"Clueless In The Big Easy " by Michael White

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

"Clueless In The Big Easy "


Another exclusive article for TheDoors4Scorpywag as Michael White takes a trip to New Orleans to discover the truth behind Jim and The Gin Fizz....

My editor at Scorpywag, Alex is a generous man. He pays me in pints of English ale. There was some fuss with my agent as to whether or not my fee was negotiated in the larger more desirable American Pints or in the standard Imperial Pint. But I'll have you know it's not for a few pints at the pub that I do my thing for the page. It's my continued curiosity about JDM and the places he went and the things he saw along the way that makes me push these keys for you kids at home. So when good Alex rang up and asked if I could come up with something new and totally original for his page in time for the Xmas issue I assured him Id' get right to it and knock it out in my usual workman like fashion. I had originally pitched him on the idea about an article that discussed the issue as to who actually "owns" a piece of artwork. Could it be the artist? Could it be the producer of the goods? Perhaps the people the art was intended for? The real crux of my issue was that someone somewhere decides what is commercially viable in the market place and that is the product we see.
For example: only one hundredth of JDM's poetry has ever seen the light of day. That less than one sixth of the spoken word recordings were ever used in American Prayer.
I had lots of great ideas and was planning on doing much research and probing. I was all ready to go and hound the right people for the right answers I was going to go to the top.
Unfortunately my plans involved what the State of California would call a felony. Jacking up so and so and making them spill their guts was not the answer. Nor was writing tedious emails to fat cats hunkered down on the goods like snakes in the Glen. What hasn't been written about JDM?
With so many cut and paste flyweight hacks on the trail, there was but one solution. I had to have another angle, a different approach.
So in the literary style of Hunter S. Thompson, a road trip was in order.
En Vino Veritas! In wine there is truth, cries the ancient Latin. Seeking the truth, I had found my mission. So if in wine there is truth by all means let us go to where the truth flows like water and the site of The Doors final concert date as a foursome: New Orleans, Louisiana.
Now before anyone accuses me of being afraid to fly let me dismiss that notion.
I love to jump a jet anywhere anytime for any reason.
It just seems to work out lately that driving has become much more cost effective (read cheaper) and also it allows me more flexibility in the choice of equipment I may bring along.
What with the big rewards out for terrorists here in the States now a fellow should keep his shooting iron handy.
Not coincidentally I was at the helm of a brand new Dodge, aptly named
"The Black Lady".
The mission: avoid arrest, major accidents, minor cosmetic scrapes to The Black Lady while accomplishing a near non stop run of 860 miles to The Big Easy, New Orleans in time to celebrate JDM's and my friend Linda's birthday, 8th December. Also this was to be as usual, a fact-finding mission.
I have developed a keen eye for anything pre 1971. I am old enough to remember 1971 and a wee bit further. So on these little trips I take I always have my minds eye open to features that JDM may have seen. I combine this with places that he himself has mentioned in interviews and away we go.
"Stewardess prepare the cabin for departure" in other vernacular
" Hey straighten out that mess on the floorboard and hand me a pop!"
" Good evening passenger this is Captain Mike from the flight deck Id' like to welcome you aboard…."

"I remember freeways"

America is one giant spaghetti plate of hi-ways and by-ways.
As a general rule the even numbered routes run east to West and odd numbered North to South. Petrol here has always been very cheap compared to Europe. And while sometimes lacking the finesse of their European cousins, American cars are second to none in terms of sheer brute power.
Combine this with 800,000 Sq. Miles of paved roads and about 55,000 cops patrolling it all makes for a big playground.
Coast to coast New York to San Francisco: a mere 2840 miles makes the German Autobahn look like a test track.
I prefer to do my driving at night. Less traffic through the major cities, fewer tourists and more than half of those 55,000 speed cops are in bed dreaming about doughnuts.
In British motor head speak, the term "ton up" is applied to 100 MPH plus. These giant slabs of roadway make
" the ton up" possible anytime
'Larry Law Enforcement' isn't around.
Apparently the best doughnuts must be near the State boarders as this is where they seem to do the most work.
Naturally it makes no difference at all to the peace and dignity of anyplace the velocity which you happen to be hurtling through time and space.
But all those shiny police cars and equipment must be paid for someway.
With airfares cheaper than ever a trip to the Colonies has never been more affordable than now. Try flying into Newark New Jersey and renting a car (more affordable than you think) then remember the words of JDM
"The West is the best". So here we are now all buckled in and blasting down the big roads. We begin in the Southern tip of Ohio in what is known as the Queen City, Cincinnati nosing south in The Black Lady we leave Ohio behind us.
We cross into The Blue Grass State of Kentucky, eyes peeled for speed cops and a stack of CD's in the changer.
Kentucky is a beautiful State known for their crop of thoroughbred racing horses and Bourbon whisky, which happens to be the only indigenous liquor to the 50 States.
Long rolling hills of woods intermixed with fields of blue grass. Three hours later we were winding down a long hill and into Tennessee.
Riding South through Nashville and into Alabama my friend and I chatted about what we hoped to find in New Orleans.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

