A Little Something Extra from New Orleans

This has less to do with the planning of the Day of Action than personal drive and motivation for the success of the National Service movement as it were.

This particularly speaks to the importance of after-school programming, even if just for diversion’s sake.

Last night I went to Vaughn’s in the Upper 9 to go see Kermit Ruffins and the BBQ Swingers. It was a 10$ cover. I knew I was in New Orleans when they charged me at the door without telling us that Kermit in fact, would not be there tonight, when there was no apology after announcing he wouldn’t be there, and when no one complained about it because let’s face it- the stand in was just as awesome even though the name not as sweet.

Feeling tired and miffed that Kermit wasn’t there, I and my friends went outside to take a breather when I was instantly accosted in a friendly manner by a coke dealer in a bright orange shirt. I mention the shirt because I think in his profession he should be less conspicuous. It was a good color on him though. I knew he was a coke dealer when after he said hi and introduced himself (we’ll call him ‘dude’ for the purpose of this blog) and I shook his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Mallory” he slipped a baggy of coke into my palm.

I said, “Dude, I don’t want this, take it back”.

He said, “oh, you want this” and proceeded to put a baggy of weed in my hand.

For about five minutes I had to try and convince this man that looking in his direction in no way meant that I wanted to ‘party’. He felt otherwise. He called me a liar. Said I looked like I needed it. Since it was coke, I could take ‘looking like I need it’ in a positive way and infer that he thought that my eyes were shiny or twinkly or… gleaming. Or maybe he just thought I needed to lose weight.  He even offered to let me smoke free and gave me a joint as I shook my head no over and over. It was all very friendly, but he was adamant and passionate and getting impatient with me because I wouldn’t take anything. I only kept talking to him because he looked familiar to me as if I knew him. Where from? No clue since I’m not really interested in the banana republic drug trade of New Orleans. The fact that we may have met before was disconcerting. Maybe he just reminded me of meth dealers from home. After a bit I just had to lay it on him:

“Dude, I’m not tryin’ to be what you’re on,  you’re really  freakin’ me out.”

He said: “Its alright baby I aint mad atcha”

Me: “Where do I know you from?”

Dude: “I don’t know baby, but I know you, you that b***h Hannah Montana.

Whattttttttttttt is this dude talkin’ about, man? She is a buxom, blonde 15-year-old. I look like a bloated, slightly ethnic (when I don’t straighten the mane) version of Molly Ringwald, minus the redhead appeal but with mild acne.

But at least I know now, where I knew him. He had told me this before as I walked to my car, parked outside the school I worked out of last year. You see, his house’s front porch faces the main entrance of a grammar school. He’s out there every day. All day… except apparently, when he’s at Upper 9 bars, just sitting on the porch. Maybe he’s not there anymore. Maybe it was never his porch. Maybe Dude or the even less likely moniker he gave me is not traceable. Maybe I just go and create a diversion every day after school so that they will not see him.

The story is unimportant, but the motivator is essential to the movement. These kids must have something to do after school. Every day. They need to be involved with their school’s after hours activities until Dude has gone to Vaughn’s. Otherwise he’ll be out there waiting for them. Likening them to celebrities. Telling them they look like they need it. At their throats like a feral dog. Putting the product IN THEIR HANDS and refusing to take it back. Making the connections that someone preferable did not make.

If we don’t have others out there to intercept –to block the line of sight- between school doors and Dude’s front porch, then we will have failed to prevent another generation of Dudes. Waiting on the porch, looking innocent and friendly. Waiting on the front porch to welcome the Kindergarten through 8^th grade students of a Central City school. Waiting on the porch for the next transaction.

Waiting on the porch for the bells to ring.

Peace out from New Orleans,

Mallory

This entry was posted on Friday, June 27th, 2008 at 4:43 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.