The day after

Labor Day is not even a few hours over and I am back at the keyboard killing time while week number two of jury duty begins. Labor Day is an unusual holiday. Few people, if any, can explain its meaning or why we celebrate it. It is not like Memorial Day, Veterans Day or even Thanksgiving, all of which we have specific knowledge. Labor Day is an amorphous holiday that celebrates the workingman, but the reasons why it exists, other than a convenient way to signal an end to summer, is unknown. Let me state for the record that Labor Day is a federal holiday, but the reason it is celebrated in this country is directly due to earlier celebrations held in our federal neighbor to the north, Canada. The Canadian labor movement of the 1870's grew out of a desire for a nine-hour workday and other demands in Toronto. It eventually spilled over into other provinces of Canada, resulting in annual parades and festivals to celebrate the passage of legislation preferential to them. It was in 1882 that American labor organizer Peter J. McGuire witnessed one of these festivals in Toronto and decided it would be a great import to the United States and help shore up his efforts for promoting labor interests. The first Labor Day festivities were held in New York City on September 5 of that year. Through the intervening years other cities and states followed suit, but it wasn't until 1894 that President Grover Cleveland helped rush legislation designating Labor Day as a federal holiday in the hope it would help appease labor interests following the contentious Pullman Strike in which 250,000 workers in 27 different states were involved. That strike led by Eugene V. Debs and his American Railway Union created animus between the railroads and striking workers, eventually causing Cleveland to send federal troops to Illinois to break it up. His response to the crisis eventually cost him a possible third term as president and led Debs to prison, where he began reading the works of Karl Marx. Debs later emerged as the leading socialist of his day. All of this began in one way or another as an outgrowth of a Canadian labor movement. Stranger things have happened in American history and I guess other countries can give credit to us for some of their celebrations. In the meantime we won't celebrate another national holiday until Columbus Day in October. I guess we'll look into that one next month when I won't have jury duty (hopefully) and try to figure out why we remember an Italian captain who sailed for Spain and somehow missed most of the landmass of North America in his voyages to the New World.

The gift of time

It is a sad fact that many of us squander our most precious possession, time. We are so busy scampering from pillar to post for much of our lives conducting our regular business, raising our families, being with our loved ones and sleeping that a change in our daily activities and schedules can hit us like a load of bricks out of the blue. The inactivity associated with waiting in the jury pool is a shock to my system. I am restless, confined to one room filled with 50 people. Across the hallway is another room with at least another 100 potential jurors. The powers that be have warded us Internet access, so many of us are keeping busy writing or checking e-mails or working on proposals for business. Some of us are blogging (lucky us). Others are working on the morning crossword puzzles and sodeku. We are all trying to entertain our minds, anxiously awaiting the news as to whether Orleans Parish will need to utilize our services as jurors or not. If so, we may be impaneled for the the remainder of the day or sequestered for an even longer time. If not, we may have a half-day to do with as we see fit. When time is one's own, it is largely taken for granted. When our time is given over to an employer or other taskmaster of our own choosing, we do so with the knowledge there is a recompense we receive. Usually, it is some financial reward or, at the very least, something that results in our feeling charitable or helpful. When our time is given over to a government, we don't receive anything other than a slap on our backs and a hearty thank you, if that much. Does that mean we should be resentful for doing our civic duty? I think not. After all, if we don't serve, who will? As American citizens, we need to be involved in the process. Some authoritarian governments wouldn't be bothered with the albatross of empaneling a jury of one's peers. They would simply find the parties guilty via a kangaroo court or panels of judges who would act as the state would demand. So, my being here is a lot about justice. I believe in the American system of juris prudence, but I must admit that seeing it up close and personal is not something I would willingly chose to do. Nevertheless, I am happy that I am hearty, hale and able to add my voice to the system. The number of courts needing jurors started at six and has now dwindled down to three. I'm hoping I won't be needed, but if I am called, I will serve. I just hope the judges realize there's a Saints game tonight at 7:00 p.m.

