Originally published October 2019 in The French Quarter Journal.

“I thought it was a joke when they called me.”

Robert Cangelosi was in his office at the architectural firm Koch & Wilson when he received a phone call. It was May 12, 1988. And the Cabildo was engulfed in flames.

“They called me, and I was president of the Friends of the Cabildo. At first, it was like, ‘Ha, ha, ha! What’s the joke?’ I picked up my vice president, who lived nearby, and we drove down there immediately.”

Fire trucks were already on the scene at Jackson Square and more arrived each moment, reporting from surrounding communities. They pumped 10,000 gallons of water per minute onto burning timbers where there had once been a two-century-old mansard roof. Flames erupted through a ruined cupola, driven by the updraft.

Residents and tourists watched together from the street and through windows and rooftops, expecting the blaze to jump to adjacent buildings at any moment. Some locals wept to see one of Jackson Square’s stately architectural anchors being devoured before their eyes.

Started by a Torch

A worker’s soldering torch reportedly sparked the fire, which smoldered unnoticed for some hours before breaking through the roof. As the flames raged, firefighters went inside to rescue some of the artifacts held by the state museum within the Cabildo. They covered display cases with thick tarpaulins to protect from the water, and then set up a sort of bucket brigade, to carry historic pieces out and over to the Presbytere. The bronze death mask of Napoleon, centerpiece of the museum, was found undamaged.

Later, a few volunteers were allowed inside to help rescue museum pieces and assess damage.

“It was like being under Niagara Falls, with the water coming down through the building there,” said Cangelosi. “You could barely see in front of your hand, with the amount of water that was coming through the building.”

By the next day, the fire was extinguished and the damage assessment began. The entire third floor was destroyed – the Sala Capitular, where the documents were signed to consummate the Louisiana Purchase, and where the Louisiana Supreme Court heard arguments in the landmark Plesy v. Ferguson court case. But surprisingly, the first two floors were spared the fire, and the overall structure was salvageable.

Restoration Effort

Work began immediately on assessments and plans for reconstruction. The building which had been slated for demolition in the early 1900s became the focus of a heroic restoration effort.

Federal funds were available, but with that came a requirement to rebuild according to modern standards – and that meant a steel frame. But the museum and the state, with support of then-Gov. Buddy Roemer, wanted to see it rebuilt with historically-appropriate materials and methods. That meant cypress timbers and custom-hewn mortise-and-tenon joints.

The scale of this project was daunting, and the request was to complete the construction on a short schedule. Cangelosi, named as the chief architect for the project, worked with consultants across the nation to find the materials and artisans. The LSU Forestry Department studied charred remnants to identify the wood species, and the UNO Geology Department examined the stone staircase.

Search for Cypress

Appropriate cypress was found near Orlando, Fla., and pine came from the forests near Hammond, La. “We brought in a consultant on historic French timber framing,” said Cangelosi. “Most of the people doing heavy timber framing in the United States were following an English method. This was done in the French method.” They used the Presbytere as a model because it had a roof of similar vintage.

Extensive architectural surveys had been performed on the Cabildo. “I was talking to the architect at Independence Hall,” said Cangelosi. “He was shocked when I talked to him, because I was telling him everything we had on the Sala Capitular, and he said, ‘My God, you know we have no clue what the space the Declaration of Independence was signed in looked like at the time it was done.’”

Iron and Stone

The structure of the roof could be rebuilt, but artisans skilled in other details had to be found also. Some craftspeople were sourced locally. Sculptor Roc Paul of Abita Springs, La., was hired to replace lost ironwork and stone relief. In preparation for his work, he inspected the burnt structure from a unique vantage point – the roof of Le Petit Theatre, across St. Peter Street from the Cabildo.

The upper floor of the theatre “was the creepiest place I ever had to go through in my life,” Paul said. “And then a couple of years later, I was watching a documentary on haunted places in New Orleans. That place is haunted. I had to go through the storage place up there.” Paul reproduced the details of decorative metalwork and stonework from original sketches.

