top of page


One foot in front of the other, the hulking old man trudged up the ramp to the Pontchartrain Expressway. A cold wind stiffened his face, so he bundled tighter and kept walking. His decision was made. A life full of accolades and praise meant nothing to him now. A man who was once the pride of his New Orleans hometown, his St. Augustine alma mater and his 7th Ward family and friends was undone. He was on his way to die. (cont.)

SUGARLANDS - The Untold Story  (2017)

His calloused hand pulled his baseball cap low against the Louisiana sun, then followed the cane down to where the stalk emerged from dirt. • Four generations of Landry blood taught Charles Landry to love this stubborn blackjack mud.  (cont.)


The message scrawled on the whitewashed plywood sign was clear, even if it was only one man's perspective: "We are not moving off this island.

If some people want to move, they can go. But leave us alone."    (cont.)

Leeville Cemeteries 027.JPG

Buried at sea: As cemeteries on Louisiana’s coast wash away, so does history - 2018

Talbot Serigny edges his johnboat toward a forsaken spit of land. His labored arms show the colors of tattoo ink and heavy doses of sun. He kills the outboard near tall grasses awash with driftwood and trash, and glides along on a falling tide flowing through small mounds of broken brick. Leaning over the gunnel, he presses a stick deep below the surface into a soft muddy bottom, over and over again until he taps something solid. “There’s another one,” he said.. (cont.)

bottom of page