Little Victorian Dream House...

What's Going On, France? is with Sandra Guerrero Valles...

Hell's Half Acre, ~ The Brothels In Fort Worth...

I LOVE Ann Marie Eleazar's Dark & Elegant Poetry!!!...

New Orleans Voodoo Museum & Creepy-Cool Dolls...

Louis Armstrong: "Back O' Town Blues"...

A Fine Louisiana Gumbo!!!... (Maybe you could get this kind of thing at Lulu White's, if Juliette Jo was cooking!!! ;) )

Lulu White's Mahogany Hall...

Shrimp & Sausage Gumbo By Rian Handler and Justin SullivanUpdated: Jan 3, 2024 >>> Homemade Gumbo Is The Ultimate Comfort Food Dish... Yields: 4 serving(s) Prep Time: 20 mins Total Time: 1 hr 20 mins Cal/Serv: 633 >>> Filled with shrimp, sausage, and the signature seasoning, hearty gumbo the true melting-pot dish that will transport you straight to New Orleans after just one bite. Originating in Louisiana, this dish combines the cuisines and ingredients of several cultures including West African, French, German, and Choctaw. It's a top-notch comfort food stew centered around a flavorful roux and the holy trinity of Southern cooking: aromatic onions, celery, and bell peppers. Our recipe draws inspiration from Cajun and Creole styles of gumbo, but mainly follows the Creole style with the inclusion of fire-roasted tomatoes and shrimp. If you're looking to perfect this classic dish, keep reading for all of our top tips on how to do it: What’s the difference between gumbo and jambalaya?... The difference in these two dishes comes down to two things: the roux and the role of the rice. Unlike jambalaya, gumbo builds its flavor upon a roux, which also thickens it to a stew-like texture. Gumbo is also served with rice on the side, while jambalaya simmers it in the dish. >>> The secret to the best gumbo: the roux... Every good gumbo starts with a mixture of butter and flour called a roux. In this case, we’re cooking the roux until it has a golden color, which can take about 10 minutes. Our top tip? During this time, you should be stirring almost constantly. It’s very easy to burn a roux, and if you do, then you have to start over. If that happens, that’s okay! It takes some practice if this is your first time making a roux, but stirring constantly will help prevent any burning from happening in the first place. >>> What meat or seafood is usually in gumbo?... The protein can vary in different gumbo recipes but for our recipe, we chose a mix of andouille sausage and shrimp. Some tips when it comes to these star ingredients: — The shrimp. It's really up to you if you prefer to keep your shrimp shells on or not. The shells add heaps of flavor, so oftentimes we prefer to keep them on, but if eating tail-on shrimp isn’t your thing, no worries! Leave 'em out. In terms of size, it doesn’t really matter how big your shrimp are, just make sure to keep a close eye on them as they cook. As soon as they turn opaque, they’re done. As always, make sure you're buying sustainably—the Monterey Bay Aquarium has an amazing guide that can walk you through purchasing shrimp ethically. Not feeling shrimp? Try our chicken and sausage gumbo instead. — The sausage. Trust us, for this recipe, it’s truly worth it to find andouille. It provides a very specific flavor associated with this dish, so it’s really worth hunting for. If you can’t find andouille anywhere, there are ways to substitute the flavor. Start with ground pork and mix in Cajun spices. Since andouille is double-smoked, try adding a little liquid smoke to the mix. We’d start small, 1/2 teaspoon should do it. >>> How to serve gumbo: Gumbo is often traditionally served spooned over rice, and we chose to top our bowls with our reserved scallions. If you’re looking for side ideas, you can’t go wrong with fried okra, collard greens, cheese grits, or sweet potato tots. >>> Storage and freezing: Since there is seafood in this dish, we don't recommend refrigerating gumbo for more than 2 days. You can also freeze your gumbo for up to 6 months. The cooked rice can be stored separately in the fridge for up to 2 days, and frozen separately for up to 1 month. >>> >>> Ingredients 4 Tbsp. unsalted butter 1/4 c. all-purpose flour 1 small yellow onion, chopped 1 medium green bell pepper, seeds and ribs removed, chopped 2 stalks celery, finely sliced 12 oz. andouille sausage, sliced into 1/2" rounds 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1 Tbsp. Cajun seasoning (without salt) Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper 4 c. low-sodium chicken broth 1 (15-oz.) can fire-roasted diced tomatoes 1 bay leaf 1 lb. medium shrimp, peeled, deveined 3 scallions, sliced Cooked white rice, for serving >>> Directions... Step 1 ~ In a large, deep skillet over medium-low heat, melt butter, then add flour. Cook, stirring constantly, until roux is dark caramel colored, 12 to 15 minutes. Step ~ Add onions, peppers, and celery and cook, stirring, until softened, about 8 minutes. Stir in sausage, garlic, and Cajun seasoning; season with salt and pepper. Stir in broth, tomatoes, and bay leaf and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 1 hour. Step 3 ~ In the last 6 minutes of cooking, add shrimp. Once shrimp is pink and cooked through, taste and adjust seasonings. Stir in scallions, reserving some for serving. Step 4 ~ Divide rice among bowls. Spoon gumbo over. Top with reserved scallions.

But First, Coffee... ;)

The Saucy Sweethearts Of Storyville: Prologue...

