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adventures / Friday / history / photo — Comments Off
11
Apr 14

Wandering through Jackson Square, New Orleans

On our first day in New Orleans we walked up to Jackson Square. Here’s the statue honoring the general and president:

I posted a few more photos from the square last week. We’ll just assume you’ve heard of him. The sculpture, by Clark Mills was installed in 1856. Mills did a life-cast of Abraham Lincoln’s head. He is famous for several Jackson sculptures. He also cast the Statue of Freedom, which sits atop the U.S. Capitol.

Here are some things that Wikipedia tells you that the local signage doesn’t:

(It) was the prime site for the public execution of disobedient slaves during the 18th and early 19th centuries. After the 1811 German Coast Uprising, three slaves were hanged here. The heads from their dismembered bodies were put on the city’s gates.

In the Reconstruction era, the Place d’Armes served as an arsenal. During the insurrection following the disputed 1872 gubernatorial election, in March 1873, it was the site of the Battle of Jackson Square. A several-thousand man militia under John McEnery, the Democratic claimant to the office of the Governor, defeated the New Orleans militia, seizing control of the state’s buildings and armory for a few days. They retreated before the arrival of Federal forces, which re-established control temporarily in the state.

He lost to William Pitt Kellogg, a Republican from Vermont, a friend of Lincoln’s, who was viewed as one of the first carpetbaggers.

On the square are the Pontalba Buildings, which were built by Micaela Almonester, Baroness de Pontalba. This is a great story. I’m condensing from Wikipedia:

Micaela Almonester, a wealthy New Orleans-born aristocrat, was one of the most dynamic personalities of that city’s history.

Micaela was the only surviving child, and after her parents died she stood for a big inheritance. Her arranged marriage (though Micaela was in love with an impoverished man) moved her to France. Her father-in-law tried to steal away that large inheritance, shooting her four times, point-blank, with dueling pistols. She survived. He killed himself that same night. Eventually she was able to leave her husband. Ultimately she fled France as the revolution there got underway. She returned to New Orleans, saw the property had basically become a slum and she continued her father’s work there when the place was still known as the Place d’Armes.

When she had arrived back in the U.S. Jackson sent his own carriage, and Secretary of State Martin Van Buren, to pick her up. Maybe that’s why she helped finance the statue of Jackson, and helped rename the square after the New Orleans hero.

She turned the square into the modern gardens. While landscaping, she apparently threatened the mayor with a shotgun after he tried to prevent her from tearing down two rows of trees. She returned to France to be near her oldest son. When her estranged husband fell ill she took care of him until she died in 1874, at 78.

We ate in a restaurant inside one of her buildings. The back of the menu had a bit of her story. It was written in such a way that made you think there was more to it. Maybe that’s why there was a play, an opera and several novels written about her life.

adventures / history / photo / Thursday — Comments Off
10
Apr 14

We just wandered by this square in New Orleans

This is a part of the Louisiana Supreme Court, which sits in Judge Fred Cassibry Square.

The square is more interesting, as it is named after Fred James Cassibry, who served as a judge for the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Louisiana from 1966 until 1987. The Mississippi native attended Tulane during World War II and was a star athlete there before law school. He cruised on a destroyer in the Pacific during the war. When he came home he got a job with the NLRB and then created a private law practice. He served as a city councilman in the 1950s. His obit says:

With little support from his colleagues, Mr. Cassibry fought Morrison for an investigation of the scandal-ridden Police Department, which was later found to have an organized system of payoffs from illegal lottery operators, horse-racing bookies and houses of prostitution.

In a recent interview, Mr. Cassibry recalled how he was criticized at the time for discussing what he called the police chief’s “intimate relationship” with whorehouse madams. “He sued me,” Mr. Cassibry said. “But when I called him for a deposition, he dropped the suit.”

He was a district judge, too:

After he was elected to a Civil District Court judgeship in 1960, Mr. Cassibry continued to make waves, warning lawyers who tried to talk with him about cases they had in his court. “When they called me, I told them if they mentioned the name of the suit, I was going to go over and beat hell out of them,” he said. “They stopped calling.”

President Lyndon B. Johnson nominated Cassibry to the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Louisiana. He sat there from 1966 until 1987. He returned to private practice and was appointed to the Louisiana gaming commission “where his outspoken style saw him clash repeatedly with the rising gaming interests.

Given what you’ve already learned about him from those three paragraphs of his obituary, what do you think has to happen for people to make note of your outspoken style in Louisiana?

