Orphans of the Storm

But "Jeff" - as most of his friends & supporters simply knew him by - had a God-given talent for snatching triumph from the jaws of disaster. With the rallying cry, born out of the Katrina disaster, of "Enough Is Enough!", and running on a platform featuring "Our own folk first; the others, second" as primary plank, Lincoln Jefferson III was swept into the Oval Office in November of 2008 in a historic landslide victory powered mainly by the record turnout of many displaced and relocated former Deep Southerners to become the very first African-American President in this country's history.

In the interim, Remy had finally decided to make an honest woman out of his Char, and presented her with that ring shortly after making head chef. Even proposed to her late one night in the kitchen at Bayona, after he had her naked & bound on the prep table, he slipped it onto her finger - not that she would refuse anyways. She did talk him out of having a J.P. conduct the ceremony in that fashion, however.

They'd managed to save up enough by then for a proper church wedding, with all the trimmin's. Remy was superstitious enough to vote against having it in St. Michael's; he didn't want to tempt fate ever again. Instead, All Saints Church in the Garden District was the chosen venue, and a gala affair it was. All of the extended Julienne & Dupüis families were in attendance, and everyone declared they'd never seen a more attractive couple join in holy wedlock - Remy a handsome groom in his very first formal black tux, and Char a beautiful blushing bride, positively resplendent in her mother's antique ivory beaded wedding gown. Of course, Demmy was his friend's best man, and they catered the reception themselves.

When the time arrived for their last dance before leaving on their honeymoon in Venice, Remy had long already chosen the song for the jazz band to play as he'd take Char for one final twirl on the dance floor in Preservation Hall. It was inspired by a deadly serious question that she'd asked him over & over during those dark September days: "How long do you think we have?" His answer eventually came by way of an old Satchmo' classic: "We Have All The Time In The World".

In the years to come, they had their daughters Katrina, first, then Rita two years later, followed in another two by Lukey. When the lease on another New Orleans landmark, the Bon Ton Cafe in the Central Business District, came up for renewal, Char urged Remy to "cärpe diêm", and so he did, applying for a bank loan to take over the joint. She originally wanted to rename it something traditionally fancy an' upscale like "Le Bellefontãine"; he soon reminded her, however, that this was, after all, near the French Quarter, where his kind of folk - the Mardi Gras crowds - came to relax & have a good time. So they compromised, and hung a shingle out in front that declared it simply as "Remy & Char's", as it remains to this day. Good thing she didn't insist on top billing!

The new President Jefferson quickly became one of the most popular occupants of the White House in many years. Inheriting some of his forebearer's talents, he was known both as a "man of the people" in the manner not seen since Andy Jackson, as well as a skilled and natural diplomat. The novelty and appeal of a black man as American president naturally won over many of the countries and heads of state that we'd been pissin' off for too many years during ruinous foreign wars and adventures spurred mainly by avarice and acquistion of the dwindling supplies of oil. He made occasional state visits to Europe, Russia, Asia, and even the Middle East, made all the easier by what became known as the "New World Accords". Kind of a reverse Monroe Doctrine, according to Char, it was signed in New York City on September 11, 2011, in the shadow of the former Ground Zero, ten years to the date of that dark day in infamy

.

Most all the world's known leaders were in attendance, even the recently elected Presidents of Iraq, North Korea, and the new state of Palestine. Stripped of all the gingerbread, it said, essentially, that this country would no longer interfere in political, religious, economic, or other major affairs of the Eastern and Third Worlds, without their express consent - and even then, usually only in humanitarian emergencies. In addition, they pledged their mutual support and resources in combating the last remaining extremists and other international nutjobs once dignified by the term "terrorist". It was the most watched televised event in human history to date.

What made such unanimous cooperation possible was the discovery four years earlier of a renewable, plentiful, non-polluting, and nearly inexhaustible source of clean, cheap energy by a joint team of research scientists from Tulane, Auburn, and George Washington Carver universities in the form of a mixture of peanut, soybean, and cottonseed oils, blended with ethanol from corn. Ingredients from crops traditionally grown in the Deep South/Mississippi Delta regions. Dubbed "eco-fuel" by the media folk, you could run everything from ocean-going ships & big rig trucks to economy cars, oil burner furnaces and generators on the stuff, and there was soon a flurry of patents on the most economical production methods, enough to stir up a panic in the corridors of Big Oil so that they tried their damnedest to stall it coming to market by means of bogus lawsuits.

