great losses in a great city

I know, I know...it has been awhile since my last post.  But don't think I'm giving up on this that easily.  I've been a little busy the past few weeks; got a job! Yay!  Finally after applying at about a dozen places, I landed a job I really like thus far.  I'm hosting at one of the Brennan family restaurants and I can already tell that it's going to be a good company to work for.  

But on to the real reason for this post.  I found myself wanting (no, needing) to go on a photo hunt.  I had no plan, of course.  I got in my car and starting driving around on the lakeside of St. Charles Avenue.  This area seems to be a contradiction; on one block you'll find adorable shotgun homes with perfectly manicured front porches right out of southern nostalgia.  On the next block you swear you've driven back in time to the Ninth Ward a few weeks after Katrina.  

It was here at the corner of First and Dryades that I spotted something that took me by such surprise that I immediately pulled over.  On closer inspection, I found that it was some sort of memorial.  A large white cross spotted with brightly colored, child-sized handprints stood not too far from a pile of stuffed animals that had been wrecked by months of rain and sun.  Above that, the street signs had been draped in countless beads that eerily mirrored the oaks on St. Charles with their year round reminders of the Mardi Gras festivities.  This was by no means, however, a happy place.    

I started to make some pictures when a voice startled me a bit.  "I remember when that happened...I was standing right there," was what it said.  When I turned around, I was facing an man who introduced himself as Alfred Nash.  "He was shot during a Second Line."  While he talked a little more I studied the cross closer and was horrified by what I discovered: the boy's name was Jeremy Galmon...and he was two years old.  

Mr. Alfred and I talked some more while I continued to make pictures.  He spoke about his disgust with some of the youths of the area and the violence they incited.  We both talked about our love for New Orleans and how these great losses of life were a scar on the city.  But when I think about it now, I feel that it is important to remind people that it does exist.  New Orleans is not just the French Quarter and the beautiful homes on St. Charles; it is a living breathing city with real people and real problems that need real solutions.  For that reason, I've decided to bring you these photos as a testimony to a city that might have a long way to go but I believe has the determination to be a place where our youth can grow up safely and flourish. 

 Mr. Alfred 

 To top off the sense of loss, this whole event happened right next to a church. 

Words to live by.