Update from Therman (from DISPATCHES FROM THE TRAIN TRIP)

Who knew?

I certainly didn't. Janice certainly didn't.

Who knew?

Who knew that Janice would take to the road as she has. Would be at the point she is now in discovering new outlets for her inner search for completeness? New strengths to, as she says, "Live Out Loud."

But, after warding off her initial hesitations, she jumped whole-hog into first, the very idea of traveling on a 45-day train trip to visit with everyone we practically could; then, the imagining of such a trip; and finally, the actual taking of the trip. I got the sense that she felt like a kid suddenly jumping off the high-dive cause he/she couldn't stand any longer wondering what it would be like.

We met in New Orleans, Sunday, July 5. She had flown to San Antonio from LAX to spend the day and evening with friends. Then, she boarded a train bound for New Orleans at 11 p.m. on the night of the 4th. I boarded a train in Philadelphia at 3:55 p.m. on the 4th, bound for New Orleans. She arrived at 4:30 p.m. on the 5th. I arrived at 8 p.m. So, she was already settled into her room at the hotel when I got there. After I got checked into my room, now what? "You hungry?" "No, not really. You?" "No." "What do you wanna do? Get some rest and relax in your room and start off tomorrow morning?" "Sounds good." "O.K. Let's not set a time for when we meet in the morning. Call me when you are ready to meet." "O.K. Sleep tight." Well, there was a bit more to our conversation than that. First noteworthy was Janice's unbridled glee about her first train ride. In her words, "I luuuuuuved it. All of it." But even more noteworthy, to me anyway, was something she made a deliberate point to say, with all seriousness. She looked at me and said, in effect, "I don't want this trip to be just a fun time. I want to see what it is I am to get from this trip. What it has in store for me, in all its meaningful possibilities. And I don't even know what they are. I just want to be open to receive." What could I say? I hear you. Loud and clear. Let's see what happens.

It's 9:30.m. Sunday night. We are both satisfied with the day's accomplishment--actually meeting in New Orleans to start our train trip. So, no shame in retiring early and getting some alone time. We had both been on a train for the entire night and most of the following day. But after I got to my room, I found an excuse to go out for a walk, to see what was happening, to get a feel for where we were situated. I needed a tube of toothpaste. I was running low.

I left the hotel and started walking, ostensibly looking for a drug store. Our hotel, the Parc Saint Charles at 500 Saint Charles Ave was walking distance to the French Quarter and the business district. When I got to Canal Street, two blocks away, the first thing that hit me was the crowds of people on the street and the festive, partying atmosphere. The second thing that struck me was that almost 100% of the revelers were black folk. Extremely well-dressed (dressed to impress) black folk. What was going on? Is this how New Orleans was on every Sunday night? I actually stumbled upon a Walgreens, and it was actually open. Didn't buy any toothpaste, though. Couldn't believe how much the prices were jacked up--on just about everything. A perfect example: I walked into a shop that sold souveniers and beer. That's what the sign said. I figured I would enjoy drinking a beer back in the room, so I went in, picked out a can of Becks, the only brand I recognized. The Asian clerk said $4. I turned to take the can back to the refrigerated case. She said, for you, $3. O.K., I said to myself, only a 100% markup. I'll bite.

I walked around for thirty or so minutes--the crowds were on every block. Got back to the hotel and settled in for the night. The next morning, I told Janice of my walk. She said she wished I had called her. She would have joined me. I told her I assumed that she wanted to rest. We then found out from literature in the hotel and newspapers that last night was the last night of the annual Essence Fashion or Entertainment Festival, held every 4th of July in New Orleans.

I had mentioned to Janice the prior night that we could start off our day with a trip to De Monde's, the famous eatery known for its coffee and beignets. The three or four times that I had been to New Orleans over the years, I had gotten into the "habit" of going there. Last night in the room, I had studied the little street maps in the brochures, so I pretended I knew where I was going. I did know that if we walked long enough we would find the spot. Well, lo and behold, we hadn't walked four blocks before we saw a spot down a street that had a green and white awning with the words "...world's finest coffee.." (That's all of the sign we could see). We both stopped and agreed, that we would go there, and not worry about finding De Monde's. When we traversed the block and came upon the shop, the name was prominently displayed: De Monde's. Janice was duly impressed with my navigational skills. I was too.