Charlezza loved the backwoods around Catfish Creek where she had grown up, romping like a little wild animal, among the trees, wearing only a coarse sack-like shift. But, she also loved the cypress shack with it's tin roof, where her mama Annie Lee and her Grand Tante Narcisse had raised her, raised her on lots of love and corn cakes, gravy, yams, grits, greens and, of course, river catfish. Now, at seven years old, and already bright enough to be reading Grand Tante's notebooks where she recorded her hoodoo spells and potion recipes, Charlezza was playing with her ragdoll Sooky and her chubby puppy Lolly. Lolly was chasing her tail and that made Charlezza laugh and laugh mand laugh. "That silly little dog gonna get dizzy and fall over her own ears!," Grand Tante Narcisse said. "No, she won't! She's too smart for that! I housebroke her in three days, remember!" "I remember. I tole you I wasn't gonna have no dog pissing all over my floor." Grand Tante Narcisse was tying bundles of mint and rosemary for drying. "Your mama be home soon. She works too much for that scum Edna Baylis. Edna can clean her own house, but she just likes yer mama doin' it, acting like her servant. I done tole your mama, and tole her, I gots plenty enough money to support us all, but your mama is proud like a goose, and won't hear of it!" "I know, I know, Grand Tante, but you say you got a lot of money, but where is it?" "Ain't nobody gonna find that out, Chile!" Grand Tante Narcisse laughed. When she laughed she sounded like a crow, Charlezza thought. The door opened and Annie Lee walked in. She looked tired, as usual, but on her sweet face was only a smile. Annie Lee's hair was yellow and even a bit nappy, which was strange since she was so light; Annie's eyes were even pale blue. Yet, her mixed blood showed in her other features too. Annie Lee was called "Angel Annie" by some in the Parish for her good works. Annie Lee was a soft touch for anyone. She couldn't bear the thought of old people starving to death or children crying because they didn't have enough blankets, or even stray dogs and cats suffering just a smidgen. She even fed scraps to raccoons and possums, saying they were God's furry kids. There was only Grand Tante Narcisse, Annie Lee and Charlezza living in Grand Tante's shack. Grand Tante Narcisse had been a great beauty in her youth, with her strange, yet fine silvery green eyes, and had had a "career" of some sorts. She wouldn't say what it was, naturally, but now, she was a hoodoo woman, a conjure woman. People came to see Mama Narcisse La Velle late at night, knocking softly on the back door. Grand Tante Narcisse would admit them. She would talk to these "customers" in a very soft voice, and the customers would answer back as if the devil was looking over their shoulders. Small cloth wrapped bundles and candles would hastily be exchanged for wads of crumpled bills, or precious old jewelry, or handfuls of coins. Then, the customers would scurry away... Charlezza had watched this happen many times, from her rickety cot made of live oak branches, with the covers pulled up almost to her wide eyes. And, she knew to never touch her grand tante's hoodoo altar with it's weird images of saints and it's rocks and shells and feathers. Lazy days went on and on and on, and Charlezza grew into a very pretty girl with an active curiosity, almost as pretty a girl as Annie Lee and Grand Tante Narcisse had been. Then, one day, Charlezza decided to see the mysterious world out there, with her best friend Rae Mae Placer, who said with the right connections she and Charlezza could be queens! The right connections, ~ ha, two naive backwoods girls? That was a big, a very big mistake! ~ Copyright by Antoinette Beard, 2024.

Storyville: From "Noir & NOLA"...

By Cierra Chenier, Mar 19, 2018 >>> "From Basin to Backatown: The Untold Story of Storyville"... In Storyville, New Orleans... Basin Street parallels Rampart Street and neighbors the historic French Quarter and St. Louis Cemetery #1. Before Hurricane Katrina, it was the site of the former Iberville Housing Projects (now mixed-income apartments) and carries an even deeper history as the site of New Orleans’ “red-light” district. Every area in New Orleans has a story, here is that of Storyville. >>> Background... After many failed attempts to eradicate prostitution and gambling within the city, the New Orleans City Council adopted an ordinance in 1897. Ordinance No. 13, 485 C.S. was introduced by Alderman Sidney Story and contained a list of guidelines to regulate prostitution and other illegal acts. It designated thirty-eight blocks where prostitution was technically tolerated, but illegal in any other part of the city. The area became known as the "red-light district" and "Storyville" after Sidney Story. It stretched throughout Basin Street, beginning at the former Basin Street Railroad. The district was located at the current site of the Iberville Housing Projects. Storyville employed over 2,000 prostitutes and generated millions of dollars in economic activity. It attracted people from all over the country and served as a playground for prostitution, gambling, segregation, music, drugs, alcohol, and racial and sexual exploitation. Storyville was New Orleans' attempt to contain crude and illegal activity into one area (making it easier for police to regulate) rather than trying to address these issues city-wide. It was lined with mansions, saloons, and brothels, in which these illicit activities would take place. Blue books, known as the "guidebooks to sin," were booklets that advertised the activity of Storyville and served as a directory for the prostitutes and "madames" of the district, many of whom were categorized by race.

