Creating the Big Easy: New Orleans and the Emergence of Modern Tourism 1918–1945, and: New Orleans on Parade: Tourism and the Transformation of the Crescent City (review)

Today, we know it as “The Big Easy,” a nickname that came to popularity only in the 1970s. Over the past century, however, New Orleans has changed its name more times than a secret agent. It has long been called “The Crescent City” for the shape it takes upon the Louisiana shoreline. In the 1910s, it was “The Gateway to the Mississippi Valley” and a decade later adopted the tagline “America’s Most Interesting City.” By the late 1930s, New Orleans was “The City that Care Forgot,” referencing the spirit of relaxation for which it is famous. The city’s various nicknames reflect more than monikers for attracting tourists; as illustrated through these two books, twentieth-century New Orleans has struggled to define itself. The city has wrestled with its dichotomous reputation as both a place to party and a cultural haven.

Stanonis’ Creating the Big Easy and Souther’s New Orleans on Parade contribute much to the history of tourism, a field that has seen significant growth in the past five years, as case studies emerge to complement literature on the nationwide rise of travel in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Together, the two books offer readers an in-depth look at the role of tourism in complicating the city’s already complicated social, cultural and economic landscape. With both an apathetic white elite and a profit-focused set of entrepreneurs looking to prop up a declining port business, New Orleans was slow to embrace leisure as a source of income. Both authors argue that for decades, tourism remained a second choice to conventional industries. However, once established as a viable revenue maker, tourism defined the city’s agenda, dictating race relations, urban planning and cultural endeavors.¹

The books have much in common. Stanonis looks at how the city first turned to tourism during the interwar period; amid the ebb and flow of federal, state, and local funds, tourism became a taxable cash cow that financed municipal projects and relieved the tax burden of residents. He argues that as more Americans traveled during the 1920s, New Orleans carefully crafted its image as a culturally unique and cosmopolitan city. Its yearly celebrations of Mardi Gras and Spring Fiesta gave white visitors a toned-down taste of the city’s racial diversity. Stanonis also considers the role of women as preservationists and community activists who reclaimed public space from male-oriented activities. His research is exhaustive, with sources including collections of papers from prominent citizens, government records, national periodicals, and the many literary accounts of the city during the era.

Souther picks up where Stanonis leaves off. Souther argues that following World War II, tourism defined everything from the city’s public policy and economy to its social relations and spatial layout. As the city’s attempts to become a national center for commerce and industry were not realized in the post-war era, New Orleans used tourism to stabilize and expand its economy. Unable to one-up thriving metropolises such as Houston or Atlanta, the city created a romanticized image of its past, complete with racial inequities and sanitized versions of the French Quarter and Mardi Gras. Ultimately, “tourism preserved cultural distinctiveness even as it simplified it into a more salable package.” Race plays heavily into Souther’s argument; as white tourists sought out “authentic” experiences, African Americans were cast as the smiling street musician, the praline salesgirl or the voodoo priestess. With so much of its economy invested in these stereotypes, New Orleans struggled during the second half of the century to keep up with changing national standards of racial equality.²

On their own terms...