We think of John every day.  We recently ran into a close mutual friend who confessed that he was still keeping the recording of the last voicemail that John left him.  We of course have done the same.  We have also placed a can of minestrone up on a shelf in his honor.  It is a kind of altar containing memories of two other great friends who graced our table, frequently along with John.  He loved Libby's minestrone.

When I was 18 years old and living in New Orleans at home and going to Tulane as a sophomore, and pretending that “I was just a poor boy” (which was the big lie as to “why” my parents had taken me out of my boarding school Campion, I was working part-time at Doubleday bookstore, and that Christmas 1974 there was a transit strike, and since I was spending half of my life taking buses to school and work, getting to work and getting home from work was a problem. John was a film critic for the weekly alternative newspaper Figaro who I had been reading for the past year,  and he was a former employee of Doubleday. Another John (Stell) worked there who was disabled, got around with a walking apparatus, and John Desplas started coming around when we were closing to drive the disabled John home. He invited to drive me home too. Then he started inviting me to movies because he always got free passes, and I quickly found I had never so enjoyed talking about movies, or for that matter talking about anything else with John over coffee. This was right when I got the brilliant idea of becoming a “world famous film director” by moving to California, living there for a year and establishing state residency (since I was just a poor boy and my parents couldn’t possibly “afford” the out-of-state tuition), and so within months of meeting him I moved away and never again permanently lived in New Orleans. But particularly in the fall of 1978 after returning from my five month trip to Europe after graduating from UCLA, I lived at home again and worked offshore and saved up money to move to New York, since I had changed my plan now to become a “world famous novelist.” John and I resumed hanging out a great deal and he introduced me to the wonderful local music scene (particularly Tipatina’s) and to numerous famous very old African-American originators of rock ‘n’ roll like Professor Longhair and Huey “Piano” Smith. I moved to New York,  but I’d always see him during infrequent visits to NO

My friend John always had a witty or beautiful quote to share with me. We had many dinners together ( only after the news).  He always had something wonderful to say  after each meal, which he ate ravenously and never gained a pound. He would not let me forget the dessert, of course, and reminded me of every sale on Ben&Jerry’s.  On the other hand, he felt privileged enough to rate every cup of coffee that I served him. That man loved his coffee! Each time, as he was getting ready to leave he would say, “Well, time for my boots to be a- wondering.”  
I miss him dearly and loved him when his boots were wondering with me. 


We met John as new board members of the Film Society in 1990 and fell in together quickly as major players for the festival.  John continued to grace our table for the next 30 years as our favorite and most frequent dinner guest as well as dining out companion.  It was widely recognized that his conversational skills were the best and he could entertain anyone.  Thus he became a staple at the city's coffee houses , private and public tables .  He also gradually became our main cat and house sitter as we began to travel more and more.
He leaves a big hole in our world.

Myself, Larry, and all of John's friends at PJ's will miss our coffee buddy!  Thank you John for your friendship and laughs!

John and I got to know one another through his work at the N.O. Film Society.  I was a film distributor, so we had occasion to speak frequently.  We developed a friendship beyond that of content provider/festival director.  Though his demeanor was low-key to say the least, he was the liveliest and most engaged moderator of several panels  on which I was seated at the Festival.  He was a fine man and a true asset to the New Orleans film community.  Sincere condolences to his family and friends.  May he rest in peace.

John and I went to Sacred Heart of Jesus school together for grade school.  I starred in a play John  had written in the sixth grade.  And, lived near each other.  John was an excellent dancer to the fifties music.   He was a quiet person.  And, a good friend.

We have lost a true New Orleans treasure. My deepest sympathy to his friends and family. 

I met John in 1971 as a summer clerk at Doubleday Book Shop on Canal Street. We fell into a warm friendship and must have gone to three or four movies a week. Over those three months he taught me all about Altman and Coppola, Truffaut and Godard, Kael and Sarris.  As a conversationalist, he was deeply knowledgeable, witty, and dry. One night I recall asking him what movie he wanted to see. He replied: "Oh, I don't care. As long as it flickers." 

After that summer we went our separate ways, although from time to time I would think of John and miss him. Happily, after a span of some forty years, we met again and somehow didn't skip a beat. We began to meet for coffee and conversation at Royal Blend in Metairie. By this time John had made his mark as perhaps the city's most impressive cinephile, helping to launch the New Orleans Film Society and the French Film Festival. I was proud to be in that number at the Civic Theater in 2015 when he received a Community Arts Award from the Arts Council of New Orleans.        

 We are diminished by his loss, and yet how lucky we were to know such a beautiful man. /Phelps Gay
 
    

OBITUARIO

John Edward Desplas III

14 junio, 1944 – 19 mayo, 2020

Lake Lawn Metairie Funeral Home & Cemeteries

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