"W" for white, "C" for colored, and "Oct." for octoroon, meaning one-eighth Black. Black women, especially those that were dark-skinned or visibly Black, were deemed as the least valuable women in Storyville. They often worked in deplorable conditions and were the subject of exploitation. Many light-skinned, mixed race, and/or Creole women worked at Lulu White's Mahogany Hall, a luxurious parlor occupied by rich, white men that (creepily) fetishized the racial ambiguity of these wome Segregation... Your race determined your positioning within Storyville. The white "parlors," were mansions known as the high-end brothels (Basin to S. Liberty Street). Lower-end brothels contained a mix of races (S. Liberty to N. Villere Street). The Black, "colored area" consisted of run-down brothels known as "cribs," and were located closer to the cemetery, away from the main action of the district. Although Black and white brothels coexisted in Storyville, Black prostitutes were not allowed in the predominately white sections unless they were working. Black men were not allowed in the white establishments unless they were musicians brought in to perform. In other words: if you were Black, you were only deemed useful if you were providing a form of service or entertainment. Basin Street lies just outside of the Tremé neighborhood, which is known as the birthplace of jazz. Consequently, it was common for Black jazz musicians to play in white brothels as a form of entertainment. While jazz did not originate in Storyville, Storyville certainly played a role in the development of jazz, since Black artists were not allowed to perform in other white clubs in the city. Many famous jazz players got their start in the brothels of Storyville, including Jelly Roll Morton, Joe "King" Oliver, Buddy Bolden, even a young Louis Armstrong made money by bringing coal to the brothels within the district. Backatown... Another ordinance was proposed, which required all Black prostitutes to move in a separate "vice" district across Canal Street. This red-light district became known as the "Black Storyville," what we know today as "Backatown." This area was just down the street from Storyville, right across Canal, near present-day City Hall. Louis Armstrong grew up in Backatown, or "Black Storyville," and ultimately became the most influential figure in jazz music. Black organizations grew upset that Fisk school was located in "Black Storyville." Louis Armstrong, a student at Fisk, expressed how the school was in the midst of saloons and brothels. In result, the school board decided to move the Black students of Fisk to McDonogh 13, an all-white school on the outskirts of the district, and convert it to a Black school. White parents were outraged, protests followed, but the school board followed through with the decision. The school was renamed McDonogh No. 35 and became the first Black high school in New Orleans. Farewell, Storyville... As years passed, many attempts were made to eliminate Storyville: a ban on musical instruments inside of saloons, on women in establishments that only sold alcohol, and on Black and white people drinking together. At the beginning of World War I, prostitution districts within five miles of an American military base were strictly prohibited, resulting in the complete shut down of Storyville. The jazz musicians made an exodus to Chicago, which became the next step in jazz evolution. Most of the former brothels, saloons, and parlors were torn down, and the Iberville Housing Projects were built in its place with federal funding from the Housing Act of 1937. This program was segregated, in which only white residents (families of military soldiers) were permitted to live in the Iberville... The Lafitte Projects, across Claiborne, were built in 1941 and only housed Black residents. At the time, the Lafitte is said to have been one of the best low-rent projects for Black people in the South. >>> The history Storyville is often brushed under the rug due to the behaviors associated with it. While it was obscene and technically illegal, the district generated much of the city's tourism revenue during the time period. Tourists flocked to the lewd streets of Storyville, just as they do today on Bourbon Street. Without Storyville, we may not have heard the names of those notable jazz musicians, and that young boy dropping off coal may not have ever met his mentor, Joe "King" Oliver, and grew up to become THE Louis Armstrong. The politics of Storyville parallels many of the issues we see today, whether we're talking racism, colorism, segregation, or the exploitation of Black women. The issues that plagued the Storyville district in the late 1800s continue to plague our communities in various forms today. From Basin, to Backatown–from the Iberville, to the Lafitte. To understand our history is to understand our connectedness to each other. New Orleans is close-knit, family-oriented, and whether we realize it or not, we move as a unit. We are fused in more ways than we are divided, and it's about time we start acting like it.... >>> "Farewell to Storyville" - by Billie Holiday & Louis Armstrong... "All, you old-time queens, from New Orleans, who lived in Storyville You sang the blues, try to amuse, here's how they pay the bill The law step-in and call it sin to have a little fun The police car has made a stop and Storyville is done [...] Just say farewell now and get your one last thrill Your one last thrill Just say farewell now, farewell to Storyville."

The 1906 San Francisco Earthquake...

It was set in Savannah, Georgia, ~ that statue in the cemetary is surely very old...

LOVE this Johnny Mercer song, ~ "Skylark," sung exquisitely by K. D. Lang... (Supposedly, Johnny Mercer wrote the song because of his love for Judy Garland.)

From "Pretty Baby," ~ set in Storyville...

"The Blues In The Night"...

The Birthplace Of Jazz...

The Saucy Sweethearts Of Storyville: Chapter 2... (I'll be taking this down soon, so, if you want to read it, do so! ;) )

Donnelle Fern Forrester was born in Jackson, the capital of Mississippi; Charlezza Janine La Velle was from tiny Catfish Creek, Louisiana.

Donnelle was always throwing it up to Charlezza, --- that she was born in a big bustling modern city, but Charlezza came from a little hick backwater town, almost in the bayous, even though Charlezza’s grand-tante was the famous or infamous powerful New Orleans hoodoo woman Mama Narcisse.

It was rumored that tall and gorgeous Grand-Tante Narcisse was a wealthy woman, although she lived in a shabby backwood shack. --- and none of her poor relations ever, ever saw a nickel of her mythical hoarded money. Donnelle Forrester was now standing at kitchen table wearing a gaudy red and orange satin negligee trimmed with black lace and scrapping a wooden spoon over the remains of chocolate frosting from a bowl. Her face was smeared with the goopy dark brown frosting from even thumbing the last of it out of the bowl. She laughed, her mouth unattractively gaping open, almost showing her tonsils, as she noticed Charlezza with her fingers in her mouth. “Will you just look at her! Look at the big silly ol’ baby! You wantin’ a suck on your mama’s tits again, Charly? You talk in your sleep. You really miss your mama Annie Lee... Ain’t that so, dumb-dumb? That why you suckin’ on your li'l' ol' fingers like that?” Donellle was a big hefty girl with a truly nasty disposition and the fighting instincts of a female weasel, but she also had magnificent breasts that Ferdinand J. La Mothe, whose professional name was “Jelly Roll” Morton, Lulu White’s famous and much sought after piano player, laughingly called “Her Majesty’s Donnie’s Juicy Melon Jugs”. Madame Lulu came through the kitchen to get the first of her three big cups of morning coffee, made the way she liked it, New Orleans Cajun style with the addition of roasted ground chicory, a tot of bourbon and warmed cream and sugar. She just sighed deeply at the squabbling girls, and shook her big head. Then, she automatically dipped her chin down a little which made her double chin into a triple. It was an odd gesture that was coquettishly charming when she was young, slenderly curvy and cute.