" I want to see a cemetery there" Linda tells me.
In New Orleans and other places in Louisiana the burial ritual is most peculiar. Because there it is actually below sea level, burial in the ground is not possible and instead people are entombed in marble and brick vaults that are above ground.
Here comes the weird part. Every family has just one or two crypts and when another family member dies the tomb is opened and the bones of the previous deceased are brushed to the side and the newly dead joins them. Bodies must remain interred for at least a year and a day, and then the vault may be reused. The coffins are simply thrown away after their use.
Because of the heat inside the tombs a body is rapidly decomposed. There are a variety of styles of crypts including row units that resemble apartment buildings for the living as well as luxury vaults for the rich.
Creepy huh?
I say to Linda
" I want to see that bar in the French Quarter JDM talked about in that interview, Bonapartes the one with the big mural of the Crimean War".
I also had another agenda as well to find a genuine Ramos Gin Fizz.
I read about these little wonders in one of the Lisciandro books about JDM. Recently I had culled its recipe from the Internet and was experimenting with its creation.
By god if JDM recommended them for a hangover you know they got to be good. Also I had in mind to see if I could hunt down the site where they were invented by Henry C. Ramos in 1880, Myers Restaurant.
Meanwhile we are barreling down the interstate at 75-MPH laughing and smoking and digging on the radio.
Near midnight on the 7th of December, somewhere in Alabama we took a safety break at a roadside stop that included one of the most fabulous phallic symbols of the free world: a fully assembled Saturn 1-B NASA rocket left over from the 1960's. We took a few minutes to wander around the metal obelisk and stretch our legs then it was back on the road The Big Easy was calling.
But before I pulled the brake we toasted Jim and Linda's birthdays with a small metal flask I keep of Kentucky bourbon.
"I like your snakebite kit"
Linda exclaimed as she dutifully screwed the cap back on.
"Traveling like this through strange places you know it's good to have some whisky for medicinal purposes." I reasoned.
Mississippi loomed ahead in the dark.
I wish I could tell you something unique about Mississippi as it passed through the windscreen in the dark.
It looked like anyplace USA with the cookie cutter chains of motels and fast food that litter the landscape.

LAND HO!

Morning finds us clipping along singing in time to the constant 'click click click' of the freeway expansion joints and Morrison Hotel reverberating through the cockpit of 'The Black Lady'. We have crossed into Louisiana now and are just a few hours from our destination streaking along in a huge forest of pine trees. Then we came to a huge bridge perhaps five miles long over Lake Ponchactrain. It seemed to reach the clouds as we approached it.
Twenty minutes later we were driving through the French Quarter.
Stuck in the only traffic jam revealed the Olympic Torch being ran through town with all the support vehicles and personnel and news crews. Twenty minutes more and I would be face first into a pillow and some fresh hotel sheets
I left a 5 p.m. wake up call and it was lights out.
I had one of those weird-flying dreams and woke up to a ringing phone and a strange feeling.
Next out was the yellow pages. No listing for Myers Restaurant, no listing for Bonapartes either. It was obvious were going to have to consult with local FOPS (Fucking old people) to find out the truth.
Our dinner plans were to find out what the locals were eating and go there.
We found a small out of the way bar and grill called Buffa's and ordered up.
I went for the sea food platter while Linda went for the traditional red beans and rice.
Gobs of fried fish later it was time for some serious imbibing on Bourbon Street. Jazz and Blues are the music of choice on Bourbon Street and the clubs dot the street like stars in the night.
Club after club offers drinks in plastic go cups.
See, in New Orleans, saying that someone is or was drunk is not an assault on their moral fiber like elsewhere.
Tying on a good juice is de rigueur here.
I don't really drink everyday but when I do I tend to go to excess.
Wandering up and down the street we had a few beers from some street vendors and found ourselves in a blues club hearing the sounds of 'Big Rooster and The Chicken Hawks'.
JDM might have picked up a few lines off this veteran blues man.
Rooster really could work a room.

