August 2024

A mayor’s three-year push to establish a garish tourist spectacle in the city’s historic heart united thousands of French Quarter lovers across New Orleans, who fought back with protests, petitions and legal action.

– by Bethany Ewald Bultman

The Protest Rally, July 19, 1975

On a sultry summer day nearly fifty years ago French Quarter residents staged a heroic coup. Protesters packed Jackson Square.  Thousands of local business owners, preservationists, artists and French Quarter families stood alongside neighborhood garden club members wearing white gloves and hats.  They carried hand-hewn signs: “Spare the Square, “Stop Flaccid Historicism,” “Spend a Million for Noise?” and “No Sound, No Lights, No Moon.”

Several well-known community leaders addressed the crowd. Popular national talk-show host, Dick Cavett, sent a telegram in support of the protest. He called Son et Lumiere - which would turn Jackson Square into a paid admission venue each night for massive light and sound shows – “an artificial monstrosity.”  

Cavett also suggested that Mayor “Moon” Landrieu (served 1970  - 1978), who had been pushing the project for years, adopt a new motto: “A Quarter saved is a tourist earned.”

 The demonstration organizers, Tulane law professor Vernon Palmer and attorney Jim Derbes, fired up the crowd. The two lawyers had formed the grassroots group “Coalition to Turn Off Sound & Light.” They were also the masterminds of a court injunction and a petition being circulated at the rally. Palmer was (and still is) a French Quarter resident, while Derbes had already established himself as a notable community activist and preservationist. 

Derbes was also a former owner of the French Quarter newspaper, the Vieux Carré Courier.  The publication was founded in 1961 to help save the neighborhood from a proposed expressway that would have severed it from the river.  SInce then, the outspoken weekly paper had passed through the hands of several owners, each of whom continued to vigorously defend Quarter preservation and quality of life. 

In a recent interview with FQJ, Derbes still vividly recalls the passion that moved both him and the crowd that day in 1975.

“Sound and Light was to be the last phase of Landrieu’s ‘touristification’ program,” Derbes said. “We French Quarter advocates perceived it  as the last straw – the desecration of a public space that everyone in the city held dear.” 

How it Began: 1973

On March 31, 1973, the city signed a contract with Pierre Arnaud, President of Etudes et Créations d’Ambiance (Mood Creations) of Paris to produce a Sound and Light show encapsulating the history of New Orleans.  There had been no public hearings or requests for competitive bids. 

Mayor Moon Edwin Landrieu (1930-2022) apparently didn’t see the need to put the contract out to bid since the French producer already had 75 of these worldwide outdoor “historical spectacles” under his belt. Arnaud had assured the mayor that in his 25 years of producing these shows, he’d never met with opposition.

The production’s plans called for 16 loudspeakers, hidden in the trees around the square to amplify the program. To illuminate various buildings, 804 spotlights would be installed on the surrounding historic structures. 

The public first learned of the plans on April 25th, when Mayor Landrieu announced the contract.  To many New Orleanians, the heart of the city’s oldest neighborhood had been signed away in a deal without public input and would serve as a stage set for a commercial production to appeal to tourists. 

Those who lived in nearby residences or hotel guests near Jackson Square would be subjected to four half-hour nightly performances, seven days a week.  A maximum of 250 people per show would pay $2.50 a head to enjoy an open-air rehash of Andrew Jackson’s victory in the Battle of 1812. 

In an April 26th Times-Picayune article, officials from the mayor to the executive director of the Vieux Carre Commission (the city agency tasked with the preservation of the French Quarter) extolled the virtues of the project. The executive director of the Tourist and Convention Commission called it a “new medium of quality entertainment.” The mayor opined that it would “recreate the mood of New Orleans” without explaining why someone already standing in the city’s heart would need a re-creation. 

But no French Quarter resident was quoted. Because none had been consulted at any point along the way. 

Three days later, Quarterites and Quarter lovers began weighing in. The first was popular Times-Picayune columnist Frank Gagnard, who actually lived on Jackson Square. He wrote that “I have some suggestions for Mayor Landrieu; as a gentleman of sorts, I will not make all of them.” Gagnard had experienced a Sound and Light show in Paris and deplored the concept for the Quarter. 

Yet, despite the nascent push-back, in a June 1 Times-Picayune article, The Greater New Orleans Tourist and Convention Commission – which would be responsible for the operation of Son et Lumiere –  glowed with praise for the “sensory event.” They looked forward to “the French firm transforming Jackson Square into a world-class tourist destination.”  Wayne A Collier, director of the Vieux Carre’ Commission, stated that he had not only issued a permit for the Son et Lumiere, but he was also one of its most vocal champions.

Meanwhile, by the first of June 1973, both proponents and opposition had rallied. The French Quarter Residents Association (FQRA) resolved to “categorically oppose” the Sound & Light proposal.  Executive members expressed “shock and surprise” that the spectacle had been planned in private for more than two years by the city administration. Vernon Palmer – president of FQRA and soon to join forces with Derbes – stated that “our lawful requests to see the contract have been repeatedly denied.”

