I’ve heard older people say many times that they’re lonelier because all of their friends have passed on. Once they’re gone, all you have are memories. It’s the nature of life: things change, people die, old familiar faces and places pass away.

That happened this month, with the passing of someone I was proud to call a friend: Herman Leonard. I first met Herman at Joshua Pailet’s A Gallery for Fine Photography, where Pailet had put together an exhibit of Herman’s photos. Like most people, I was familiar with some of his most famous works, like the portraits of Dexter Gordon and Billie Holiday, but I had no idea how talented and prolific this man was.

Herman was in love with music and musicians, and decided to move here in the mid-’90s after the Pailet exhibit. He bought a house on Robert E. Lee Boulevard where he lived and kept a studio. Then he proceeded— in his 70s—to immerse himself in the New Orleans music scene and to capture as much of it as possible.

Being the fledgling publisher I was not afraid to ask anyone—even Herman Leonard— to take photos for us. Once we met, we talked for hours. Herman was so brilliant, and such a charming, passionate, knowledgeable man. He was one of those rare people who made everyone he met feel that they were special to him, which is probably why he was such a great photographer. I’ve always felt that great photogs and interviewers were people who could create instant connections with their subjects, and Herman could do that with anyone.

I happen to be a real photography lover, as anyone who’s visited the OffBeat offices can perceive. Back in 1992 I think, realizing how strong the community pull of the Jazz Fest was (way before MySpace, Facebook or the Threadheads), I thought it would be a cool idea to ask our readers to send in samples of their work to create an exhibit of musical and Jazz Fest experiences. Herman sent over a couple of pieces of his work, along with about 100 others from around the country. Being the novice that I was, we had to find a place to hang the exhibit, and we ended up at Jax Brewery, of all places. Two of Herman’s pieces hung in a mall with work from amateur photographers. What a nice, gracious guy!

Roselyn Leonard wrote a very moving tribute to Herman (see my blog), thanking him for taking her and her husband David’s photos—for nothing. He shot a cover of OffBeat with Jon Cleary for our November 1997 issue—and didn’t charge his normal fee.

Herman’s energy was amazing. One night, Joseph and I went to see Hadda Brooks perform at the Shim Sham Club (now One Eyed Jacks). When Herman found out Hadda was playing he went wild, and ran around like a kid taking great photos of her.

I am gratified and privileged to have known and worked with Herman Leonard and to have autographed copies of his books, which I will treasure, along with this memory and his spirit. One of the great documenters of musicians has passed on.

I love Donna Ponitowski-Sims and Donna’s. There wasn’t any purer expression of love for local music than Donna’s Bar and Grill at 800 North Rampart St. Since Katrina, Donna’s has been run by Chef Charlie Sims, but after many years of struggling to keep the building where the club is in a condition to welcome customers, Donna and Charlie have decided to close the club. Charlie was sick last year, and Donna has been teaching in Florida since Katrina to help make ends meet. The owner of the building (who also owns the building that housed the Funky Butt—closed since Katrina—and The Maison on Frenchmen Street) would not make necessary repairs to the building. “We just couldn’t see putting any more money into a building that wasn’t ours, and we had to since the ceiling was almost caving in from water damage,” said Donna. So they decided to close the business. This is a tragedy for all music lovers, brass and jazz bands, as well as for the hopes of reviving the idea of live music on North Rampart Street. Donna’s was the last venue on North Rampart that had been grandfathered in for a permit to feature live music. The Funky Butt was also grandfathered in, but the operators also closed it just before Katrina because they couldn’t afford to repair the building, which was in a bad state (read my blog for more information).

A new operator who wanted to revive the club wasn’t allowed to do so post-hurricane because he could not acquire a license to present music.

It’s certainly the end of a musical era on North Rampart Street and a pity for a city where music is so much a part of the culture.