Le Grande Palais. Chapter 639.

Some chums have been egging me on to try a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. They know I look forward to McRib season, so they think I enjoy disgusting food. Mrs. King thinks the same thing.

Canned food supported Napoleon’s army. There is no shame in canned food. Vive la France! Vive la France! New Orleans is the most francophile of cities.

Mrs. Peel and I stopped at the statue of Joan of Arc the other day. It is located at the start of the French Market. St. Joan, astride her horse and holding her freak flag high, all gilded and shiny for all to admire. I find this painting of St. Joan very interesting, mostly because it reminds me of someone I am very close with.

One of my favorite movies is Amélie. Mrs. King and I have seen it twice. We saw it both times together.

You know I am going to get started on monkeys and dogs soon, don’t you? We shall see how long it takes.

I had dinner with Mrs. Peel the other day. We supped on each other’s company. We have our own waitress now. The waitress’ name is Leteysha. We have Leteysha’s phone number for when we want to make a private reservation.

Do you know what I am talking about?

I am talking about New Orleans.

I should show you a picture that Leteysha took of Mrs. Peel and I. I choose to not do so. Mrs. Peel is as real as you and I are real. Mrs. Peel is as real as Mrs. King is real.

Nobody ever thinks Mrs. King is real. I can never dope out why. I think it is because they always hear me sing her praises but they never see her, then, when they see Mrs. King, and they talk to her, then, it all makes sense.

Mrs. King is the better half of this operation.

Everything real makes sense. This is New Orleans.

Then, out of nowhere, the subject of monkeys came up at the dinner table. Okay, it was not out of nowhere. I have monkeys in my noggin the way I have water on my brain.

So, yesterday, after I was done doing whatever it was I was doing, I popped into the Historic New Orleans Collection to look at some engravings of Le Grande Palais, the renowned dogfighting pit where M. Bonobo, the fighting monkey, killed Snuggly Kipper, the thentofore undefeated champion.

I am astonished that more people do not know about this. I find it fascinating. I know you do, too.

Read on….

Le Grande Palais was an octagonal barn, essentially. It was made of barge boards. Everything in that part of New Orleans was made of barge boards. It was good wood. Much of it still is. I am typing on a table made of barge board as you read this.

This is the future.

In the middle of the barn was the ring. It was ten feet wide with walls four feet in height. The first tier of stands for the spectators was four feet off the ground. There was a railing, and a wall of boards extended up the railing two feet more off the floor. This would keep the spectators’ pantaloons free of blood spatters.

It was standing room only at Le Grande Palais. It was run by an Irishman named Mick. Mick did not speak a lick of French and he never cared to learn. He was making too much money in the dogfighting racket to try to fit in with Creole high society. Besides, all the swells came to him anyway. He backslapped them all when he needed a favor.

There were two tiers of seating at Le Grande Palais, both of them standing room only. The second tier was six feet above the first. People were shorter than they are now. They were thinner, too. Le Grande Palais could hold three hundred spectators, more than double what the Louisiana State Fire Marshall would allow now, let alone all the other code violations.

Okay. I have got to put the paywall up for this. It is about to get super-interesting in the most delightful way. If you become a paid subscriber, you will not have to wait for the book to come out.