

To my Father; Dad; Pops,

To my Mother; Mom; Momma,

And all of Base Ten Plus

before, here, and after.

Thanks be to God.

To recall a memory and hold it fast,

is like trying to catch a butterfly

flitting in the breeze.

The random memoirs of Marie & Ed

Preface

These are the random memories of my Dad (and Mom's) life as told in my Pops unique and N'awlins gumbo style. The Spirit of Louisiana, and the Big Easiness of New Orleans, flows through these recollections reflecting his ever present joie de vivre. From 1999-2005, Pops sent us, his 8 children, 2 or 3 stories every other week in the mail.

We've collected these together in this Kindle Book as a surprise for his 88th birthday this year in 2014.

Come and "catch a butterfly" with our Pops as his life is captured one tear and one smile at a time.

We love you Mom and Pops! Base Ten+

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This picture was taken April 18, 1945. The man on the left is Edward Puyau, Sr. He was born in 1900. It was always easy to tell his age. He was 45 when this picture was taken. He is granddaddy to the kids of Base Ten, and great granddaddy to the kids of Base Ten Plus. The lady next to him is Lillian Mae Puyau. She always went by Mae. Her maiden name was O'Riordan. She is grandmother to the kids of Base Ten, and great grandmother to the kids Of Base Ten Plus. She was born in 1902 and at the time of this picture was 43 years old. Next to her is Gerard Emile Puyau and brother to Ed, the young sailor on the right. Gerard Always went by Jerry. He was born in 1930 and was 15 years old. ED was born in 1926 and was 19 years old at the time. The picture was taken in Dallas where they lived for ten years. The narrator of these memoirs will be Ed. He will write sometimes in the first person and sometimes in the third person. Sometimes granddaddy will be referred to as GD, and great granddaddy as GGD. Grandmother will be GM and great grandmother GGM. All years listed will be approximate.

1. 1925 GREAT GRANDDADDY THE LITTLE "BULL"

Ed's dad was a "bull" of a man. He was a rather short "bull" about five feet six or seven, but with big wide shoulders and chest, almost as wide as he was tall, with upper arms and forearms as thick as fence posts. In later years dad developed a big, fat belly from overeating, but in his prime there weren't many big "bulls" that could equal the strength or tangle with the little "bull." Dad had brown eyes and black hair, which he wore swept back. There was something about him that people liked. His smile and his manner were winning. This story about his strength was told to ED by one of his uncles who was present at the time. It went like this: Your dad worked at Woodward-Wight when he was a young man. It was the only job he could get when he got out of the Marines, and he was lucky to get that on the eve of the depression. He went to work determined to do well. He was free with his great strength, often carrying more lengths of pipe or lumber on his shoulder than any other man, sometimes jumping off the storage racks to the ground with this heavy weight on his shoulder. This caused damage to the arches in his feet in later years.

One day a huge truck pulled into Woodward-Wight's unloading dock with a truck load of ironing boards. Two huge black men on the truck started unloading the ironing boards. They were sort of cocky and arrogant and would lift a huge number of boards at a time, trying to show off their great strength.

The foreman of the unloading dock, who knew your dad and admired him, said to the two black men, while pointing at your dad, "See that man over there, I'll bet he can lift more ironing boards off this truck then either of you guys can." They laughed. "You mean that little guy." "Yeah, that little guy." said the foreman. The challenge was accepted, bets were laid, and all the men in the warehouse gathered around.

Each man had a turn to lift. The count started at ten boards, then fifteen, then twenty, with each man making a successful lift. At twenty five ironing boards one of the black men couldn't do it and he dropped out. Dad and the other man each lifted the twenty five boards. At thirty boards the other man couldn't do it. Dad put his shoulder under the thirty boards and lifted them to the shouts and cheers of the men. Uplifted now by their praise, and showing off some, he put another five boards on the stack, put his shoulder under it, and lifted thirty five boards. The cheering was uproarious. The men gathered around your dad, clapped him on the shoulder, and praised him.