So we settled in at a table in the crowded, outdoor cafe. Got served our coffee, and a basket of six powdered-sugar-drenched rolls of fried dough--beignets. But the coffee was good and strong. We were feeling great. The crowds of last night were gone, but the streets were well-populated with us tourists, and the infamous street life of the French Quarter was in full bloom, on a Monday morning.

After a leisurely hour or so there, we took off walking. Janice was enthralled with the shops. We stopped in a couple of them, after which she said, "I can tell you are not too into shopping, and I want to shopshopshop. Why don't we pick a time and place and meet later." I said "O.K." We agreed to meet at one o'clock at De Mondes. Sounded good to me. Sounded good to her.

Now, as I walked away from her, I knew I wasn't going to sit in De Monde's until one o'clock. I started walking. It wasn't but a nanosecond before I knew what I wanted to do and where I wanted to do it. I just didn't know specifically where I would find it. So I started walking in the opposite direction that would take me back to De Monde's. And there, in the last block before the French Quarter was no longer the French Quarter, I saw exactly what I was looking for. It was a corner coffeehouse/bar--New Orleans style. Several people were at tables with computers or reading books. The place was about 25% full (This was still Monday morning, after all). It was a place for settling in with no sense of hurrying or pressure to consume and go. It was a place to linger and relax. I moseyed up to the counter, ordered a Jack Daniels and a Budweiser, sat at a table, got my book of notes out, and said, "Yeah." After savoring the moment, started reading and writing. After an hour or so, the rain that had been on and off all morning stopped, so I took my drinks and bag outside to one of the two tables. Settled there. Janice called to say that she was ready to hook up again, where was I? I gave her directions to the spot, told her I was sitting outside, and she would see me after turning the corner from where we daparted and walking up two blocks in the opposite direction from De Monde's. She found me, sat down, and she was even more enthralled with New Oreleans than before. She liked the open, relaxed feel of it. She liked the variety of shops. She liked sitting at a sidewalk table, just hanging out. She really liked it. All of it. I, of course, was quite happy that the trip had started out so agreeable to her.

And then, while we are sitting at this little table on this street corner in New Orleans, sitting and talking as if we were sitting in our front yard, idling the day away, a teenage girl walks up to Janice and just stands in front of her with a shy half-grin on her face. Janice looks at her mute. Then busts out with a "O,myGod. O,myGod," followed by the girl's name. She was a student of Janice's from Poly. With her was her mother, uncle, sister, and maybe one or two more folks. After introductions, it is established that the whole lot of them were all graduates of Poly. The uncle, when hearing my name, said, "Davis?" Are you Herman Davis? I said no, he's my brother. I am Therman Davis. The uncle graduated in 1969. None of us could believe any of this. As it turns out, the whole family had attended the Essence activities and concerts. The uncle had lived in New Orleans and still had people there.

After a bit, Janice and I were ready to move on. We weren't particularly hungry, but agreed that we should find someplace to get a bite. Janice wanted a place where we could eat outside. This being New Orleans, we hadn't walked two blocks before finding the perfect place--a big open-air eatery, with a music trio playing creole or cajun or blues or zydeco music (they all kinda blend in with the many street bands in New Orleans)

After eating and listening to the band, Janice wanted to shop some more ( I told you, she likes to hang out), so I settled on a bench right outside the eatery. When she returned, she said she really wanted to sing a song with the trio. She asked the leader if he knew they knew the song she wanted to sing. He said no, with no encouragement or indication that he wanted to entertain her offer to sing. So it didn't happen, but she was ready. She was so ready. She was in the moment. All up in it.

13-hourThe next day, we boarded the train at 7 a.m. for the 13-hour ride to Atlanta. Our first ride together. We did good.










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