Frank Louis Cimini at Evelyn's Place In New Orleans

Frank Louis Cimini at Evelyn’s Place In New Orleans

Before I became a resident, I always loved telling New Orleans cabbies of my favorite bar in New Orleans. Evelyn’s Place mystified even the most hardened, veteran United cab drivers. “Where is that one?” “I’ve been driving in New Orleans for 45 years and I’ve never even heard of it”

Evelyn’s Place was a well-kept secret. Few tourists, and only a handful of locals ventured into the dark old smokey bar where Frank Louis Cimini held court for over a half century.

Frank had previously owned the Vieux Carre, a fine dining restaurant on Bourbon Street back when the strip was “classy”

Then Evelyn Redman, a cocktail girl at TV Lounge on Bourbon entered his life and everything changed for the former US Navy radioman.

Frank was the son of the late Benedetto Cimini and Pellegrina Caropreso Cimini. It doesn’t get any more Italian than that.

Evelyn’s Place operated in the former Stonehenge Bar (est.1915) on Chartres Street in the French Quarter.

Frank referred to Evelyn’s Place as the home of the old bitch and the old bastard

Frank Louis Cimini passed away three and a half years ago and New Orleans has never been the same for me.

  1. Thanks for posting this! I visited Evelyn’s Place with a friend one day while in New Orleans and we had such a memorable discussion with Frank that we came back the next day. We spent at least four or five hours total with him and we’ll never forget it. I have some wonderful photos of him but I don’t think there is a way to post them here.

  2. Thanks for posting this! I visited Evelyn’s Place with a friend one day while in New Orleans and we had such a memorable discussion with Frank that we came back the next day. We spent at least four or five hours total with him and we’ll never forget it. I have some wonderful photos of him but I don’t think there is a way to post them here.

  3. Steve Friedberg says:

    I had the pleasure of meeting The Old Bastard, after the convention being held in the hotel across the street proved to be a royal pain. I walked into Evelyn’s Place, and immediately found myself transported back into time; a long, hand-carved bar, dark and dingy atmosphere, and something tacked to the wall wherever there was an open piece of wall (or ceiling); signed dollar bills, signed postcards, signed bras.

    Frank and I got into a good conversation, and yeah, the food was solid. But the talk was better. So much so that the next morning, I went back and continued our talk over a beer at 1030am.

    Fast forward several years: my wife and I go to NOLA, and I insist that before we do anything else, we go to Evelyn’s Place. And sure enough, there’s Frank, as ribald and boisterous as ever. The three of us sit down at a table, and I take off my baseball cap and place it on the table. Frank looks at me, then asks my wife, “Ma’am, do you mind if I say something to your husband?” She says, “sure.” Frank says, “Get your goddamn hat off the table!”

    I got my goddamn hat off the table.

    I’ve been back since Frank died. The place is (was?) called the Backspace. It’s a yuppie bar, and everything that would have reminded you of Frank is long since gone. Well, almost. On one part of the exposed brick wall is a small wooden sign with the words “Mr. Frank” burned in.

    Well done, Backspace. And thanks.

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