Crawled into bed once again and the scraping started again, the scratching got louder. Due to jet leg and excitement I was frustrated, grabbed my covers and headed to the couch. I got up about 9: 30 am the next morning, I could hear the bar downstairs, just rockin, people laughing jukebox playing, beer bottles clinking. I thought to myself, these people are nuts it's 9: 30 in the AM.

I got up, made a pot of coffee, took a shower and headed on downstairs to meet my sister's friends. I opened the door and there was no one inside the lights were off doors locked up, the bar was empty. I dropped my coffee cup.

I slammed the door shut, ran up stairs, and heard the people laughing music, bottles etc. I thought I was going crazy; I sat on the kitchen floor and started crying and shaking like crazy. I must have had been there for about two hours, I couldn't get up my legs wouldn't work.

My sister came home from morning shopping — I didn't know she had left. She came in and it scared my all the more; I thought whatever was down stairs was coming upstairs. I tried to tell her what I heard, but babble came out of my mouth. She took me out to the porch and I finally explained what I heard, she sat there and laughed, shaking her head up and down like she understood. I thought she thought I was nuts. She went into the house and got a cloth, wiped my face as she did when I was young, and started explaining to me about the bar and all the activities.

She said it took her a long time to get use to the voices and noises. She explained that she use to live in a place where she would see white gum boots walking past the fireplace, glass doors opened and closed. I spent two weeks of very little sleep and being my big sister's shadow.

I went back two years later with a whole new outlook about New Orleans. I had met a lot of beautiful people there, in the past two years, a couple of the old timers had passed on. One in particular was a gentlemen named Mr. Buck, he was about 80 years old, and he had his own chair right in the corner. When he passed no one person sat in his spot, not even newcomers who ventured into the bar and never knew the man sat in that chair. The bar would be packed and that chair would sit empty. I wasn't sure if people got a bad feeling from sitting in the chair or what.

I found out later that a few beers ("ponies") where placed on the bar for the old guys. It's a tradition. Katrina took the place; the whole Island was wiped out. But could she take the ghosts of the people that spend so much time at Cap'n Ryans? I talked to my brother-in-law and he's rebuilding in the same spot. So the ghosts have a place to hang their hats.