Now those bricks are scheduled to fall. In June, HUD Secretary Alphonso Jackson visited New Orleans to announce that the Lafitte would be demolished, along with three other projects—C.J. Peete (formerly the Magnolia), B.W. Cooper (formerly the Calliope), and St. Bernard. There is no set demolition date, but those close to the process seem to agree that the demolitions will happen within the next year.

Former residents feel that the Lafitte deserves better. "Isn't it a shame to knock down those bricks after they saved so many lives during Katrina?" says Patricia Ann Hills, who grew up nearby and lived in the project for more than a decade before the storm. After HUD's announcement, Hills called other evacuated neighbors and cried, on 504 area-code cell phones now linked to towers in Houston, San Antonio, and towns across the Gulf Coast. "It is a shame," says her husband, jazz tuba player Jeffrey Hills. "What about the families that lived in there—what are we going to do, where are we going to go? I hate to think this way, but it feels like if you lived in the projects, New Orleans doesn't want you back."

Those instincts are right on the mark, according to a lawsuit filed this summer in New Orleans' federal district court. The suit argues that by prohibiting the return of New Orleans' predominately African-American public housing residents, HUD and HANO are violating the federal Fair Housing Act, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of race. In June, the Advancement Project, along with the Chicago law firm of Jenner & Block and local attorneys Bill Quigley, Judson Mitchell and Tracie Washington, filed the class-action lawsuit on behalf of the 5,146 displaced families that were living in public housing when Katrina struck. Ultimately, lawyers for the plaintiffs are asking the court to block any demolition and "to permit residents to return to their public housing units and rebuild their lives."

The decision to demolish may be more about people than architecture, warns Susan Popkin of the Urban Institute. Tangled in this process, she says, are long-held stereotypes about this city's public housing, which an Associated Press reporter described as "cesspools of despair" in an article published earlier this year. "People perceive public-housing residents as the problem; the stigma is pretty strong," says Popkin. "And it's easy to say, 'We don't want them back.' But a lot of people have come back already and are squatting with relatives. And more will be coming back as housing vouchers expire."

Popkin's prediction is already holding true. Initially, Lafitte's redevelopers estimated about half of former residents would return. That number has now ballooned. Jim Kelly, head of Catholic Charities, says that All Congregations Together has surveyed nearly 400 Lafitte residents for them. Their findings? Nearly all residents want to return. Of evacuees living in southeast Louisiana, fully 98 percent would like to return. Of those currently living out of state, 90 percent want to come home.

Lafitte's redevelopers should seize the chance to match those returning residents with a worker-hungry job market, says Popkin. "It's an opportunity to get more of these residents into jobs," she says.

Hiring employees from housing projects would be nothing new for personnel directors at this city's hotels and restaurants. "Almost everyone we hired before Katrina came from the projects," says one human resources director, who asked not to be identified because she didn't want her employer associated with public housing.

Before Katrina struck, any casual observer could see the Lafitte's relationship with French Quarter employers. In the mornings and afternoons, a steady stream of people in cooks' pants and maids' uniforms walked between the Quarter and the Lafitte. Officially, HUD reports that 1 in 3 adult residents in the Lafitte was employed. Residents believe that the numbers were higher and cite a direct relationship between their displacement and the fact that most hotels are still running short of staff.

Hotel executives don't disagree. "We're at about 50 percent, which is consistent with other places in the area," says Monique Louque, HR director for the Hotel Monteleone. Housekeeping was hit especially hard, going from 80 people pre-storm to 10 currently. The Monteleone has been tracking its openings carefully, so Louque knows where her worker shortage is most acute—at the lowest wage levels.

"It's been phenomenally easier to find management candidates than entry-level employees," she says. Recently, she advertised for managers and filled those positions quickly. "But we're not getting entry-level employees through our doors," she says, so she's hurting for stewards, cooks and housekeepers. The reason is no secret, she adds. "It's housing. People in entry-level positions, they can't afford places here anymore."

For Lafitte residents like jazz musician Jeffrey Hills, this isn't a new problem. Low-income workers in this low-income town would have been priced out of New Orleans long ago if it weren't for housing projects such as Lafitte, he says. "Everybody on our porch worked," says Hills. "In fact, by the time the storm hit, having a job was mandatory." Still, incomes were low enough that workers still qualified for housing assistance. "We were all basically working-class citizens making working-class wages," he says.

Originally published on October 24, 2006, in the Gambit Weekly. Copyright © 2006 by Katy Reckdahl. Reprinted with permission of the author and the Gambit Weekly.