The only lights Saturday night on Bourbon Street were the flashing blues of police vehicles on patrol, the headlights of rumbling military trucks and an occasional flashlight or cigarette glow among bedraggled holdout residents.
"Why does any local stay? Because this is our neighborhood, this is home," said Ride Hamilton, 29. He has turned his French Quarter home into a mini-warehouse of supplies for his neighbors. He said he accumulated the goods during daily "shopping" trips to local stores, "trying to get it before somebody else does. We're relying on ourselves out here."
Johnny White's Sports Bar, which has no doors and, according to locals, never closes, has become a gathering place for some of those who remained downtown when Katrina devastated the city Monday.
"It's very eerie and disturbing," said Joseph Bellomy, 23, a Cleveland native who moved here in February and has been working as a bartender. His T-shirt's slogan: "How much fun can I have before I go to hell? - French Quarter."
At times, there has been gunfire at night. Most of the time, he said, it's quiet. "That's when we start talking to each other, trying to cheer each other up," Bellomy said.
A terrier that was dropped off by someone fleeing Katrina is tied to a darkened lamppost. A male, he nevertheless has been named "Katrina."
Bartender Deidre Rick, 24, serves drinks while wearing a tank top and shorts, joking: "I'm finally on the diet I wanted to go on." A woman identifying herself as Diana Straydog, "the last Native American in New Orleans," puffs on a long Dominican cigar obtained "at a Katrina discount."
Hamilton and Bellomy, who said he got some medical training while in the Air Force, have been trying to administer first aid. A local character they know only as "V" got his head busted the night before by thugs looking for money, Bellomy said. He was trying to get V to stay sitting to keep the wound, patched with a butterfly stitch, from opening up.
He was also changing the bandage on the leg of Lisa Smith. Away from her earshot, Bellomy and Hamilton say they're worried about the leg, punctured as she swam for her life during last week's flooding. They say gangrene is setting in.
"We need medical supplies. We need help," Bellomy said.
Down the street, Vaughn Couk and Ted Mack sit out in front of the Blues Club. They and a friend have been maintaining a daytime presence, they say, that's deterred looters. When it gets dark, they say, they go inside and lock the door with a chain. They say they've heard the chain rattling at night, but they make noise to scare off whoever's there.
"I'm working 24-24 now," said Mack, who normally works security inside the club.
Couk usually works at Hoggs Bar on Chartres Street, but left that locked up.
"It's not too bad now. It's been getting better," he said of the nights. "There are police around from all over the place - New Jersey, Wisconsin, Wyoming."
On a side street cluttered with clothing, glass and other debris, a man on a bicycle has a large bottle of whiskey and some cookies in the front basket. He pedals away erratically but quickly when approached. A couple with a shopping cart both smile and then turn their backs and push the cart.
There were police checkpoints. Officers in blue T-shirts holding M-16 rifles sat in chairs on some corners. One barked: "Get off the street! There's a curfew. It's dangerous out here." 
|
