tasting real red beans and rice for the first time as the Meters played on the jukebox. Shooting a TV story on the streetcar. Buying hats at Meyer the Hatter on St. Charles Street.
A Neville Brothers Christmas concert at Tipitina's.
Losing my shoes at The Columns Hotel.
The delirium of musical overload at Jazzfest.
As the Meters' song says, "If you've ever been there, then you know what I mean."
I told my wife that if I die before she does, I want my ashes to be spread on Congo Square in New Orleans. Congo Square is the place where the slaves were allowed to dance and make music. It is said to be the only place in America where this was the case. It is also said that from that place American music sprung.
Some day, Congo Square will again be a destination for the living and the dead. The spirit of New Orleans will win this battle. Reggie showed me that Tuesday night.
On the TV weather map this morning the word "NICE" was superimposed over the Northwest. It is nice. We might take a moment today and consider how nice.
Tom D'Antoni is currently a producer for Oregon Art Beat, an Emmy Award winning Oregon Public Broadcasting television show. His hilarious new book, titled Rabid Nun Infects Entire Convent, will be published by Random House on November 22, 2005. Tom has also been published in The New York Times Magazine, Ladies Home Journal, and Salon. He's also worked for KCET TV in Los Angeles, and as a jazz and pop music critic with Maryland Public Broadcasting's Critic's Place show. |
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