I'll Learn To Live In a New Town, But My Heart Is Staying Here

[snurri]

I'm reading Herbert Asbury's The French Quarter: An Informal History of the New Orleans Underworld, and it may be my favorite of his books thus far. Gangs of New York was great, of course: mythic and weird and foreign in a way that so much of history isn't. It's easy to see why Scorcese wanted to impose a story on it and make it live. Gem of the Prairie, Asbury's look at Chicago, was enjoyable too, but for whatever reason it was less surprising and felt a little rote, as if the author himself wasn't that engaged with the material. The French Quarter, on the other hand, is stacked with the sort of half-legendary anecdotes that really make history live, at least for me. Like Annie Christmas, a flatboat worker who "tipped the scales at two hundred and fifty pounds, stood six feet and eight inches in her bare feet, and cherished a small but carefully trimmed mustache. . . . [S]he thought nothing of walking off a flatboat with a barrel of flour under each arm and a third balanced on her head. . . . [H]er admirers said that the real reason Mike Fink was never seen on the Lower Mississippi was because Annie Christmas had sent word to him that if he ever appeared in her territory she would send him home lashed to the bottom of a keelboat."

Asbury tells stories of the Spanish Inquisition's thwarted attempt to establish a foothold in North America via New Orleans, and the legend of an exiled Turkish traitor whose countrymen caught up with him in the city, leaving only a date-tree to mark the spot of his death. There are also some truly horrifying stories, mostly having to do with slavery in the city and territory, and the casual mistreatment of the men and women then considered nothing more than property. He recounts tales of the Creole fondness for duels, including one man who issued a challenge in order to defend the honor of the Mississippi River, and of an aptly-named blacksmith who thought his way out of a duel:

One of the famous duelists of early New Orleans was Bernard Marigny, a member of one of Louisiana's oldest and most influential families, who was a master swordsman and a crack shot with a pistol. He was elected to the state Legislature in 1817 as a member of the House of Representatives and took an active and leading part in the many disputes that arose between the Creoles and the Americans. At the same time Catahoula Parish was represented by James Humble, a blacksmith and a former resident of Georgia, who was noted for his great stature--he stood almost seven feet in his stockings. The Georgian replied to one of Marigny's most impassioned speeches, and made various allusions so pointed and personal that the Creole considered himself most grievously insulted, and challenged the blacksmith to a duel. Humble sought the advice of a friend.

"I will not fight him," I said. "I know nothing of this dueling business."

"You must," his friend protested. "No gentleman can refuse a challenge."

"I'm not a gentleman," Humble retorted. "I'm only a blacksmith."

Humble was assured that he would be ruined both politically and socially if he declined to meet the Creole. His friend pointed out that as the challenged person the blacksmith had the choice of weapons and could so choose as to put himself on equal terms with his adversary. Humble considered the matter for a day or two and then sent this reply to Marigny:

"I accept your challenge, and in the exercise of my privilege I stipulate that the duel shall take place in Lake Pontchartrain in six feet of water, sledge-hammers to be used as weapons."

Since Marigny was less than five feet and eight inches tall and so slight that he could scarcely lift a sledge-hammer, this was giving Humble an equal chance with a vengeance. The Creole's friends urged him to stand on a box and run the risk of having his skull cracked by the huge blacksmith's hammer, but Marigny declared that it was impossible for him to fight a man with such a sense of humor. Instead he apologized to Humble, and the two became firm friends.

This is one of the things I love about cities; they have history. Every corner you wait to cross at, every place you go to get a drink, has some kind of a story, maybe a story that no one living knows anymore. I need to find a book like this about the Twin Cities. And if there isn't one, someone needs to write it. And if no one will write it I WILL DO IT MYSELF.

Comments

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

You can borrow a couple of my Twin Cities history books if you want to just look at the photos. As photo books they're grand. The writing...makes me want to use the stompy boots on the writer. Lots. (Sample of the difference between me and this guy: I love the skyways, love standing in them watching the snow, love dodging through them and seeing what odd little businesses have been put in around corners. He thinks they are Satan's tools for killing off all that is good and wonderful about the Cities, which goodness/wondrousness apparently focuses on one's contacts freezing to one's eyeballs.)