But, President Jeff, surrounding himself with loyal advisors from his days back in the Ninth Ward, easily took the high road, and refused to be bought off by them, even threatening a boycott of all remaining petroleum fuels used by the military and state guards. Eyeball to eyeball, they eventually backed down and reached a compromise settlement, allowing for the new fuel to be brought to market. Just as soon as it did, it financed a golden era of massive rebuilding for the South not seen since the days of the original Reconstruction.

The original inventors quickly became wealthier than King Midas, subcontracting the process to most all Western economies, eclipsing even Bill Gates, who eventually hopped on the bandwagon himself. The days of the global oil industry's stranglehold on the world's day-to-day affairs seemed to be in decline at least, if not entirely over. They could only hope that the gradual reduction in pollution output would eventually offset the ongoing global warming phenomenon.

To hedge their bets, contingent upon restoring N'awlins to its' historic glory, the Army Corps of Engineers - upon Pres. Jefferson's direct orders - not only rebuilt the levee system to better than pre-Katrina standards. They also constructed a series of massive, overlapping floodgates between the port entrance and the Gulf, as well as Lake Ponchartrain, modeled after the ones they had over there in the Netherlands. Computer-controlled 24/7, and monitored by the N.O.A.A., with an easy manual over-ride, this multi-billion dollar project was specifically designed to withstand any storm surge up to a Category 5 hurricane, thus preventing another disaster like Katrina & its' aftermath from occurring ever again. Before they could be completed, however, Hurricanes Françoíse and Isabél, in '09 & '10 respectively, roared ashore in the Crescent City and surrounding regions, again causing flooding & property destruction with some few deaths, but fortunately not near the amount of the '05 storms. The great avian flu epidemic of the winter of '07 - '08 was another matter.

"We shall overcome"; damn straight! Just goes to prove that if you wait long enough, most all things eventually do come to pass. The South did rise again after all; it only took almost 175 years to accomplish it. And the sacrifice of another Abraham - Lincoln - played, indirectly, no small part in it. That other Jefferson - Davis - would've either been proud, or doing pinwheels in his grave; no one could be certain.

As a natural result, Southern American culture & history was all the rage, not only in this country, but around the globe as well. Books, magazines, TV shows, movies and plays on every period from the post-colonial era to present-day Dixie were constantly being cranked out to meet the interest & demand of everybody from the Parisian boulevardier to the Russian farmer, even to the Bangkok tech worker. And, a resurgence in Southern cuisine - christened Nouvellé de Sûd - brought many a foreign tourist to Remy & Char's. There delighted diners could sample an ever-evolving menu based mainly on traditional Deep South classics like gumbo, jambalaya, and Key Lime pie, but lighter on the sauces, substituting healthier ingredients for a more modern life-style, yet still enough of the requisite pepper & other spices to tease and tempt the palate.

The restaurante's well-stocked wine cellar was Char's main culinary responsibility, as well as contributing some of her own family's traditional Creole dishes - crèpes, desserts, other sweet dishes (what he always liked to call her, herself) - as Remy had long wanted her creative input besides just her keen business sense integrated into what had become the family business. In short order the place became one of the hot spots in the city, receiving a five-star rating in the Michelìn & Virgin Atlantic travel guides. Remy was even offered the head White House chef job by President Jefferson, as well as the opportunity to franchise his establishment. But, that would've mean either being on the road, or moving the whole family away, from his beloved Big Easy, and though lucrative, he passed on these.

Besides, his recently-introduced line of combination body sauces and sex lubes, marketed under the exclusive brand name of Dr. Buzzard's Original Southern Recipe Bawdy Likkers, were taking off like a house afire, sold only in the most upscale, discriminating adult novelty shoppes. It was during these boom times that they were able to afford the large, fancy house they currently lived in out in Chalmette, just an hour's drive from N'awlins and their business, with a magnificent view of the Gulf on one side, and the bayou on the other. Both the girls had moved in with their own families, but came to visit often with their younglings, while Luke was still at home with them. It was a far cry from the shotgun house on Desire Street where his folks raised him and five other siblings, he thought each day as he drove his eco-fueled Chevy Cajun pickup into the city past the renovated and re-named Gatordome, where each and every autumn, the Saints did indeed come marchin' in.