The June 1, 1973 issue of the weekly Vieux Carre Courier hit the streets, igniting a community firestorm.  With a headline that read “Does Gen. Jackson Need Show Biz?” noted journalist, Philip Carter, who had recently bought Courier, thundered against the project, claiming that “Jackson Square would be lit up like a football stadium.” 

The Courier article also revealed that the city had agreed to spend a half million dollars to support “Son et Lumiere” without any impact or feasibility studies. And to make the “provincial” public park more audience-friendly, the show’s producers proposed to remove all the historic oak trees and replace them with a “tropical garden.”

The Battle Continues:  June - November 1973

Mayor Landrieu and his allies doubled down. After Philip Carter’s June 1 editorial, the mayor lambasted the Courier on WDSU  (the local NBC affiliate) for half an hour.  But the plan to undermine the publisher backfired.  Many who had never heard of the French Quarter weekly paper became aware both of the publication – and of the Son et Lumiere controversy. 

In the June 8 edition of the Courier, Philip Carter interviewed Wayne Collier, the twenty-eight-year-old director of the Vieux Carré Commission – who by this point had been named project manager of Son et Lumiere. 

Wayne Collier said that any criticism of the project had to come from people “who have a vested interest in the Square itself for their own personal benefit.’’ In his opinion, it was up to his boss – the mayor – if the show went on and “not the residents of the Vieux Carre.”

The self-interest of Quarter residents became a theme for proponents.  Mayor Landrieu made repeated public appearances in favor of the project and at every opportunity characterized neighborhood opponents and the Courier as being self-serving. 

The French Quarter Residents Association and several Quarter residents, including Vernon Palmer,  filed a lawsuit against the city and Mayor Landrieu on June 6, 1973. Jim Derbes represented the group, alleging that federal funds were being used in the project. When that couldn’t be proved, the suit was dismissed on June 15. 

Undeterred, the opponents rallied and filed another suit in August, this time with an airtight case. It “enjoined the installation of the project, citing defects in the way it was budgeted and tentatively approved,” according to Derbes.  And this time they were victorious. On October 24, 1973, the civil court enjoined the city from proceeding with Sound and Light until all legal requirements were satisfied. 

Derbes went back to court months later when he discovered the city was continuing to install infrastructure for Sound and Light. 

“The Landrieu administration was re-surfacing the streets around Jackson Square. While doing so, it was installing infrastructure for the spectacle – in violation of the injunction. Living in the Quarter then, I would often take my sons to the Square after dinner.  I collected pieces of the electrical conduit that demonstrated the installation. 

“Eventually, I took the conduit to a Court of Appeal hearing in a Schwegmann’s shopping bag – and convinced the court that Mayor Landrieu was, in fact, doing what he had been enjoined from doing.”  

For a year the peace and harmony of Jackson Square was preserved.

The Showdown: 1975

And then, work began in January 1975 on Mayor Landrieu’s plan for a terraced plaza by the river.  The plaza was to be the crowning touch on the creation of a massive pedestrian mall around Jackson Square – one that would facilitate Sound and Light.  Courier editor Bill Rushton christened the new riverfront project “the Moonwalk.”  The name that stuck. 

By June 1975, Clarence Dupuy, a French Quarter hotel owner, Landrieu crony and the neighborhood’s elected city councilman,  proposed an ordinance for the city to allocate $1 million annually to support the Jackson Square light show.  Once again, French Quarter activists sprang into action to block the attempted end run. Petitions were printed and a public protest was planned in Jackson Square.

Jackson Square Protest: July 19, 1975  

Despite the rumbles of thunder on the day of the protest, the Sound and Light opponents crammed into the square to hear the speeches and sign the petition that would be presented at the upcoming City Council meeting. 

Journalist Millie Ball, who lived a block away from Jackson Square at the time, wrote an article for the July 20, 1975 issue of the Times-Picayune, headlined, “1000 Citizens Boo Sound and Light.” In a recent interview with FQJ, Ball – who resided in the Quarter from 1968 - 2010, remembers the protest as “electrifying.” 

“The whole time I lived there, I never saw a gathering like that in the French Quarter,” she said. “There were so many people involved.  It was a huge thing.” 

In Ball’s 1975 story, she reported that preservationist Mary Morrison “read a letter Moon Landrieu wrote to French Quarter residents when he was running for office in 1969.

 “‘Through zoning I will work to stop the spread of stores and motels in the Quarter because I believe the character of the area requires that it remain residential… 

“‘The French Quarter is a wonderful tourist attraction just because people live there.  The French Quarter is a uniquely human part of the city and planning for that area must be directed toward keeping it that way.’”

City Council Chambers, July 25, 1975

A few days later, the council meeting became a court of sorts. On trial? Sound and Light.

