Chasing Ghosts: Revisiting New Orleans’ Forgotten Ruins
- Jason Lykins
- Apr 12
- 2 min read
Holy Cross
My latest adventures revisiting familiar haunts kicked off with the old Holy Cross School in New Orleans, a place I’ve explored three times before. Hurricane Katrina gutted this historic campus in 2005, leaving it frozen in time. Wandering through years ago, I found lockers stuffed with books, computers scattered across the floor, and the supply room brimming with untouched uniforms—a haunting snapshot of abandonment.
Navigating the building was always a thrill. Two staircases lead to the second floor, but one’s so rickety it’s a gamble with fate. Up there, the floor’s a minefield—holes gape in some spots, and entire rooms have collapsed into nothing. Reaching the third floor? That’s a whole other beast. One staircase lies in ruins, sprawled across the second floor like a broken spine. The other sways underfoot but holds—just barely. The payoff is worth it, though: from the top, the Mississippi River stretches out below, a stunning view framed by the decay.
Each visit felt dicier than the last, the building crumbling further into a death trap. After my third trip, I swore I’d never go back. But recently, I heard rumors of a revival—talk of turning the old school into apartments. Curious, I swung by to see for myself. Sure enough, workers were busy at it. From behind the fence, I snapped a few photos, and I’ve got to say, it’s looking incredible. Knowing they’re breathing new life into this place as apartment homes fills me with hope. It’s not just saving a building—it’s preserving a piece of history.
Fort Macomb
Next up on my journey was Fort Macomb, a crumbling relic I hadn’t revisited in years. I pulled up to the boat launch, separated from the fort by a murky moat. The water was low this time, exposing the decayed foundation—a stark reminder of the fort’s battle against time. I’d planned to just take a quick look from afar, but as I rolled up to the gate, I couldn’t believe my luck: it stood wide open. Heart racing, I drove through, half-expecting to be turned back. Then came another shock—the fort’s main doors were ajar. Either someone had forced their way in, or the state’s given up on securing this place.
I stepped cautiously through the dark entry tunnel, emerging into the open courtyard. It felt like stepping back in time. I snapped a few photos, capturing the same eerie stillness I remembered from my full exploration a few years back. The vines, the cracked bricks, the quiet—it was all unchanged, like the fort’s just waiting for someone to care. I didn’t push deeper this time, but those moments in the yard were enough to stir old memories.
Before heading out, I swung by Fort Pike to see if anything had shifted there. No dice—the gates were still locked tight, no signs of life or updates. Maybe next trip.
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