Witness to Reconstruction

I was fortunate to see for myself some of the reconstruction work. On the morning of March 13, 1992, I passed in front of the barricaded Cabildo on my way to meet friends. Laid out on the slate surface of Chartres Street were individually cut pieces of cypress, like a giant Lego project. It was the frame of the new cupola, literally to cap off the rebuilt roof. I had a 35mm camera with me, and captured images of the scene.

The puzzle parts included verticals and cross-members, and a circular cap, or tambour. Each cypress piece had been cut with care to fit together with mortise and tenon. The fitted parts were held together by oak pegs.

“The peg, which is oak, a harder wood, is driven on through,” said Cangelosi. “And as I said, it was done very, very authentically. We did do some cheating. We did use a crane to put them in place instead of using block and tackle.” Much of the assembly was performed in mid-air, with parts dangling from the crane.

It took considerable time and many more hours of work before the museum re-opened on Feb. 27, 1994. Former Gov. Edwin Edwards snipped the ribbon, commemorating the rebirth of a Vieux Carré landmark.

Work on the Cabildo continues. The fence around the arcade, called in the original documents, the portelis, was replaced after the main restoration. “There were problems with people urinating on it,” said Cangelosi. “And actually I found reports the mayors, going back to the 1840s, were complaining of guys urinating on what was there.”

Some things just don’t change.

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A mysterious dancer in the early 1800s mesmerized crowds and caused consternation by cross-dressing and challenging social norms.

She led a life both romantic and tragic, the stuff of which epics are written. Yet, little is known about her birth and upbringing. In the ballet halls of 18th-century Paris, she was declared a child prodigy. Later, she became America’s first female choreographer, and among the first to perform a full ballet in this country.

Men fought over her. She was an acclaimed beauty. But she contracted a disfiguring disease, and eventually died in New Orleans, alone and in poverty.

Born in France

Suzanne was from Dole, France. Her birth name was Suzanne Théodore Vaillandé, and she was said to be an illegitimate child, un enfant naturel, born in 1778 to Marie Reine Vaillandé, a woman of modest means.

But by 1786, at the age of eight, Suzanne was in Paris. There she learned to dance, probably at the Royal Academy of Music. She showed so much talent that she was soon engaged to perform at the Paris Opera Ballet and at Nicolet’s Théâtre des Grand Danseurs du Roi. Though just a child, Suzanne was famous for her grace and admired for her beauty.

At Nicolet’s, Suzanne caught the eye of a man named Alexandre Placide, who soon began to produce her performances. Placide was born in 1750, making him about four times the girl’s age. His stage talent was extraordinary: actor, singer, musician, acrobat, poet, pantomimist, tightrope walker, swordsman, director, and producer. And he was a powerful force within the politics of French theater.

Skipped Town

But Placide had legal troubles. His wife filed a police complaint against him for pawning her jewelry, and for forcing himself upon their 13-year-old servant girl.

To escape punishment, Placide skipped town with 10-year-old Suzanne around 1788, just before the French Revolution. Soon, he and Suzanne found themselves in the French colony of Saint-Domingue, today called Haiti.

There, Placide pulled together a stage company called the Troupe des Danseurs du Roi. Suzanne was the starring female performer, and he billed her as Mme. Placide.

They toured Saint-Domingue for a few years, sometimes performing acrobatic displays, comic ballets, and harlequinades. But Placide smelled political trouble, and removed the troupe to the United States, just weeks before the 1791 Haitian rebellion of enslaved people.

Suzanne debuted on a U.S. stage in Annapolis on October 29, 1791. It was the first full ballet ever performed in the U.S., and Suzanne was said to be the first trained ballerina to perform in this country. Her January 25, 1792 performance in The Bird Catcher at the John Street Theater was the first ballet performed in New York.

