Ascension Sunday in Pirate's Alley

The Eight Sentences:

It was Ascension Sunday and he had attended the evening mass at the St. Louis Cathedral alone. As he left the service, a young man called out to him, "Mr. Duplessis, please help me."

The kindly older gentleman found it hard to resist a personal call for help so he stepped eagerly into Pirate's Alley to offer his assistance to the young man in need. Perhaps he was feeling benevolent upon leaving the religious service.

They walked arm in arm several paces into the alley then the young man turned to his companion and said, "This is for Barry -- Clarence Barry, remember him?"

Her disguise and make-shift silencer worked to perfection. The immoral cop and corrupt politician crumpled into a heap in the darkness of the alley. 

Claudia disappeared into the night and reemerged a few blocks over on Toulouse Street.

St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans fronted
by Jackson Square in the French Quarter
Image credit, Wikicommons

The Back Story:

Claudia Barry's first kill.

She avenges the death of her own father at the hands of a dirty cop.

Is she a hero -- or a psycopath?

She uses her skills at disquise to hide from her victims and herself.

Her reaction to his experience can be found in this snippett from last year: http://etierphotography.blogspot.com/2012/11/nov-4-six-sentence-sunday.html

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Flying High with Helicopters

The eighth anniversary of hurricane Katrina is fast approaching.

My wife and I have many memories and stories about how the weather changed our lives. In several ways, Katrina was as significant for me as the JFK assassination. Kennedy’s death didn’t cause me to move away from my home state.

Katrina did.

One of the nightmarish memories of the storm involves events that occurred in the aftermath.

The levee system in New Orleans failed. In addition to storm refugees and evacuees, now flood victims were arriving in Baton Rouge. Not too far from our home.  The basketball arena on campus at LSU became a huge triage facility.  

The “whop-whop” sound of helicopters constantly arriving at Tiger Stadium was a daily reminder of the tragedy that changed thousands of lives. Our house was close enough to the flight path that we could easily hear the airborne deliveries.

More than once, I looked toward where the sound seemed to be coming from, only to discover they were behind me.

It reminded me of the opening scene from the movie M*A*S*H.

Fast forward to the 1:06 mark.

My near obsession with helicopters recently joined forces with my 19th childhood (who needs only two?) and I started building plastic models again.  Hadn’t tried that in over forty years.

Last summer, I got back into flying radio controlled aircraft. I’d flown airplanes while in college and this time it’s, you guessed it, helicopters. I spent as much time repairing them after crashes as I did with them in the air. So I purchased several pieces of equipment to help.  The lighted magnifying glass and the “extra hands” with alligator clips proved handy for both hobbies.

Here are a few photos of my first model in 40 years, a Bell H-13H. Once I get the decals on, it will be a “M*A*S*H” replica. I can hear the music now.

“Through early morning fog I see

visions of the things to be

the pains that are withheld for me

I realize and I can see...

that suicide is painless”

If you have the right tools, any job is easy!

Just getting started: frame and skids.

Motor on the frame.

 Frame with cockpit interior. I was impressed with the detail.

Notice you can see the foot pedals.

 Almost done. Just needs decals.

Next up, a B-24 Liberator. It played a significant role in every theatre of World War II and I'll be writing a blog soon on a book about it. The book is The Wild Blue - The Men and Boys Who Flew the B-24s Over Germany by Stephen E. Ambrose. Watch for it soon.

Nov. 4 Six Sentence Sunday

The Setup:

     The Tourist Killer opens as Claudia Barry, elite professional assassin, completes an assignment. At age sixty-two, she has enjoyed a career that has spanned over thirty years.  She had to start somewhere. In this scene, she reacts to her first kill.  

SIX SENTENCES:

She quickly made her way to Bourbon Street.
Anyone who noticed her now would see a twenty-something female in short shorts and a cut off Ohio State t-shirt.
The aroma on Bourbon Street was a combination of rotting garbage, beer, urine and vomit. Claudia was overcome by weakness. She held onto a light post to keep her balance. Then, her knees buckled and she made a contribution to the nauseating fragrance that tourists associate with the French Quarter.

Pictured above is "Pirates Alley" as seen from behind the St. Louis Cathedral. Beyond the cathedral lies Jackson Square. In The Tourist Killer, someone who appears to be a young man, murders a retired New Orleans policeman in this alley. (Image credit, Wikicommons)

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