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Gaylon LeBlanc was a collector. Not stamps or coins, but shriveled objects, much like the one he carried in his pocket for luck. He fingered it as African drums, echoing from the cultural center further up in Louis Armstrong Memorial Park, drowned out the chaos of Bourbon Street. Intent on the arrival of someone he knew and his upcoming task, He paid no attention.

Local musicians met regularly at the cultural center to recreate and maintain voodoo drumming, an ancient percussion style that had preceded the birth of the blues and New Orleans jazz. The musicians had no idea their hectic tempo would backdrop a real Vodoun ceremony that would culminate in suffering and death.

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