Author: Eric T. Styles

Swifties Are Always Welcome

Phenomenal seems to be the most frequently used word by French Quarter businesses to describe the past week of the “Swifties” invasion. Swiftie denotes a dedicated fan of singer-songwriter Taylor Swift, whose three nights of concerts at the Caesars Superdome flooded the French Quarter with her most diehard followers this past weekend. The Swifties quickly gained fans of their own among the local business community, not only for their patronage, but for just being courteous and downright nice people. If a business owner wasn’t a Taylor Swift fan prior to this week, they certainly are now.

Jaded service industry workers in the French Quarter are no stranger to large homogeneous groups and typically expect an aggravating work shift dealing with rude, entitled customers. Not so with Swift fans. In fact, the complete opposite seems to be true. I received nothing but compliments for the sequined customers, who were generally described as “very kind and spending lots of money.”

Cary Thompson, general manager at 13 on Frenchman Street had nothing but praise for the crowds of Swift fans this week. “They weren’t just trying to be kind; they were very genuine and engaged,” he said. “They all seemed very based, happy to be here and really vibing on each other’s fandom and positivity.”

Enormous peaceful crowds packed Bourbon Street for blocks singing Swift songs, dancing, and just being cool and loving. This is not exactly what we are used to seeing on Bourbon Street. There is clear evidence that this group of people seemed to have left the Quarter cleaner and in better shape than they found it.

One of Bourbon’s most hardened and renowned night club managers, Eddie O’Dwyer at The Frat House on Bourbon Street had this to say about this Swifty weekend: “If I could open a strictly Taylor Swift bar, I would. Great crowds and numbers since Thursday. No problems, no headaches, everyone nice and polite. I was like wtf?! I’ll take this 7 days a week, 365. I hope they come back next year!” Eddie added his security staff was extremely bored from all of the politeness.

One shop, Gimme at 713 Toulouse St., was elbow-to-elbow with Swifties for days. The shop, which features accessories best described as pink and glittery, has never seen crowds of customers like this since they opened about three years ago, or at any point in their entire retail experience in the French Quarter. Owner Jeff McCoy and his wife Nikki not only praised the quantity of customers, but the quality of customers.

The bright pink Gimme shop features fun quirky accessories and glittery makeup, a huge draw for Swifties. Several people asked what kind of a shop it is the rest of the year thinking it was Taylor Swift pop-up store here only during the concert. “Nope, this is us year-round,” Jeff McCoy responded.

Excessively polite and courteous patrons filed in and out of the shop as soon as the doors opened. McCoy recalled one incident. “We were just locking up and closing for the night when a couple of customers from earlier in the day started to tap on the window for our attention,” he said.

Somehow the customers had inadvertently received a pair of earrings in their purchase bag that they had not paid for. Since they were leaving the next day, they made a special trip back to the small shop that night to either return or pay for the merchandise.

Overwhelmed with such honesty, Nikki and Jeff said they refused payment for the earnings. “Please just keep them,” the McCoys told the group.

According to Jeff, that incident was the best example of the type of crowds they were serving this weekend.

Turtle Bay on Decatur Street had informally renamed the upstairs as “Taylor Bay” for the concert weekend and decorated wall-to-wall in bright, glittery tassels, just like the kind of dress Taylor Swift wears on stage (in fact, when I Googled the spelling of tassel, the search bar auto-populated with “tassel dress Taylor Swift”). Guests loved it and here’s what owner Steve Smith had to say on this weekend:

“I’ll start by saying, going into the weekend I wasn’t a Taylor Swift fan. Not a hater, just indifferent. As a 54-year-old guy, I wouldn’t have been able to name one Taylor Swift song. I’m sure I’ve heard some just as a member of society, but I couldn’t have told you what songs hers were when I heard them. My wife and I happened to be in Nashville last year when the Taylor Swift tour was in town. We saw how many people it brought there. So, when we found out the tour was stopping in New Orleans we knew it would be a busy weekend and wanted to take advantage.

“We decided to turn the upstairs room at our bar/grill into a Taylor Swift-themed room. We knew with three sold out shows in the Dome, New Orleans was going to get plenty of visitors this weekend. What we didn’t know, was the town was about to be consumed and completely taken over by a seemingly never-ending swarm of ‘Swifties.’

