An Open Love Letter to French Quarter Residents
Mark Orfila and a tour group in front of Homer Plessy School on St. Phillip Street
March 2024A journalist turned buggy driver reflects on the people who live in his unusual workplace - a combination historic museum, adult amusement park, and a residential neighborhood.
– by Mark Orfila
photos by Ellis AndersonDear French Quarter Residents,
You probably don’t know my name, but there’s a good chance you know my face. Your neighborhood is my office. This May will mark 12 years that I’ve been a carriage driver. (Minus those six-and-a-half months of “coronacation” of course. More about that in a minute.)
My tour has changed a lot since I first started. For one thing, it’s gotten a lot more accurate. I cringe when I think of all the ridiculous nonsense that you might have overheard me passing on when I was a new guide. I’ve learned a lot since then. These days, at the end of every tour I’m a little sad at the compelling stories and fun facts that I didn’t find time to include.
My tour has been shaped and reshaped, not just by the information I’ve acquired and the personal anecdotes I’ve accumulated, but also by the interactions with thousands of guests that I have guided through your neighborhood. I rely on their questions to guide me as I tailor my tour to address their interests.
When it comes to the things that tourists ask me, I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say I’ve heard it all, but it is really rare that I encounter a new question anymore. I’ve gotten a pretty good sense of what my guests want to know. A lot of it is the stuff you would expect: history, architecture, hurricanes, Mardi Gras, music, movies, celebrities…
But I have been surprised over the years by the extent to which people are fascinated (and a little baffled) by the whole concept of the French Quarter as a neighborhood.
Mark with his equine partner, Cole
In fact, if I had to rank the most frequent questions posed by first-time French Quarter visitors, first place would probably go to requests for restaurant recommendations, but right behind that would be some version of “Wait a minute, you mean people actually live here?” Once I’ve established that yes, people live here – a little more than 3,000 of them last count – a whole cluster of related questions come tumbling out.
WHO are these people? What kind of people?
But where do they PARK? (If I really want to blow their minds, I start out by saying, “Well, not all of them own a car.”)
Isn’t it really loud?
Is it really dangerous?
Where do they buy groceries?
Do they rent or own their houses?
How much is real estate?
Why are the shutters shut? (You’d be surprised how often this comes up.)
In the Quarter, October 2020
I mentioned those six-and-a-half months of “coronacation.” When we finally got back to work, everyone wanted to know what was up with all those “No More Pedestrian Malls” signs plastered all over the place. A lot of them had no idea what the term “pedestrian mall” even means. As I addressed this over and over, I stumbled upon on a simple explanation to put the controversy in context:
The French Quarter is this weird combination of three very different things. First of all, with all these historic buildings, it’s kind of an architectural museum. Secondly, you’ve probably noticed that it’s kind of Disneyland for Drunks, right? Let’s say “an adult amusement park.”And thirdly, it’s a neighborhood. People live here. And it takes a lot of thought and effort to maintain the balance of museum, amusement park, and neighborhood. These things compete with each other for sure, but to some extent, they also support each other.
After establishing that framework, I would go on to explain that if you’re viewing the Quarter as a museum or an amusement park, there are a lot of good arguments for shutting down streets to vehicular traffic. For the people who live here on the other hand, pedestrian malls are a terrible idea. So pedestrian malls are good for the museum/amusement park but bad for the residents, right?
Well, it’s not quite that simple. Because if you make the French Quarter unlivable, the whole thing falls apart. Without a living, breathing neighborhood, the rest of it isn’t all that interesting anymore. When we reach the point that Disneyland for Drunks is all that left, will anyone still want to come?
If the pedestrian–mall matter was ever officially resolved, I never heard about it. I’m guessing that as the pandemic receded, the urgency of the issue faded, and the whole proposal was quietly shelved. But even after all the protest signs had come down, I found myself sticking with the whole museum/amusement park/neighborhood thing as a convenient way to sum up the French Quarter for outsiders. It has now become a key theme of my tour, one that I introduce at the beginning as a basic framework for the whole thing.
The controversy over the closing of the “little red schoolhouse” on St. Phillip St. fits neatly into that framework. After a year or two of back-and-forth, it now appears that the Homer Plessy School is gone for good and the French Quarter is without a school for the first time since the early 1700s.
The Homer Plessy School decorated for Mardi Gras in 2020, shortly before the pandemic shutdowns
The historic school on St. Phillip Street is undergoing construction now. The original plan called for Homer Plessy classes to temporarily move to another facility and for the school to reopen after the renovations, but it was announced last month that the school would not be coming back to the building.
Here’s a bit of what I’ve been saying on tour when I get to that block:
Personally, I don’t live in the French Quarter. My kids are well past school age. I make a living from the museum and amusement park. And honestly, having an active school on my tour route was often inconvenient for me. But despite all that, the closing of this school makes me sad, because it brings us one step closer to the day when the French Quarter is just Orlando or Vegas at the mouth of the Mississippi.
Anyway, I’m basically writing this letter to thank you for being here. It is my responsibility and privilege to introduce thousands of guests from all over the world to your stomping ground, and I don’t take it lightly. I want to do my tour in such a way that my guests come away not only entertained and informed, but also with a deeper respect for your neighborhood and for you, its residents. You are a colorful bunch. The more I get to know you, the more I’m fascinated by your stories. Many of you could personally qualify as a point of interest on my tour.
I appreciate your sharing your neighborhood with me and my long-eared, long-legged partner. It’s not always convenient, I know. (I do my best to pull over and let you pass whenever it’s safe and reasonable, and also to do what I can to minimize mule manure on the street.)
Speaking of that “coronacation” thing one more time, I want you to know how deeply touched I was by those of you who went out of your way to stop by the hack stand at Jackson Square to tell us how happy you were to see us back. Some of you even stopped us on the street. I really wasn’t expecting that, and it meant more than you’ll ever know. It is gratifying to know that many of you enjoy sharing your neighborhood with me just as I enjoy sharing it with you.
Cheers,
Mark
Your donations make stories like this one possible: