The Epicenter of Revelry in New Orleans Turns into a Scene of Horror

The Washington Post / Jesse Dougherty, Molly Hennessy-Fiske

13:45 JST, January 2, 2025

NEW ORLEANS – On New Year’s Eve, in a town where anything goes, Bourbon Street sits at the center of it all. Street performers are everywhere, playing their jazz, wearing their costumes, the music blending with whatever pumps out of the nearest bar. On the balconies, locals and tourists alike drink and dance, looking down on the crowds that keep coming, that stay thick, that seem fueled by infinite energy.

As if, no matter the hour, the fun will never end. Until suddenly, tragedy shatters the night.

“It’s so, so sad, and it’s so, so scary,” said Matt Johnson, who was visiting from Boston and went to bed shortly before a man sped a white pickup truck onto Bourbon Street just after 3 a.m. Wednesday, ramming into revelers. At least 15 people have died, with dozens injured. The suspect was killed by police in a shootout.

“I was partying on Bourbon until about 2,” Johnson said. “We walked right there.”

Johnson pointed across the intersection of Canal and Bourbon streets, to where the driver had plowed into the crowd. Long loops of yellow police tape blocked any cars or pedestrians from getting by. So did three white vans with “Orleans Parish Coroner” written on the side.

“You come for a good time, you think you’re safe, and that happens,” Johnson said. “It’s insane.”

The horror came less than two weeks after a car sped into families enjoying holiday treats and handicrafts at a Christmas market in Magdeburg, Germany. At least five people were killed and nearly 200 hurt, many of them critically.

In each scene, celebration became mayhem, life became death.

Few cities in this country party heartier on New Year’s Eve than New Orleans. And if specific colors stand out in the crowd, they’re typically the green, yellow and purple of Mardi Gras beads, plus whatever is worn by the two teams playing in the annual Sugar Bowl. This year’s game, between the University of Georgia and University of Notre Dame, had been scheduled for Wednesday evening, about a half-mile from the French Quarter. Officials announced that the game was being postponed to Thursday.

Both teams’ fans were out in abundance Tuesday night, never expecting someone to come barreling down Bourbon. Many awoke Wednesday to texts, calls and messages from relatives and friends trying to make sure of their whereabouts. Were they safe?

Eyewitnesses like Kimberly Stricklin of Mobile, Alabama, returned to Canal Street. Some were in tears, others still in disbelief. Stricklin, in town with her husband for a concert, was near the intersection as the chaos erupted.

“You just heard this squeal and, like, then the rev of the engine and then this huge, loud impact,” she said. “And the people screaming, and debris. Just metal, the sound of crunching metal.”

Andrew Tokarski also came way too close as he was leaving Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club on Bourbon Street in the early morning hours. The University of Georgia fan, in town from Orlando for the Sugar Bowl, was starting out for his hotel when he realized he’d left his cellphone behind in the club.

“I went back in … and that’s when they shut the doors and said there’s an accident on Bourbon, you can’t leave,” he recounted. State troopers barred the doors. After about 10 minutes, he and the others were allowed to depart – with a stern warning.

“They said, ‘If you leave, please go left and don’t turn right,’” Tokarski said. “Well, naturally, everyone’s going to look right. It’s just human nature. So you look right. And there’s a body.”

The first one he saw was covered with a bag. Then he saw another, he said, and blood on the ground.

“You had a whole bunch of people screaming and crying. We saw an innocent bystander who was probably a nurse or a doctor doing CPR on somebody,” he said. “It was nothing but bodies and police officers and people with them.”

The scene left Tokarski, who works at an auto repair shop, feeling “numb.” He walked back to his hotel but couldn’t fall asleep. His parents, fellow Georgia fans who had driven with him but turned in earlier, were frantic when they suddenly heard the news several hours later. For a time, they had no idea whether he was among the victims.

Yet despite the trauma, the partying still continued at places like Sneaky Pete’s in the French Quarter. The bar, just a block over from Bourbon Street, was hopping through the morning even as hundreds of local, state and federal law enforcement officers searched the area for evidence.

Two patrons spilled onto the sidewalk, drinks in hand. A security guard passed a cigarette to a customer. A few doors down, a barista opened the doors at French Truck Coffee, where a few people waited for their caffeine.

At every intersection, metal barriers stopped anyone from getting closer than a few hundred feet from Bourbon Street. A cleaning woman for a hotel wondered how she would get to work. Another woman asked aloud: “How do I get my luggage? That’s all I care about right now.”

“Good morning!” the French Truck barista yelled into the quiet. “Happy new year!”