"She buries the dead guys in the basement, go check."

I am going to tell you about Sue Ann. She used to live across the street from me. I first noticed her when I was out front talking to my sister. This crazy looking woman walked past and we both thought, "What the heck was that? Did you see that?" Oh my, a little bit of a woman that was dressed quite colorfully. Like hot pink spandex pants and a crazy patterned top. A flaming red wig and a hat that looked like it belonged on a Las Vegas stage. I have photos somewhere. I will have to find them. 

Next thing we knew she moved in right next to both of us. This ought to be entertaining. Every day she would get dressed up in her finest and trot her little happy ass down to the party store to get her beer supply for the day. Different wigs, hats and other very colorful adornments. 

There was some odd behavior that went along with the wardrobe. My sister grew a garden on the side of her hill and Sue Ann would regularly help herself to green tomatoes. I would call my sister and let her know that the garden was raided again. She would tell me that she already figured it out because she could smell the green fried tomatoes cooking. 

Almost every time that I walked out my front door I would hear, "Honey, ya you. Do you have a cig that I can have?"

One Thanksgiving she saw my sons and I, gathering on my front porch to have a smoke while the turkey cooked. She trotted across the street and asked if we were having dinner together. I invited her to join us. She enjoyed a plate full of home cooked Thanksgiving dinner, said her thanks and left to go back home. On her way there she helped herself to some beers that were being stored on the front porch to stay cold. Oh well. 

I heard tell from one of her relatives that she used to "work" the turn at the train station a long time ago. She would pace the sidewalk at the West end of the station and flag down cars as the went around the bend. 

Frequently she would sell her dentures for money for drugs. Then she would send some guy from her family (nephew, cousin, son, etc) to go get them back. 

She would come to my front door at least once a week to ask me if I wanted to buy some Vicodin. I would always say no thanks Sue Ann. Maybe another time. One week I had a killer tooth ache and finally said yes, bring me some. She said she would be right back. She brought over some guy with her and he handed me a thin plastic bag that was rolled up with some pills in it. Now, I had never purchased drugs, so before she came back I looked up Vicodin on the www to see what it looked like. When he handed me the package I gave him the $20. They stood there while I opened it up to check it. It looked funny. Kind of squishy. A tinge of blueish/green. Smelled of mint.I wasn't sure but I mentioned that it didn't look like Vicodin. My tooth hurt bad. Matter of fact it looks and smells like soggy Tic Tacs. It was. I tried to hand it back and get my $20. The guy says, "A deal is a deal." Ok, lesson learned. I am never trying to buy drugs on the street again. Duh. I am not a tough guy. 

Most know that I own and listen to a police scanner. One day I was sitting her working and heard that Sue Ann was down at Log Cabin Party Store and called on the corner pay phone to respond to her house because there was something in the basement. I knew she stored her garbage in her basement so one could only imagine what it was. I see the officer arrive at her address. He walks in and talks to her for a few minutes. Then I hear, "I will be at 217 Third St. to further investigate. She says that the neighbor has buried men in her basement." I hear the doorbell. Ah shit, now what? I turned the scanner off. 

I go to the door and a uniformed officer asked me if he could look around in the basement a bit. I asked what he was looking for. He mumbled something. I was just being nice and had nothing to hide so I said follow me. At the bottom of the stairs he took his flashlight and aimed it under the stairs.....nothing but spider webs. Then to the next room. Kind of an empty staging room for the maintenance guys. Sink, storage, fuse boxes, etc. The next room was locked. It was a storage room of mine. I unlocked it and showed him a room full of garden tools and other assorted storage. Then the next room was more of the same. I unlocked that one also. The next room is locked by the landlord with supplies, paint and the like. I don't have the key to that room. So, I didn't open it. Then the boiler room and the laundry room. In the laundry room besides a washer and dryer there is a mounted old wooden storage cabinet. I had huge boxes of prom dress storage in front of it. You would have had to move them to open the doors. He asked me, "What is in that cupboard?" 
I looked him right in the eye and said, "That is the secret door to the locked room where I bury them."

He said he was done looking and proceeded to leave. 

I don't get why if you bothered to come investigate in the first place, why you wouldn't make me move the boxes and see what was behind the secret door. Oh well......


I have not seen Sue Ann in a couple of years since she moved. I was told tonight that she passed away on her birthday while visiting some "friends" at the Colonial Inn. She went there to get some drugs. A mix of a few different ones. She overdosed. The friends left her there to die. Someone found her later. 

She was the most colorful thread that ran through the fabric of this neighborhood. 

R.I.P. Sue Ann. 

Just a Working Girl in New Orleans.....

I spent a lot of time on the streets of the French Quarter of New Orleans....alone.

I went down to visit my Son a little bit after he moved there. He had just turned 18. I surprised him with my visit. Consequently he worked all day and rested at night. I would get up and find my way to the Quarter, then wander around all day. Around dinner time we would go somewhere for dinner and then he would drop me off near Bourbon St. so I could entertain myself till Midnight or so with all the live music offered there. He would come back around to get me and take me home. He could not go into the bar because they all had bouncers at the door and he was only 18. He just stood outside the open door around Midnight and I would see  him there.

After a few days I found my favorite spots. I returned to them frequently. There was one in particular that I still remember. It had a stage with a curved front edge. Not a very large stage either. They would jam about 8 musicians up there. The front row was a horn section. Loved that band. I also kept running into a nice guy from England that, one night asked me to dance. He didn't speak any English and I did not speak French. So we used hand signals to communicate with each other. We ran into each other a few times that week. I had told my son about meeting this guy and the language barrier that we had.

One night the guy from England was in that same bar with some friends. He asked me to dance again and was standing next to me talking. Well, not really talking but there was some form of communication. The band went on break and the bartender turned up the jukebox. It was a song that I had heard before. Yep, I knew the words....sort of. It was in French. Trying to find something to "talk" about, I turned to him and motioned something like a question (shrugging shoulders) and a listening thing (hand cupped up to ear) to the speaker in the ceiling above us. He knew what they were saying in the song but had no way to explain it to me. Remember, he spoke no English. Right then my son appeared at the front door. Mind you, he is 6'6" with dark features and buzz cut hair. I wanted the two to  meet. I asked the guy from England (by pulling on his arm) to come to the door to meet my son. To my surprise he sat down on the bar stool and hung on to it tight.

He was motioning to me that he wasn't going anywhere. Now, why would he be opposed to meeting my son? Oh well, nothing I could do. I think I gave him a brief hug and took off.

I got in the car for the short ride home and was telling the story to my son and his gal. In the part of the story about the song in the jukebox I kind of sang it (badly). She turned around and said that they were asking (in French) ...."If you want to go to bed with me."

As usual, what I did was innocent but if you look at it from his point of view.......

"voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir"

voulez=will 
vous=you 
coucher= to sleep 
avec=with 
moi=me 
ce=this 
soir=evening