I Will Draw for Gumbo

I had gotten into a bit of trouble in Kodiak my last sub-year in the military. Nothing serious, just typical adolescent shit that would have been best left in high school. But then I've always been a little slow.

So I got to New Orleans in the Spring of 1977 all 350 pounds of my belongings, tail between the legs.

I worked at the 8th district office on Poydras street, high above the city in the Hale Boggs Federal building, processing flight orders. I really didn't have much interest in that, so I did what I did best at that time. I sat around and doodled. In Kodiak I hung out with a lot of wonderful counterculture people who lived far off grid. Nights would be filled with doing artwork and music. It was a magic time, and whatever smidgen of art that resided inside got honed to a pretty sharp edge. I loved doing pen and ink and pencil drawing.

Most of the employees in the 8th district Coast Guard office were civil service employees. There were only a few of us Coasties up there. It was a hushed and muted environment, with only the sounds of muzak and the ceaseless clicking of the electric typewriter keeping a lonely cadence. I lost myself in the surreal world of my own daydreams and the wandering of the pencil.

It wasn't long before my talent (read: 'sloth') was noticed by my boss, a kindly coonass cajun named Mr. Rodriguez. Rather than chastise me for neglecting the tedium of never ending paperwork, he immediately commissioned me to draw an eagle sitting on a limb for his office.

I attacked the job with abandon.

I assumed he liked the work because the day after I presented it to him it was proudly displayed on his office wall, there with the other photos of his life he enjoyed gazing on.  I was immediately elevated to a different status. That day he took me into the nearby French quarter for the first of many eye opening cajun meals, a roast beef Ferdies from Mothers. There were beignets from Tujages and Muffaletta's from the Central Grocery. There were mud bugs and oysters and Dixie Beer.

I learned the taste of food

And then other civil service folks starting asking if I would draw this or that for them. Shyly at first, then when they realized it was now my job to draw for the district office, my inbox became full of requests including one form the Admiral in charge of the entire district. The main man. So I drew happily, and they took care of me.

Mondays I would have red beans and rice,other days, jambalaya, etouffee and gumbo. I was invited to homes to eat with families and there were no cultural or racial divides. I hung out with matronly Quadroon ladies who taught me the secret of roux and fishermen who taught me the delicious mysteries of the marshes far out the bayous that define the birdfoot delta. There was magic in the boudin and the mud, magic in the humid air.

I learned to cook like they did, I found their juju.

I had no plans to re-enlist. I was a stupid kid. Another 16 years to retirement seemed like an eon. Damn. I would be 38. My life would be essentially over. Just another old man.

Just before my tenure expired, the Admiral called me into his office and invited me to sit down on the thick leather couch in his reception area. He sat across from me in his dress uniform, all decked out in gold and ribbons. He launched right into what he wanted to say to me. "I'm not going to bother giving you the re-enlistment talk because I already know your mind is made up" he began. "I don't know what in the hell those folks in Kodiak didn't like about you, we absolutely loved having you aboard". He continued; "as a very small token of my appreciation for all of the art you've done for all of us I wanted to personally give you these". And with that, he handed me 3 slate roof tiles dating from the 1600's taken from the French Quarter with scenes of the quarter decoupaged on them.

I was speechless. I mumbled my thanks and went back down to my floor to finish out my final time in New Orleans.

My life has been a journey and I always traveled light. I haven't ever really valued things. So there hasn't really been anything that's followed me around all these oceans other than those tiles. For some odd reason they seem to be attached to me with some sort of cosmic glue. That same glue connects me to the flavors that were seared into my heart there by the kindness of the folks in the Hale Biggs Federal Building in New Orleans.

And that's even more valuable.