Updates from the Lakefront 2026

Why do we call the “news” segment of From The Streetcar, “Updates from the Lakefront?”

Updates from the Lakefront

When creating the new template for From the Streetcar, our weekly newsletter, I wanted to get away from the 1-2-3-4 format. Some weeks, there’s only one “update” of interest, others, maybe there are three. So, I opted for flexible.

Additionally, I wanted a title more interesting than “Updates,” but I didn’t want a military metaphor. A lot of folks use “despatches” in their blog titles. We’re not part of the Royal Navy’s communications network. Our updates aren’t formal; they don’t get published in the Naval Chronicle, like Nelson’s report on the Battle of Trafalgar. No, From The Streetcar demands a casual vibe. Now, “casual” and “New Orleans” intersect in ,any places. Since I was a teen, the Lakefront called to me.

It wasn’t just “The Lakefront” as an area, though. Laid-back evenings meant going out to Marconi Blvd., at the end of the Orleans Canal. When Lakeshore Drive intersects with Marconi, a large green space extends out from the parking bay. So, sitting on the seawall there means there’s some distance between people and the quiet of the lake. Fishermen sit out there, nodding, offering you the occasional, “awrite” in greeting. Cops don’t come out to this part of the seawall much. That longer walk from parking to seawall announces their presence. It offers the underage drinker, or maybe those indulging in Lady Goddess’ Own Herb ample opportunity to dispose of anything that might run afoul of the law. Usually, though, it never comes to that. Friends gathered, talked, joke, and yes, drank.

Gentilly to the Lakefront

Geographically, hanging out on the Lakefront was natural for guys attending Brother Martin High. Not like Gentilly kids were going Uptown to the Fly, or out to St. Bernard. All that open space, dark skies, and (relatively) fresh air appealed to us. No doubt watching ships traverse the Mississippi provided different fodder for writing than sailboats, or the cries of passion emanating from parked cars back by the street. Maybe suburban haunts bring out different feelings. Fifty-ish years after my first cold beer on the seawall, I’m good with sitting and thinking on the Lakefront.