Before Hurricane Katrina, 1504 was the worst room a traveler could get in any large New Orleans hotel.
I know this from personal experience: During the December 2001 National Center for Database Marketing conference, I stayed in one chain's room 1504 — a number that echoes New Orleans' area code. I was kept up all night by hotel guests trying to dial into their Internet service providers without dialing 9 first, and getting my room by accident.
It says a lot that not even a shredded night's sleep could dampen my love for New Orleans. My first trip to the city was in mid-March 1997, only a few weeks before I joined Direct as a full-time writer. I've been back half a dozen times since then, for conferences, a wedding, and sheer pleasure. Through its French, Spanish and Caribbean influences — not to mention a flavor all its own — it's a city unlike any other in the country.
There aren't many cities where a traveler can meet someone like wry, witty writer/waitress Debbie Lindsey, who plastered my face with a large swatch of silver duct tape after I mentioned that at another restaurant, patrons who clean their plates get a gold star. While I've lost track of her, I've kept up with her writing in local publications, primarily because her love of the city showed through. And the patches of skin I lost from that duct tape incident have grown in quite nicely.
There aren't many cities where potential shoplifters are threatened with voodoo curses — and nobody bats an eye at the signs proclaiming this. For that matter, there aren't many cities where voodoo is bred into the culture, with practitioners as diverse as Priestess Miriam Chamani, who runs the Voodoo Spiritual Temple and is given to long, beautiful jazz-like spiritual monologues, and Sallie Ann Glassman, perhaps the only Jewish female initiated voodoo priestess in the region.
There aren't many cities where bar bands must be top caliber, because the jazz being performed publicly in the streets will draw patrons outside and keep them riveted, set after set.
There aren't many cities where dive-y little cafeterias like Mother's can turn beef that has fallen from a large roast and soaked up its own juices before being served on a crispy bun into a near-religion of its own, complete with visitors making pilgrimages from around the globe. And the name of this religion's sacramental sandwich? “Debris.”
There aren't many cities where recently deceased local musicians are given sendoffs worthy of royalty, and observers are invited — if not flat-out required — to join the procession as it snakes through the streets in a parade of brass and joy.
Even its politicians, from the grandiose Huey Long to the convicted Eddie Edwards, are characteristic of what a co-worker refers to as “the hemisphere's northernmost banana republic.” Edwards, a four-term former governor, is currently serving a 10-year sentence for racketeering. I've spoken to a number of New Orleans natives who would cheerfully vote for him again.
During the past decade, the city has hosted several DM-related conferences, and at each one direct marketers embraced its spirit, decorating their booths with masks and beads and other uniquely Big Easy accoutrements.
The French Quarter, which to casual travelers stood in for all of New Orleans, did not take as hard a hit from the breached levees as, say, the Ninth Ward or Bucktown. These latter locations are among the places I visited during my last sojourn, when I made an effort to get out of the Quarter and see its surroundings. One of the restaurants I went out of my way to find, Bucktown's Sid-Mar, has been utterly destroyed.
According to the Washington Post, Orleans Parish — where the French Quarter is located — brought in $4.4 billion in tourism last year. Neighboring Jefferson Parish added close to another $1 billion to that, and that's before one adds in the five other parishes that make up the greater New Orleans area.
With numbers like that, tourism easily makes up the lion's share of New Orleans' revenue. It's way too soon to start thinking about rebuilding the tourism industry, of course: Right now what residents need more than anything else is food, potable water, shelter and medicine. The Red Cross is the best single organization to provide this.
Money will flow toward the city, but in the not-too-distant future New Orleans will need something that the direct marketing community is in a unique position to provide. Once the waters recede and the city starts to rebuild, I'd like to see every facet of the DM industry offer, pro bono, goods and services to its tourism industry, with a special focus on the small, quirky merchants — from kitschy voodoo temples to boutique perfume makers — that made New Orleans what it was, and will be again.
Potential donations would include, but not be limited to:
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Prospect lists of potential city visitors.
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Free lettershop and mailing services.
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Free paper.
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Free creative design, especially for small, independent businesses.
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A fund to defray postage costs.
In a few months, I'm going to renew this call. I'd like to see our efforts focus on the small business owners, perhaps through whatever is left of the city's Chamber of Commerce. Recipients would include the tiny museums and tour organizations and restaurants and bed and breakfasts that have (at best) haphazard customer lists, but a greater emotional pull than some of the larger institutions.
For now, I'll invite members of the direct marketing community who have been to New Orleans to share their reminiscences through the Direct Newsline letters page at www.directmag.com. These memories can be funny, sentimental, bittersweet or what have you. Preferably they would be in conjunction either with a direct marketing event — one of the aforementioned conferences — or have a DM tie-in, but I'm not going to be a stickler about that.
By all means, donate to relevant efforts now. But please start considering what you'd be willing to give in terms of industry skills and products six months down the road.
Readers wishing to reminisce may send their thoughts to rlevey@primediabusiness.com.