Suzanne still appeared as Mme. Placide, despite her age and the fact that she and Placide were not married. Disturbing rumors of Placide’s intentions with this child were confirmed when, at the age of 15, Suzanne gave birth to a daughter.

Charleston Their Base

The company eventually made Charleston their base. There, at the Charleston French Theatre in 1796, Suzanne choreographed Echo et Narcisse, a pastoral ballet about the unrequited love of the nymph Echo for self-indulgent Narcissus. With this, Suzanne became the first woman choreographer in the U.S.

One of the performers at the Charleston theatre was Louis Boucher Douvillier. Louis was 35 years old and handsome, a popular opera singer and ballet dancer. By 1796, he had fallen in love with Suzanne. She was then 18, and had not only the daughter, but a son as well.

Sensing Louis’ feelings for Suzanne, Placide challenged the younger man to a duel in the streets of Charleston. Scandal-fueled stories of the battle soon spread, with contradictory accounts of who wounded whom. Days after the duel, Suzanne and Louis fled Charleston together with Suzanne’s daughter. They left the son with Placide. But without a hint of shame, Placide married someone else, just a few days later: a 16-year-old girl.

After leaving Charleston, Louis and Suzanne produced a show and went on tour, including a year-long residency in Philadelphia. By 1799, they had married, and established a permanent home in New Orleans. She began to appear onstage as Mme. Douvillier.

Arrival in New Orleans

This was a tumultuous period in New Orleans. The Crescent City was under Spanish occupation, and the administration was detested by the French residents. And in recent years, immigration to New Orleans had mushroomed. Refugees from the Saint-Domingue revolt flooded in, overwhelming resources.

But Suzanne’s marriage turned sour. Around 1802, Louis left her for another woman, a soprano with whom he had previously appeared onstage.

Suzanne and Louis never divorced, and she continued to appear onstage as Mme. Douvillier. But she needed neither Louis nor Placide, for she led her own career in New Orleans.

In 1808 Suzanne opened Le Théâtre de la Gaîté on St. Philip Street, between Royal and Bourbon. But the theatre was an economic failure. It closed after six months. The St. Philip Street Theatre moved into that location and hired Suzanne as the principal dancer and ballet mistress. She was still, it seems, the only female choreographer in the U.S.

Jill of All Trades

Suzanne held many jobs at the St. Philip Street Theatre, including directing, stage performance, hospitality, management, and probably advertising. During the 1812-13 theater season, Suzanne became the first woman to design and paint stage sets in the U.S.

She was the jack-of-all-trades needed to keep the theatre alive and profitable. Really, not much has changed from Shakespeare’s day, through Suzanne’s time, until now.

In 1808, she was the first woman in America to appear onstage in male costume – en travesti, they say in operatic circles. Where else would this have happened than in New Orleans? It turns out that the use of castrated male singers, castrati, went out of style in the early 19th century, and women began to take the mezzo soprano male roles. There is no evidence that Suzanne was a singer, but the changing practice may have opened the doors to similar roles for women in ballet.

Though they had been separated for years, tensions remained high between Suzanne and Louis.

Protest

A public battle erupted between them in November 1812, when Suzanne engaged a Mons. Dupré to sing onstage at the St. Philip with other performers. The decision was forward-thinking for the times, because Mons. Dupré was a man of color in a segregated business.

Louis loudly protested. He and twelve other performers refused to go onstage with Dupré because of the man’s race. They even sent a letter to Mayor Nicolas Girod, asking him to intercede and ban the performance, though it’s not clear whether Girod acted on the request. The protest may have been an effort to wrest control of the theater from Suzanne.

Bethany Ewald Bultman, Co-Founding Director and Chair of the New Orleans Musicians Clinic & Assistance Foundation, has been researching Suzanne’s life:

I am not sure if this is fact, but there is a belief that male theater owners in early 19th century post-colonial Louisiana complained about her “skirting” the rules. Then once she succeeded in creating an audience for ballet, they did all they could to run her out of business. This 1812 letter seems to be an example of their trying to destroy her business. And her ex- was right on board with that.

