The Stress Doc Letter
Cybernotes from the Online Psychohumorist ™
SEP 2005, Sec. II
Main Essay:
The natural and man-made horrors surrounding New Orleans and the Gulf Coast
almost defy words. Actually, it was best captured by the harrowing and heroic
images that kept us transfixed to the screen. Having lived in New Orleans from
1974-1990, this heart-wrenching season takes on added power and poignancy.
Selfishly, I feel some relief both knowing and believing my friends have made it
out of the city. And while the loss of family and friends is an unspeakable
sadness and tragedy, no longer having a home or job is pretty damn high on the
life-change trauma scale. I had a small taste of this during my sixteen-year
stay. Within a three-year period the city experienced two "once in a hundred
year" spring floods. And both times I had twelve inches of water in my ground
floor apartment. Let me briefly share a memory. During the first storm we were
let out early from work. Trying to drive home was like navigating a tortuous
maze of barely passable thoroughfares and side streets. I had to park a
half-mile from the house, and then had to wade in waist deep water to get to my
door. I knew I was in trouble upon opening the front door: my bathroom
slippers were floating in the living room. What can I say, when dealing with
New Orleans comedy and tragedy and absurdity definitely make strange and
wonderful bedfellows. So I'm torn between fearing the worst for my beloved city
and, in fine New Orleans tradition, defying logic and reality and trusting in
the city's enduring and magical spirit. So here's a personal remembrance,
hopefully more love letter than eulogy to my soul city.
Do You Know What It
Means…To Have and Possibly Lose a City of Your Dreams?
Reflections of a Former American in Cajun Paris
The "Big Easy," "Laissez les bonnes temps roulez," "The City that Care
Forgot"…phrases that suggest the irreverent yet innocent as well as the
self-absorbed and the devil may care attitude and ambiance of a true original.
The city with a pace of life that ranges from the graceful to the outrageous –
from sipping Mint Juleps on an uptown verandah to being wiped out by a
Hurricane. (For the moment I'm talking about the French Quarter, Pat O'Brien
variety, a definite Category 5 on the alcohol potency/human lunacy scale. Aha,
maybe it's not just the shape of the bend in the Mississippi River separating
the east and west banks that bestows upon New Orleans the title of Crescent
City.) This city's sights and sounds and spirit bathed and at times overwhelmed
my senses; after sixteen years of life and living, of being steeped and stewed
in N'Awlins comedy and tragedy, the cultural cacophony definitely seeped into
and found a permanent place in my heart. Not to mention other organs…like my
ears and stomach. (Now what were you actually thinking? Okay, there were many
fine women as well.) From the eclectic, indelible music – Cajun, R & B and of
course, all that jazz – to the myriad incredible tastes – crawfish etouffe,
oyster poboys (dressed or undressed depending on your preference for lettuce,
tomato and "my-o-naze"), rum drenched bread pudding, bananas foster, especially
when flambéed at your table, and the most wickedly smooth frozen pina coladas,
to name a few of my favorites.
Just thinking of New Orleans is usually akin to starting up some kindling in a
cozy psychic fireplace that quickly spreads a warm inner glow. Now my immediate
association is a mix of sadness, rage and fear. (I will try to resist
chronicling all the ineptitude of government institutions and economic leaders;
all the powers that be who ignored musician Randy Newman's line about an earlier
ecological disaster, "Louisiana, they're trying to wash us away." I will note,
however, that my favorite sign at the recent anti-war march in DC was: "Make
Levees, Not War!") Right now I worry and wonder whether much of the heart and
soul of New Orleans has been wiped out in Katrina's unimaginable wake.
Homes and Gardens and History
While it's not simply physical destruction that eviscerates a city, this is a
good place to start. For example, the architecture of New Orleans is so
distinct; the justly famous Vieux Carre grillwork is merely the beginning. My
mind's eye immediately conjures all the pastel colored residences – from small
shotguns scattered throughout the city to the oversized Garden District homes.
The latter, are more like mansions, yet, in keeping with the city's
contradictory nature, these homes are usually built on relatively small tracts
of land. Nonetheless, with the antebellum columns and large, often wraparound
front porches these structures always seem erect, expansive and regal. And the
high ceilings and ceiling fans, along with door-like windows opening to the
porch, seemed to blur inside life from the outer world. Which made sense…N'Awlins
was a very outdoor city.
