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The Old Firemen's Hall
Westwego LA
The Old Firemen's Hall - Westwego's Swamp Pop Palace
By Alex Cook,
Country Roads Magazine
In planning these trips, I sometimes have to throw the dart to find something alive and fresh. Not that there is a dearth of great venues or great music yet to be discussed in this column, it's just that meandering requires jumping off any path-even the ones you plan yourself. So I took a gamble throwing "Swamp Pop" into the search engine, and quickly I was pointed to the Old Fireman's Hall in Westwego for their weekly swamp pop jam.
Both of these entities are unsure territory for me. I know I've heard tons of swamp pop living here all these years, but I really cannot pin down what it is. Like all great Louisiana things, swamp pop comes out of disparate seeds dropped on fertile ground and growing into each other. According to the augury of Wikipedia, white teenagers steeped in Cajun and country western music and Creoles well versed in New Orleans funk and R&B created party bands that mixed all of these elements in the fifties and sixties. Swamp pop in the modern practice sounds like your regular sax-infused, good-time oldies cover groups, but with that funk bubbling to the surface, not really overtaking the song, but making its presence known, kind of like when a crab claw unexpectedly emerges from the murky depths of a bowl of gumbo. Swamp pop is a lot like gumbo: on paper it might not sound special, but get a good quality batch of it and it's the best thing you've ever had.
I had even less of a mental fix on Westwego. I knew it was across the shockingly narrow Huey P. Long Bridge from New Orleans, and that as a kid we would pass through it coming from Houma into the city, but that is all I knew. I rode up with Jeffery, the photographer for this trip, who said he mentioned to a friend that he was heading out to Westwego, and that friend remarked "Why? If the parish is the red-headed stepchild of New Orleans, Westwego is that child's awkward friend." True, the big box strips on Highway 90 and the vast oil storage fields dotting the river may not be able to compete with St. Charles Avenue for charm, but the sweet downtown and the friendly mix at The Old Fireman's Hall has its own rewards.
The Old Fireman's Hall has been a central fixture in Westwego since 1919, and has been operating as a dance hall since swamp pop began. Rob Billiot took over managing the club in 2006 when it was threatened with demolition to make room for houses on Fourth Street. Billiot's parents-his dad Robert, the mayor of Westwego, and his mother Pamela, the principal of the elementary school across the street-collected enough money to save the building and refurbish it after it was ravaged by Katrina. Rob teaches business classes at Archbishop Shaw across the river, and his parents asked him to be the manager.
"Some of the guys used to come here when this placed first opened as a dance hall in the sixties," explains Rob. "They used to pay a nickel at the door. Every week I have someone tell me they met their wife at dances here." Like other venues like this, the Old Fireman's Hall is as much a community center as it is a nightclub. When we walk in, a group of young men stalk the pool tables with predatory concern while a few tables away, a family is celebrating a birthday party. The bar is lined with thirty-year olds while a couple of grandmas jump up to dance when a song from their youth comes from the bandstand.
The dance floor dominates the room, and the band for this evening's jam, largely pulled from the roster of swamp pop powerhouse Foret Tradition, lure the partiers to it. I love that people dance in Louisiana, it is among our most redeeming qualities. Other places, when people dance it's a more formal affair, but that night I say two generations of couples hit the floor when the band kicked into "Don't Close the Door on Me." The floor ebbed and flowed in capacity until a line dance broke out to "Don't Tease Me." I'm glad to see line dancing is alive and well, even though I am personally terrible at it. The movement in unison, that understanding of the steps, that willingness to not only get out there but hang in there with the rest of them is, to me, endemic of what is beautiful about Louisiana culture. That community spirit of having a good time is so rare, especially when you spend most of your time in the increasing isolation of the city. It does your soul good to cross that narrow bridge, be it a physical or mental one, to experience it now and then.
Wednesday night, besides being the spot for the swamp pop jam (no cover), is also steak night at the Old Fireman's Hall, where ten bucks will get you a steak, potato and salad. Thursday nights is Jamaican dance club night, and at various times there are events on Fridays and Saturdays. November 25, Foret Tradition with Steve Adams will be kicking out the swamp pop jams after the Saints game.
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