But, now, Lulu was way, way past her prime and, under her voluminous auburn wigs, her wiry hair, showing many gray threads, was often matted and smelly. Still, she was no creaky old lady; she was a big, formidible woman with a firm step and a muscular backhand. Plenty of her girls and not a few men clients were afraid to anger her. Lulu White said she’d personally whip any man in the house with her pink snakeskin handle cat-o-nine-tails who wouldn’t or couldn’t pay for the female company and the wine, whiskey, beer or other treats served him. Her frequent virulent rages were practically legendary, as was her ten thousand dollars worth of jewelry, real dazzling gems and lustrous South Sea pearls, including a big diamond studded alligator brooch. One of her pairs of diamond earrings cost seven thousand five hundred dollars. She called her collection of many diamonds her “sparkling lights”. This morning, at outrageously early hour of nine thirty most of Mahogany House’s girls were still sleeping after a busy night of charming, dancing, singing, drinking, and, most of all, --- cavorting saucily and lustily between the house's satin sheets... Most wouldn't wake till after twelve. But, Lulu, always an early, if very grumpy, riser, had been shuffling about for almost three hours, wearing a old black hairnet and the shiny remnants of Lady Marcelline’s Restorative And Pearlizing Facial Cream. Her heavy countenance had a dull grayish look, as it usually did in the morning, before she was cheered by going over the receipts from the night before. The wide mouth without it’s plastering of shiny crimson paint seemed stiff and saggy. Lulu had donned one of her favorite robes, the viridian green one that came all the way from Kyoto, Japan and had a hand-painted red and yellow bug-eyed dragon on the back of it. Belinda Honey Bee said it looked like a lizard having a “mad fit”. But, naturally, everyone knew that the super-sweet and cute Belinda Honey Bee Smathers was mushy in her childish head, although she could sing beautifully when one of the parlors pianos was played, sounding as sweet as a warbling young canary. Charlezza stomped her foot, frowning at Donnelle. “I live and work here same as you!,” she screamed. “I’m in the darn Blue Book same as you, that the gentlemen can buy at practically any bar or barbershop here in New Orleans for just twenty five measley cents, and a short time with me costs exactly same as a short time with you!” Charlezza was light enough that she could blush and she was blushing furiously now. Donnelle simply stuck her tongue out at Charlezza and said, “Fuck you, idiot,” in reply. “You always give yourself airs, Miss Snooty-nose Charly. But, you’re just one of the regular ol’ candy-ass whores what lives here in Storyville, little princess! You ain’t nothin’ very special! We gots the much finer Emma Sears, Estelle Russell, Delphine Noveau, Clara Miller, Sadie Reed, Iona Cross and Sadie Levy. Then, we just gots Georgie Cummins an’ Gladis Wallace an’ Franny June Monteur ‘cause they came over from Star Mansion on Iberville Street. Maybe they gots tired of ol' Miss Ray Owens bossin’ an’ bossin’ them around.

Mahogany Hall, with our four stories an’ copper dome, with five parlors, is a much, much nicer place than Star Mansion, anyways. We even got’s steam heat in winter so’s our floors is even warm to walk on! We gots bathrooms, all with flush toilets and bidettes, much fancier, fer sure. Ev’er one o’ ‘em’s got hot and cold water, Frenchy soaps from Paris an’ big, fluffy Turkish towels too..." "That's pronounced 'bid-day," you idiot!," Charlezza shot back. Donnelle stuck her tongue far out. "BID-DAY, then, Missy Fuckin' School Teacher! Like I said, we gots Vickie Hall here, who is the most beautiest, beautiest girl we gots.

She’s just a so, so pretty-face-an’-pretty-ass that Miss Lulu done put her picture on the ad for this here house in the Blue Book, hopin’ men would think we’re all, all thirty o’ us, God damn fuckin’ beauties, and, maybe, jus’ maybe, they’d come here too ‘cause this here place is so funkin’ fancy-shmancy. Miss Lulu even let Vickie have that big, filthy hound Jimmy-dog as a pet!” “I know! I know! I know! Vickie is gorgeous and you’re right! This house is really grand! I’m glad to be here!” “You really IS? REALLY?” “Aren’t you?” Donnelle looked at her cherished long fingernails, thinking she needed to file the rough edges of them and then get some buffing powder and buff them till they were nice and shiny. “I could do better and you is a stupid fuckin' dumb-dumb fool...” “I’m not! Yoou take that back!” Charlezza pouted her lips. “You is! YOU IS! A whore is a whore, is a whore... But, yeah, I guess I is kinda glad to be here... Yeah... But, I woulda way rather been at Josie Arlington’s. I deserve to be at the best, 'cause I is the best! Josie’s place had bester, better an’ bigger parlors even than here. She had a Vienna Parlor, a Turkish Parlor and an American Parlor... It was the bestest house in Storyville afore Josie quit the business and sold out in nineteen-o-five.” “That was a whole seven long years ago!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah... I think she got all spooked by that big ol’ blazin’ fire at her house. It was only two doors down from here.” “So what? Stone doesn’t burn and the best houses in Storyville are made of stone.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, everybody knows that, ol' silly-ass... Some randy ol’ fartin’ geezer probably caused the burnin’ an’ guttin’ of Arlington House, maybe left his fat, stinky cigar restin’ on one of the canopy beds while he was screwin’ a dainty dumb little piece like you, Charly.” “You are... I think you’re just plain horrid and common and so, --- so darned trashy, Donnie!” “Who cares what you think, you damn goofus fool! I’m here for the lazy, easy money I kin make! I’m savin’ up for when I can leave out the front door o’ this fancy ass jailhouse for whores, go back to Jackson in mighty fine style! Cash makes you damned classy to a hell o’ a lot of folks! An’, I never did pretend to put on airs, to be somethin’ I ain’t, unlike YOU!” “You do too put on plenty of airs! You think you’re so much better than me because you come from a, --- a big city!” “Huh-huh! Didja know, Charly, that you got the cute nickname of ‘Little Miss Fancy-Antsy-In-Her-Sweet-Li’l’-Pantsies’?” “You stupid old tart, I never heard that!” “O’ course, ain’t nobody says it to your dumb-dumb, stupid ass face!” “You, you you!...” Charlezza couldn't think of any words that were bad enough to call Donelle. Donnie stuck her neck out like an arrogant and hungry mule. Her yellowish teeth were prominent, big and long like a mule’s too. “NOBODY WOULD TELL YOU TO YOUR OL’ FUCKIN' BABY FACE ‘CEPTIN ME!... YOU IS NOTHIN', FUCKIN' NOTHIN'!,” she yelled. But, Charlezza backed down. “”Well, well, well, then... Uh, --- uh, it says in the Blue Book that Lulu White has entertainers that sing and dance for the pleasure of the, --- ummm, --- the customers. I’m one of those dancers! I’m a very good dancer, Donnie!” “Sure you is, sure you is! You probably think you is as good a dancer as Rita Walker at Bertha Weinthal’s. But, you dances like a stupid sick ol’ cow!” “I don’t! I don’t! I don't!” Donnelle ignored Charlezza’s last remark and put her chin up. “Tom Anderson, our damn fuckin' good lookin’ “Lord and Master,” the so-called “Mayor of Storyville,” who thinks he’s so much better than anybody else ‘cause he’s so tall an’ he’s got all that wavy black hair an’ cute little mustache. He prints them Blue Books in a li’l’ ol' room on the second floor of this house. He’s always printin’ them books for the clients. I heard tell he’ done made the Green book an’ the Red Book afore he made the Blue Book, ‘bout the good ol’ girls an’ new girls an’ our prices an’ maybe all extra special stuff we does. I seen him printin’ away fast like sixty, him an’ his girlfriend, Hilma Burt, what owns that house on Basin Street what’s almost as fancy as this here one.”

