Big Easy, Big Memories

I met you when I was 16 years old.

I had barely been out of the Midwest at that time, a few times to my grandparents' house in South Florida, twice to camp in the Colorado Rockies, and to a few other miscellaneous places.

So of course you captured my senses. The black wrought iron of the French Quarter, the Natchez riverboat, and the crayfish I ate all burned themselves indelibly on my young mind. I loved the nooks and crannies in the Quarter, from the touristy gift shops where I bought the fake "Rue de Bourbon" street sign to the equally phony little voodoo shops.

But I was most enthralled by the man playing his saxophone on Jackson Square, just by the St. Louis Cathedral. You see, I was only sixteen, and had just discovered jazz. His eyes were smiling as I dropped money in his jar.

I wonder where he is today.