In the mid-1810s, Suzanne fell on hard times. She was never rich, and as she aged, she no longer made the income younger performers might receive. She fell into poverty.

Worse, Suzanne was stricken with a terrible medical condition. American actor and memoirist Noah Ludlow provided a firsthand account.

Ludlow and his company had performed in New Orleans for the 1817-18 theater season, and in April 1818, he hired Louis and Suzanne, sight unseen, to perform the ballet Don Juan.

Louis played the title character, and Suzanne took the role of Donna Anna. But she did not come to the rehearsals. When she finally appeared at the theater, on the night of the first performance, she wore a black silken mask that covered her face from chin to just below the eyes.

Though Suzanne wore the mask throughout the performance, she received immense applause.

Neither Louis nor Suzanne explained to Ludlow the purpose of her mask – in fact, Suzanne never spoke at all. But Ludlow later learned that Suzanne had contracted a disease to which she had lost her nose and part of her mouth. Some speculated cancer. Early 19th-century cancer treatments were mostly limited to surgical removal, such as rhinectomies.

For the remainder of her life, she never appeared in public without the mask.

The 1818 performance was apparently Suzanne’s last time on stage. She was soon unable to perform, and it was rumored she sometimes pulled a firewood cart through the Vieux Carré to make a little money.

Accomplishments to Be Recognized

Louis died suddenly in 1821. Suzanne died five years later at the still-young age of 48, alone and in poverty. She and Louis are buried in paupers’ graves in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Bultman is seeking to locate Suzanne’s wall tomb, and perhaps to install a plaque to her memory.

Suzanne Vaillandé Douvillier’s accomplishments in American ballet must be recognized: she was the first trained ballerina to perform in the U.S., the first female choreographer in the U.S., the first woman to appear on an American stage en travesti, the first female set designer in the U.S, and perhaps the first woman to open and manage a theater in New Orleans.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank Bethany Ewald Bultman, Co-Founding Director and Chair of the New Orleans Musicians Clinic & Assistance Foundation, and Lori Shexnayder, Research Services Library Associate, Tulane University Library Special Collections, for their help on this story.

References

Bozak, Nina, “A Woman of Firsts: Suzanne Douvillier Changed Dance in New Orleans—and in America,” The Historic New Orleans Collection, August 28, 2018, https://www.hnoc.org/publications/first-draft/woman-firsts-suzanne-douvillier-changed-dance-new-orleans%E2%80%94and-america.

“721 St. Philip St.,” Vieux Carré Digital Survey, https://www.hnoc.org/vcs/property_info.php?lot=22928-01.

Costonis, Maureen Needham. Ballet Comes to America, 1792-1842: French Contributions to the Establishment of Theatrical Dance in New Orleans and Philadelphia. 1989. New York University, PhD dissertation.

Andros, Dick. “The Beginnings of American Ballet,” Andros on Ballet, September 1993, http://michaelminn.net/andros/history/beginnings_of_american_ballet/index.html.

Plyer, Alison and Lamar Gardere. “The New Orleans Prosperity Index: Tricentennial Edition,” The Data Center, April 11, 2018, https://www.datacenterresearch.org/reports_analysis/prosperity-index/.

Bardet, Jean-Pierre. “Early Marriage in Pre-Modern France,” Hist. Fam., 6(3) 2001, 345-63.

Needham, Maureen. “Suzanne Douvillier,” American National Biography, February 2000, https://doi.org/10.1093/anb/9780198606697.article.1800317.

“Suzanne Théodore Vaillande Douvillier,” Encyclopedia Birtannica, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Suzanne-Theodore-Vaillande-Douvillier

Ludlow, N.M. Dramatic Life As I Found It. St. Louis: G.I. Jones and Company, 1880, pp. 145-149.

Braun, Juliane. Creole Drama: Theatre and Society in Antebellum New Orleans. Charlottesville: The University Press of Virginia. 2019.

