Drummer Down.

As Tom Piazza states in his excellent book, "Why New Orleans Matters," sooner or later New Orleans will test any love you bring to it. I don't think of myself as a particularly naive person, and as for being 'tested,' I figure choosing to return after a catastrophic flood that damaged or destroyed 80% of the city ought to earn me some props. But I'd be lying if I said there weren't days when my faith is tested. If you've seen Spike Lee's documentary "When The Levee Broke" you've seen the Hot 8 Brass Band. In addition to performing in the film, Hot 8 members, particularly bass drummer Bennie Peete and sousaphonist Harry "Swamp Thang" Cooke, figure prominently as interview subjects. The 8 have done clinics up at Tulane, and the member that particularly stands out in my mind is their young snare drummer Dinerral "Dick" Shavers. It came up in conversation that I had once worked as a substitute band teacher in public schools. Dick was really juiced about his gig as a band teacher at L.E. Rabouin High School. He was in the process of starting up a marching band there and was excited that they'd be marching in some Mardi Gras parades this year. He was also concerned about his 15 year old step-son. Post Katrina, they'd had to put him in a new school in a new neighborhood, and some local thugs were giving the kid grief over turf issues. Last Thursday, Dick was shot dead while driving with his family after playing a second-line parade in the Treme. The shooting itself took place in the 2200 block of Dumaine street, but Shavers, though mortally wounded, continued to drive his family away from danger before collapsing behind the wheel in the 2600 block of Dumaine, about six blocks from my house. Police arrested a suspect, 17 year old David Bonds, the very next day. Bonds' official statement was "I ain't did it," though possession of the murder weapon and numerous eye witnesses make a successfull defense at trial unlikely. My initial thought was that he shot the wrong guy and this indeed turned out to be the case. Tragically, it was Shaver's stepson he was gunning for. Great. When you talk to these knuckleheads about this kind of thing, their usual defense is something along the lines of "there's a war on out there, dog. People get hurt in a war." Oh yeah, boo. You're a warrior. Black Hawk would be proud. The Hot 8 is shaping up to be the Kennedy Clan of Brass Bands, having lost 4 members since 1997, three of them to street violence. The most recent of these was the 2004 shooting by police of trombonist (and grandson of legendary 9th ward drummer and patriarch "Deacon" Frank Lastie) Joseph "Shotgun" Williams. He supposedly attempted to ram NOPD members who tried to pull him over in a stolen pickup, but numerous eyewitness accounts contradict the police version of events. It's one of those stinks-to-high-heavens NOPD scuffles that never has been satisfactorily resolved. The current "Danziger Bridge" trial looks to be another of these. I've had a number of friends and aquaintances die by violence over the course of my life. Since moving to mid-city last summer, I'd guess that about half a dozen people have been shot dead within a ten block radius of where I'm sitting right now. But there's something about Dick's death that seems extra depressing to me. Maybe I'm just tired. There's a saying in the great Black Gospel tradition that is at the center of so much here, "No cross, no crown." If we refuse to accept the tragedy of our own and others mortality, we are incapable of receiving the rewards that are our birthright as the tremblingly vulnerable creatures we are. I'm put in mind of another great New Orleanian, the gospel genius Raymond Miles. He was a Christian. A gay Black man. A middle school teacher in the bombed out hulk of the Orleans Parish public school system. He was tacky and tasteless and sang like a bird and wore outfits that would have made Liberace blush. A carjacker shot him three times and dumped his body near Elysian Fields. He deserved so much better than that. Our neighbor Miss Vera is cooking up a big pot of gumbo out in front of her house, and I can hear people laughing and talking outside. I'm going to go join them. "The people keep a comin, and the train done gone."