From it's tall coconut bearing palm trees and its lush green, great oak-laden
parks to the clanging of the bells from the above ground St. Charles Street Car
Line, along with the street musicians jazz riffs or funky sounds streaming out
of the clubs, what was happening was often happening outside. Of course, at
times one needed to escape the blazing sun and near stifling humidity. Still,
on occasion, the swelter and sweat definitely heightened the sensual pleasures
of certain indoor escapades. (Made for great showers! ;-)
Unlike the city of Atlanta that often erects a placard to note an historical
site, New Orleans has always preserved and paraded its historical treasures.
And while sometimes in the aftermath of disaster you can reconstruct a complex
of buildings and shops, I wonder if you can rebuild history. Surely books,
newspaper clippings, the History Channel, photos, storytelling and a good
imagination help us relive the past in important ways. My fear is that a 21st
century resurrection of New Orleans will result in a Key West-like clone,
increasingly commercialized and soulfully sanitized. (I remember thinking
downtown Charleston a cleaned-up national chain version of the French Quarter,
and feeling something was missing or inauthentic.)
Will we get a Disneyfied version of three hundred yeas of incredibly rich and
complex, incredibly poignant, painful and playful intermingling of Cajuns and
Creoles, along with former slaves and slave masters, 19th century Jewish
merchants, turn of the 20th century Italian immigrants, and more recent arrivals
from the Caribbean and Viet Nam? (Even the old, self-mocking epithet for
N'Awlins – a "Disneyland for Drunks" – retains some of the city's playfully
cynical spirit and feels more genuine than the above neutered prospects.)
Food for Thought or Mumbo Gumbo
Of course, the heart and soul of a culture resides in more than its indigenous
architecture and parks, its homegrown music and food. Ahh…the food. Let me
linger here a moment. The amazing thing about New Orleans is you'd get
gastronomical delights whether at a world-renowned French Quarter restaurant or
at a local hole-in-the wall. Can't do much better than lining up a little ways
off of Canal Street near the river at the narrow, somewhat dark always crowded,
customers hustling in and out, Mother's for an oyster poboy. Then there's the
cozy uptown seafood eatery, Casamentos, with the sparkling green and white tiled
floor and walls and the red and white-checkered table cloths. And half the fun
was being served by those southern, Brooklyn-sounding, Irish Channel accented
"Where y'at, darlin" waitresses.
There's another reason why it's hard to let go of the food: New Orleans, with
its uncommon social-historical demographics and diversely home grown nexus of
cultural sensibility and style, uniquely cooks and conjures up its own mirthful,
maddening and, ultimately, magical retro-cosmopolitan gumbo. You just throw
things together; let the logical and technological be damned. The more
seemingly disparate and disconnected, brazen and backward the ideas and images
the better. In fact, some might say it's this penchant for the paradoxical and
making the strange familiar and the familiar strange that contributes to that
playful and creative N'Awlins state of mind. As an American icon of humor, Mark
Twain, noted: "Wit is the sudden marriage of ideas which before their union
were not perceived to have any relation." (And speaking of unions and
surprising relational offspring, in light of being born in Brooklyn, raised in
Queens and high-schooled in Manhattan, I've often explained a move to DC after
my extended retreat in the Big Easy thusly: If New York City and New Orleans
had a baby it would look like Washington, DC…though I haven't decided whether
it's a love child!)
Consider these examples of a "gumbo culture" that coexists with if not
encourages that confederacy of contradiction and absurdity. (And if you haven't
yet read John Kennedy Toole's Confederacy of Dunces, get ye to a
bookstore or Amazon.com. Just don't give up on this masterpiece of N'Awlins
sense and sensibility; the first fifty pages left me a bit clueless. The rest of
the book wove its magical and hysterical spell):
a) Checkerboard living. While there are (or were) many large sections of
poverty in New Orleans, especially, in New Orleans East and the surrounding
parishes, in the Uptown area you had a checkerboard-housing pattern. Rich and
poor lived in close proximity. And while this did not eradicate prejudice and
racism, you can't deal with cultural diversity in the abstract. A necessary
first step toward real understanding and emotional connection is actual
involvement – the good, the bad and the ugly – and all the economic and
social-psychology factors therein.
b) What's wrong with this picture? At the renowned Camellia Grill
restaurant, just off the St. Charles Avenue streetcar line, the front door
greeter (the place wasn't big enough for a maitre'd) had a prosthetic hook where
his right hand had been. This wasn't purposefully done for shock value. It was
just unconscious anything goes N'Awlins.
