Is chance of a lifetime gone? (9/14/05)

Everyone who ever visited New Orleans has been thinking about the city for the past couple of weeks.

Including me.

It was 1987, and it was summertime.

I'd never really thought of New Orleans as a vacation destination, and I'm not the Mardi Gras type. But in 1987, George Reitenour and Alfred Hadley made their way across America for the first time in Spirit of Jay County, Reitenour's restored 1936 Studebaker, in the Great American Race.

The newspaper had signed on early to the project, paying for the right to name the car. And one of the perks of being the boss was that I was able to assign myself the job of covering the race.

Actually, it's a road rally rather than a race, so it's more about precision than speed.

In 1987, the Great American Race started in Disneyland and ended in Disney World. Its route took it through some very hot territory — Yuma, Arizona, and endless miles of west Texas — and through the Deep South, including an overnight stay in New Orleans.

Those of us covering the race pooled together in "pace cars," vehicles which had been lent for promotional purposes and were covered with dozens of stickers and decals.

For most of that 11-day trip, I shared a car with a great guy named Tom Kelsey, an LA Times photographer who took his "vacation" working as official photographer for the race, and a guy named Mike Boddy from the Houston Post, who — like me — was trying to keep track of a couple of local racers for his hometown paper.

As you might guess, over 11 days or so in a car driving across America, friendships either developed or they didn't.

Kelsey and I became good friends, and he eventually talked me into working on the race staff one summer; Boddy, I never heard from again.

We "raced" our way across the Southwest, passing through towns like Tombstone, and chewed up the infinite miles of Texas.

By the time we rolled into New Orleans, the whole process was becoming routine.

We'd drive 300-400 miles each day, take countless frames of film. I'd interview George and Alfred and pick up color along the way.

Then, after we'd rolled in to another city, Kelsey would offer pictures to The Associated Press, Boddy would file photos to the Post, and I'd go back to my room to write a story for the paper.

I had no way to transmit photographs at that time, and the computer I was working on was a Radio Shack Tandy model.

Its transmission rate was so slow, we were sometimes better off with having me read my story over the phone to someone taking dictation.

That was the picture when we rolled into New Orleans.

My recollection is that the Great Race wasn't a big deal as far as the Big Easy was concerned.

It had been a very big deal in Lubbock, Texas, but New Orleans had a more worldly sense of perspective. We were just another in a long line of events.

The hotel, down by the riverfront, is probably a mess now. But I remember it as pretty classy, posh, and just a few steps down from elegant.

And the city? I didn't really see it.

I drove through it, and I drove out of it.

But my only night in New Orleans was marked by having to work.

Boddy and Kelsey went to the French Quarter. Their jobs were done.

For my part, there was a story to write in my hotel room.

Was it a good story? I don't remember.

But I’ll always wonder if I should have headed to the French Quarter instead.

The trouble with once-in-a-lifetime opportunities is that you often don't recognize them until the opportunity has passed.[[In-content Ad]]