Coco Robicheaux

March 7, 2009.

When I think about Coco Robicheaux, the word "cool" comes to mind. My American-born husband thinks that the term doesn't mean anything anymore, that it's just a vague "blah" people use all the time, rather exposing a shortage of vocabulary. Maybe so, but I didn't grow up with the word, which could explain why I can relate to it and still use it*. Coco is cool when he talks, definitely when he sings (although "cool" by itself doesn't do him justice: Coco has an amazing voice!); and look at those pants: aren't they sooo cool? On top of it all, Coco Robicheaux is the coolest story teller. Most of the stories in the book were recorded, then transcribed. I had to listen to them over and over again to write them down, so when I read the stories now, I actually hear in my head the voice of the narrator. And I can tell you this: Coco telling his story was very cool! (Wouldn't it be "cool" to get Coco to come along and read his story for the first book signing in New Orleans? — By-the-way, his story in the book is written exactly as he told it to me.)

Coco Robicheaux and Jon Cleary live in the same neighborhood, near the Mississippi River. There is a levee with a very interesting wall not far from either house, so interesting that when the photo I took with Jon didn't work out the way I expected it to (nothing wrong with Jon — in fact, he was great; just my shortcoming), I went back with Coco. And did it work that time! His picture in the book is one of my favorites. Here is a little glimpse of the wall:




Saturday night and still no word from Adonica. At that point, I was remaining hopeful about Fats Domino (although I only had 3 days left in New Orleans), but most-of-all I was becoming very encouraged with the photos (Every night, after downloading them onto my computer, I'd watched with awe their metamorphosis when subjected to double exposure. Kind of like when I used to be in the darkroom waiting for the image to appear in the developer bath, if anyone out there can relate to that!)




* It DOES make a difference which language you are raised with: I can cuss all I want in English, most of these "bad" words don't mean anything to me. Even after 20 years living in this country. Really. On the other hand, there are some words in French I would never dare to say...