“Girlfriend? You mean his mistress?” “Ain’t I jus’ said that,ditty-dummy?” But, I heared plenty that Lisette Smith was his mistress too. Yeah, both Hilma and Lisette owns niceity houses, so maybe there’s some real interestin’ gossip there... But, you read the Blue Book?” “I did! At least I can read, and read real, real good, Donnie! I can read like that because I paid attention in school, unlike you who’s just plain brash, --- and darn ignorant, at that!” Donnelle got a fierce look in her vile hazel-gold eyes. They narrowed like a wolf’s eyes and she threw herself on Charlezza, clawing hard and fast like her fingers were buzz saws. Charlezza put up her forearms to protect her face and Donnelle still scored one of them plenty with her long and jagged fingernails. Charlezza screamed. Lulu got between the two girls, pushed Charlezza back and grabbed Donnelle by her mop of black hair, jerking her head around. Donnelle yelped in shock and fear. Lulu threw her away, roughly, and Donnelle landed in a heap on the floor. She looked up at Lulu, the whites of her eyes showing. “You’re a God damn, fucking trouble maker!,” Lulu told her. Her nostrils seemed to pinch tight. “If you weren’t so fucking popular, doing anything the Johns want, things none of my other girls will do, I’da tossed you out long ago! You're getting old too! What are you, twenty seven, twenty eight? I shoulda had Big Al dump you on one of my competitors doorsteps long ago, --- maybe Willie Piazza’s, or Minnie White’s. You sure wouldn't starve 'cause I never knowed you to refuse anyone, although I don't cater here to inverts and unusuals, but I got no problems with them, if they'll pay. I don't judge a person's proclivities.. Now, get the fucking hell outa my sight!” Donnelle scrambled away like a cockroach when the lights are turned on. Lulu turned to Charlezza. “You alright, Baby Doll?,” she asked, in a much softer tone. “Yeah... I just, --- I just hate her so much, Miss Lulu!” “I know. I know, Honey. She's a nasty mess, mean as a snake. Try to stay away from her.” “I do try! But, she's always right there, ~ right there in my face!” “You two were like a pair of squalling cats in a cage this morning. It hurts my ears and upsets my tender belly to have to handle fights, especially in the morning, when I like it peaceful to put a nice start on the day. Go get yourself patched up and then, have youself a pile of pancakes with lots of syrup and some slices of ham. Julie Joey will be putting some breakfast on the sideboard soon.” Charlezza nodded. So, so very true... Donnellle and Charlezza were the bitterest of enemies. And, it was a well known fact that, in addition to being abrasive and obnoxious, Donnelle was a also a notorious man stealer. She would try to fascinate any guy, even one another girl had as a regular and had contacted for a whole night, and then there would be a big ruckus because that sort of thing was strictly an unwritten “no-no” at Mahogany House. Charlezza grabbed a worn striped cotton towel off a hook on the kitchen wall. She blotted the scratches on her arm and then wrapped the towel around her two fingers. They were still bleeding pretty bad. Donelle might have scratched one of the tiny veins. The house’s cook Juliette Jo La Fitte came into the kitchen. It was her domain; she was reigning queen there, of course, but she’d also heard the noise. Juliette Jo was swaying a little, hurriedly, and with her usual slightly off balance, but magnificent and ponderous grace. One of Juliette Jo’s legs was a good bit shorter than the other which gave her a very unique walk when she wasn’t wearing her weird built up shoes, the ones Doctor Newell Blake had told her to send away for from a Boston orthopedic supply company and that hurt her feet bad. Juliette Jo was wearing her yellow chenille robe and dirty fuzzy pink slippers on her big splayed feet, rag curlers in her gray hair. Juliettte Jo eyed Charlezza’s arm and her fingers, wrapped in the bloody towel. She pulled her very round head back a bit because she was getting quite far sighted in her old age. “Lemme see them hurts, Sugar-Pie,” she said. “Hmmm... I gots a good hoodoo ointment for that, be made of rosewater, sulfur, turpentine and goose grease, made for me by Mama Lorraine, fix those little boo-boos up just fine.” She smiled beatifically at Charlezza, who she liked very much for her sweet and kind disposition, --- the way she would always help make pots of coffee and also aid in making flaky, buttery dinner rolls, if business had been good in the house and a lot of gentlemen were expected to be coming for ten o' clock supper late that night. On the other hand, Juliette Jo didn’t care at all for Donnelle, calling her "Stupid Sow Hips”, even to her face. Juliette Jo could get away with almost anything because she was one of the best cooks in Storyville. Many folks thought she was one of the best cooks in all of New Orleans, or maybe even in all of Louisiana. Her wonderful back country cooking was much admired and some of the gentlemen who frequented Mahogany House came back, again and again and again, for the companionship of the girls, --- yes, of course, but also for the rich treats that came from Juliette Jo’s creative imagination and her talented hands. Her crispy fried chicken, her pork chops and stewed apples with honey and cinnamon, her file gumbo and crab cakes, her chili pepper red beans and rice, her fluffy cornbread, her seven layer cream and chocolate berry tortes and her praline candies were especially famous. Lulu waved her stubby fingers at Juliette Jo and Charlezza, --- “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you take care of her real, real good, Julie Joey. Charly is one of my favorite girls. She’s such a little sweetheart,” she croaked in her deep, gravely voice, a voice made permanently harsh from years and years of too much whiskey, absinthe, too much opium pipe and too many cherry flavored cheroots, and even the occasional fingernail full of white cocaine powder. Lulu was the only one who could get away with calling the venerable Juliette Jo, --- "Julie Joey". Now, Lulu made her slow way back to her elegant downstairs bedroom, on the way scooping up her black and white rat terrier, “Demon” Dennis, who was dozing on the Chinese ottoman. Dennis yawned, showing his long pink tongue and perfect pointed teeth. He kept very late hours too. The laughing gentlemen had him doing tricks last night, bouncing along on his hind legs, barking for treats. “Yeah, Miss Lulu, I sure, sure will help Miss Charly,” Juilette Jo called after Lulu's lumpy form. “Great, great, just so fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking great,” Lulu mumbled, scratching Dennis between his large upright ears. "Don't forget my coffee." --- Copyright by Antoinette Beard, 2024.

