This article is part of a weeklong America 360 series on New Orleans.
In the wrinkled edifices of the French Quarter and the worn-out storefront walls along Canal Street, a legacy of decay in New Orleans intrudes on the mossy city. It is a sense of things that have nearly fallen apart and stayed nearly-fallen-apart for decades.
For much of the last 20 years, the city was wilting in plain sight. In the 1990s, a period during which the U.S. added 21 million jobs, New Orleans didn't just lose jobs; it also lost people. With tourism filling the void left by manufacturing, wages fell way behind the national average. It was place to bring a bachelor party, but not a bachelor's degree, and certainly not a business.
And then, in 2005, Hurricane Katrina hit.
Days later, 80 percent of New Orleans was underwater. More than 1,200 people were dead. In a year, the city lost more than 90,000 jobs -- more than the number employed by the local education, transportation, and manufacturing sectors, combined -- and $3 billion in wages disappeared. A city already in decline had suffered perhaps the worst natural disaster in American history.
There are three ways things could have gone. In the first story, New Orleans slides into its own wet grave, another urban tragedy of geography and economics. In the second story, New Orleans rebuilds itself as it was before -- a sleepy southern belle of a town serving up wet weekends of intemperance. In the third story, Hurricane Katrina somehow kickstarts an age of innovation and an economic renaissance in a city written off for dead.
The Big Easy has chosen the third path -- the hard path, and the struggle has revealed both the tantalizing allure, and the deep challenges, of reinventing a city.
'To Hell With It, We're Going Home'
Kenneth Purcell is evangelical about New Orleans. This makes him more or less like every other person you meet in New Orleans. When Hurricane Katrina struck, the tech entrepreneur with shoulder-length hair watched from a high rise on Lafayette Square as the water overcame the streets. "Like every other good redneck, I said 'I'm not leaving,'" he told me. Ten days later, he left.
Purcell moved his budding start-up to New York, where he stayed for the next two years building iSeatz,com, a service that lets shoppers book multiple travel arrangements on one website. But in the undertow of national fatalism about the city's future, Purcell found himself pulled back home. He wanted to prove a point, to make a stand.
"I got so pissed off at the headlines about the city, with company after company leaving, that I said, 'To hell with it, we're going home,'" he told me just blocks from Lafayette Square, at New Orleans Entrepreneur Week (I attended and spoke at the conference last month). "And it was the best decision I ever made."
iSeatz has grown its platform from $8 million in gross bookings in 2005 to $2 billion in 2013. It's clearly one of the city's biggest homegrown tech breakthroughs. Then again, it is also one of the city's only homegrown tech breakthroughs.
Purcell is a member of New Orleans' boomerang generation -- a group of proud, young- to middle-aged reformers who came back to New Orleans in the wake of Katrina to find the city flattened. The city didn't have the jobs they wanted. So they built their own. After 2005, the start-up rate in New Orleans doubled in just three years (this graph, and others, comes from data provided Greater New Orleans Community Data Center).
New Orleans needs more than start-up enthusiasm. It needs start-up success stories. Breakout success stories. "How do we get from this nascent state of having a lot of bubbling petri dishes to seeing some things really culture out, and having a sustainable ecosystem to support them?" Purcell said. In other words, how does New Orleans, a great city to get away from business, become a great place to start one?
How to Build a City
Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville was drawn to the crescent city in the crook of the Mississippi River in 1718. He mistakenly believed the land, most of which is under sea level, to be properly shielded from the stormy Gulf tides. "Paris on a swamp." It was a good elevator pitch.