Louis Douvillai death record, July 26, 1821, Tulane University Library Special Collections, New Orleans, Louisiana.

Suzanne Théodore Vaillandé death record, August 30, 1826, Tulane University Library Special Collections, New Orleans, Louisiana.

James, Edward T. et al. “Suzanne Douvillier.” Notable American Women, 1607-1950: A Biographical Dictionary. Boston: Belknap Press. 1971.

Kaufman, Sarah. “New Orleans & Dance, Partners Again.” The Washington Post. June 15, 2003, p. N1.

The post Danseuse du Roi: The Life of Suzanne Vaillandé Douvillier appeared first on J. Michael Warner.

Who created the wonderfully detailed iron balconies in New Orleans? In 1920, the last in a line of French Quarter forgerons put down his hammer. M. Charles Antoine Mangin, Jr., a Creole and fifth-generation iron monger, decided to retire because he could no longer find workers interested in learning this art.

Each piece that came from his shop was unique and original. On June 6 that year, Times Picayune reporter Marguerite Samuels published an interview with Mangin in which the smithy explained his ideas of the French Quarter’s iron works.¹ Cast iron works are created from molten iron cast into molds. But each wrought iron work is unique.

Wrought iron is like an oil painting – every stroke is put on by hand, and there is only one copy in the world. Cast iron is like printing – once you have the plate, you may run off millions of copies.

From France Via NOLA

Mangin was born in New Orleans on August 17, 1854, but his grandfather arrived from France in 1832 and set up the shop at 621 Bourbon Street; there was a forge in the courtyard of that address at least until Mangin’s retirement eighty-eight years later.

I hardly had to learn at all. It was born in me. I have worked around a forge since I was fourteen. Every member of my family has been an ornamental ironworker, except one, the smartest – he was a priest.

This brawny and mustachioed forgeron lived above the shop with his French-born wife, Antonia Meraux Mangin. Over the years, various close relatives lived with them, including Charles’ brother John, who also worked in the shop.² But at the time of his retirement, Mangin was sixty-six years old, and the couple were living alone with no children to carry on the legacy.³

Iron-Clad Knowledge

Mangin was said to know more about ornamental ironwork than anyone else, and he made this clear as he led the reporter on a tour of the Vieux Carré. The wrought iron at 621 Bourbon was among the most detailed in the French Quarter, and each piece was made by hand in the forge at this address. Mangin also loved the French-made balcony next door at 619 Bourbon, and believed it to be the oldest in the city.

But he considered the works gracing the façade of Waldhorn’s Antiques Shop at 343 Royal Street to be the most beautiful.

It has the French brass ball at the end of a scroll-design which could not have been made in less than eight heats for every scroll. And the scroll is repeated an uncountable number of times.

Veranda

Although etymologists would disagree with him, Mangin claimed to know the origin of the word veranda:

A certain Hidalgo of Spain, by the name of La Veranda, with an open gallery outside his house, had a sudden architectural inspiration to protect his family against sun and rain. He ran up pilasters, and put on a roof – and behold! the snuggest balcony Seville had ever seen. Delighted, his daughter never left the spot. She was a striking beauty, with Castilian coloring and a lift to her head that made passersby say, “Look! That’s La Veranda.”

After closing the shop, Mangin continued working with iron, but on a smaller scale: he became a locksmith.⁴ He died in 1924 and is buried in St. Louis Cemetery Number 1. Antonia passed away just seven years later.

References

¹ Marguerite Samuels, “Art in the Iron Verandas of New Orleans,” Times Picayune, sec. 3, p. 1, June 6, 1920. Quotes in this blog post are taken from this article.

² Twelfth Census of the United States, New Orleans City, June 9, 1900. Thirteenth Census of the United States, New Orleans City, April 22, 1910.

³ Succession of Charles A. Mangin, Civil District Court, Parish of Orleans, State of Louisiana, No. 153281, Div. C, Docket 1, June 26, 1924.

