NEW ORLEANS, La. — I don’t know where to begin, but I will try.
The tragedy that struck New Orleans hit a little too close to home for me.
A terrorist, who I won’t name because he doesn’t deserve the attention, drove a pick-up truck on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter and killed more than a dozen people.
He wounded many others.
First, I send prayers out to the families of those who were killed and the others who were injured but survived. Those involved and their families will never forget the events that occurred on Jan. 1, 2025.
The attack was senseless. It left many grieving. I am upset the terrorist lost his life because he should have to face the music. He should have to face the families of those he killed and injured.
Second, I was there in the midst of it all. I was there for work, covering the Sugar Bowl between Georgia and Notre Dame.
I enjoyed a night out on Bourbon Street with friends on New Year’s Eve.
Luckily, and by the grace of God, I’m here today.
I’ve spent the past week thinking, “That could’ve been me.”
The tragedy really put things into perspective for me. I was staying less than two blocks from Bourbon Street, and I was out just a few minutes before the terrorist attack happened.
But I was very lucky.
I remember the pandemonium and madness, but I didn’t know what was happening.
The next day, I woke up to calls from my boss from another job. My phone died before I returned to the hotel, and he, like many others, was worried. He was coming to my hotel room to make sure I was okay. I quickly learned about the Bourbon Street tragedy from a Google search. I was stunned.
I looked out my hotel room window. Local police, the Louisiana National Guard, and the FBI roamed Canal Street.
Their presence was heavy, and news crews lined the streets of The Big Easy.
Then, I looked at my phone; I had calls from family and friends and numbers I didn’t even have saved. It was a surreal experience, and I was genuinely shocked. I didn’t know what to think at the time.
I quickly showered and walked the streets of the French Quarter. Of course, Bourbon Street was taped off. I talked to a few police officers and thanked them for their service. It was the right thing to do.
I ran into a few Georgia fans, whom I consider close friends. After returning to their hotel, we ate lunch a few miles away, near Tulane’s campus. We wanted to get away from where the tragedy took place.
We got into an Uber.
Our driver was crying when we got in. I told her, “Happy New Year’s!”
She replied, “Not for me,” and then proceeded to tell us her family member had died earlier that day in the attack.
My heart sank.
She said his name was Brandon, but he went by his nickname, “Spider-Man.” He was hit by the car the terrorist drove onto Bourbon Street. I’m not going to lie; that was a challenging 10-minute car ride.
I later did an interview with Fox 5 Atlanta about that moment in the car and the pain I heard in her voice. However, the story has a silver lining; I found out that Spider-Man was alive the following day. He was in critical condition but still alive.
There was mass confusion at that time, and the Uber driver might have misunderstood Spider-Man’s condition on the phone right before we got into her car. Either way, he’s alive.
The lesson I learned from all this is to smile, never take anything for granted, and hug a loved one every chance you get; because you might never get to do it again.