Remy & Char kept a small townhouse on Magazine Street where they spent much of their workweek time, enjoyin' each other's company and throwin' the occasional, exclusive "dinner party" for special guests. When President Jeff left office finally in 2016, he permanently moved into an stately Reconstruction-era mansion on St. Charles Ave., just a hop n' a skip from them. He'd used it often instead of Camp David as a presidential retreat. and came to visit them often with his charming wife, the former First Lady. All in all, life couldn't have been sweeter in the living.

My, my - how the time do fly ...

"Ahem!"

Remy glanced up at where his wife was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, and her too-familiar "explain yourself, boy" look on her pretty face.

"Woolgathering again, for another yarn? So, Scheherazàde - what were you hoping to accomplish back there, with Lukey?"

"Shere- who? Shucks, babe, after all these years, you should know by now I don't always get your references! Just figured he should know the type of folk he come from, and how we got here, once and for good!"

"Actually," she rejoined, "I meant - what were you getting at, in that remark about him and Jolene?"

With a sly grin, he recounted how, late one night while heading to the family kitchen for a quick snack, he stumbled unseen across both Luke and Jolene Harris, the cute as a button, curvaceous blue-eyed blonde who was in his class at school, going about the same thing. He had her naked & on top of the prep island counter near the Jennaire range, butterin' her up with vegetable oil and other spices, she squealin' with delight and passion while he proceeded to lower his jeans. Caught up between nostalgia and lust, he quickly excused himself to head back to their bedroom, and sate his appetite with Char. She listened with a mixture of motherly concern and feigned outrage.

"Oh, Heaven help us all! So that's why you woke me up from a sound sleep!" She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "I was afraid of this eventually happening! Now I'm living under the same roof with not one, but two sex cannibals! It's all your doing, you know - you're a bad influence!" She mulled her next thought for a moment. "Maybe if we lock him in his room, until he's at least twenty-one ... "

He lived for moments like this. "HA! Now who's wishful thinkin'? Can he help it if he's a chip off the old block? For awhile there, I thought he took too much after you, with all your book learnin' and delicate sensibilities. Maybe it's high time we included him in the family business. Like my daddy always said: 'The apple never falls too far from the tree.'"

She smiled indulgently, amused despite herself. "Oh, Remy, honey - your daddy was always full of it!"

He got up, casually loped across the room, and took her in his arms. "Yeah, and I know just what you'd like to be full of, yourself!" He nuzzled her neck and nibbled at her delicate, shell-like ears as, despite herself, she giggled girlishly & blushed a darker hue. Cuddling a moment or two, enjoying his embrace, she slyly asked sotto voce: "Now ... aren't you glad you didn't eat me after all?"

Grinning wolfishly; "Yeah - so's I can keep on eatin' you till the cows come home!"

Down the hallway, from the living room, came the traditional melody of "Iko Iko"; the kiddos loved that tune, and must've sped up the volume on the TV. Holding her in front of him, they danced a little in place, gently humming & swaying back & forth. After a moment or two, a stray thought came back to Char by way of an unsolved mystery.

"Honey?"

"Hm ... yeah, babe?"

"Just how did you get the clean water from the basement boiler in our old place in the Ninth Ward, if the flood waters were up to the second-story windows? I never even saw you wet!" She paused long enough to look back at him quizzically.

He only smiled and held onto her, coaxing her back into the song's jaunty rhythm.

"Walked on the water, honeybabe - you know I'd do anything for you!"

Her heart warmed at this charming bit of flummery, even as her gaze leveled at him more skeptically. Put on the spot, he had to confess: "Oh, that's right - you never knew about those rooftop rainbarrels, did you, now? They were there for years. Hey, it was tough work runnin' up and down three flights o' stairs with full buckets couple times a day, you know!"