(For a short period of time enjoy this sample read) The Saucy Sweethearts Of Storyville: Chapter 1...

Storyville, New Orleans, Summer, 1917... >>> Bored Janine Le Velle sniffed the limp clump of purple wisteria blossoms she was holding; she loved the fresh, sweet scent, wished she had a crystal bottle of perfume that smelled like those blooms that hung from the twisted, dead-looking branches like bunches of grapes. But, none of her Johns had given her such a gift, ~ none, ~ as yet... Charlezza was sitting on the back steps of Mahogany House. She frowned, stuffed the wisteria blossoms behind her ear and leaned down to scratch the sole of a dusty foot. Charlezza wasn't very old, only nineteen. Sometimes, she missed having her ragdoll Sooky, and cuddling her puppy Lolly, who would be an elderly hound now, if she was still alive. Sighing, Charlezza took a sip of her tall glass of very sugary lemonade. It was still refreshing, even though the drink wasn’t a bit cold; at least it was wet! The ice man came every weekday in the summer, at seven o’clock in the evening with his big blocks of ice caught between gigantic tongs to deliver them to Madame Lulu’s fancy wooden icebox, but afterwards Madame Lulu was very stingy with the precious ice. Her girls weren’t supposed to drink yummy chilled beverages unless they were with clients, and, naturally the ice was all gone by the next morning. Charlezza rolled her round chestnut brown eyes, batted her spiky black lashes by learned, --- uh, --- learned habit. It was okay even if there wasn’t anyone to watch her doing it. Dang it, ~ so what? Acting like an naive, unpredictable coquette got to be automatic. Still, although it was a bit tedious at times, it was easy money. And, Charlezza was pretty damn lazy, just by nature.