Ed has always remembered this story about his dad. The story brings his dad close to him. Every time he writes Jr. after his name, he thinks of his dad, and of his great strength.

2. 1931 ED JR, A BOY AND HIS ARROW.

The little brown haired boy was happy that his mother and dad had let him play out in the yard. He yelled, and hopped, and jumped down the three stairs that led into the yard. He loved to play. He had in his hand a little arrow with a rubber tip on the end. He threw it as far as he could and then ran after it. He threw it again and again. He was having so much fun, as much fun as a little five year old can have.

Suddenly, his father called to him from a window that was just above where he was playing. "What are you doing son?" asked Dad. "Playing with my arrow" said the boy.

Then, laughing, he took the arrow and threw it at his dad, hitting him in the chest. His dad yelled and called out to him in a harsh voice. He knew he had done something wrong. He ran and hid under the house.

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3. 1930 ED JR. ONE TWO THREE JUMP

The house was a shotgun duplex. It was painted gray. There was a porch in the front on both sides. There was a divider between the two porches – high enough so that you could not see over them. There was a little square of grass below each porch, one for each side of the house. A water faucet came out from the wall below the porch, one for each side. The turn handle on the faucet where the boy lived was gone. The steel top of the faucet stood straight up like a little spear facing the sky. The little boy came out on the porch. He was four years old and active as most four year old boys are. He jumped and hopped on the porch. He jumped against the divider. He ran to the edge of the porch, squatted down, and looked down at the grass below. He felt sure in his own mind that he could make the greatest jump there ever was. He tensed up and jumped out. He didn't jump far, not more than four inches out, and landed on his hip, right on top of the faucet, on top of the little spear. He screamed and screamed so loud that his mother came running out of the house. There was blood all over pants and leg. Mother carried him into the house, stopped the bleeding, and put him to bed. The doctor was called, and when he came, he looked at the wound, treated it, and said that he had seen much worse. He gave the boy a shot, and bandaged the wound. Stitches weren't needed, but there would be a scar. The boy, who grew up to be a man, carries that scar to this day.

4. 1944 ED. JR. GEARING UP

He had been in the navy only about seven months. He had never fired a gun in his life until he joined the navy, and couldn't believe he had let his friend Rainey, talk him into applying for the job of instructor on the firing range, and he was stupefied when both he and his friend were accepted. The job required two men to work on a specially built truck, one man driving and the other standing on the side of the truck instructing the sailor trainee how to use twin barreled 50 caliber machine guns. The trainee was to fire at a huge target that was Mounted on wheels on a train track and moved while the truck was moving. Sometimes, the target moved in the same direction as the truck, and sometimes in the opposite direction.

Both he and Rainey had taken the course and were familiar with the basics. When they reported for their first day on the job, the officer in charge of the operation asked them if they knew how to drive a truck. They both said yes, sure, but he lied. He had only driven an automobile a few times, and barely knew the fundamentals.

That first day on the job he would always remember. The gunnery range had a long two block long ramp that slanted down with a circle at each end. One of the main tasks of the instructor was to see that the guns were pointed upward when the trucks went around the circle. There were five trucks and on this first day he and Rainey were assigned to the lead truck, the one that the officer stood on the running board keeping an eye on everything. He was the driver on this first day, and his knees were shaking. When the officer gave the signal, he managed to get the truck into gear, and coasted all the way down in low gear. No problem. He drove that truck around the circle, and felt exhilarated. Driving was fun. After rounding the circle he started uphill. That's where his trouble began. He couldn't get the truck into second gear, and all the way up the ramp, the truck made this horrible grinding noise, that seemed to get louder and louder.

At the top of the ramp, the end of the run, the officer standing on the running board stuck his face inside, and yelled, "I thought you said you knew how to drive." He walked off in a huff, probably going to get a replacement. Rainey leaned over the side of the truck, and Said, "You've got to double clutch a truck to change gears." The officer came back and before he could say anything, this new young truck driver told him, "Sorry, but I got it now. "He gave him a second chance and the second run went smoothly. He kept his job as instructor and remained one for about six months. He and Rainey were both happy. Rainey lived only hundred miles away in a little town in Oklahoma, and he was only about 150 miles from Dallas. They both went home on liberty many times. This was one of a number of times he bluffed his way into a job and learned new skills.