The historic marker on the square reads:

Fred J. Cassibry (1918-1996), U.S. Navy WWII veteran, served on the New Orleans City Council, Orleans Civil District Court, U.S. District Court, E.D. La., and the Louisiana Economic Development and Gaming Corporation. Throughout his 40 years of public life, Judge Cassibry personified the definition of a dedicated public official. He never forgot he was a servant of the people. Square dedicated by 1999 La. Acts 708.

adventures / photo / Wednesday — Comments Off
9
Apr 14

A few pictures from Mobile

About this time last week we were passing through Mobile on our way to New Orleans. As promised, we’re just going to be getting by for a few days here with pictures from that trip.

This is the General W.K. Wilson Jr. Bridge on I-65 across the Mobile-Tensaw River Delta just outside of Mobile. Built during the Carter administration, the bridge marks 6.08 miles of your travels over the delta, which apparently makes it the 10th longest bridge in the nation. Wilson was with the United States Army Corps of Engineers after several distinguished WWII postings and was a Mobile resident. He was said to be one of the first people arguing for a high-level bridge that would not impede waterway development. Wilson died in 1985 and is buried at Arlington. His father, who retired a major general, is also buried there. His son, who retired a Colonel, was placed there in 2008 as well.

This is apparently a Mexican restaurant and margarita bar. So the sign is the best thing going on here on Dauphin Street.

Two cargo loaders at the state docks on the Tensaw River. You can see them on Google, right here.

photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
8
Apr 14

My advice: Don’t

Sitting at lunch I ran my thumb over the inside of my ring finger. There was nothing there. This is a good way to ruin a reasonably decent barbecue chicken lunch.

So I looked through the napkins on my plate. I looked on the floor. I looked all around my seat. I did all of this several times. I took my plate up to the magic belt that transports the dirty dishes into the kitchen in the back of the cafeteria. I searched my dining area again.

There was no ring anywhere.

So I began to retrace my steps. That meant two restrooms, my office, my desk, my car and multiple bags, backpacks and garbage cans.

But the ring was gone.

So there’s desperation and misery and nausea. And that was all before I texted The Yankee to tell her the bad news. I started searching several of these places for a second and third and fourth time. I was wondering how far I should go into thinking about diving through the garbage coming out of the cafeteria. I had looked in my napkins, but had I looked enough? Vigorous napkin use because of barbecue sauce seems a good a way to lose a ring as any. Did I look in those napkins enough?

Meanwhile, I’m in this text conversation. Looked here, looked there. Did you look there? Yes. How about in –?. Yep. I walked over to the locker room I use at the pool. That was the last place I knew I had it because I’d taken it off to swim last night. Maybe it was still on the top of that locker, but that seemed unlikely and it was not to be.

Finally, The Yankee said What about in the trunk of your car? Clothes go there after you swim. I had not looked in the trunk. And in tearing that apart I found my ring, just sitting on top of a pair of blue jeans. Waiting. Apparently it had slipped off last night when I was putting things away after my swim.

Took hours to unwind from that anxiety. But, hey, the good news is my fingers must be getting skinny. On the other hand, I’m checking my ring finger every few minutes now.

Alabama / memories / Monday / photo — Comments Off
7
Apr 14

Copeland Cookie Day

Today was Copeland Cookie Day in my class. This is Dr. Copeland:

He was my first professor in the doctoral program at Alabama. He served on my comps committee and was always full of great jokes and good advice. Not too long after he was on my committee, and just after his retirement, he died. Dr. Copeland was a giant sweet-hearted man. There’s a group on Facebook that is still growing long after his death, which probably says a lot in the modern context.

He always did a lot for his grad students. He’d take them out one night for drinks. He gave them tickets to the pancake breakfast his Kiwanis chapter ran. He’d take one class and bring cookies and put away the syllabus. He’d just talk about whatever seemed important: conferences, papers, dealing with colleagues. You could have viewed it as a night the guy didn’t want to teach. In time, I think, we came to realize that a lot of the most important things we learned came from there.

So that’s why I have a Copeland Cookie Day every semester. I bring in snacks, put aside the plans and just talk about industry, courses, war stories, whatever. Today was Copeland Cookie Day. These are all that remain:

The students always agree, after I tell about the man, that Dr. Copeland must have been a good man. They are right. His students knew it too. That Emmy was won by one of his former students. Instead of displaying that in his home or office, or giving it to his parents, he brought it to Dr. Copeland. There are at least a half dozen Copeland Cookie Days going on around the region this semester. I just thought you should know.