Fires and storms

The scorched earth and smoky skies near Los Angeles are clear evidence that no matter where one lives, no matter how pleasant and peaceful life may be, there awaits the constant threat of death and destruction. In Mexico Hurricane Jimena and in the Caribbean Tropical Storm Erika have lashed pleasant villas and otherwise tranquil beaches and still threaten hundreds of thousands of others in their paths. Four years ago the sleepy and charming Gulf Coast and the city of New Orleans suffered catastrophic wind damage and flooding from Hurricane Katrina. Living in a post- Katrina environment, we see constant reminders of the pangs and anguish we have endured. We tend to define life in terms of pre-K and post-K. Yet, we are still here, a bit more jaded and distrustful of government and false promises, but nonetheless here. We endure because of our own support systems that are in place and, when government fails to deliver, we know we can count on each other. I would never wish a firestorm or a hurricane on any community. The horrors of countless tales of survival or those recounting the tragically lost would compel me to think otherwise. However, I do wish that Los Angeles, Mexico and the Caribbean would have the collective strength of character to pull together and help one another in the wake of these acts of destruction similar to what we've experienced here in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. It's a shame that tragedy must precede such common bonds and sense of community. Perhaps, in the future, these feelings will manifest without natural disasters. I pray one day they do and wish the best for all those communities affected at present.

In the pool

So here I am caught in a situation that is both unwelcome but absolutely necessary. I am writing today's blog from the basement of the Orleans Parish Criminal Courts Building, one of many structures that suffered tremendous flooding in this area four years ago. For a while many of the activities associated with the long arm of the law in New Orleans ceased to exist. While the Criminal Sheriff managed to hold onto all of the prisoners he housed in the nearby Orleans Parish Prison ("you down with O.P.P. "), much of the prosecution of criminals ground to a halt during the last half of 2005 and much of 2006. Eventually, though, the powers that be got most all of the Criminal District Courts Building restored and in working order. That meant that a full schedule of jury trials had to be reinstalled and the necessary jury pools organized to fill those juror positions. In Orleans Parish it used to be if one voted, one was almost always called to serve as a juror. However, because a large number of individuals from the less affluent sections of the city didn't vote, many defense attorneys were able to claim foul when it came to having a jury that was representative of the social and economic makeup of the city. The state agreed and so other methods are employed in determining who gets picked to serve on present-day juries. Today it is my turn. I have just listened to the indoctrination from Judge Laurie White of Section A, who thanked us all for attending to our civic duty of being part of the jury system for this entire month of September. Yet, while I recognize the need to serve, I am torn by the fact that this service comes at a great cost to me, my business and to those clients dependent upon me. The last time I served was pre-Katrina. It was 2002 as I recall and I managed to serve on three jury trials, none of which were as romantic as those depicted in the movies or on TV. Most of the trials involve defendants accused of robbery or burglary or drug dealing. Most are not capital cases, but some are. There is a possibility I could serve on a jury that will be sequestered for as long as three weeks, but the likelihood of that happening is very remote. I'll probably have to sit until 12 noon most days and wait for my name either to be called or not. So far, I have missed being called to serve on two juries. The likelihood I will be picked in the next hour looms large and that means that I may have to be on a jury until the late afternoon. While I appreciate it is a great privilege to serve, I really have mixed feelings about being away from work, clients and friends. Nonetheless, it is an opportunity for me to write on a day when I would shirk such good fortune. It is much better to keep me focused than staring at the bare walls and I thank goodness for my laptop. I only wish the imposition of forced duty were a little less harsh, but I am sure it will be a positive experience in the long run.