5. 1936 ED JR. RIDE/RUN LIKE THE WIND

He wanted a bike so bad, one of his own, but either his parents couldn't afford it, or his sometimes over protective mother was afraid he would fall down and break a leg or something. Anyway, one day when he was ten years old and in the fifth grade, there were guys playing ball in the school yard after school. They had left their bikes leaning against the fence outside the yard. He and his friend felt sure the guys wouldn't mind if they rode their bikes while they were playing ball. They should have asked them first, but they didn't. Just a short ride and they would be right back.

Time passed quickly as they at first rode a short ways, and then branched out further and further, riding all over the neighborhood. After a while they realized that they had been gone a long time and headed back to the school. When they neared the school yard about twenty guys came running toward them yelling "There they are." As they came closer he and his friend dropped the bikes and ran. They knew they had done wrong.

His friend went one way and he went another. His house was only about three blocks away, and running like the wind, he beat them to his house, ran in and slammed the front door. He stood there in the room, panting, heaving, completely out of breath. His mother came running into the room, looked at him strangely, and asked "What's the matter?" Out of breath, he couldn't answer. Just then there was a knock on the door. When his mother opened the door, he saw a guy standing there just as much out of breath as he was. The guy said to my mother, "He.....took.....my......bike!" "What! My son took your bike?" "Yes Mam. He ..had...it...about..two hours. I was looking all over for it." His mother turned to him to ask him if this were true, but just looking at him, she knew it was true. Turning back to the guy she asked, "Do you have your bike now." "Yes mam." "I'll take care of him. He won't take your bike again or anyone else's bike again. You can be sure of that. Okay."

"All right" said the boy and he left.

His dad took care of him that night, but good. Sometimes, he can still feel his dad's big hand whopping him on the butt. He never did take another bike, but after that wonderful ride, he wanted a bike of his own more than ever.

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6. 1973 BASE TEN LOOKING FOR A POST

It was the very first day of their first camping trip. They had stocked up the Apache With food, drinks, sheets and pillows. They had put the mirrors on the front of the old blue Station wagon and hit the road for the first of what was to be many adventures. It was McDonogh Day and Marie & ED got off from school at noon. They went right over to Christ the King School and got their kids excused early to take part in this big event. Excited! You better believe it. They were going camping at Money Hill Campground. A lot of people had told them about this place and they were happy to be going there. Later, after they had taken other camping trips, they realized how different Money Hill was from most campgrounds.

They were so green to camping, so new. They didn't realize it at the time, but they had packed enough food and clothing for a month, even though they were going only for a weekend. This isn't the whole story about that trip, but just a few statements to show how really Green they were as campers, and how odd a campground Money Hill was. Even though it was a campground that was so different from others, they learned to love it the most. They drove over the Causeway, through Mandeville and Abita Springs and halfway to Bush, La., they arrived at Money Hill. There was an entrance gate and a man standing in a little house to collect the camping fee. It cost $5.00(?) for all ten of them. Ed gave the man the money and waited. The man waited too, with neither one saying anything. After sitting behind the wheel for a while Ed looked at the man and said, "What do we do?" "Just drive around until you find a spot. Anywhere, where there is electricity. Just look for a post that has an electrical outlet and a faucet on it."

They all looked ahead through the entrance gate and saw nothing but little roads running through deep dark woods. They drove into the forest looking right and left for a post. It was like looking for a tick on an armadillo's quills. They drove and drove down these sandy roads through the woods for almost a half hour before someone spotted a post and yelled. There it was, a post between two trees and a view of the lake in the distance. They all gave a yip and a yip, drove up to the two trees, unhitched the trailer, and set up camp. They liked the spot so much, that they came back to the same place over the years.

