Local Color
I recently heard the following story from the ex-roomate of the ex-girlfriend of the son of a prominent New Orleans artist:
When evacuation of the city became mandatory for all New Orleanians before Hurricane Katrina, the son went to collect his father at his Bywater studio. Arriving, he discovered his middle-aged father in his underwear, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand, a shotgun in the other. When his son tried to collect him, the artist cocked his shotgun, refusing to move. He remained at the studio through the storm, and is rumored to have shot at least one potential art-looter in the arm. The tagline on his famous hand-painted signs?
Be nice or leave.
When evacuation of the city became mandatory for all New Orleanians before Hurricane Katrina, the son went to collect his father at his Bywater studio. Arriving, he discovered his middle-aged father in his underwear, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand, a shotgun in the other. When his son tried to collect him, the artist cocked his shotgun, refusing to move. He remained at the studio through the storm, and is rumored to have shot at least one potential art-looter in the arm. The tagline on his famous hand-painted signs?
Be nice or leave.