She sighed; the flozzy business tended to be very slow in the icky heat of a Louisiana July, making the tempers of the girls and their clients mighty twitchy. And, everything a girl touched felt clammy and clingy, ~ ugh, especially flesh against flesh, sort of stuck together and, yet amazingly, still sliding back and forth, and threatening to chafe, even with the sprinkling of Mama Lorraine’s hoodoo jasmine and sage powder, quite regularly! Charlezza was glad Madame Lulu mercifully mostly closed the place down in the summer in New Orleans in good old Storyville. That was very sensible, ~ yeah, yeah, yeah, very darn sensible of her! Charlezza was barely clothed in a thin, very low-cut pink cotton eyelet lace nightgown with lavender satin ribbons threaded through the lacy holes, now enjoying a slight breeze on her dainty breasts, her belly, the insides of her legs and arms, and her toes. She laughed, a delightful childlike sound. Charlezza could pick up pencil and even write a bit with those toes! What a funny little talent! She ruffled her abundant reddish brown hair. Later today, it would be so hot that she'd have to pin it up on top of her head or she simply couldn't stand it! But, she was still feeling special, with her earlobes freshly pierced with the pearl teardrop earrings Henri Gaupin had given her. He was seventy if he was a day, but very sweet. Old men had their uses. They were far less demanding than young ones and they had nice manners. Sometimes, they just wanted a girl's company, a bit of spoiling, and cuddling. Of course, that was because a lot of them lacked, ~ uh, vitality.Charlezza was always glad when men lacked vitality. Stupid folks thought whores actually liked being whores because whores just loved sex. Really dumb-dumb of them, whores loved sex like milkmen loved delivering milk! It was a job, just a job! It was getting on to mid morning now and she knew, oh, she really just stinking knew, ~ heck, heck, heck! She should be getting back to Billy Bart Yager, but he was snoring so, so loudly! Clarlezza twisted a lock of her beautiful hair around her fingers. Yeah, she thought she’d go plum crazy and knife him with the pearl handle letter opener that sat in the silver tray in Madame Lulu’s private parlor, knife him right though his stupid little pot belly if she heard just one more liquidy snort from his drooling, buck-toothed mouth! And, besides, he was still a little nasty from vomit, even though she had cleaned him and his clothing as best she could after he threw up, spewing all over one of Madame Lulu’s new couches that she recently imported from Calais, France, the chartreuse silk brocade one with all the twisted gold cord fringes. Charlezza hoped that she wouldn’t have to pay for the cleaning it! She didn’t think she made enough money, ~ not ever, and careful cleaning of the couch’s delicate fabric would make her practically broke again this month, ~ just exactly like the last month! Charlezza thoughts wandered; she pursed her petal-like lips, thinking about handsome, sophisticated Pierre Ozanne. He was only in his mid twenties, had been born in Montematre, Paris and spent up until his teen years there. She thought about Pierre's silky and wavy dark hair sliding through her fingers, his sweet little goatee and mustache, his broad muscular shoulders under her palms, and then, his soft curving mouth on her throat and her breasts, traveling lusciously down, down, down... Charlezza wiggled her fanny a bit on the hard steps. Ooo!... It annoyed her mightily that the very unique Pierre wasn’t coming around as much as he used to, ~ no, no, no, not nearly as much! It could be because of the dang miserable heat. But, that was a foolish notion! Heat had never stopped Pierre from getting his regular loving before, all last summer. Nothing ever stopped dashing and debonair Pierre, if he really wanted something bad enough! And, he had those big dimples, one on each side of his expressive face, so charming when he gave her one of his toothy grins. She just loved that adorable little space between his dazzling front teeth. Charlezza knew she was being silly; Madame Lulu had told her and told her that a whore, even one as young, lovely and classy as she was, couldn’t actually, actually believe she could have a regular boyfriend like decent girls, a boyfriend made out of one of the clients! “You’re dreaming fluffy pink clouds and then shitting out river stones, ma petite angel!,” Lulu had sternly warned her. She scowled, “No man who frequents my place is ever, ever going to marry you! You’re just distraction, a play-time pretty, a juicy little peach!” But even so, Charlezza had the precious dreams of any romantic girl. She slammed her glass of lemonade down so hard on the brick steps that it broke and the drink splashed all over her. She shook her hand in the air, spraying droplets of blood and sucked two of her fingers hard. The sting annoyed her more than it hurt. She was a popular Storyville girl; she should be glad. Charlezza sighed again. It was fate, she supposed. She was lucky she didn't get pregnant. Maybe she was barren, as she suspected, a blessing for any fancy woman, even though Lulu White insisted that all men use "gloves," as a cleanliness measure also. Charlezza kept her lacerated fingers in her mouth as she rose from the steps and entered through the back door of Lulu White’s scrumptious castle-like place at two thirty six North Basin Street, actually on the corner of North Basin and Bienville, that enormous and unique building that cost forty thousand dollars to put up. It was built of fine stone and even pink and gold marble with a bright fan-shaped stained glass window over the front door saying “Lulu White” and it’s distinctive tower, it’s two thousand dollars worth of furniture, it’s custom made two hundred dollar cut glass chandelier and it’s heavy plush velvet drapes. The house had fifteen bedrooms with canopy beds and five scumptious parlors, and was four stories high, counting the bottom floor that was used as a storage area.

Yes, Lulu White’s place was very, very tall, like most of the other elegant brothels in the thirty eight blocks of Storyville, which were bounded by Iberville, Basin, Saint Louis and North Robertson Streets and named after New Orleans’ pious Alderman Sidney Story, much to his very embarrassed dismay. It was the religious, careful and cautious Sidney Story who came up with the infamous guidelines for the prostitution that had been legal in the precious “Tenderloin” District since July sixth, eighteen ninety seven, a tiny bit over fifteen years ago and counting, ~ now. --- Copyright by Antoinette Beard, 2024.

"Farewell To Storyville"...

Naughty Storyville, was finally ended, considered, shamefully, an immoral blot on New Orleans. With it's very tall and magnificently luxurious bordellos, it was destroyed, torn down to make way for new buildings. Too bad. It was a unique historical part of New Orleans that many today would have enjoyed touring. That touring could have provided much needed revenue for the city. Now, only a quaint memory, it exists only in stories, memoirs and photos.

New Orleans Madame Lulu White...

Victorian Witchy... ;)

A Sweet Little Victorian Cat Lady & Her Sweet Cat ~ 1900... :D

Awww...

The Fascinating History & Also The Misery Of The Myrtles Plantation...

