“Exhilarating and frightening to behold”

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I’m not sure where I found this article about New Orleans’ rebuilding process — probably via Gambit or from my pal Tyler. But no matter: it’s a beautifully written piece. Here’s an excerpt:

Four years after Katrina, the rebuilding of New Orleans is not proceeding the way anyone envisioned, nor with the expected cast of characters. (If I may emphasize: Brad Pitt is the city’s most innovative and ambitious housing developer.) But it’s hard to say what people were expecting, given the magnitude of the disaster and the hopes raised in the weeks immediately following. Seventeen days after the storm, President George W. Bush stood in Jackson Square and promised: “We will stay as long as it takes to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives.”

The terms we, as long as it takes, and help turned out to be fairly elastic. The Federal Emergency Management Agency shuttered its long-term recovery office about six months later, after a squabble with the city over who would pay for the planning process. Since then, depending on whom you talk to, government at all levels has been passive and slow-moving at best, or belligerent and actively harmful at worst. Mayor Ray Nagin occasionally surfaces to advertise a big new scheme (a jazz park, a theater district), about which no one ever hears again. A new 20-year master plan and comprehensive zoning ordinance was being ironed out early this summer, but it remains subject to city-council approval. A post-Katrina master plan has been under discussion since before the floodwaters were pumped out.

In the absence of strong central leadership, the rebuilding has atomized into a series of independent neighborhood projects. And this has turned New Orleans—moist, hot, with a fecund substrate that seems to allow almost anything to propagate—into something of a petri dish for ideas about housing and urban life. An assortment of foundations, church groups, academics, corporate titans, Hollywood celebrities, young people with big ideas, and architects on a mission have been working independently to rebuild the city’s neighborhoods, all wholly unconcerned about the missing master plan. It’s at once exhilarating and frightening to behold.

“If you look at the way ants behave when they’re gathering food, it looks like the stupidest, most irrational thing you’ve ever seen—they’re zigzagging all over the place, they’re bumping into other ants. You think, ‘What a mess! This is never going to amount to anything,’” says Michael Mehaffy, the head of the Sustasis Foundation, which studies urban life and sustainability and has worked with neighborhood organizations here. “So it’s easy to look at New Orleans at the grassroots level and wonder, What’s going on here?’ But if you step back and look at the big picture, in fact it’s the most efficient pattern possible, because all those random activities actually create a very efficient sort of discovery process.”

–full article at TheAtlantic.com

I fail to see anything wrong with “strip hockey”…

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…except, of course, that these guys are way too young for my tastes. But, you know, someone out there might enjoy the sight of naked and half-naked teens.

‘Strip hockey’ players punished in Idaho
By The Associated Press

Call it puck naked.

An Idaho junior hockey team was banished temporarily from a city ice rink after players engaged in a game of “strip hockey” — shedding a piece of uniform every time a practice shot missed its mark.

As redress for Wednesday’s incident, Boise forbid the Idaho Junior Steelheads team from using Idaho Ice World for four days; one 17-year-old player who shed his underwear briefly was suspended until next week. In addition, police are investigating, a spokeswoman said Tuesday.

Doug Holloway, Boise’s recreation superintendent, says rink employees told him the shootout drill went like this: “If they missed a shot, they had to take off a glove. If they missed another, they had to take off another glove. And so on, and so forth.”

— full story at NOLA.com

The pioneering Disney animator living quietly around the corner

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Here’s the problem with New Orleans: its residents walk a lot and talk a lot (to each other, to themselves, and sometimes to no one in particular). We’ve been here for hundreds of years, strolling the sidewalks that buttress our narrow streets, stopping to chat with neighbors, and taking streetcars more conducive to conversation than quick commutes because they travel so damned slowly. The city is flat, movement is easy — unlike the town where I grew up, which was small, decentralized, hilly, the sort of place where you’d get in the car to go anywhere, even to a neighbor’s house for coffee.

That’s what keeps us here. That’s why it’s hard for us to move to new places, places that might be geographically and meteorologically superior. Apart from New York, San Francisco, and a handful of smaller burgs like Provincetown and Savannah, there aren’t many locales that have the same convivial, walkable feel (at least not on this side of the Atlantic). And that’s why we stay, or at least why I stay: not for the 24 hour bars, not for the loose liquor laws, and certainly — certainly — not for our efficient city government.

* * * * *

Over the past 16 years or so — ever since I moved to my current neighborhood, the Faubourg Marigny — I’ve seen an elderly woman walking the streets. She’s a bit stooped and gray and slow, but there’s something unusual about the way she carries herself; to call it “regal” would be cliched and also inaccurate, but “semi-regal” might do. I’ve tried to catch her eye on occasion, but never had any luck. A couple of years ago, a friend told me that she was once an animator at Walt Disney Studios. That sounded like a nice rumor, exactly the kind of story you might spread about an eccentric neighbor, but I didn’t put much stock in it.

For some reason — possibly because the New Orleans Museum of Art is hosting a huge animation retrospective in conjunction with the release of the new Disney film, The Princess and the Frog — I’ve been thinking about this mystery woman lately. Yesterday morning, on my way to the gym, I saw her trudging down the sidewalk, and although I’m not ordinarily the sort of person who strikes up conversations with total strangers (I’m shy that way), I did. I turned my bike around, pulled up beside her, and with all the guileless enthusiasm of a seven-year-old, I blurted out, “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’ve heard that you were once an animator for Disney. Is that true?”

She was confused at first. She’s in her mid-80s and not as sharp as she once was. But as it turns out, my friend was right: this woman, Eva Schneider, was one of a tiny handful of women who worked in the animation studios for Walt Disney in the 1950s and 60s. When I spoke to her, she insisted that she was not an animator herself, that she was simply an assistant in the animation department. She made it sound as if she might’ve been a secretary. But when I got home, I did a little googling, and it appears that she was just being modest, or that she didn’t consider her work to be animation per se. Fact of the matter is: her presence at Disney is fairly well-documented, and she’s fondly remembered by former animators.

[drawing of Eva by Floyd Norman; full story here]

[drawing of Eva with Wes Herschensohn by John Sparey; full story here]

* * * * *

Over the course of a rambling, hourlong chat, she shared fragments of her life. Originally from Zürich, she must’ve come to the states around the time of World War II, landing first in New York, then moving to Los Angeles, where she worked for nearly 20 years at Disney. As I understand from our conversation (decades later, her English is still somewhat broken, and she speaks with a pronounced German accent), her father passed away around 1970, and on the advice of her nephew who lives in New Orleans, she used her inheritance to retire here. She’s never left — not even for Katrina. That photo at top, that’s from a profile run in Vanity Fair in the fall of 2005, documenting the fact that she remained in New Orleans for the storm. (She told me she stayed because she had a dog, and the authorities wouldn’t let her take him.)

Now, I know that not everyone deserves to publish a memoir or to be the subject of her/his own documentary. Certainly there are many that have bored the world to tears. But in my chat with Eva, she seemed very interesting, full of experiences that few living people ever had. I’m not so sure I could tell her life story — in fact, I’m not even sure she could — but it would hold more than my own attention.