Author's French Quarter apartment inspires

Photo: Doug Parker

By MARY RICKARD — The Times-Picayune

NEW ORLEANS -- "This is exactly like the house where Cervantes was born," James Nolan said of the French Quarter Creole townhouse he calls home.

Dating to the days of Spanish rule in Louisiana, the architecture of Nolan's Dumaine Street home is more typically Spanish than even buildings in Madrid -- home of the famed Spanish author -- because, Nolan said, the building has never been renovated.

A fifth-generation New Orleans resident, Nolan traveled abroad teaching literature, translating books and penning novels, before returning home.

"I've written 12 books sitting in my various apartments -- in New Orleans, San Francisco, Barcelona and Madrid -- eight of which have been published, with four more on the way," he said. Living in the Quarter inspired him to set one novel, "Higher Ground," here, as well as a collection of short stories, "Perpetual Care."

"I like to say that I was raised in the last long afternoon of the 19th century," he said.

Room for Heirlooms

Nolan's second-floor apartment is reached through the original carriageway of the house named Madame John's Legacy, built in 1789. After you pass through a wooden door and walk down a flagstone path, a winding staircase leads to Nolan's writer's retreat.

The wide expanse Nolan calls a Creole ballroom is separated by various artifices into kitchen, dining area and bedroom. French doors let in the sounds of the city, including clopping from mule-drawn carriages. Pigeons have been known to fly inside, attempting to roost in the bookshelves.

Nolan spends his days tapping away on a laptop at the same desk where his French great-great grandfather handled bookkeeping for the tobacco shop he opened in 1875.

The "tabac" was located on the first floor of Maspero's Exchange at the corner of St. Louis and Chartres streets. Auguste Glaudot served in the Foreign Legion and fought as a Confederate mercenary in the Civil War, which brought him to the United States.

Nolan has likewise been an adventurer, roaming for almost 30 years, while garnering fellowships and teaching positions in foreign lands.

On his journeys, he collected treasures, exhibited throughout the apartment. There are rugs from Turkey and Kazakhstan, a Berber camel blanket from Tangiers and an Egyptian camel saddle bought back by his great uncle Numa.

"Numa Glaudot was a ship engineer who traveled the world and thrilled me at an early age with stories of Asia, Africa and Latin America," he said.

When Nolan returned to New Orleans 10 years ago to care for his mother, he became a writer-in-residence at Tulane University. She wanted him to have a big place to house all the family heirlooms. No other family member ever left New Orleans nor threw anything away, he said. After his mother died, friends said her spirit found him this apartment.

Connected to the past

The historic townhouse has high ceilings, black marble fireplaces and a cast iron-embellished balcony enshrouded with overgrown ferns and bougainvillea. While replete with history, it lacks many modern conveniences.

"I'm basically a 19th-century person who has tried to keep the 20th (and now 21st) centuries at bay as much as possible," Nolan said.

Gas heaters keep the apartment toasty in winter. A window air conditioner is the only cooling mechanism beyond cross-ventilation.

"That is the rocking chair I was nursed in and my mother was nursed in," Nolan said as he surveyed his living room.

A 19th-century prie-dieu, armoire and English clock featuring a statue of Hermes, the Greek god of communication, decorate his living room. The clock keeps perfect time.

"I grew up with it ticking and chiming as if it were the heartbeat of the house, so it's comforting to live with now," Nolan said.

Another wall displays the Persian shawl his French great-great grandmother Marie-Josephe Dieudonné put over her lap on carriage rides. Nolan framed her 1829 birth certificate, found in a shoebox.

Feeling kinship

When Nolan began writing poetry and short stories in high school, he sat at the tobacco shop desk and composed on a Royal typewriter that now rests beside his chair in the study.

Over the computer hangs a shaman necklace from New Guinea and the skull of a pelican he believes is his totem anima. "I've always felt a totemic kinship with its self-sacrificing, stately grace," he said. "Like me, pelicans are awkward on earth, but they can really soar. ... My whole family is very superstitious -- between the Creoles and the Irish."

But Nolan's literary success is anything but luck. Though writing is solitary work that can be isolating, peoples' lives intersect in this densely populated pedestrian neighborhood, he said.

"I don't really need to 'go out,' because when I wake up and step onto my front gallery, I'm already out," he said. "And every time I walk out of my carriageway gate, another interesting story happens to me."

