Stirring up Ghosts

George Vinson
2 min readFeb 8, 2022

A couple of years ago, a young (as compared to me) old friend sent me a text out of the blue. It was a cold but clear Saturday in Thompsons Station, and I had delivered two of my Chick Fil A team member offspring to work. Sitting on the couch, I had my canine buddy Farley curled up alongside.

Sadly, Farley crossed the bridge not long after. But his cousin Murphy now stands guard over us in exchange for treats and curling duties.

My friend and his wife had been doing church work down in New Orleans for about a year and a half. We chatted about the ups and downs of life and work, and how just now they were starting to feel at home in that culture.

I’ve loved NOLA long before ever I met her. My teenaged merchant marine dad would regularly drop anchor on her shores, spending days wandering the streets. As a kid, he loved the stories of Jean Lafitte the pirate, and Dad loved retracing those infamous steps.

This was the mythos created for me by my father for this city unlike any other. When I finally did get to travel and spend time there, it did not disappoint.

Some find it an ugly city, full of sin and piss. And yeah, there’s no shortage of either. But those things are universal, and I loved New Orleans all the more. I can still picture a huge full moon shining down on Jackson Square, the Jax Brewery (at that time still old and crumbling) looming over the River, and the St. Louis Cathedral looking like a postcard come alive.

It can be hot as hell, especially in summer. But it’s the humidity that gets you, soaking you through and through. The people are warm, the food is delicious, and a river run through it. There seems to always be a soundtrack in the air, with low brass, wailing saxes, and a drum line groove impossible to ignore.

As Robbie Robertson of The Band fame intones, “man, this place is sure stirring up some ghosts for me…”

I suppose it’s completely apropos this line is from his song “Somewhere Down the Crazy River.”

Now, as it did then, a longing to roam those streets fills my heart, and my dry and empty spirit yearns for air as thick as the Mississippi.

And a bowl of gumbo and a beignet wouldn’t be bad either…

Ça c’est bon… Allons!

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George Vinson

Writer of words, music, and stories. I’m the same I’ve ever been and ever will be. Until something changes. georgevinsonmusic.com