I need to preface this with the fact that I am not homophobic. Some great friends are gay. You have to remember that this was back in 1984, things were not quite as liberal as they are today. Let’s go to New Orleans, it’ll be fun she says. I remember standing there with a strange feeling. After all, I was a cop, I’d never been a party animal, neither of us were. But the “history” and “sights” would be wonderful according to her.

You shouldn’t totally trust anything, with too many A’s in its title. A call to AAA for accommodations was made. Wow! We would be staying in a highly recommended location across the street from the legendary Marie Laveau’s apartment?, located in the French Quarter. Sounds pretty good. Naturally being me and wanting to be safe, I insist she ask about the safety of the location. “Great location! No problems ever.” Even a continental breakfast.

When traveling as a cop, you try to be courteous of the locals. Being a police captain, I had no desire to get entangled with local police over whether it was permissible to carry a concealed firearm in my vehicle while traveling. I would have to pass through Mississippi, so a call there to the Attorney Generals office resulted in, “No sir, we’d rather you leave it home while traveling through our state, we have enough problems here.” A call to Louisiana was greeted by, “Sure! Bring your weapon, we need all the help we can get.”

The trip there unarmed was uneventful. Arriving at the place we would stay was “historic.” It was one of the original apartment/townhouses on the main street leading down to bourbon street. There was a girl that staffed the location from a small desk in what appeared to be a closet in the main hallway that was barely wide enough to walk down without bumping into the card table that contained the “Continental Breakfast” (A doughnut and orange juice). I’m a cop. I’m trying to decide if the doughnuts are a joke, or a coincidence. Either way, I’m unarmed. Oh, and the pictures never seem to match the actual location.

Being me, unarmed, in the french quarter of New Orleans, I asked about the safety outside coming and going. With a smile she replied, “I have no problem, when I close for the night, I just place my hand in my purse on my gun, and walk straight to the car”. She never dropped the smile. “Oh, by the way, make sure you move your vehicle from the street out front by 5AM. The street sweepers come by and they will tow your car if it’s in the way.”

On our first day, we realize we have booked into the middle of the Gay community. Again, nothing wrong with gays. However, In 1984, a straight vacationing cop, was about as out of place there, as me booking onto an all ladies cruise.

There were three really memorable moments or comedy during that trip.

 

“Ron, your shoe is untied”

The wife and I are walking down the street from the hotel on the second day. I am always aware of my surroundings, noting any places of danger the previous day, or places of rowdy behavior to be avoided. As we approached the first corner of our street, walking towards Bourbon St, I noted the medium-sized crowd of guys at the corner bar. It was a gay bar, we had already ignored some whistles the previous day. Not sure if they were meant for the wife or me, not interested in asking. Suddenly she says, “Ron, your shoe is untied”. “I know.”
“Stop and tie it then.” I continued walking and let her know that I was not about to stop and bend over to tie my shoe right across from a gay bar full of guys standing on the sidewalk, particularly that looked like “Hell’s Angels.”

 

I’m shirtless, barefoot, and my belt not fastened

The third morning, at 5 AM, my eyes flew open as I heard what sounded like the street sweeper. I jumped up, snatched on my jeans, and bolted out the door to move the car. I moved it down and around the corner to park it on a main street. You guessed it, right in front of another gay biker bar. Some of the patrons were standing outside talking and holding pool cues, Do these people EVER sleep? This was across the street from the Louie Armstrong park, where two tourist were robbed and killed the month before. I exit the car, and start jogging back towards the hotel. A couple of cat-calls and whistles helped quicken the pace. It’s 5 am, I’m shirtless, barefoot, and my belt not fastened, running in front of a bar that looks like they would issue you a knife or gun before letting you in.

 

There were these wooden shutters

Our last night was on a Friday and they were in party mode on the strip. We avoided that area preferring to just take in the sights and a couple street car tours. That night we had what must pass for entertainment there. There was no TV in this huge room/bathroom. There were these wooden shutters on the outside of the windows, huge 8 foot tall shutters that they closed at night.
It started with a thump as someone leaned against them, then giggles, then more thumps, more giggles. Then the panting started. Groans, then the crazy rhythmic thumping of someone having sex against the shutters at 11PM. They must have taken a lot of vitamins that day. I should have taken a continental doughnut out there, and lured them down the walk away from our shutters.

So, never trust a company with more than one consecutive character in its name. It could spell a wild time.

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