⁴ Soards’ New Orleans City Directory (New Orleans: Soards, 1923), 1735.

Ironwork image: By aprilzosia (Flickr: 4.5.08) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

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In the Roaring 20s, feisty Uptown socialite Martha Westfeldt opens a French Quarter bookstore that becomes Bohemia Central.

From time to time, a shop opens in the French Quarter that becomes a nexus for creative minds. The shop is sometimes a restaurant or a gallery or book store that brings together New Orleanians of diverse talent. But it is always driven by an original and congenial personality.

During Prohibition, one such French Quarter nexus was Martha Westfeldt’s Green Shutter Tea Room and Book Shop. The shop was described in 1928 by poet and author Carl Carmer:

O the Green Shutter, the Green Shutter,

Where artists fume and poets sputter,

Where books are read but seldom bought

And many a battle of words is fought,

I will recall with my heart’s last flutter

That heathen crowd at the Green Shutter. [1]

Fairy Tale Deb

Martha Jefferson Celine Gasquet was born in New Orleans on a Spring day of 1883 to Francis James Gasquet (1835-1907) and Louise Lepeyre (1845-1913). Francis was a wealthy landowner and industrialist from Virginia, a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes. Louise was a cousin of John Singer Sargent’s Madam X, whose sensuous portrait had scandalized Paris a generation earlier—the Louisiana-born Virginie Amélie Avegno, known in France as Madame Pierre Gautreau.

The youngest of five children, Martha grew up as a classic fairy tale debutante and socialite. She spent summers abroad or in cooler northern states, and had her debut at a New Year’s Eve costume ball in 1900. During Mardi Gras in 1902 she was surprised to be selected from a crowd and crowned queen at the Krewe of Nereus ball.

Shortly after the turn of the century, Martha met another wealthy New Orleanian, George Gustav Westfeldt (1880-1961). George was active in politics and the arts and was heir to the Westfeldt Bros. coffee importing business, and was a leader of Crescent City society (on Mardi Gras in 1947, George rode enthroned through the streets as Rex, King of Carnival). Martha and George wed on October 28, 1905.

Martha Westfeldt had many gifts; for example, she was a ceramicist and an artist, mostly a talented cartoonist. But she was also an astute businesswoman. Around 1920, she began to buy properties in the French Quarter, with an eye toward historic preservation, and many of her purchases were near the corner of St. Peter and Royal Streets. She donated temporary space in one such house at 629 Royal Street to the newly-formed Arts and Crafts Club for their official charter on June 1, 1921.

The Green Shutter

But by November of that year, Martha founded—at this same address—a social coffeehouse and tea salon that she named the Green Shutter. Presumably, they served Westfeldt Bros. coffee. Soon the shop moved next door to 633 Royal, where it settled in for many years.

Initially it was a small restaurant, but Martha also sold artwork and, with the aid of a few employees, began a trade in books and antiques. She also operated a kiln in the back courtyard and sold her ceramics in the shop. From 1922-1924, the Green Shutter was the fashionable place for artists and socialites to entertain.

Martha continued to support New Orleans arts, and many of the best-known local artists showed works in the Green Shutter, including Alberta Kinsey, William Spratling, Morris Henry Hobbs and Clarence Millet.

Before long, the shop expanded into 710 St. Peter Street, just around the corner, and patrons could access either building through a passage in the courtyard. Among its patrons, the Green Shutter drew now-famous names, including William Faulkner, Sherwood Anderson, William Spratling, Lyle Saxon and Roark Bradford. Under the Green Shutter label, Martha even published at least one book, Mollie E. Moore Davis’ Selected Poems (1927).