“Every bar, restaurant and shop was filled for three days giving businesses a much-needed shot in the arm after another long summer. But this group brought with it more than monetary gains to the city. They didn’t just spend money around town, they shared their fun loving, friendly, carefree attitude. Every one of the Swifties, young and old, came with excitement and a smile ear to ear. Their attitude was truly contagious. You could feel the excitement and buzz around the city from the tourist to the locals.

“I’ve been in this business for over 30 years in New Orleans and I can’t really remember an event like this not called Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest or French Quarter Fest that brought the same energy. That includes the many Super Bowls, college football championships, concerts, etc. I’ve witnessed. In a town that sees plenty of ups and downs from a very contentious political season, crime, poor infrastructure, and the rest. The Swiftie invasion and shared positive vibes was more than welcome. It was one of the best weekends for the city I can remember, certainly since covid. I know we have the Super Bowl coming in a few months and it will be great. But I would gladly take another Swiftie invasion weekend any day!!“

Thank you, Taylor Swift and your fans, not just for giving New Orleans the huge financial boost we knew we needed, but more importantly the emotional lift we didn’t know we needed.“
-Steve Smith, Turtle Bay.

Regardless of what someone’s opinion is of Taylor Swift’s music or politics, one cannot deny that she boosts the economy of any city she performs in. Not every event or festival here can say that. There have been large groups of fans for events that were way more trouble than they were worth and their return visits are always dreaded.

Summers are always slow and with the current economy, this visit has been a blessing. Jeff McCoy stated: “When she schedules her next tour, I’ll personally go to a council meeting and encourage the city to invite her back.”

Hell, when she comes back, I’ll spend the money and go to a show myself.

Little Amal visits the French Quarter

A spectacular sight was seen in the French Quarter on Saturday, when a world famous 11 feet high animatronic puppet graced our city. Little Amal is a project by Handspring Puppet Company from South Africa. Little Amal has been on a global tour known as The Walk to bring awareness to refugees fleeing from the continuing conflict in Syria. Amal portrays a 10-year-old girl fleeing a war-torn nation searching for her mother by walking the earth.

No exaggeration, some of her appearances since this project started in July of 2021 have included nearly 100 cities in 14 countries, covering more than 6,000 miles. New Orleans has the privilege of being her latest stop. On Saturday, the puppet’s stroll started on the Riverwalk, then proceeded to Jackson Square and onto the finish at Congo Square.

The scale and mechanics of the animatronic puppet are amazing to behold in person while from a distance the creation does take on a very human like presence. Praise to the creators and puppeteers, especially the one inside walking on stilts navigating our infrastructure. Amal’s magnetic VHS tape hair blowing in the wind from the river just added to the life-like quality.

Amal’s arrival was heralded by a lone trumpet player at the Moonwalk by the river. There was some sort of eery industrial fire to the southeast of us miles away casting a dark line of smoke on the horizon in the otherwise clear blue sky. Almost a war like backdrop to her story.

Waiting were performers from the local puppet company, The Mudlark Puppeteers. There was a brief performance about Native Americans, the river and colonialism. To be honest, I’m not really sure what the premise was. It did not strike me as particularly well-conceived, rehearsed or directed.

From there, it turned into a second line of sorts with the brass band TuBad. Prior to the start I was standing downwind from them smoking and caught a pretty good secondhand buzz, so of course they sounded good to me.

The puppet was, of course, the star attraction and at times dancing to the music of the band. I kept waiting for her to twerk for that true NOLA flair. Amal managed to dwarf anything she stood near in Jackson Square. The statue, the fountain and trees were all reduced in her presence.

I was impressed how the performers managed to bring life to the character by interacting with its surroundings. Leaning forward to look at a sign, examining a tree or fountain. As the crew walked down Decatur Street in front of the Square, the puppeteers thought that stopping to pet a carriage mule might be a nice gesture. As it approached the mule and put out a hand the size of a garbage can lid, the buggy driver screamed “GET THE FUCK AWAY!” as he shook his buggy whip at the puppet. The mules are usually pretty chill, but to be honest at first glance this puppet is a little freaky.

The procession stopped for another skit with The Mudlark Puppeteers in front of the Cabildo. This performance was a little more obvious than the first. It was about the slave trade in America. I’m not sure of the connection to the plight of refugees, perhaps it was just a regional culture reference.

Some puppet performers wore masks, while others had matching colonial wardrobe and most just wore street clothes. The masks were obviously those of white European-descended slave traders. All lifeless looking and identical except for hair colors of blond and red. The puppets brought out were characters of African slaves. The slaves looked like they were designed based on 1920’s racist advertisements for laundry detergent. It was just uncomfortable and awkward to watch the performance. –not due to the content but the quality.