c) Jazz Fest. You can't find a bigger smorgasbord of delights – sounds,
sights, smells and tastes – than the Louisiana Jazz and Heritage Festival held
in the infield of a huge race track. The music ranges from jazz bands from
Japan, Cajun fiddling, and African drumming to locals such as the Radiators,
piano man supreme Dr. John (in the early days) as well as R & B legend B.B. King
(the crowd and B.B. singing "My Ding-a-Ling" is an indelible memory) as well as
folk icons like Pete Seeger. And then there's the incredible selection of food
situated in booths throughout the Fairgrounds – from oyster stew and pone bread
to alligator soup and soft shell crabs. Jazz Fest is hedonistic harmony
personified.
d) Fat Tuesday. Then there's Mardi Gras. I'll confine myself to my
favorite aspect: dodging early morning walking parades to find a parking spot
near the French Quarter before 9am to meander among the costumed revelers and
the wide-eyed tourists. The costumes ranged from the playful to the
outrageous. In the mid-70s, the gay beauty pageant definitely was out there.
But it wasn't just the formal pageant and the elaborately frilly, feathery and
sequined outfits. Preceding one pageant, a gay contestant was posing while
"discouraging" the shutter-bugged tourists with, "No pictures, no pictures. My
mother thinks I'm a heavy truck operator." He was having a ball.
Though perhaps the most outrageous costume in memory was sported by two men,
each no more than three feet tall, brandishing black swords, black capes flowing
off their shoulders and wearing only black leather jock straps along with black
sneakers and black socks. For me, Mardi Gras morning on Bourbon and Royal
Streets etal., before the Quarter became totally consumed in drunken debauchery
and the smell of various bodily outpourings, evoked associations to a 60s
Frederico Fellini cinema carnival. Totally surreal: you were awake and
floating in a dream state. (Which is not so removed from one's normal N'Awlins
state of mind.)
e) Urban pastoral. And speaking of being out of place and time, there's
Audubon Park, one of the boundaries of Tulane University, where I was both a
graduate student and a part-time professor. The park was an incredibly lush
urban haven. The many lagoons, the huge oak trees with draping Spanish moss,
and the man-made stone waterfall-like fountain; the sound of running water
soothing my hyper-stimulated brain. But this was more than a wonderful retreat
and meditation setting for an on the edge doctoral student. Close your eyes and
you were suddenly transported to the world of old Evangeline and the
slower-paced, 19th century life in the bayou.
That Old Devil Muse
Not surprisingly this gumbo philosophy of throwing together whatever also
fosters that devil may care, anything goes spirit. And in contrast to a town of
titles, degrees and credentials like Washington, DC, New Orleans seems to
encourage doing your own thing (or, at least, it can be a great place to
start). For example, in the early 80s with no media experience I was able to
break into radio and TV. What I had was the buzzwords "stress" and "burnout,"
an expertise gleaned from having burnt out while unsuccessfully pursuing a
doctorate in social work. Also, my timing was impeccable. Back then oil went
bust and much of the state seemed to be downsizing and under stress. (Now it's
drowning and under stress. The more things change…)
The Big Easy was definitely an inviting muse for nurturing a creative path. The
lower cost of living had a profound impact on artists, both fledgling and
established. For me, being able to rent a 5-½-room house (actually half of a
fourplex, up and downstairs) along with a large garage-like space for $400/month
meant I did not have to work full-time. I ran a half-time private psychotherapy
practice out of my upstairs waiting room and office. And with my free time, I
slowly began building a speaking and training program, started writing articles
for publication and delved into radio and TV script writing and performing.
For a good friend, a gifted painter, New Orleans made him an offer he could not
refuse. In the 1960s, after a couple of years teaching at Sophie Newcomb (at
one time an all-women sister school that shared the Tulane campus), Pat was
planning to return to New York City, his place of birth and the hub of the art
scene. But then he was offered a professorship in the Tulane-Newcomb art
department. And when he realized that he could purchase an Uptown mansion, with
enough rooms and size to house a huge art studio, for a fraction of what it
would cost in the Big Apple…well, Pat laid down roots in that Big Easy swamp.
(The thought of his house or of the house of my friend Linda, a former art
gallery manager, with all their wonderful art works and sculptures, being washed
away is overwhelming.)
