By Alexander J. Hancock
A little over two weeks ago, I moved away from New Orleans after about 4 1/2 years living there. I wrote over a thousand words on my personal Tumblr about why I pursued a job in New York, why I accepted it and how I felt leaving New Orleans, with several asides reifying the city and its culture and the people that make it what it is. But I didn’t publish it. Because really, as always, it all comes down to the Saints.
When I took this new job, I knew I couldn’t afford to hire movers and none of my possessions was worth renting a Budget truck. So I moved in my car, selling most of my big items, giving away others and donating a number to Goodwill. But when I was finally packing up my car the day before leaving, it became clear that I still had too many possessions, so I started offloading even more stuff, with a large amount of that going to my neighbor, the godmother of the 3000 block of Dumaine Street, Ms. Barbara.
Among everything I offloaded to Ms Barbara was a pair of 8”x10” Saints pictures—one of Marques Colston, my favorite athlete ever, and the other of Scott Fujita, both purchased for 20 bucks from Wal Mart in early 2009—that just couldn’t fit in the car. So I asked Ms. Barbara if she or her son Will, who is in his 30s and lives the other half of Ms. Barbara’s quintessentially New Orleanian double shotgun, would want them. She said, “Oh, honey, yes. Give those to me. Will’s got a whole room filled with Saints stuff, he’ll love these.” So I gave them to her.