A deal to save the sainted Saints? Praise the Lord and keep New Orleans from any more prosperity!

After N.F.L. football, "inexpensive" nuclear power; the World's largest profitless casino; and an almost forgotten World's Fair, I don't think New Orleans can support more prosperity.

We are like the Pacific island 'Cargo Cults' that sprang up following the Second World War. During the war and post-war enterprise, Pacific islanders saw Western prosperity passing in boats and planes on its way to consignees and black marketers. Some of this cargo fell as flotsam on the Sea and slopped ashore where the natives gathered it like Manna from Heaven.

They developed a sort of religion around these harvests. From reeds and broken crates found along their beaches, they built dock altars and mock air traffic control towers. Scholars from the West labeled these 'Cargo Cults,' and tell us yet today they wait for the Gods of Goodies to send more. New Orleans should be the Rome of this religion.

Bilk… err… build it, and they will come - those Tourists with Hershey bars and credit cards for all.

Get thee behind us temptation. Again promoters and politicians tempt with bond issues and Louisiana-reasoning that some of the poorest people in America should pay a few million more to some of the richest. Awaken Huey Long, your Populism lives, albeit as Corporate Populism.

L. A. Norma takes twisted satisfaction in her belief that no public projects would ever come from those giant moneymakers anyway, "Even if they paid taxes instead of collecting them."

I guess she's right. Last Summer, we took Amtrak up to Jackson, Mississippi and saw the grand museums and other adult toys Gulf Coast gambling bought them. All we can hope is that we will collect enough gambling taxes to save the Saints?

Norma has been asking every bartender in town if her Federal tax cut cover her share.

"I better get down the wine bottle, Norma," one of them replied, "now The City's Department of Sewerage and Water wants to privatize itself."

She looked up from her glass and asked, "What will City Government be left to do?"

"Plan Mardi Gras," the bartender giggled. We all laughed.

***

"Juneteenth" (June 19) is the day two years after Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation when word reached backwater plantations in Texas and Louisiana that Father Abraham had freed them slaves. This Juneteenth, L. A. Norma rode the Vieux Carre' bus from her home in The Quarter to the Press Street tracks, on the border between Faubourgs Marigney and Bywater. It was along this roadbed that Plessy vs. Ferguson began. It was here where Plessy bought his ticket to ride in the white section of the train to Lake Ponchartrain. This is the case that spurred the U. S. Supreme Court to rule that black folks didn't have Constitutional claim to equality, do-da, do-da, Emancipation Proclamation or not.

"That the same Court that elected Baby Bush?" Norma asked as we walked past NOCCA, the new New Orleans Center for Creative Arts.

"They were later proven wrong," I said.

"That's my point," she said.

Two boys, morning fresh and eager eyed, stepped off the Franklin Avenue bus toting bags that looked like they held big Latin string instruments or cellos. In their blood flowed the spirit, and maybe even the genes, of who knows what future. One of them said he was related to Papa Celestine. I was impressed. (Do yourself a favor and listen to Papa Celestine's cover of 'Ain't Goin'a Study War No More', a.k.a., 'Down by the Riverside'. You will never hear it done more better.)

We walked to La Spiga, on Spain and Charters, for raspberry brioche and coffee with chicory. And cheese and walnut biscuits. And refills. And more biscuits. And some to take home.

"You know," said the boy related to Papa Celestine, "wouldn't matter if they fed you raspberry brioche and ham every day. If you are a slave life is a bitch!"

We stepped out on the street. Summer fell around our shoulders like an Entergy electricity bill. Or a National Football League franchise. Or the World's largest casino.

Maybe what we need is another World's Fair? If we build it with reeds, public money, and broken crates, Corporate Populism will come and shower us with goodies. Sure'nough, master? Sure'nough!

While you wait, here is a neat free thing: A link to the Bourbon Street Cam outside the Cat's Meow in the nearby-faraway French Quarter. Click it, and watch your favorite Aunt and Uncle distinguishing the family name along the rue of broken dreams.