The Devil Is in the Demographic Details
As we've seen, all kinds of characters – artists, oddballs and outcasts – people
who have a need to do or to develop their own thing have traditionally been
attracted to New Orleans. This may reflect its richly varied demographic
roots. Historically, you've had a blending of the races including the French
and Spanish as well as the Caribbean and African cultures. For many years the
city has been an international port of call. It has also been a cultural mecca
of the Deep South, especially for folks who didn't fit in with small town,
conservative, straight-laced Bible belt life. (For years, apart from Atlanta,
N'Awlins was the big southern city.) And in the last few decades, the "Big
Easy" has become a haven for creative types from all over the states and the
world. Not surprisingly, Jazz Fest is often the lure; one taste of this
sensuous gumbo and it's easy to be hooked.
And almost any time, during the day and especially at night, you could
experience this diversity at your local coffeehouse. For me it was the Uptown
PJs on Maple Street. While the inside was not much larger than a master
bedroom, out the back door was a fabulous courtyard – wrought iron tables and
chairs, along with a ten-foot high fountain and several magnolia trees providing
needed daytime shade. A gumbo of personality types would engage in any and all
topics. There was Ivan, the mild-mannered and highly articulate Renaissance
man, from the former Yugoslavia. Ivan would share insights on architecture (his
current profession) and on theatre direction (his former passion) while forever
underscoring the backwardness of Eastern European Communism. In the mid-80s,
Ed, a tall-lean building contractor became obsessed by the AIDS epidemic, just
breaking into public consciousness. He was constantly reading up on the subject
and predicting a worldwide crisis. Ed also counseled me on the importance of
taking vitamins after learning that a tumor had been discovered on the right
lobe of my thyroid. (Fortunately, a little cutthroat medicine confirmed that
the tumor was benign. I can still vividly recall sitting at PJs with my wacky
and witty friend Dorothy, brainstorming a workshop on “Tumor Humor.” My
therapeutic adage after the lobectomy surgery: "Half a lobe is better than
none.")
Oh, how can I forget…Dorothy was also one of my female consultants for an
unprecedented (and totally absurd) research project. I was invited to appear on
the Yvonne LaFleur Show. Yvonne owned a local upscale boutique and hosted a
combo interview/QVC-type early New Orleans Cable TV venture. I was to discuss
the psychology of women's shoes. This was her idea for promoting a new product
line.
I had two days to interview a number of female friends and, lo and behold, I
discovered that every woman has a shoe story. Actually, in our culture women's
shoes are part of the collective and commercial conscious and unconscious: from
Dorothy's ruby red slippers and "The Red Shoes" (ballerina point shoes) to a
little girl's first pump and a woman's first high heels. (Not to mention Nancy
Sinatra's boots made for power walking as well as having the freedom and good
sense to swear off those towering heels.)
With all these ideas and images swirling in my head and time running out,
finally an "Aha!" Clearly, an "out of the (shoe) box" mode of expression was
needed. And I responded with my first attempt at a kind of bluesy lyric writing
that, a decade later, in the early 90s, would undergo transformation. More on
this shortly, but for right now…
Those New Pair of Shoes
Well you got the blues, still you just can't lose
Cause you're ready to cruise
In those new pair of shoes.
Now you've paid your dues so your feet can choose
To amuse or make news
In those new pair of shoes.
Don't let them confuse your personal views
There's only one muse
Those Yvonne LaFleur shoes!
(c) Mark Gorkin 2005
Shrink Rap Productions
Well the camera crew erupted with wild applause while Yvonne initially seemed
dumbfounded, but then she broke out into a big smile. This incongruity was, is
and, hopefully, will always be New Orleans. The Stress Doc being interviewed on
Cable TV about women's shoes and flowing with the absurdity and poetry of the
situation. Laissez les bonnes temps roulez!
Lasting and Launching Legacy
The spirit of New Orleans certainly nurtured a signature media voice, a blend of
thoughtful psychology with cutting edge and slightly outrageous humor.
Actually, it was in New Orleans that I truly came out of the creative and public
performance closets – university teaching, writing and performing "Stress Brake"
essays for radio and TV, performing monologues with a theatre group and a trial
of standup comedy at a nearby suburban night club. Again, I wasn't creating in
a vacuum. There were hours and hours of brainstorming, editing and rehearsing
radio and TV essays with two of my dearest friends, Paul and Betsy, both in the
medical field. They definitely added some enlightened and light-hearted
substance to my silliness.
