Barely hours into the new year, we learned of a truck crashing into pedestrians at Bourbon and Canal streets in New Orleans. Late Wednesday, Fox News put the death toll at 15 with dozens injured.
Mere hours later, a Tesla truck blew up at the valet entrance to the Trump Hotel in Las Vegas, killing the driver and injuring seven.
Those are my two favorite cities to visit and I have great memories of both.
When I was 11, I spent New Year’s Eve in New Orleans. The Sugar Bowl was the next day and thousands of Wyomingites were there to cheer on the Cowboys against mighty LSU.
The lobby of the Fountainebleu Hotel was my headquarters, where I watched the grownups all dressed up leave for their fancy parties.
I also did a fair bit of elevator riding, trying to catch a glimpse of my favorite players.
Twenty-nine years later, I was back in New Orleans with my parents, this time for Super Bowl XXXI.
My husband and two kids, 12 and 6, were there, as were my unmarried sister and brother and their intendeds.
My kids got room service the first night while the grownups went to the lavish Commissioner’s Cocktail Party.
The 12-year-old almost lost his mind at the tiny glass bottles of ketchup and mustard that accompanied his cheeseburger. It was the first of many highlights.
On the night before the game, Peggy Jane the Mom decided that we should take the kids to see Bourbon Street, just blocks from our hotel.
Not everyone in the group thought it was a good idea, but she was undeterred.
The street was packed, mostly with Packer fans in cheeseheads and beads.
As we passed one balcony with several scantily-clad women leaning over the railing, some fellas on the ground started chanting, “Show us your t—-.”
The 12-year-old asked Gramma what they were saying and she calmly said, “We love Fritz.”
It was at that point that my brother and my husband decided that we had had enough fun for the evening.
Las Vegas has been a place to spend the night as well as a destination since the early 1980’s.
I love the lights and the noise, the
people watching and the palm trees.
Against doctor’s orders, I went to Vegas 8 months pregnant in the summer of 1990. The husband had a convention there and I was not missing it. My ankles were swollen the size of grapefruits and the heat was relentless, but I was pampered and treated like a queen and had a great time.
In 2004, we went to the Vegas Bowl and stayed downtown with the team at the Golden Nugget.
Weary from our day on the road, we had just entered the lobby to check in when Cowboy head coach Joe Glenn bellowed from across the vast expanse, “Sally Ann and Owen are in the house.”
That was a great trip, especially the come from behind win against UCLA in the freezing December weather.
We discovered the South Point on the south end of the Strip shortly after it opened and have called it home since.
No, it’s not in the midst of the chaos, but close enough. It has everything you could possibly need, including bowling and movies.
Terrorist attacks can come any time any where, and when they do, lives are tragically changed forever.
One choice is to stay home and never take a chance.
In my view, that’s when the terrorists win.
Or we can do the things - take the trips, throw the beads, eat the alligator sausage.
That’s the door I will choose.
Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at: SallyAnnShurmur@gmail.com
