Our second day in New Orleans started tamely enough, with a leisurely breakfast in the RV and an Uber ride into town to catch a movie as the skies were threatening. I had misplaced my valve oil in some great American city and needed to travel downtown to buy some anyway. There I played a killer 1970s Olds Super that was heinously loud and biting. It had a nose on it like no trumpet I’ve ever owned. So loud and so obnoxious on command. I loved it. Debra hated it. They were asking $899. High by about $150. Killer though.
We stumbled upon Mario Abney, a trumpet player with the sound I strive for, warm and full rather than bright and shrieking. He saw my gig bag and invited me to play with him. Debra filmed it. There were backing tracks to a G minor groove and we swapped licks. I can’t quite hang with him, but I got some shots in.
The real news was when we got home. There had been a high-speed chase down Chef Menteur Highway, the street where Debra and I have rented a space for the RV for the night. From what we gleaned from reliable sources, the car you see crashed into the house where the office to the RV park is located was involved in a high-speed car chase. We talked to the driver of the car that he had just hit, and he said he and his wife and child were in the center lane and were struck by the fleeing vehicle.
Fearful for his family, he got away from the immediate chaos and pulled over. He was pulled over with another driver at the scene, who related to him that the driver of the vehicle that hit him had just crashed, and that the driver had jumped out of the car, run around it and looked inside, and then shot himself. When we passed the man who was struck by the fleeing vehicle, he was waiting for the police to make his report so he could continue home.
The entire RV park is completely cordoned off and inaccessible to foot or vehicle traffic, so Debra called the park managers, who let us into the park via a small network of lattice fence swinging gates and side doors onto the couple’s front porch. I asked the gentleman of the house if he was shaken up. “I refuse to live in fear,” was his answer.
Naturally your humble correspondent was eager to tell his tiny angle on the story, and was collared by the local media, providing a clip of my involvement by virtue of proximity with this crime scene.
The sad tale of today’s tape was the life of the passenger in the car, who was killed quickly in the crash, as well as a little girl that several of the more immediate witnesses guessed to have been between one and two years old. The driver apparently survived, surveyed what he had done, and took his own life.
These photos were taken from the porch of the house the car crashed into.
This was taken from the inside of the RV park after we had gotten in.