A few months ago, a good writer friend of mine visited New Orleans for the first time. I love showing off my city, which to my mind is one of the jewels of civilization. That evening, we walked along Canal Street, which borders the historic French Quarter, thousands of people flowed in every direction. He asked if that day were a special occasion. Yes, I thought, we’re alive. That’s the special occasion. Maintaining a year-round festival spirit is what New Orleans is all about.
In the first hours of the New Year, the French Quarter was packed with those who wanted to be the first to welcome 2025. Drinks flowed freely. Live music played from open bar doors. Locals and tourists cruised Bourbon Street with smiles on their faces. I can think of few better places to be on an average day, let alone New Year’s morning. To be alive in the heart of New Orleans before the first sunrise of the year is the definition of living a life to its fullest. Imagine the horror of being among the first in the world to die in 2025.
Around 3 a.m., January 1, 2025, a man in a pickup truck swerved past police cars that blocked the entrance to Bourbon Street. He crushed dozens of people. He crashed and shot at police officers. Ultimately, he died as he chose to live: violently.
At the time of this writing, 14 are dead, in addition to the perpetrator, and many others injured. Among the killed: a young mother, a recent high school graduate, a college football player. All beloved by someone. A cross-section of our diverse nation.
Much of the French Quarter, which virtually never closes, was locked down for the first time in my memory. I recall the days after Hurricane Katrina when some bars refused to shut down—even though most of the city was evacuated to higher ground.
Yet, the Sugar Bowl, one of the highest profile non-NFL games in the country, was postponed. And the people of my city, visitors and locals alike, were in a state of anger, sadness, and shock.
How could one person cause…
