the city of new orleans will always and forever be close to my heart
be a part of who I’ve become
however the people who made it the way it was are no longer there having been displaced
this article in the times is well written – you might have to register; is well worth the read –
On a hazy summer afternoon several years before Hurricane Katrina, Chandra McCormick spied a juke joint with an open door in the Lower Ninth Ward. She nudged her husband, Keith Calhoun, and they stopped their car.
Before the hurricane forced his family into exile in Texas, Mr. Calhoun used to love nothing more than to slip inside some neighborhood dive with a camera on his shoulder. Casual and loose-limbed, he would buy a beer, banter with the men, flirt with the ladies and wait for the moment when the light or the vibe was just right.
Documenting, he called it, or chronicling. Mr. Calhoun and Ms. McCormick, both photographers who grew up in the mostly African-American Lower Ninth Ward, dedicated their existence to it. They considered themselves “keepers of the culture,” guardians of a small-town way of life in black Louisiana that was fading even before Katrina destroyed so much so quickly.
On that afternoon at Junior’s juke joint, Mr. Calhoun did not wait long for his moment. Light was streaming into the storefront bar beside the Industrial Canal. A man paused in the doorway, pouring a beer into a tilted cup, the shadow of his legs tracing stripes across the floor. Perched on carpeted benches beneath a mirror that toyed with their reflections, the other patrons chatted and laughed, their bodies slack in the heat.
Read the rest with more pics…