For a fiver he'll drop what ever he's singing and bust right into a montage of Back Door Man and Little Red Rooster. Back on the street it was time for some fun. Wandering up and down the street drinking from our plastic go cups it was time for some raw oysters. I don't know why but Linda refused to eat them. "Comon' darlin lets find some place to get drunk."
Just up the block we found another house of blues and that's when reality gradually slipped away.
" We wanna hear some Doors music!" we began.
What we ended up with was some Junior Wells but we had a blast hootin and a hollering. Throwing some dollars around, a few for the band a few for the waitress and a few for some panhandlers, we were 'Princes of The City'.
Details are rather cloudy now but someone kind of hassled us a few paces from our hotel entrance.
Linda reminded me of this the next day as I later learned he had pushed her into the door jamb. "Well yes I remember the guy that was laying on the ground," I said. "Michael he was on the ground after you had hit him, after he pushed me" she said in an astonished voice. "Wow I guess I am' a chivalrous drunk huh?"

" My Eyes Have Seen You"

But there were other issues to contend with, namely a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like every tooth was wearing wool socks.
"Off in search of a Gin Fizz!" I said.
My hereto readily compliant travelling buddy was somewhat less than enthused, still of we trudged to a restaurant named Napoleons.
My reasoning being that it was named after the 'Little General' and that we could find a FOP who would put us on the trail of Bonapartes and steer us to where Jim and Frank Lisciandro tied one on thirty years before.

Louisiana is a very interesting mix of cultures and peoples.
French, African, Spanish and American Indian combine to create a people and culture called Creole.
The local foods there are influenced by all these hodgepodge and share the name. Dishes like shrimp jambalaya, crawfish etoufe',
Gumbo of many types as well as countless other dishes make New Orleans a unique culinary experience.
At the bar at Napoleons an ancient looking room that has changed little since the 1920's, we meet Cleave the bartender who informs me that they do not make a true Ramos Gin Fizz because they are prohibited from using raw egg whites. He makes us reasonable facsimiles and garnishes them nicely and presents them with two straws laid over the top.
Later he directs us to The Old Absinthe House on Bourbon Street, which still uses the original recipe.