On St. Peters Street, diners on the balcony of Tableau were treated to a nearly face-to-face encounter with the creation. With all that is happening in our frighteningly changing world today and the politicization of every aspect of it, there was not as much as I anticipated. I half expected to see pro-Palestinian supporters make some sort of an appearance. There had been a rally earlier in the week at Duncan Park.

Perhaps the organizers preempted any involvement by those looking to exploit the moment. The entire Israel and Palestine conflict is a hot button topic that only widens division. Thankfully none of that came into play yesterday, although it wasn’t not entirely unrelated.

There was however a second line reveler group sporting the colors red, green and yellow for Africa and Black Lives Matter regalia. A bit surprising since most corporations, NGO’s and nonprofits have distanced themselves from BLM following last year’s scandals. The organization’s leadership has been accused of embezzling tens of million from donors for personal use. The British production company responsible for this global odyssey probably had little or no say in who would be greeting them.

For the record, Syria is located in Western Asia, not Africa.

From an artistic standpoint, I would’ve sought out a Mardi Gras Indian krewe to accompany our city’s guest. The colorful and flamboyant Indian costumes would have nicely contrasted the muted earth tones of Amal’s appearance. Being also large in scale it would have made for great visuals with something iconic to our city’s culture.

I spent the rest of my day pondering the themes of refugees and colonialism presented by this performance. One could argue that the original European settlers in the Americas were in fact refugees fleeing religious persecution in their homelands. Apparently, the Native Americans had very liberal immigration policies for their times. An open border with assistance of food and shelter for the migrants. In hindsight the indigenous people might now think that was not a great idea.

Another parallel that came to mind was that the Jews were refugees in the 1930s fleeing from religious persecution. Now they are accused of being the colonizers, same as the Pilgrims. What is the tipping point from where refugees and migrants become the colonizers? I think there are many native Europeans asking that question today.

A discussion for greater intellects than mine.

Reporting from the East Bank of the Gonad Heights.

A clean up guy story

It’s four a.m. and I just woke up from another job-related nightmare. I was getting up in another hour anyways. Perhaps these painful dreams of work will be exercised from my subconscious if I write them down. I won’t claim to suffer from any form of PTSD., let’s save that for the combat veterans and victims of serious crimes. Still, I’ve seen some pretty fucked up shit in my years of French Quarter employment.

My position? Morning clean-up guy in a couple of dive bars right off Bourbon Street. It’s every bit as gruesome as it sounds. Imagine a melancholy Tom Waits song about mopping up vomit. I’ve been doing this for so long, not only can I tell you that the puddle contains hurricanes and gumbo, but that it looks like it originated from Pat O’Brien’s. It’s not a career for the weak or cowardly. These are some highlights from my cringe scrapbook.

I hose off the sidewalk every morning. Picture Jackson Pollock with a bad stomach virus.  There is no way to feel cool about yourself while hosing off a soiled condom stuck to the lid of the city garbage can. I’ve seen so much blood in and out of the bars, it’s like analyzing a crime scene as I clean. “Janitorial Forensics” as I like to refer to it.  Blood drops and spilled drinks with shoe prints tracking through it all.

Walking into work about 7 a.m one morning, I was greeted by a bartender with a distant dead stare in his eyes. He had a welt on his forehead, and his hair and the objects behind him were splattered with candle wax. I only asked, “Did you kick out a hooker last night?” He silently nodded yes. I felt like Sherlock Holmes.

Years ago, when I worked at the hotel across the street, I was hosing a rather large puddle of dried blood with a trail starting from Bourbon Street, leading to the front of what is now the Ra Shop. As I rinsed the sidewalk, a tooth skipped across from of the water. “Someone was an asshole to the wrong person last night.” A couple days later I ran into a door guy at the club on the opposite corner, his right hand was bandaged. My buddy lamented, “I was aiming for the side of his head, but he turned into it. Sliced my hand on his teeth. He lost a few, hope I don’t catch anything.” I casually motioned to my corner, “He went that way?” A nod of yes confirmed my conclusion.

One might be surprised to find out how difficult it is to hose a butt plug down a gutter. I guess it has to do with how it’s shaped. Where the fuck did it come from? Did it just fall out? Did someone get bored with it and just reach back and pluck it out? Perhaps it just fell out of a pocket, I told myself as many gallons of hose water were used to prompt the bright red sex toy to the sewer grate on Bourbon Street. It should wash out to the river after the next storm and from there, flow down to the Gulf of Mexico where it will lodge into the blow hole of a baby dolphin — IF everything goes according to my diabolical plan.

