New Orleans Stories: James

We arrived in New Orleans last night and are starting to settle in.  After having been here, we think, 9 or 10 times in the last 8 years (is that even right?) it no longer feels like arriving somewhere new, or like a vacation at all.  It's a sort of homecoming.  Especially after last year when we got to stay for a month. And now, we're back for another month.  The possibilities are endless and exciting.  Equally pleasing, if less exciting, is slipping into our routine.  Nights in with Lenny, long afternoon walks in the French Quarter, cooking our own food, and yes, buying wine at the corner drug store.  I'm Canadian. What do you want from me?  It's still a thrill.

Today I slipped away to spend an hour alone at the French Market just to enjoy the warmth (again, Canadian, what do you want, etc) and there I met James.

His opener was: Have you heard of Hurricane Katrina?

I gave him a "do I look dumb?" look and we both started laughing and high fived.

James told me he got evacuated to Arizona after the storm.  "Don't no black people want to go to no Arizona" he said. So he relocated to...wait for it...Vancouver.  

The Canadians were generous, he said.  One night, he was panhandling (his word) outside a Canucks game and the offers of Canadian money came rolling in.  He said he wasn't sure it would be worth it.  Maybe Canadian money would be a lousy exchange, like Mexican money.  But, who was he to turn down the offers?  It turned out lucky.  He got 98 cents on the dollar and made $700 in one night, because the Canucks beat the L.A. Kings and it was a big game.  Or something.  Hockey talk makes me glaze over.  

I implored him to talk about the Saints or the Yankees or the Raptors but he said he only followed hockey after his time in Vancouver.  The Yankee cap and Lakers jersey were gifts.

Him:  Where are you from?

Me:  Toronto.

Him:  In Canada?

Me: That's the one.

Him:  AND YOU DON'T LIKE HOCKEY?

Me:  I've tried...I just...it's...no.

Him: Girl, that's just sad.

Me: Go Raptors?

Him: What?

Me:  Never mind.

I should have told him how excited I was not to be wearing a jacket and that I was looking forward to buying some wine at the drug store.  Maybe that would have gotten me some Canadian street cred.

Derek Weiler 1968 - 2009

A couple of years ago, The Robeau's brother Mister Jep invited his friends, neighbours and strangers on the street to take Sharpie in hand and write farewell messages on his about to be junked car, Simon. Naturally, a lot of it was pure gold and Jep has the pictures to prove it. His friend Derek's message was heartfelt and simple.


"Farewell Simon, I didn't know you well, but you seemed like a good guy. DW"

This is sort of how I felt last night when we returned home from New Orleans to the news that Derek, just 40 years old, had died suddenly. It would be clear to anyone who met him, even briefly, that Derek was a good and true friend. I had the pleasure of his company here and there, mostly at several parties over the years with Jep and his partner Marjan (who were both dear friends of Derek's) and enjoyed talking with him about the things we shared a passionate interest in, namely baseball and David Simon helmed television. He was smart, funny and it seemed to me, a little dark, in a wonderfully quiet way.


Celebrating Marjan's Graduation.

What I'm learning now, as the tributes pour in at places like The CBC , The Globe and Mail and literary blogs all over the web is how accomplished and respected Derek was as a journalist and co-worker.


Derek Weiler 1968 - 2009

This tall, unassuming, smart, funny guy who will be missed by so many friends and his loving family, especially I'm sure his wife Sari, left a mark on all who knew him. Our encounters, whether at a comedy show, a birthday party or just on the Queen Streetcar are evidence of that. Derek, we hardly knew ye, and that seems a great, great shame.