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is aging. You’ve got to get younger listeners to tune in, talk about things they’d be interested in. Talk about a variety of topics, connect with people, have some fun on the air. You can’t keep on doing the same old thing.”
    Aaron stood silent, his expression sullen. He fought to keep his pudgy fingers from his mouth to gnaw at the nails.
    â€œYou’re not skating where the puck is going, Aaron. You’ve got to do something different, something unpredictable and smart, something that makes you stand out from the pack.”
    â€œAny suggestions?” asked Aaron.
    â€œThat’s your job, buddy, because, as I’ve told you before, if those ratings aren’t up next go-round, don’t count on your contract being renewed.”

Chapter 14
    O n the flagstones around Jackson Square, tarot-card readers, jazz musicians, and clowns entertained the visitors who strolled by. Artists, eager to sketch portraits or caricatures, waited along the handsome wrought-iron fence that lined the park. Tourists wandered in and out of shops selling candy, clothing, souvenirs, and ice cream. Charming Creole-style cottages with jalousie-shuttered windows stood flush against the sidewalks.
    In the middle of the square, twenty tourists were gathered at the foot of the impressive statue of Andrew Jackson astride a rearing horse. Falkner chose Jackson Square as the meeting spot for his group because of its local color and liveliness. It set the mood for his walking tour of the French Quarter.
    â€œThis square started out as a muddy field in the early French colony,” explained Falkner. “Troops were drilled here, criminals were placed in the stocks, and executions of disobedient slaves were carried out here. Behind me there are three eighteenth-century historic buildings that were the city’s heart in the colonial era. The center of the three is St. Louis Cathedral. The cathedral, with its tall Gothic spires, was designated a minor basilica by Pope Paul VI. To its left is the Cabildo, the old city hall, where the final version of the Louisiana Purchase was signed. It’s now a museum. To the cathedral’s right is the Presbytere, which originally housed the city’s Roman Catholic priests and later became a courthouse. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go see the inside of the cathedral.”
    Falkner led the group across the square. Despite the cool linen shirt he wore, perspiration seeped from his body as he stood on the church steps and turned around to face his followers.
    â€œThe cathedral, properly known as the Cathedral-Basilica of St. Louis King of France, is the oldest Catholic cathedral in continual use in the United States. It’s also one of our most visited landmarks and most photographed sites.”
    A tourist spoke up. “I heard that the Bourbon Street sign was the most photographed.”
    â€œI’ve heard that, too,” said Falkner. “But the cathedral is right up there in the icon department. It makes sense. In New Orleans we know how to party hard, but we also know how to repent for our debauchery later.”
    The tourists chuckled as Falkner pulled the cathedral door open. “Now we’ll go inside,” he said. “Since there is no Mass taking place now, you can take pictures. Wander around on your own for a while. I’ll meet you out here on the steps in ten minutes.”
    The group straggled into the coolness of the church. Some sat in pews to take in the beautiful architecture, the stained-glass windows, the painted ceilings, and the ornate religious decorations. Others strolled down the aisles, admiring the Stations of the Cross, stopping to light candles and say prayers. Falkner was waiting for them when they emerged into the heat again.
    â€œCome on. I want to take you around to the back, to see St. Anthony’s Garden,” he said.
    Delicate bell clangs marked the half hour, and a mockingbird called through the