Editor's Note: On this Memorial Day, when we reflect on the memories of our dearly departed, we could have paid tribute to John Nolen, Daniel Burnham, Lewis Mumford, Jane Jacobs or an any number of great urbanists.
But since we try to trod off the beaten path, today we honor O’Neil Broyard, who spent nearly half a century operating one of the greatest gritty urban bars in all of mystical, magical, bizarre and historical New Orleans.
O'Neil's Saturn Bar was not in the fabled French Quarter, Garden District, Uptown, Warehouse or even Faubourg Marigny.
The Saturn Bar, it lives on, is in the Lower Ninth Ward -- never a sexy tourist spot and hard hit by Hurricane Katrina. The bar’s owner, O’Neil died in December 2005 while the place was still closed down in the aftermath of Katrina.
What follows is an exerpt of a story we wrote on the Saturn Bar and kindred soul O"Neil -- back when he was alive, thriving and a Category 5 storm handn't hit the Big Easy in ages:
Looking back on that final steamy evening, sipping locally-brewed Dixie beers at the Saturn Bar, that was the precise moment when we knew we'd finally achieved that perfect moment of vacation when you're a million miles away from the office, the bills, the lawnmower and the rest of life’s daily distractions.
We had reached that sublime level of distraction that all travelers seek when they plunk down the equivalent of a few week’s pay in return for an excursion to a faraway place.
The Saturn Bar, according to the proprietor who took it over in 1961 and transformed it from a nondescript neighborhood tavern into a shrine for easily 10,000 or more flea market trinkets, takes its name from a pair of neon “planets” on the ceiling over the liquor bottles.
They really don't look like Saturn, but the multicolored neon tubes lay the foundation for a showplace of second hand junk, a cornucopia of kitsch, although it’s unlikely any of the Saturn Bar regulars have ever uttered the word “kitsch” in their lives.
We're not sure if it was the mummy suspended from the roof near the single entranceway, the galaxy mural that covered the ceiling, or the scads of dimestore paintings hung over top of each other from wall to wall, but somehow the atmosphere of the Saturn provided a perfect ending for an eventful five days and four nights in the Big Easy.
We had downed crawfish at notable French Quarter restaurants and sailed the Mississippi on an authentic steamboat, but that final night with a half dozen Saturn Bar regulars put our entire journey into perspective.
Suffice it to say if the offbeat appeals to you, seek out the Saturn. Half the fun is finding it.
Located in a neighborhood our cab drivers politely described as "a bit rough," the Saturn is the essence of New Orleans away from he endless T-shirt shacks from the riverfront to the Quarter; and the fumes of some of the lesser quality restaurants that align themselves near the five star cafes in the Quarter.
If you must find it, the Saturn Bar is listed in the phone book, but we're not going to give out the address.
The Saturn doesn't depend on the patronage of every tourist that comes down the pike to keep it afloat. It’ charm is that it isn't within walking distance from any major hotel or overpopulated Bourbon Street.
Besides, we got the impression from O'Neil, the Saturn’s founder and chief barkeep, that if we encouraged the masses to flock to his sleepy little joint, the minute we return to the Saturn, he'll kick our Yankee keisters back to the North faster than one of his 60-ish regulars can smoke through a pack of Viceroys.
Postscript:
The Saturn Bar, like much of New Orleans, lives on beyond death, natural disaster and colorful polititicians.
It is at 3067 St. Claude Ave. 504 949-7532
Devotees have created Facebook and MySpace pages in its honor:
http://www.myspace.com/saturnbar
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Orleans-LA/Saturn-Bar/116657828667
REST IN PEACE, O'NEIL, WE'VE GIVEN UP THE SATURN'S ADDRESS AND IT'S ON SOCIAL MEDIA NOW, BUT WE SHARE ONLY BECAUSE WE LOVE YA, MISS YA AND KNOW YOU LIVE ON AT THE SATURN BAR.
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