Big Daddy’s general manager, Saint Jones, and a band of helpers defied an evacuation order by arriving to clean up their premises in the historic French Quarter, which escaped largely unscathed from the floods.
There you go! That’s the New Orleans I know! Not saying I know the strip club side because I don’t. Saying, New Orleans doesn’t quit.
He was already had electricity from a generator, which was moving a pair of robotic woman’s legs, in stockings and pink high heels, waving invitingly on the street by the sign for Big Daddy’s.
Those used to be real legs until one day the girl accidentally fell off the swing onto the sidewalk. I recall walking past the joint one day in my early teens. My brother, a friend of mine and my father walked with me. As you came in line with the door you could see a mirror hanging from the ceiling at a 45 degree angle so that you could clearly see the backside of a fully naked woman. As we all stared my father deterred our interest by asking, "Boys. Did it ever occur to you that that might not be a woman?" We quickly turned our heads.