All That Jazz, Part 2

Today was the big day, the day we did most of the things we had come  to do.  It started off with breakfast at the hotel and, under the stern eye of the waiter, learning to like grits (with enough butter you can like anything...Dave and his friend ultimately liked them so much that on the last day, which did not include hotel breakfast, they went to a restaurant where they could get grits).

We had to get the damn blocks to Loyola and decided the easiest way was to send them by cab with one of the chaperones and 3 of the boys. The cab driver needed much encouragement, but eventually agreed to take the blocks (for what turned out to be a fairly exorbitant sum).  Ultimately, the driver dropped them at Tulane, not Loyola and they had to carry the blocks for 3 blocks.  

 

 

The blocks arrived in somewhat less than ideal repair, so it was fortunate that I had Walt's hammer (wrapped in a sock) and some nails in my purse.  He spent about half an hour rebuilding several blocks prior to the kids' performance.

 

We were able to see all the show choirs which performed on Saturday afternoon and it was a good group, though Davis (in our own estimation) was by far the flashier of the groups, but the Greendale High School folks had the edge vocally and we felt we were up against some stiff competition.

 

On the return to the hotel, we took all the blocks on the streetcar (which passes through New Orleans' Garden District), which gave many people a place to sit, and then wended our way up Canal St. to the hotel to get rid of the damn blocks until time to return to California.

We met for dinner in the hotel lobby and while waiting for everyone, Dick found a piano in a darkened room and was coerced into playing.  All the kids stood around the piano singing.  It was a really nice moment and drew a crowd of people, but I wondered if the hotel appreciated it, since I noticed that for the rest of our stay in the hotel, the room with the piano was kept in total darkness.

 

After a wonderful dinner at the hotel, where all the chaperones had Cajun deep fried shrimp (which lived up to expectations), we were ready to tackle the French Quarter, following suggestions and cautions from the restaurant's waiter.  We were about to fulfill Dick's long-held dream of taking a bunch of kids to the French Quarter, plopping a boom box down and just having them perform for whoever wanted to watch.

However, the French Quarter deserves its own separate entry, so that will be Part 3.