With the possible exception of the train drivers and airline pilots who stir us from our slumbers in the small hours, Debbie Fagnano is the noisiest person in New Orleans. And yet she's also one of the city's best-known and most popular inhabitants, though most people have only seen her as a speck in the distance.

Debbie plays the calliope, or steam organ, on the steamboat Natchez just before it slips its French-Quarter moorings for a twice-daily Mississippi cruise. Her medley of popular tunes, sounding like a slightly off-key children's recorder ensemble, is audible for several miles.

I had to don earplugs when I sat in on her Saturday lunchtime concert which, for my benefit, she began with the British national anthem.

"Ever since I was a kid, I've always loved the water and wanted to own a boat or be on a ship. I'm originally from New Jersey, but my family always knew I'd be out of the ordinary; I had that little gleam in my eye that said something out there would call me away.

"When I visited New Orleans and saw and heard the calliope, I asked the captain if he needed anyone to play it. He didn't at the time, but he kept my name on file and eventually I got the job. I've been doing this since 1989, and I'm also the musical director of a local church.

"The qualifications for this job? Well, you obviously need a knowledge of black and white keys, ideally the organ. You need to be a free spirit; you can't think like a nine-to-fiver, and you have to play outdoors in freezing weather and blistering heat. The only thing that stops me is severe lightning - if I see it coming across the bridge, that's it for the day. But you also have to think small, because a piano has eighty-eight keys and the calliope only thirty-two.

"There are only three working steam-powered calliopes in the US, all on the Mississippi. There are also air-operated ones. Circuses use them a lot, and people have also told me they've seen them in places like Germany and Japan.

"If it wasn't for this job, I'd probably be in a loony bin. It's what mainly keeps me here in New Orleans. People say such nice things to me. One of the nicest was on the first anniversary of 9/11, when I played nothing but patriotic songs. It was very sad, but a woman from Colorado wrote a letter to "the calliopist with the flaming red hair" - I had red hair then - saying how thrilled she was with the calliope and the city.

"When Katrina was approaching, they took the boat upriver out of harm's way. I stayed for the hurricane, and then I went first to Baton Rouge and then back to New Jersey. That was when I realised I'd truly converted to a southern belle. For a few weeks after the storm, they weren't sure whether they were going to bring the boat back and start again, and I've never been so miserable in my life. It was like mourning someone's death.

"But it came back at the beginning of October. That was the happiest day of my working life, and I would just stand there and play for anyone who'd listen. A lot of people told me that the first time they heard the calliope playing after the evacuation, it was like a little bit of normalcy and everything was going to be OK.

"Not everyone likes my playing, though. Once, before the storm, there was a guy wrote a horrible letter to the Times-Picayune bashing me and the captain and the entire steamboat company about me making all this noise for three hours a day. I wrote back saying two times thirty minutes plus one times twenty minutes does not add up to three hours.

"People do sometimes recognise me. They'll say hey, are you that woman that plays the er....? And I'll say did you like it? And if they did, I'll say yes it was me.

"When I die, I'd like my tombstone to be inscribed: 'Here lies Ms Calliope. She made people smile."