[snurri.livejournal.com]

Yeah, my folks have a bunch of those books, too, and that's about what I remember of them. I'm going to take a look at them next time I'm over there.

Also? WHY STOP AT SKYWAYS. Let's ban indoor heating, and Thinsulate, and plows. Hell, let's put snipers on the roofs to take out anyone who tries to shovel their walk. PURE WINTER BABY.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

And anyone who has to buy their lead-weight ski sweaters from a store does not deserve one!

[snurri.livejournal.com]

Precisely--one should knit them from wool that one has carded and spun one's self, from one's own sheep.

I, myself, kill and eat my own starving animals during winter, just as Odin meant me to do.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

That man you did the blood-eagle sacrifice on last Midsummer probably helps as well.

Unless I wasn't supposed to mention that on an unlocked post. Oops.

[snurri.livejournal.com]

It's OK. They'll never find the body.

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

Right, cause they'll never check the bog.

[tim-pratt.livejournal.com]

I *must* read this book. I love that bit about the duel; thanks for posting it. Reminds me a little of the duel Lincoln almost had with James Shields; you know about that? Lincoln was challenged, and set some crazy requirements in hopes of ending the duel. There's an account here:

http://www.failedsuccess.com/index.php?/weblog/comments/abraham_lincoln_duel/

I love duel stories. I'm actually planning a story about a duel between my character Marla Mason and a hedonistic prince of the elves. They're going to duel... by playing mumblety-peg. It'll be awesome.

[snurri.livejournal.com]

That story is great! I love that our greatest president's youthful indiscretion turns out to be an incident of sockpuppetry. Very timely. (Except for the part where the "president" currently embroiled is not anywhere close to great.)

I've got a duelist (among other things) in the novel I'm about to start revising, too. (No mumblety-peg, though :-) That should be interesting.) Kinda glad I'm reading this book before I start on that.

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

Apparently people grow taller down there.

[snurri.livejournal.com]

So do the tales.

[(Anonymous)]

Asbury's Chicago book is the only one of his I've read so far, and I really enjoyed it. True, I would have liked it a lot better if he had put all the crime and criminals into some sort of context, instead of just cataloguing the city's endless list of sordid deeds and despicable characters, but the source material was so rich that Asbury would have had to really try hard to create a bad book out of it. On your glowing recommendation I'll keep an eye out for the New Orleans book. Asbury also wrote a San Francisco crime book (titled "The Tenderloin", I think) that I've also been meaning to check out.

Pete
www.petelit.com

[snurri.livejournal.com]

I liked his Chicago book, just not as much as the others I've read so far.

I haven't read any of his fiction, but I know that he wrote a nonfiction book about San Francisco along the lines of these others; it's called The Barbary Coast.

[(Anonymous)]

You're right - it was Barbary Coast, not Tenderloin. Consider me abashed.

[(Anonymous)]

You're right - it was Barbary Coast, not Tenderloin. Consider me abashed.

Pete

[bondgwendabond.livejournal.com]

I LOOOOVE Asbury. Seriously. The Barbary Coast is my favorite, for the same reason you cite here.

[snurri.livejournal.com]

He's awesome. One thing he's got just right is the balance of credulity and sarcasm. Have you ever read any of his other (non-underground chronicle) stuff? I'm curious about his fiction, too.

[bondgwendabond.livejournal.com]

I haven't read any of the novels, and haven't ever really heard an assessment of them either. Let me know if you give them a try.

[bondgwendabond.livejournal.com]

Poking around to see if they were maybe online (doesn't look that way), there's a snippet here:

http://132.206.25.15/agreng/dodds/orient.htm

It sounds awesome!

[snurri.livejournal.com]

It does sound awesome! And Amazon has used copies starting at only . . . fifty dollars. Sounds like a job for Inter-Library Loan, maybe.

[hecubot.livejournal.com]

JZ is a huge fan of that book and read it right before we went on our honeymoon in New Orleans.

He favorite was the riot caused over waltzing.

[snurri.livejournal.com]

Yes! The one over whether the music should have a French or English beat? Of course, it's not that far a stretch to imagine that happening today; the idiom's changed, but not the passions of taste.