Trouble Squared

Jackson Square is the heart of the French Quarter, the center of tourism for the city of New Orleans. The scenic park has a rich and somewhat dark history. Public execution of slaves in the early 1800's, a popular hang out for pirates and the location of the signing of the Louisiana purchase.  Today tourists crowd the sidewalks like slow moving flocks of pigeons looking for something to pick at. The French Market, St Louis Cathedral, Decatur Street and the Pontalba apartments flank the park.

The iron fences surrounding the park itself are ornamented with artwork for sale daily by street artists. I would be generous if I said one out of four should be allowed to call themselves artists. Street performers ranging from the traditional sliver mimes to 5 piece brass bands to a human transformer entertain tourists and make a meager living one buck at a time. I even juggled in the Square when I first arrived in New Orleans just to make enough for cigarette money.

Perfectly manicured greenery and seldom a piece of litter, the Square screams to be photographed a thousand times a day. Like a picture perfect tropical lagoon filled with sharks, the Square masks the darker side of the Quarter. 

Jackson Square is the favorite gathering place for every type of hustler, con artist, thug and homeless you could find. The square has become my place of work, my front yard. I see all day long the same guys and gals scheming and hustling to score enough for the next bottle or a rock. These predators see everyone else in their world as prey, as marks to be taken advantage of.

I often step outside from the apartments that I have been painting to have a cigarette and enjoy the sights (the ladies.) If I have one person try and bum a smoke, then I have at least five a day ask "Ya got an extra smoke?" When I respond no, I get the stink eye as they slowly shuffle away. "Do I look like the figgin Marlboro man to you?" You have money for the cheap bottle of booze in your hand, choose your addictions. If you should break down and give one cigarette to a homeless guy then the rest are like a flock of seagulls swarming around you and your super sized fries.

One guy is kind of cool. A few times he offered to pay a quarter for a smoke. We  have gotten to know each other, once in a while he offers me a swig from his bottle of "Heaven Hill Whiskey."  Of course now the familiarity has led to  "Styles, ya got 50 cent?" The best was the other day out in front of the Pontalba, a slouch on one of the metal benches saw me light a cigarette as I walked out carrying a bucket of paint.

"yo man, can I get one of those smokes?"

"Nope, sorry dude."

"Awww come on don't be like that, I just saw you put a full pack in your pocket."

"Yea? And?"

"Come on, give me a couple." 

"No." 

"That's just wrong, you're the one with a job."

I stopped dead in my tracks. 

"You got to be fucking kidding me..."

It was all I could do from stomping his greasy face in with the bottom of my work boot. I'm working a 70 hour work week to stand out here and hand out smokes to you bums? I didn't want to get too political with this blog, however I see it as an example of the mindset going on in this country. I guess I represent the one percent that controls all of the nicotine in New Orleans, and the other ninety nine percent who don't have any deserve what I have.

I have spoken to a few of the street artists who display their work on the Square also make comments that the homeless have become excessively aggressive with their panhandling of the tourists. I have witnessed a very drunk derelict asking for change from a family of tourists, and when he was ignored the guy proceeded to muthafuck the somewhat frightened group. It's only a matter of time before the city is forced to crack down on these bench warmers. I don't think anybody has an issue of them spending their empty days on the the Square, however when you start fucking with the tourist dollar you're asking to be hassled by NOPD on a Segway.