New Orleans writer and bon vivant Lyle Saxon observed the activities at the Green Shutter approvingly:

Around the corner from Royal, in St. Peter street, there is tremendous activity—the Green Shutter is open and is in full swing, with artists in smocks discussing this business of life as they sip their coffee in the courtyard, and with a sprinkling of ‘uptown’ people who have come to see just what these artists are up to. It is here that the world of fashion touches, ever so lightly, the world of art—Kismet! [2]

Luncheon Politics

By the early 1930s, gatherings at the Green Shutter took a more serious tenor, and luncheon topics covered politics and women’s issues. Martha became one of the founders of the Women’s Committee of Louisiana, the main thrust of which was to recall the mercurial Louisiana senator, Huey P. Long.

Long was always the source of controversy, and was not infrequently accused of wrongdoing. While governor, he survived an impeachment attempt, and there were allegations of corruption and fraud in Long’s 1932 senate campaign.

The Women’s Committee formed shortly after the 1932 election and was headed by a friend and colleague of Martha’s, Hilda Phelps Hammond. The two women found Long’s brash personality and tactics offensive. Martha also supported Roosevelt’s New Deal, which Long often criticized.

In support of the Women’s Committee, Martha donated office space on the second floor of 633 Royal. And to benefit the committee, she organized well-advertised antiques sales at 710 St. Peter. The Times-Picayune newspaper, never a friend of Long, provided ample free publicity.

The committee grew to a membership of over 1500 women, but met with resistance from many corners of Washington. Although backed by national newspapers and growing popular support, their petitions to investigate and recall Long made slow progress. However, the committee’s work became moot upon Long’s assassination on September 5, 1935, at the steps of the capitol building in Baton Rouge. A year or so later, the group dissolved.

France Forever

Martha remained active in important issues, however. During World War II, she ran a branch of a national organization called France Forever from the rooms of the Green Shutter, raising funds for French soldiers and donating food and goods to French and Belgian families caught up in the war.

Newspapers recounted that, while she held a meeting of France Forever at her home one day, eight Vichy French sailors showed up and asked Martha for help. The Vichy regime was a puppet government set up after Germany overran France. The sailors had jumped ship and somehow made their way to New Orleans.

Martha secreted them in her Garden District backyard, and later hid them at the Westfeldt summer home in Waveland, Mississippi, until they could be sent to New York and then onward to support the Allied de Gaulle forces.

After the armistice, France recognized her work and made her a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. Belgium honored her with the Silver Medal of the Order of the Crown.

Recipes and Philanthropy

In the years after the war, Martha returned to life as a socialite and philanthropist. With the exception of an occasional letter to the editor, she largely retired from politics. The Green Shutter was turned over to the American Cancer Society as a headquarters.

But Martha did not disappear. She found a cause in support of the New Orleans Public Library, and she often published her favorite recipes in the Times-Picayune. Here is Martha’s courtbouillon recipe.[3]

Prepare a good roux from a tablespoon of lard, a tablespoon of flour and a cup of water to which is added a finely minced clove of garlic and a can of tomato paste, using water to rinse out can, and two bay leaves and a tablespoon of sugar. Add pepper and salt to taste and simmer for a few minutes. Now add your raw fish and cook until done. Serve on slices of toast.

Martha Westfeldt died from a heart attack on April 15, 1960 and was survived by her husband George, four children and multiple grandchildren. She is most remembered for her contributions to the arts and society through her work at the Green Shutter, but her legacy in politics and social work extends much further.

Today the Royal Street location of the Green Shutter is occupied by Naghi’s, an antiques store and art gallery. Owner Effie Naghi has been in that location since 1986. He still has the original Green Shutter sign, stored upstairs in the building’s attic.

Special thanks to The Historic New Orleans Collection for use of several images in this story.

[1] Carl Carmer, “Song for the Green Shutter,” French Town (New Orleans: The Quarter’s Bookshop, 1928) unnumbered page.

[2] Lyle Saxon, “What’s Doing,” Times-Picayune Sunday Magazine, October 25, 1925, p. 2.

[3] “Favorite Dishes of Prominent Women,” Times-Picayune, November 10, 1950, p. 44.

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