A New Orleans makeover lost

NEW ORLEANS – Did you know there was a plan? A secret plan?

There was talk, of course, in the months before the mayoral election that white folks were intent on taking over this place and remaking it in our own image. We pooh-poohed that notion, of course, because it was politically expedient to do so, but it was, in fact, true.

There was a grand design for the New Vanilla City.

The first thing we were going to do was default on our contract with the Hornets basketball team and bring in NASCAR. Nothing gets white folks excited like really fast cars making a left turn for 300 miles. That, sports fans, is entertainment.

Second, we were going to get rid of this city’s bizarre infatuation with chicory coffee. Man, that stuff is as bitter as birch bark. The new official drink of New Orleans: double chai latte. With skim milk.

Sunday afternoon second-lines were to be replaced by line dancing. Instead of strange incense, oils and rasta caps, the sidewalk vendors on Canal Street would sell exotic Dutch cheeses and bootleg Jimmy Buffett CDs.

We were going to put some culture in this place. Finally.

What a funky city it could have been, had the voting gone the other way – a city where gospel brunches were replaced by Gregorian chant breakfasts and the big clarinet on the side of the downtown Holiday Inn would be replaced with a really big banjo.

The menus at Dookie Chase’s and Willie Mae’s in the Treme would be reworked to add a little excitement to the dull palettes around here. No more of that turkey-neck whatever and all that okra stuff.

Instead, bagels and lox on every plate! And potato soup. Finally, a little flavor around here. A little excitement! Imagine a city restaurant critics would flock to for new and daring ideas.

New management at WWOZ radio would dispense with all that crazy jazz and R&B and would instead offer 24-hour programming of “A Prairie Home Companion” with occasional weekend specials featuring all-ABBA, all-the-time.

Imagine a Jazzfest where the Polka Tent replaces that unfathomably dull Gospel Tent and instead of Congo Square, we get – are you ready for this? – Scandinavian Square! Something in a tasteful woodwind quartet, I’m thinking. Some barbershop quartet. Something – anything! – to bring a little life to that Jazzfest dullsville lineup. One thing we would have kept is Lionel Richie as the closing act on the Second Sunday. I thought that worked out pretty good.

Yeah, we were gonna keep Lionel. Have you ever listened – and I mean REALLY listened? – to the lyrics of “Sail On”? Unbelievable. And tell me the truth: Does anyone even know what “Hey Pocky Way” means? The Neville Brothers are so yesterday.

This town, people – this town was going to change. We finally were going to have something special here, something that people from around the world would want to come see and experience.

In the Quarter, we were going to get rid of all those noisy street-corner brass bands and break dancers and the tap-dancing kids and replace them with: more mimes. Mimes, man. They crack me up.

How do they stand still for so long?

Shoeshine hustlers would change their con. No more crazy vernacular. The pitch would be: “Would you care to make a wager on the location of the procurement of your footwear?”

And no more “Yeah, you right.” Instead: “That is correct, sir!”

We’ve got streets here named after African-American icons like Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, but nothing for the truly great Caucasians this city has produced.

I mean, how come there’s no Richard Simmons Street? Kitty Carlisle Avenue? I’m telling you, it’s simply not fair. Did you know that the Backstreet Cultural Museum doesn’t even have an exhibit on lacrosse? What’s up with that?

There was a new world order in store. Polo! “Will & Grace” film festivals! Brooks & Dunn! Oh, glory lost!

We could have been the most interesting city in America.

But no. Not now. The dream is dashed. Crazy voters.

I am despondent. I need a mojito.

Tennis anyone?