Title Still Unknown...

Sitting on the bank of the Mississippi River, I gaze around and soak up the view. Over my left shoulder is the river itself. Over my right is the Jackson Brewery. These neighbors couldn’t be more different from one another.

The river drifts, slowly, calmly, sure of herself and her direction. Barges and paddle wheelers caress her curves, making their way to their destinations on “Southern Delta Time.” The riverbank is dotted with people. Tourists and locals mingle in the sultry evening air, watching the sun turn gold on the water. I close my eyes and travel back over a decade, and I see myself at seventeen, sitting on a bench and listening to a saxophone solo drifting on the wind. Coming back to the present, I am thrilled to see that musicians are still entertaining the crowd. The water lapping at the rocks has traveled 2,300 miles to where I sit. It continues on its way, embracing the Crescent City and curving its way down to the delta.

The brewery bustles with activity. Once upon a time, it was the birthplace of Jax Beer, surviving prohibition as a place only could in New Orleans. Now, there is the dismal reality of its transformation into a tourist-trap shopping center. The “Ripley’s Believe It Or Not” Museum has replaced my beloved Fudge Factory, a required stop on all elementary school field trips. Now, only the echoing tune of “Eat on Fudge” survives in my memory. The activity is unbroken. Camera-laden visitors weave through shop owners to get a shot of a mime on the sidewalk taking his break and eating a Lucky Dog from the corner vendor while delivery trucks threaten to flatten them all. The building’s exterior mimics its internal frenzy, looking a lot like a random assemblage of forgotten toy blocks.

The juxtaposition of calm and chaos is the heart of New Orleans, giving the city her rhythm and charm.