In addition to an eclectic mix of uncommon friends, another lasting "American in
Cajun Paris Years" legacy involved setting the stage for my pioneering work in
the field of psychologically humorous rap music – "Shrink Rap" ™ productions.
The epiphany of the Shrink Rap title would come about three years later.
However, in 1989, subconsciously building on my "shoes" debut of the early 80s,
I penned an R & B-like lyric, "The Burnout Boogie." (The lyrics were
autobiographical. For me, there were no more mountains to climb in the bayou.
It was time to shake up the puzzle. And a year later I took a Visiting
Professor position at Catholic University in Washington, DC.)
And all those years of Mardi Gras costuming and general outrageousness helped me
overcome my reticence to perform those lyrics in my home grown rap regalia:
Blues Brothers hat, Black sunglasses and a black tambourine.
As you can imagine, the transition from New Orleans to DC wasn't always smooth.
The heartfelt saying, "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?"
definitely applied. For example, let me illustrate a geographical difference
regarding creative essence and ambiance. My first year in DC I was looking to
discover fellow creative types. In New Orleans, between PJs and my artsy or
wacky friends, my need for the artistic and the absurd rarely went unfulfilled.
I would tell Washingtonians that just rolling down so many Big Easy streets
you'd bump into imaginative oddballs and larger-than-life characters. By way of
contrast, to quench my social-creative thirst in DC I had to join an artists
support group! While the years in DC have furthered the "sui generis" journey,
there's no doubt where my metamorphosis took shape and flight.
Final Words
Shortly after Katrina struck the Gulf Coast, I briefly responded to a letter of
sympathy from a long-time friend. It makes a fitting summary and close.
I'm sort of in a state of low-grade shock and sadness. It's hard to capture
the magic of New Orleans as a place to live, to pursue or act out your dreams
and desires.
The sense of creativity, playful absurdity, that gumbo mentality (just throw it
all in and stir) permeates all aspects of life. In a way it's an "oasis" (irony
intended). (For the most part) New Orleans exists in a kind of cultural and
geographic isolation; there are no big cities nearby. The closest are Houston
and Atlanta, seven and ten hours away by car. And, of course, historically it's
always been behind the times, reveling in its history, often moving to it's own
home grown beat and traditions as opposed to national cultural trends.
{However, at cynical moments I've referred to living in New Orleans as being
behind the "iron swamp."}
A favorite writer of mine, Thomas Wolfe titled a novel, You Can't Go Home
Again. Au contraire, cher. I will make it back to New Orleans,
whether or not the city can withstand the superficial-commercial machine. When
a place is in your heart and soul and in your dreams…as this essay reminds me,
you always can go home again, or at least can conjure a nourishing reverie. And
once more I've discovered how writing and sharing is necessary for me to…Practice
Safe Stress!
Heads Up:
Successful Programs [References on Request]
1. Wharton Business School Alumni;
Managing Stress
and Discovering Balance
2. Housing and Urban Development (HUD) Managers; Stress Management and
Team Building
3. Forty + (Career Transition Organization); Practicing Safe Stress in
Times of Change
4. Bowie, MD Municipal Employees, Luncheon Keynote, Diversity Conference;
Managing Stress and Practicing Tolerance through Interactive Humor
5. Society of Human Resources Management (SHRM)/Career Management Group;
Managing Stress and Achieving success
Mark
Gorkin, LICSW, "The Stress Doc" ™,
is a psychotherapist and "Motivational Humorist" whose Interactive Keynotes and
Kickoffs draw wide and "amazing" acclaim - from Fortune 100s and Federal
Agencies to around the world with Celebrity Cruise Lines. An OD/Team Building
Consultant, Mark is the author of Practice Safe Stress: Healing and Laughing
in the Face of Stress, Burnout & Depression and of The Four Faces of
Anger: Transforming Anger, Rage, and Conflict Into Inspiring Attitude and
Behavior. Also, the Doc is AOL's "Online Psychohumorist" ™ running his
weekly "Shrink Rap ™ and Group Chat." See his award winning, USA Today Online "HotSite"
-- www.stressdoc.com (cited as a workplace resource by National Public
Radio (NPR). Finally, Mark is an advisor to The Bright Side ™ --
www.the-bright-side.org -- a multi-award winning mental health resource.
Email for his monthly newsletter showcased on List-a-Day.com. For more info on
the Doc's speaking and training programs and products, email stressdoc@aol.com
or call 301-946-0865.
(c) Mark Gorkin 2005
Shrink Rap Productions