Hot day in the Quarter yields cool surprise

My Aunt Mary was a swimmer as was my mother. Aunt Mary was supposed to compete doing the back dive in the infamous 1936 Berlin Summer Olympics, but backed out, I suppose. (I'll have to check whether she declined or the U.S. government decided Nazi Germany was no place for a lady.) Women had only recently been allowed to participate in the games at all. It was male-only until 1900 when women were allowed to compete in yachting, croquet, tennis, golf and horseback riding. We're a long way past croquet now, baby.

Aunt Mary was definitely an underwater mermaid in Silver Springs, Fla., where she met Uncle Diz at the concession stand. In any case, we're all proud swimmers.

So, I was pleased to see the U.S. women's swim team celebrated in the French Quarter today with a bathing suited mannequin launching off a Victorian facade on Royal Street as the Olympic flag unfurled. (It sure beat the heck out of the mannequin who used to swing her legs out the window of a Bourbon Street strip joint.)

Yesterday was a happy day for those of us who defended Title IX when many said women didn't deserve to play sports. I, for one, am thrilled to see American women excel in the games as well as women everywhere. Hooray for all of us.

Did I hear Ye Shiwen swam the 400m faster than Ryan Lochte, the winner of the men's event? (I only listen with one ear.)

Talking about swimming, I plan to do that tomorrow. 

Paul Tamburello breakfasts at the Clover Grill

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

If you are not served in 5 minutes, relax, it may be another 5;  

This is definitely not New York City.

Every breakfast joint worth its salt has to have a wisecracking counterman to go along with the hash slingers and waiters. At then Clover Grill, that would be Robbie from Oakdale, Louisiana. A diamond stud in his left nostril, assorted tattoos on his arms and bowed legs, he fills the place with as much queenish attitude as the smell of bacon frying on the grill.

Anywhere before noon on Bourbon Street, the Clover Grill is the only place of business showing signs of life. Families from the Midwest and locals eat side-by-side, conversation often spreading between tables and counter stools, often abetted by something outlandish Robbie has just said.

The place is fabulously retro. If a film director wanted a period piece from the 1950s, he wouldn’t have to modify one damn thing here. This is quintessential Bourbon Street. We’re not changing anything, we are who we are, and if you don’t like it, go somewhere else.

Red counter stools, gray Formica countertop, gray and black tiled floor, a row of metal tables and chairs under the windows facing Bourbon Street, funky pinkish paint on the walls, it’s the kind of diner your grandmother might have frequented if she wasn’t too fastidious and had a yen for tasty and inexpensive food. My check for two eggs, bacon, a mound of grits, toast AND coffee with endless refills costs $6.83 with tax.

The “American range” grill and gas burners directly across from my stool are missing a knob or 2 and would win no awards for spotlessness but the food coming off of them looks and smells delicious.

The line cook at the grill has an economy of style and unflappable dispostion. Within five seconds she dips a long necked ladle into a metal pot, spills butter into a pan, pulls two eggs off the stacks of cartons, cracks each at the edge of a blackened skillet, slides them in and with a deft flick of the wrist pitches the shells into a trash barrel under the counter. Two minutes later she casually grips the skillet's handle and another flick of the wrist flips them sunnyside over, and slides them onto a plate to be loaded with the rest of the order. Watching her ply her spatula to bacon, burgers, hash browns, and grilled onions is to witness performance art.

The clatter of plates is punctuated by outbursts of laughter and welcoming greetings of “Hey, Baby!”

You’re in clover at the Clover Grill.

McGehee students look back at 19th century life

Emma Grima’s marriage in 1911 to Bradish Johnson Jr. created a noteworthy union between two prominent New Orleans families on either side of Canal Street. She moved from her family’s stately, federal-style French Quarter home to a Garden District mansion — now part of the Louise S. McGehee School for Girls.

John McCusker / The Times-PicayuneThe fourth grade from Louise S. McGehee visited the Herman-Grima house Thursday, October 6, 2011 where they learned about the history of woman's rights and participated in cooking demonstrations. The students are Hayden Gankendorff, Sylvie Hunter, Sadie Thorne, Isabel Zitt, Molly Stockmeyer and Angelle Brown.

A century later, McGehee students frequently visit the French Quarter home — now a museum ­­­— to gain insight into the past and to develop an appreciation for the women who’ve gone before them.