I find some disgusting things in the gutter as well. One time I found a toe. An actual little toe from a human, like in the movie, “The big Lebowski.” That’s how I recognized what it was. I leaned down real close, rinsed it and looked a little closer — yea, a fucking toe. Didn’t surprise me a bit. We see idiots all the time wearing flip flops, sandals or even barefoot. Good, you deserved it. I won’t wear anything less than Doc Marten on that wreckage-strewn street. Hosing the tiny grayish appendage down the gutter, I amused myself with a lousy John Goodman impression: “You want a toe, Dude? I can get you a toe. Hell, I can get you a toe by three o’clock. With nail polish.”

I pondered if I had any obligation to report it to proper authorities. Nah. Teeth, toes, they don’t care. What if I found an entire foot? Would I phone it in, then? Probably not. I just would pretend I didn’t notice it and let the city workers deal with it. An entire leg? Hm, maybe. Odds are the owner didn’t get very far.

Another morning I walked into the men’s room and stopped dead in my tracks. Looking down right in the middle of the floor. “REALLY GUYS?! I would expect this in the women’s room, but not in ours.” I leaned down and squinted. “Oh wait, it’s just a cigar. Sorry men, as you were.” Ask any janitor, the women’s bathroom is always many times worse.
“We’re out of paper in the ladies’ room.”
“No, you’re not. There’s a half a fucking roll strewn all over the floor. Every morning it looks like goddamn mischief night in there.”
This is why I don’t date anymore. I’ve been cleaning ladies’ rooms for so long that I want nothing to do with you nasty assed bitches.  They all act like they don’t even fart, yet there is crap on top of the toilet tank. Somehow the glitter makes it all OK, I guess.

You must stay up with the graffiti, too. If you let one tag slide the next day, there will be three more.  Inspecting the women’s room one gloomy morning I was greeted by “MEN R PIGS” written on our ivory tile wall. Upon examining the scrawl to determine the best removal method, I realized it was in fact written in blood. I chuckled at the irony of this self-own. Do used tampons work like felt-tipped markers? Total lack of self-awareness on her part. I gloved up for the procedure and laughed thinking about a troll response. I should write beneath it: “NO WE’RE NOT” in semen.  That would’ve been counterproductive to my job, though. Besides, I’m not that young anymore. Maybe I could’ve squeezed out enough to write just “NO.” Not nearly as clever.

Why did I wake up this morning screaming? Have you ever had to plunge a fetus? There is no coming back from that.

Red Dress Run 2023 (PHOTOS)

All photos by Eric T. Styles
Crowds of people wearing red dresses flooded Marigny, Bywater and the French Quarter on Saturday for the annual Red Dress Run. Usually held on the second weekend of August, it’s technically a race that you register for, with the proceeds going to support charity — although no registering doesn’t necessarily preclude participate.

Many just said “fuck it,” and decided to don a skimpy red garment and proceeded to get wasted early this morning. Were you one of those people? Let us know.

Molly’s and The Dive Bar to host Irish Halloween Wake Party for Erin Churchill memorial

A second line funeral just doesn’t seem special enough for a soul who was friend to so many people. To remember the life Erin Churchill, Molly’s Irish Bar and the Dive Bar on Toulouse Street are hosting a memorial event for Erin from 4 to 6 p.m. tonight — although there’s nothing stopping you from carrying on the celebration into the night (and we hope that you do). Food will be available for those who attend.

Erin was born the day before Halloween in 1964 and the holiday was her absolute favorite day of the year. She was also a supporter of The Quarter Rat. Erin passed away on May 21 at 58 years old after a battle with cancer. Erin’s obituary is posted on schoenfh.com. We’re going to miss her a whole helluva lot.

As the owner of Molly’s Irish Bar on Toulouse Street, every year they hosted the local’s favorite Halloween party.

So what does a French Quarter Irish Bar do to celebrate the passing of our favorite person? An Irish Halloween Wake Block Party. The Superdome wasn’t available, unfortunately, and we were denied a block party permit due to Toulouse Street being a busy street, and it’s a Sunday. That doesn’t this event won’t be special.

Costume summertime appropriate and optional, but HIGHLY ENCOURAGED. Bring your trick-or-treat bags. We are trying to keep everyone together and cool as possible! So much love too everyone! We’ll see you there.