Mouth comically agape, his wife did a slow burn, till she drew her hand back to mock-slap him and he caught it effortlessly, as always. They both dissolved into merry laughter, then he held her tightly, tiltin' her lovely face with forefinger close to his still-handsome one. They were both hoverin' on either side of the half-century mark, but each held their own, respectively. Remy gazed down into the bright, dark eyes of the slender Creole lady who was both his greatest love, and all-time favorite dish. "I love you, Ladybird." And bent down to gently yet passionately kiss her for a bite on her full lower lip.

Charmayne looked up into the face of the man she'd entrusted her very life to, many years ago, and always would, ever again. She reached down with a free hand and gave his sausage a passionate squeeze, demonstrating her continued desire for him. "And I've gotten kinda' attached to you too, you Cajun roughneck!"

Still smiling, taking her by the hand, he led her out of the room. "Dinner's waitin', and so's Mardi Gras!"

They entered the living room, where the young pups were also at play, carrying on like a pack of red Injuns, while Luke was busy filming all the action. His mom clapped her hands for attention. "Okay, everyone - supper's ready! Let's sit down to eat, so's we can go down and see the festivities before it's all over."

The children yelled their approval at this plan, while their youthful grandad addressed them fondly. "OK-OK, kids! You heard Granny - race you all to the dinner table! Last one in winds up in Uncle Black Jack's gator stew!"

Char rolled her eyes in loving exasperation, as, grunting & aping everyone's favorite Cajun boogeyman, he chased them till they all took off, squealing in delighted horror toward the spacious dining room, where a feast lay waiting. And so, Remy and Charmayne strode off into the one place everyone, everywhere, secretly hopes for to spend the rest of their days.

In their own private happy ending, forged out of the furnace of the past, the anvil of the present, and viewed through the hope of the future ...

(And, if Fat Tuesday hadn't already came and went by now, I'd also add: "Laissez le bon temps roulez!" )

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"The dead deserve our respect;
the living deserve the truth."

(An inversion of the original by Voltaire)

********

"Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh ...
Jambalaya, a-crawfish pie, and-a fillet gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my machez á mio,
Pick guitar, fill fruit-jar, and be (a) gay- oh,
Son of a gon, we'll have big fun, on the bayou!"

Hank Williams, Jr.

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(The genesis for this story originally began in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and was born out of both my fervent, sincere, life-long love of the Deep South/Mississippi Delta region of our country - its' rich, colorful history, vibrant culture, people, and cuisine - and my continued shock, outrage, and sorrow over the unprecedented human tragedy that unfolded in the wake of the storms. So this is dedicated to not only the true-life "orphans of the storm", and the heroic folk who not only rescued, but took many of them in and cared for them - God bless you, you're true Americans! But also, to the memory and unforgettable works of all the many, many writers, musicians, chefs, and other artistes who have ever called this storied area home.

From Samuel Clemens neé Mark Twain, William Faulkner, Walker Percy, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, to Gore Vidal, Horton Foote, Anne Rice & John Grisham. From Jellyroll Morton & W.C. Handy, to the great Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong, Fats Domino, "The Killer" Jerry Lee Lewis, Doug Kershaw, Mac Rebennack a.k.a. "Dr. John the Night Tripper", Aaron Neville, Wynton Marsalis, the late Otis Redding, and Harry Connick Jr. And colorful Cajun chefs such as Justin Wilson and Paul Prudhomme. Thanks so much for the memories; they made both my youth & adulthood so much more enjoyable.

As for the good folk of Biloxi, Gulfport, Houston, and that uniquely American microcosm of U.S. cities, "N'awlins" - good night, and good luck/bon chance! May your hopes and dreams take root in the near future, and you receive all the help you need and deserve to rebuild shattered lives and homes, so that you may return soon to your beloved "Dixie".

And, a special tribute to that grand practitioner of the art of mendacity: that sniveling, lily-livered, mealy-mouthed, morally contemptible peeshwank extraordinaire who successfully wormed his way into the White House, not just once - but twice! To borrow from that big-haired troubadour, Lyle Lovett: "That's right, my friend, YOU'RE NOT FROM TEXAS!!" )