Mamie Sterkx Gasperecz, executive director of the Hermann-Grima Historic House, calls the McGehee students “the Grima girls.”

Field trips to the two-story brick house built in 1831 by Samuel Hermann, a German-Jewish cotton merchant, and later sold to Judge Felix Grima, allow educators to “start roots of preservation and perspectives,” Gasperecz said.

Last week, McGehee fourth-graders were guided through the elegant home on the Ladies and Gentlemen tour to ponder 19th century gender roles and compare them to contemporary expectations.

New Orleans women in that era enjoyed greater legal rights than women in other parts of the country, said Jill Dresser, educational specialist at the Hermann-Grima House. Women, including women of color, could own and inherit property, she told the girls.

Home was a woman’s domain in those days, Dresser said. They were responsible for meal planning, oversight of children and servants, purchases of household goods and planning for social engagements.

“Girls were head of the households ­— that surprised me,” said Bella Frankowski, 10. “They actually were the rulers of the house.” In the formal dining room, docents described the sumptuous meals enjoyed by members of the Grima family, including two or three main courses, each with up to 12 dishes. Every course was served on hand-painted china imported from France.

“I’d get sick of eating food!” said Amelia Perret, 9, accustomed to casual, half-hour dinners.

Diners were not obligated to consume everything on their plates, but to sample every course, said Branden Tucker, a Hermann-Grima docent.

“I don’t know how they can make all the food and not worry about throwing it away,” Bella exclaimed.

But 19th century children were not even welcomed into the dining room until their teens, when manners and conversation skills were expected to have become more refined. Instead, the five young Grima children took all their meals inside their bedrooms.

“Dinner gets in the way of homework,” Lynn Mary Hammel said, thinking about the three-hour meals.

Children were meant to be “seen but not heard,” so the Grima children played games and completed academic and music lessons in their rooms. Servants raised the children, while their parents worked, traveled and socialized.

“Being stuck in your room’s not the greatest thing,” said Lynn Mary. “I’d be bored out of my mind.”

“They didn’t have a dog or cat,” Megan Mayeaux noted.

Dresser showed them Adelaide Grima’s 6-foot-wide hoop skirt and tight corsets, which were worn even by young girls. She demonstrated the proper way to sit down while wearing a hoop skirt and petticoats.

“I don’t know how you can be comfortable in that!” Megan protested.

The highlight of the tour was Sophie Hava’s demonstration of open-hearth cooking. She prepared pain perdu (French toast or “lost bread” in French) to taste.

“In particular, I love the kitchen because that is where the whole household converged,” Gasperecz said. “Mrs. Grima would have overseen the cook.”

A kitchen separated from the main house was typical; cooking fires were hazardous and a leading cause of death. Normally, two to four slaves would work over the hearth, beehive oven and stewhole or “potager” for slow cooking.

“It’s like our modern today kitchen, but different,” Bella said. “They used fires instead of a stove.”

Children’s education is a primary aspect of the museum’s mission. “The excitement of children carries the spirit through to the staff and our jobs,” Gasperecz said. “We let them touch something, smell something and create a memory.”

Said Bella: “This is the most fascinating field trip I’ve ever taken. I’d give the tour a four- to five-star rating.”

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Mary Rickard , contributing writer, can be reached at mary.rickard@sbcglobal.net.

© 2011 NOLA.com. All rights reserved.

Tourist enjoys a sparkly day

Letter to the Times-Picayune editor from a Littleton, Colo., tourist...

"Early one morning last week, I walked a quiet, clean Royal Street from the Mississippi to my hotel.

In Jackson Square, the walkways and streets were being pressure-washed. The park between St. Louis Cathedral and the river looked like a big picnic blanket waiting for people. It exuded the joy of being alive.

A shop owner, dressed in a sparklng white shirt, with a yellow tie as radiant as a freshly painted traffic stripe, walked into the middle of Royal and picked up a squashed plastic bottle and a discarded napkin.

A waiter at my hotel thanked us for coming to New Orleans. Shop owners were cordial and happy to see us. The food, as always, was wonderful. the D-Day Museum bustled and the streets were happy with music.

After several trips over the years to New Orleans, I've never appreciated the city so much as I did last week.

I'm sorry for your losses, but elated by your guts and perseverance. the old gal cleans up pretty good."

Alan C. Iannacito