My friends and I usually caravan to the New Orleans Jazz Festival every spring, but one year, my friend Tommy Calk and I were unable to clear a long weekend. T.C., a pediatrician, studied this emergency and quickly prescribed a solution: \u201cWe need to make a surgical strike.\u201d <\/p>\n
As part of the tradition, our friend Charles Driebe was in charge of accommodations. Each year, he would meet and woo a New Orleans woman, maintain a relationship with her at least long enough for T.C. and me to come crash in her apartment, and then find another for the next year after she inevitably grew tired of us and threw the three of us out in the street. This particular year, Charles had secured excellent accommodations: His girlfriend\u2019s apartment was within walking distance of the festival. <\/p>\n
Another important ritual involved the first night in town. We would have a dozen oysters, soft-shell crabs and beer at the Acme Oyster House, followed by a performance by the famous local musical family, the Neville Brothers.<\/p>\n
This Friday night found T.C. and me dashing by taxi from the airport to Acme and then dropping off our bags at Charles\u2019 base camp. We were unable to hail a taxi to the concert at the coliseum uptown, so we stopped a bus, asked the driver how to get there and he waved us on board. A few blocks later, he flashed his lights at a bus at an intersection and told us to run catch it. We were then deposited at the auditorium front door.<\/p>\n
But tragedy struck: We found the ticket booth closed and doors to the auditorium locked. We could hear a warm-up band playing, so we banged on doors until an employee appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need a ticket to the concert, but the booth is closed,\u201d we pleaded.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re all sold out,\u201d she said dryly, closing the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, but, you don\u2019t understand. We drove all the way from Atlanta just to see the Neville Brothers.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked skeptically at us, said \u201cWait a minute,\u201d and closed the door.<\/p>\n
T.C. and I stood there wondering if our luck had run out. Minutes raced by. We were about to bang on the door again when it suddenly flew open and a very authoritative man looked at us and yelled, \u201cAre you the boys from Atlanta who drove down to see the Nevilles?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d we said nervously.<\/p>\n
Then he smiled, gave us an envelope and said, \u201cHere. Two of the best seats in the house \u2013 on me.\u201d<\/p>\n
T.C. and I tried to contain our glee. We raced inside, grabbed a beer and ran to our seats near the stage. Just as we sat down, the lights lowered and the Nevilles were announced. It was as if they were waiting for the boys from Atlanta to take our seats.<\/p>\n
After the show, we walked outside to the taxi stand, but we had to get in a line of people perhaps 50 yards long \u2013 all waiting for taxis, which were nowhere in sight. <\/p>\n
Suddenly, a man walked up to the line and yelled, \u201cAnybody need a ride into town?\u201d T.C. and I took a nano-second to run up and volunteer.<\/p>\n
As we enjoyed our quiet ride home, through the streets of New Orleans, we giggled as we recounted our luck. The driver asked if we had tickets to see the sold-out Allman Brothers show at the same auditorium the next night. \u201cNo,\u201d we said and then discussed our prospects of banging on the doors and saying, \u201cWe drove all the way from Atlanta just to see the Allman Brothers!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n