Hurricane Katrina's positive influence

It may seems odd to suggest this, but there were several positive aspects to the horrible tragedy known as Hurricane Katrina that have made the old, bedraggled and set-in-its-ways city become progressive and forward thinking. The politics still has its own black-white tilt and the City Council, Mayor's office, police department and District Attorney's office still manage to hurl invectives and accuse each other of skullduggeries. Yet, with all of the disgust in dealing with FEMA, the several years of living in trailers, the disreputable contractors who stole millions of victims' nesteggs and the general feeling of malaise that permeated the city in the immediate years following the flooding, there has emerged in several quarters a new spirit of volunteerism and community activism that was largely absent before the storm. To be sure, there is a lot more to be done today than four years ago. And there is no way we can ever forget the 1500 or more lives snuffed out in the wake of the worst natural and man-made disaster to strike our nation. The city has become the focus for young idealists, who are flocking here intent on making a difference and contributing in myriad ways to rebuilding this historic and unique metropolis. There is the Musician's Village, which offers affordable housing to artists who would not normally be able to do so, and the Brad Pitt-inspired Make It Right Foundation that has built 150 "green" structures in the devastated Lower Ninth Ward. Faith groups through various initiatives have rehabbed, rebuilt and restored homes to grateful families. In the case of groups like the Isaiah Funds millions of dollars have been given out in grants and millions of others in long-term affordable loans have and are being made available to needy groups such as those rebuilding the Central City area. The hiring of iconocastic Rabbi Uri Topolosky as Congregation Beth Israel's spiritual leader has turned out to be one of the most prophetic events in the Modern Orthodox synagogue's history. Through his vision and with the support of the synagogue's board of trustees there will be an announcement today of the launching of a new capital campaign and a building drive that will erect a new edifice on vacant land adjacent to and on that previously owned by Gates of Prayer Synagogue, the Reform synagogue located in Metairie. Over three years ago, Rabbi Robert Loewy offered his synagogue's little-used back chapel as a place of worship for the displaced synagogue formerly located in the flood-ravaged Lakeview area. This unusual partnership between Reform and Orthodox Jewry has blossomed in a way that is quite unusual and typical of the ways that set New Orleans apart from other municipalities. It is the people who have reached out to one another, regardless of differences in philosophies and practices. Hurricane Katrina showed us all what is truly important: life, love and each other. If that is the storm's most lingering aspects, then we all will have been truly blessed. It comes at a great cost, but in the end we may still see that the period of anguish we all went through was that of a birthing pain in which a better, stronger city cried out to be reborn.