(I read Frances Kermeen Myers' book with fascination! It's a dream of mine to go there, stay in one of the cabins, tour the plantation house, enjoy the beautiful grounds, eat at the restaurant. It would be expensive, but SO WHAT!!!... ;) Oprah Winfrey planned to spend the night, but left before doing so!!! Many others have left too, before completing their stay.) >>> The History Of The Myrtles: 19th century >>> The Myrtles Plantation was built in 1796 by General David Bradford on 600 acres (0.94 sq mi; 2.4 km2) in what was then part of Spanish West Florida and was named "Laurel Grove." Bradford lived there alone for several years, until President John Adams pardoned him for his role in the Pennsylvania Whiskey Rebellion in 1799. He then moved his wife Elizabeth and their five children to the plantation from Pennsylvania. Upon Bradford's death in 1808, his widow Elizabeth continued running the plantation until 1817, when she handed the management to Clarke Woodruff, one of Bradford's former law students, who had married her daughter, Sara Mathilda. The Woodruffs had three children: Cornelia Gale, James, and Mary Octavia, before Sara Mathilda and two of her three children died in 1823 and 1824 of yellow fever. When Elizabeth Bradford died in 1831, Clarke Woodruff and his surviving daughter Mary Octavia moved to Covington, Louisiana, and left a caretaker to manage the plantation. In 1834, Woodruff sold the plantation, the land, and its slaves to Ruffin Gray Stirling. Stirling and his wife, Mary Catherine Cobb, undertook an extensive remodeling of the house, nearly doubling the size of the former building, and filling the house with imported furniture from Europe. It was during this time that the name was changed to "The Myrtles" after the crape myrtles that grew in the vicinity. Stirling died in 1854 and left the plantation to his wife. The Myrtles survived the American Civil War, though robbed of its fine furnishings and expensive accessories. In 1865, Mary Cobb Stirling hired William Drew Winter to help manage the plantation as her lawyer and agent. Winter was married to Stirling's daughter, Sarah, and they went on to have six children, one of whom (Kate Winter) died from typhoid at the age of three. The family fortune was lost in the aftermath of the war due to it being tied up in Confederate currency, and the Winters were forced to sell the plantation in 1868, but were able to buy it back two years later. In 1871, William Winter was killed on the porch of the house, possibly by a man named E.S. Webber. Sarah remained at the Myrtles with her mother and siblings until 1878, when she died. Mary Cobb Stirling died in 1880, and the plantation passed to her son Stephen. The plantation was heavily in debt, however, and Stephen sold it in 1886 to Oran D. Brooks, who in turn sold it in 1889. The plantation changed hands several times until 1891, when it was purchased by Harrison Milton Williams. 20th century >>> In the early part of the 20th-century, the land surrounding the house was divided among the heirs of Harrison Milton Williams. In the 1950s, the house itself was sold to Marjorie Munsons. The plantation went through several more ownership changes in the 1970s before being bought by James and Frances Kermeen Myers who ran the plantation house as a bed and breakfast. The current owners, John and Teeta Moss, continue to open the house for tours and overnight guests. 21st century >>> In August 2014, a fire occurred in the historical General's Store, located just 10 feet from the main house, causing substantial damage. The most severe damage was in an extension of the building constructed in 2008 leaving most of the original structure intact and luckily not harming the house at all. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the Myrtles Plantation continues to be a popular tourist attraction due to its association with paranormal activity, and has been featured in many books, magazines, newspapers and television shows. Legends and ghost stories >>> The plantation house is rumored to be on top of an ancient Tunica Indian burial ground. It is currently a bed and breakfast, and offers historical and mystery tours. According to legend, after being shot William Winter staggered inside the house and died on the 17th step of the stairs. In 2002, Unsolved Mysteries filmed a segment about the alleged hauntings at the plantation. The Myrtles was also featured on a 2005 episode of Ghost Hunters. Other television shows which profiled the plantation include Ghost Adventures and Most Terrifying Places in America. The plantation was featured on the second episode in the first season of the television series, Files of the Unexplained, airing in April 2024.

"Gone With The Wind," ~ Scarlett Dances At The Atlanta Bazaar...

When Folks Made Mourning Jewelry From Hair...

The Last Civil War Widow Dies...

From "Gone With The Wind"...

Inside Victoria & Albert's Saucy Marriage...

The Disturbing History Of Coca Cola...

The History Behind "The Gangs Of New York"...

The History & Myth Of The House Of The Rising Sun...

"Wuthering Heights," By Kate Bush...

The White Lady Of Victorian England...

A Victorian Urban Legend, ~ Spring-heeled Jack...

Victorian Asylums & Their Patients...

Victorian Railroad Madness...

Victorian Insanity... :O

"The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz," By Frank L. Baum...

Lyman Frank Baum (May 15, 1856 – May 6, 1919) was an American author best known for his children's fantasy books, particularly The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, part of a series. In addition to the 14 Oz books, Baum penned 41 other novels (not including four lost, unpublished novels), 83 short stories, over 200 poems, and at least 42 scripts. He made numerous attempts to bring his works to the stage and screen; the 1939 adaptation of the first Oz book became a landmark of 20th-century cinema.

From "The Mathilda Julietta Vintage Scrapbook"...

"Rest In Peace," By Dame Darcy...

It's not nice to steal from the dead...

Lily Dale...

Those Not So Sweet Nursery Rhymes!!!...

2+ Hours Of Saucy Victorian History...

Frankie & Johnny...

History... The song was inspired by one or more actual murders. One of these took place in an apartment building located at 212 Targee Street in St. Louis, Missouri, at 2:00 on the morning of October 15, 1899. Frankie Baker (1876 – 1952), a 22-year-old woman, shot her 17-year-old lover Allen (also known as "Albert") Britt in the abdomen. Britt had just returned from a cakewalk at a local dance hall, where he and another woman, Nelly Bly (also known as "Alice Pryor" and no relation to the pioneering reporter who adopted the pseudonym Nellie Bly or the "Nelly Bly" who was the subject of an 1850 song by Stephen Foster), had won a prize in a slow-dancing contest. Britt died of his wounds four days later at the City Hospital. On trial, Baker claimed that Britt had attacked her with a knife and that she acted in self-defense; she was acquitted and died in a Portland, Oregon mental institution in 1952. In 1899, popular St Louis balladeer Bill Dooley composed "Frankie Killed Allen" shortly after the Baker murder case.The first published version of the music to "Frankie and Johnny" appeared in 1904, credited to and copyrighted by Hughie Cannon, the composer of "Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey"; the piece, a variant version of whose melody is sung today, was titled "He Done Me Wrong" and subtitled "Death of Bill Bailey". The song has also been linked to Frances "Frankie" Stewart Silver, convicted in 1832 of murdering her husband Charles Silver in Burke County, North Carolina. Unlike Frankie Baker, Silver was executed.

The Lizzie Borden Rhyme...