Seated now in the dining room for lunch we meet El Ron the waiter.
He is an old queen in his late 50's or early sixties.
His combination of lisp and New Orleans drawl has us in stitches yet I think he is the FOP who can set us back on course.
" El Ron have you ever heard of a place called Bonapartes?" I inquire.
El Ron ponders only a brief second " why yeas I rememba a place called that in the 60's yung mayn".
He insists on calling us young man or young lady the whole while.
" I haave trouble a rememberin yesterday lest alone farty yeas ago"
He goes about his business for a few minutes humming to himself then adds
" it seems to me it was on Decatur Street, see Decatur Street was a bayd neighbahood back in tha day on the edge of the Quarta, now it's an up an comin street."
Now we are getting somewhere! Hmm JDM in a sleazy bar?
SURE!
El Ron goes on to say that it could have been in the 8 or 900 block.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Even though my hangover has now begun to resemble low-grade peyote high,
The Gin Fizz has helped and I am wolfing down the Jambalaya and urging Linda on so that we might resume our holy quest.
Out the door we go, next stop Decatur Street. Running parallel to the French Market, Decatur Street is now a combination of rubber tomahawk shops that breaks into some fancy old eateries in the 800 block.
We made several attempts to locate another FOP to no avail.
We saw several saloons that could have been the spot but eventually it eluded us.
Dejected and somewhat downtrodden I begin to hack and cough, the flu is coming on, not just the brown bottle flu but the real deal.
On our way today we crossed Bourbon Street but could not bear to look at the scene of our crimes.
However running parallel to Bourbon is a grand street with a grand name: Royal Street.
Royal Street is a beautiful place, unlike its cousin one block north.
Rows of three and four storied balcony apartments covered in ivy and many sporting potted ferns on the South side of the street.
On the North side is many antique shops with lots of cool brick-a-brack.
Coming out of Cohen's after looking at lots of fine ancient weapons and coins I say to Linda "Uh oh I think we are in trouble, do not give me your credit card no matter what I say."
There is a copy of '13' complete with what appeared to be a very tidy autograph of JDM in amongst other like items in a shop called VINTAGE 429.
Like Voodoo zombies we are drawn in and find a slick talking salesman named Frank.
I am cool, I nary flinch at all when Frank says that I can take the album for a mere $ 3,000.
" I can see you know quality," Frank says as he walks us to a framed article about a recent visit by Nicholas Cage and Lisa Marie Presley.
The article now framed and hanging on wall states that Cage is a huge Morrison fan and bought for undisclosed sum two autographed records.
" So you are just trying to pawn off on me the junk Nicky Cage didn't want huh?"
I chide.
Frank is very slick; he damn near gets me. In the end I decide to stick to my guns about wanting to obtain a check or other legal document and not risking being burned by an autograph again.
Besides I know JDM would hate me for being so foolish with a buck.
Meanwhile I am sweating and hacking and choking.
It's time to go back to the hotel. En route we pass the Old Absinthe House and I decide to try for one more Ramos Gin Fizz.
No use, I am beyond redemption, it's a full blown cold or flu perhaps pneumonia. Back at the hotel reading a well-worn copy of 'On The Road' I fall into a fit full sleep.
Gathering up clothes and gear, waiting for Linda in the morning I felt like death itself. We had agreed to leave 'The Big Easy', somewhat broken but not busted. My friend didn't get to see 'The City of The Dead' as I had promised, I didn't find out anything new. Driving back over the long bridge over Lake Ponchatrain we made a secret pact that we would return.
And while I can't know for sure.
I have a feeling once again we walked in JDM's footsteps.
Written exclusively for TheDoors4Scorpywag by
Michael White December 2001

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

'Ramos Gin Fizz'
Reading of JDM's fondness for a drink called a Ramos Gin Fizz and being the thorough person I am I have recreated Henry C. Ramos' creation of 1888.
By accessing several sites I have found much info on "The Fizz".
This drink was once the rage of New Orleans.
In fact the recipe itself was a close guarded secret until the late 1920s when the Ramos brothers let it leak out to help ease the suffering of Prohibition amongst their old patrons. At one time during the Mardi Gras of 1913 at Henry's bar clients waited patiently up to forty-five minutes while over a dozen shakers boys were employed to shake the drinks.
Just a bit of useless trivia, however this does seem a kinder more gentle way to introduce such a nasty substance as gin into the system.
In fact I had not imbibed gin for over a decade.
After much reading I assembled all the goods including a hereto unknown substance: Orange Flower Water.
Not being one to advocate this type of Breakfast of Champions for the timid or uninitiated I do stamp my seal of approval on the Ramos Gin Fizz.
While many people have heard of this drink, few know how to make it.
Done properly, this drink is refreshing and tangy. Done improperly, usually due to too much soda and too little shaking, it is a watery mess.

1 & half ounces of dry gin
half a cup ice
half ounce lime juice
2 Tbs. cream
1 egg white
1/4 oz. seltzer water
1 Tbs. Powdered Sugar
1 dash vanilla extract
3 to 4 dashes orange flower water

Using a blender combine ingredients to high speed setting. This should result in a very foamy consistency. Pour into tall glass and top with club soda.
There it is kids, the Ramos Gin Fizz, this is the cocktail Jim advocated for a hangover to Frank Lisciandro.
The drink really is tart and refreshing.
In fact It would be a shame not to have should the need arise, one of these alongside the classic Bloody Mary.
In the spirit of true investigative journalism I have now made several, to wit four of these cocktails just this morning. I am here to tell you sweetheart, that though 'Rock may be dead', here is one cocktail that's ready to live on.
Think of it as a "gin margarita" and when you and all your pals are quaffing this throwback of drinks, tell them you read about it years ago here on Scorpywag. m.j.