The mayor, the director of the Vieux Carre’ Commission, the head of the Tourist Commission and close to a dozen other civic leaders expressed their determination to bring the “exceptional” tourist attraction to the city. 

When producer Pierre Arnaud, in a flourish of arrogance, promised the standing-room-only crowd to abandon the show if he couldn’t win over the opponents, the room erupted with enthusiastic applause.

Attorneys Derbes and Palmer led the two dozen or so opponents in their own spectacle. Concerned citizens took the council and city leadership to task.  Jim Derbes asserted that the City Council was being asked to reward the Mayor and his administration for incompetence.

Going into the hearing, Councilman-at-Large James Moreau stood alone in his opposition to Sound and Light. But after five long hours of testimony – Councilman Dupuy conceded that the council needed more input from the City Planning Commission before the next public hearing.  He added that after the debate, he was undecided as to how he would vote.

In a recent interview, Jim Derbes explained why Dupuy’s vote was so important.

“That was the way the game was played then,” Derbes explained, “We had to get the support of the French Quarter’s councilman for any project happening under their purview.  If it wasn’t forthcoming, the city wouldn’t build it.” 

At that council meeting, more opponents who hadn’t been at the protest came forward to sign the petition. All total, more than 9,400 people signed. 

“Organizing opposition to this tourist attraction was one of the easiest tasks I ever faced,” said Derbes. “Opponents poured in for the rally in Jackson Square and for the hearing before the City Council.”

Lights Out: July 24, 1975, Jackson Square

The mayor determined to silence the Son et Lumiere opponents by demonstrating a preview of the spectacle. The strategy that he, Collier, and Arnaud adopted was to characterize protestors as unsophisticated and ignorant people who didn’t understand the impact of the art form’s importance to the city’s tourist economy. 

They neglected to take into account that New Orleanians – from babies to elders – will stand out in freezing rain to watch Carnival parades.  New Orleans had already invented its own art form! Standing in Jackson Square on a sultry night  for half an hour to listen to a canned history lesson might not live up to the local standards of entertainment.

 Nevertheless, about a thousand folks showed up in Jackson Square for the free preview, expecting to be dazzled. The start time of 8:45pm came and went. A few dim gaslights at the entrances to some of the nearby Pontalba apartments failed to add much illumination. 

The July night was hot and humid.  The mosquitos were out for blood. One flickering Son et Lumiere spotlight cast a feeble blue hue in the direction of the Cabildo. Finally, at 9:10pm, a barely audible speaker played a crackly version of a Dixieland Jazz tune. It was difficult to decipher exactly which tune over the shuffling feet of people leaving. 

Son et Lumiere creator Pierre Arnaud’s almost unintelligible voice was drowned out by people chanting ”No! No! No!” David Campbell, head of the Louisiana Landmarks’ Society, presented his assessment of the Son et Lumiere demonstration to anyone who would listen, “F for flop, farce, failure and fiasco!”

Arnaud, the French producer, later complained to the press that he’d invested half a million dollars in the production. In his 25 years of producing these shows from Jerusalem to Iran, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would find fault with it.  Yes, he had retained an attorney, but doubted he would file suit against his close friend, Mayor Landrieu. He also believed that his show would go on.

 But the next issue of the Courier gleefully ran the headline “Lights Out.”  They noted that after “wasting an estimated $160,000 in public funds, plus court costs and four years of controversy, Mayor Moon Landrieu’s pet project, The Jackson Square Sound & Light [show] is DEAD.”

The Court’s Final Ruling: September 10, 1975

The court upheld an earlier ruling from Civil District Court in 1973:  The city failed to obtain a permit for the work. The purchase of materials and construction contracts were not properly advertised and bid. The city could not close Jackson Square from non-paying citizens. 
Attorney Vernon Palmer told FQJ that “this was a fight against the city - which wanted the project very much and the mayor at the time – he’d already signed an agreement. 

“It would have been a nightly spectacle and involved a lot of amplified sound and flashing lights. We argued that it’d make it intolerable for those who want to live there. Fortunately, we [Derbes and Palmer] were successful in bringing in experts to talk about those issues and the court issued an injunction.” 
And in the court of public opinion, Sound and Light presentations would result in the over-commercialization of Jackson Square and the French Quarter.

Epilogue

Between the local fanfare of the American Bicentennial in 1976 and the plans to revamp the riverfront for the Louisiana World Exposition in 1984, Mayor Landrieu saved face by turning his back on the French Quarter. 

In the history of preservation battles in the Quarter, that was the best that could be hoped for.

Vernon Palmer still lives in the French Quarter, which he considers the most interesting part of the city. Yet, he’s watched its population shrink through the decades and recently  voiced concern over its survival as a neighborhood:

“They say the French Quarter now attracts 20 million people a year. And from time to time, these kind of projects still come up… but eventually, you’re working toward producing a museum rather than a real community.”

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