The dissolution of Camelot

"Camelot," the popular Lerner and Loewe musical concerning the Arthurian legend has been used by popular historians to describe the short-lived period of high expectations and general good feeling of the young John Kennedy presidency. The mythical kingdom imagined by T. H. White in "The Once and Future King" was used by the successful Broadway team as the basis for the book for their musical vehicle that starred Richard Burton and Julie Andrews as Arthur and Guinevere and also launched the career of Robert Goulet as Lancelot. That it came to the Great White Way around the same time that Kennedy and his young wife moved into the White House was propitious. Although decided by an extremely close margin, the 1960 election led to high hopes for this young, dashing president as he assembled a new administration during the peak of the Cold War. The nation's expectations were palpable. There is little doubt that when Kennedy was assassinated and the nation was left to mourn his loss, the feeling of dread and regret was also similar to that felt at the end of the musical where King Arthur sees all he had hoped to institute has been lost. It was no secret that the great hope of tycoon Joseph Kennedy, ironically a former ambassador to the Court of St. James's, was that he would have a son elected as the first Catholic President of the United States. After losing his oldest son and namesake, Joe, in a World War II plane crash, the former isolationist pinned all of his hopes on second son John, who had emerged as a genuine war hero during maneuvers in the Pacific. When in 1953 then-Senator John married the former Jacqueline Bouvier, a photographer for Look Magazine, the dynamic couple went to the top of the A-lists in Washington society. Despite a tragic miscarriage, the young Senator's family grew with the addition of daughter Caroline and his wife was pregnant for most of the campaign. Two weeks after his election and before they moved into the White House, a baby boy, John, Jr., arrived. Here was an idyllic young family that enchanted a nation. "For one brief shining moment that was here in Camelot," King Arthur would sing. Because of their unwavering sense of duty and service to their country, the entire Kennedy family has been likened to American royalty. Notable monarchies have had their share of tragedy, but the Kennedy family beginning with Joseph Sr. and matriarch Rose has had more than most of them. The additional assassination of middle brother, presidential candidate and former Attorney General Robert Kennedy; the plane crash of youngest brother Edward, known as "Teddy," which left him in pain for the rest of his life; the 1969 automobile crash that killed his companion, Mary Jo Kopeckne; the more recent plane crash that killed John Jr. and his beautiful wife Carolyn and her sister; the drug overdose and skiing accident that took the lives of David and Michael (Robert's sons); and several others that need not be mentioned. In Louisiana, Judge Edmund Reggie from Crowley first became friendly with John Kennedy when he first ran for vice-president in 1956. Later, he was crucial in Louisiana's support of Kennedy in the 1960 election. The Kennedy and Reggie families became close. Years later, after the breakup of his marriage, Ted Kennedy would begin to date Reggie's daughter Victoria, affectionately known as Vicki. I've known Judge Reggie and his son Ed Michael, who worked for my mom at our family's record store and was a classmate of mine at Tulane University. As his second wife, it was Vicki, a divorced Washington attorney, who has been credited with changing Ted Kennedy and making him much more grounded over the course of the last 17 years. In fact, Vicki might have been responsible for transforming the last of the Kennedy brothers into a legislator with more respect and clout than he might have enjoyed without her. Senator Kennedy's death signals the last vestige of the era of Camelot has dissolved into the mist. While it is true that Caroline has her children and that several Kennedy heirs from Bobby and Teddy are still very involved in public service, it seems to me that this most recent passing signals a break from the past. That generation is now gone and America is left to mourn for the last Kennedy brother. Regardless what we may feel about his political philosophy, there are few detractors who won't give Senator Kennedy the credit that is due to home as one of the great lions of the Senate and a man whose influence will dim only with the passage of time. We are all somehow less without this giant politico and I feel a sense of great loss that is only tempered by the knowledge that he, unlike his brothers, had the gift "of the length of years."

Fourth Year Anniversary of Katrina

Four years ago I was preparing for a weekend jaunt to Cleveland, Ohio. It was to be a short weekend vacation and then I was to wing my way back to my uptown New Orleans home. There is an adage: "Man plans and God laughs." That's probably appropriate here because in three days time my ordered world and plans for the foreseeable all were changed dramatically by the events leading up to and following Hurricane Katrina. I found myself in Cleveland, a refugee looking for a job, shelter and a way home. I wrote about it and that story became the front-page cover of the Cleveland Jewish News the following week. More stories were published and eventually a job offer followed. The last four years have passed slowly and, while I am ensconced again in my hometown of New Orleans, I think about the turbulent time I underwent 48 months ago and what it meant to my life for the nearly two years I lived there. I can honestly say that my life improved in many ways due to the Hurricane Katrina experience. Oh, yes, I lost possessions and much of my home was destroyed. There were many things that can and never will be replaced, but in the long run, these were simply possessions. What matters most to me today are the connections I made in Cleveland: the management I worked for and co-workers I labored with at the CJN, the members of the Jewish community who befriended me there and the people of Cleveland who extended me many courtesies. The experience sharpened my work as a reporter and made my writing seem much more important. That the CJN has experienced a downsizing and like the rest of the industry is in the throes of economic upheaval is unfortunate. It turns out I was working there at the height of its most productive period. I feel honored to have shared that experience with them. There is no doubt that the financial uncertainty there today would have sent me packing to New Orleans eventually, so it is fortuitous I made the decision to move back when I did two years ago. The winters were cold and the snow was difficult to manage for this Southern boy, but the feelings I have for my Cleveland exile are still very warm and I maintain many of those friendships even today. Perhaps I should re-word that adage to read: "Man plans and God provides."