Later, after visiting many other campgrounds, they realized that Money Hill was the only Campground set up this way. Other campgrounds had neatly laid out spots that were numbered. The spots were easily found, but none of them had the outdoor, wooded splendor of Money Hill.

7. 1940 AUNT SOPHIE ( Ed Sr.'s Aunt, Ed. Jr. Great Aunt)

Last night, he thought of his Aunt Sophie, Sophie Stille, his grandfather's sister. His only recollection of his Great Aunt is of her sitting on the porch of his Aunt Claire and Aunt Blanche's house at 703 Caffin Avenue. She could speak French, in fact loved to speak it, and rattled away to him in that language even though he couldn't understand a word. She used to smile as she spoke to him. Aunt Sophie was about 80 years old at the time. She said (in English) that she was in ecstasy when some of her old friends came over and they spoke French together. She was a great cook, and knew how to prepare a lot of French dishes. All of ED Sr.'s sisters learned how to become great cooks from her. She also loved to play cards often Ed Sr.'s brothers and sisters and Aunt Sophie would play cards late into the night. When no one was available to play cards she would play solitaire. Aunt Sophie had bags and bags of red poker chips. They were made out of rubber and about the size of a quarter. Ed Jr. can see her face so clearly. She was a wonderful lady. She died several months after he talked to her on the porch.

8. 1940 ED JR. FOOLING MAMA

The boy knew his mother would never let him do it, so he didn't ask her. He just did it. That way he didn't have to be disobedient. He could also be devious. He told his Mother her was going to ride his bike with some friends. He didn't say where, and she didn't ask. We'll be awhile and probably stop at somebody's house he told his Ma. She didn't ask whose house, so he didn't volunteer. He figured that he had gotten off lucky. He didn't have to tell any little white lies.

He and his friends rode their bikes, all right, but not just around the neighborhood. In fact they took the longest ride on their bikes that they had ever taken. They rode over The Industrial Canal Bridge, up St. Claude Avenue to Elysian Fields, and all the way up Elysian Fields to Lake Pontchartrain, a distance of ten or twelve miles. They parked their bikes on the seawall and took off their clothes (they had hidden their bathing suits underneath).

What fun it was swimming and diving and throwing the ball to one another. It was a warm day and they gloried in the sun and wind. The time went by quickly. It was getting late and they realized that they better get back home. They got out of the water, hopped on their bikes and were off. They had no towels. Who needed them? They rode in their swim suits letting the sun and the wind dry them off. Before they got home, they were dry enough, and put their clothes back on over their swim suits. They rode fast all the way home, having races, zigzagging, having fun. They made it home in record time.

He rode his bike into the yard behind his house.

"I'm home, Ma."

"Did you have a good time, son."

"Yes Ma."

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9. 1939 ED JR. ROW, ROW, ROW GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM

The mighty Mississippi River was only four blocks from his house. He and his friend were walking along its banks one sunny, summer day when then saw this rowboat chained to a post at this deserted dock. The lock was broken. They looked at each other, and the look said, yes, let's takes it — and they did. They were thirteen years old. It was summer. It was hot. It would be fun. No one need know.

They each took an oar and shoved the boat out into the swift flowing current of the Mississippi. They knew that as long as they'd be back around five o'clock they would be o.k. They were exhilarated at how easily the boat took to the water. Rowing was easy, not at all hard. They sped along at a fast clip and in no time at all passed the Jackson Barracks, and then farther down the Chalmette Monument. Yahooing in the swift breeze they passed the sugar refinery and soon came to a special dock called the Slips, where banana boats were unloaded. They saw some men working there, and unfortunately or fortunately, one of the men knew them, and Yelled to them to get the hell out of there before they capsized and drowned. He scared them some and they decided to turn back. Good thing that they did.

Now the trouble began. They had been rowing downstream and it had been so easy. Rowing upstream they hardly moved the boat at all. They just creeped along. It was hard, real hard, very very hard. They had rowed downstream in half-an-hour, but it took them over four hours to get back. They were really afraid that they wouldn't make it. They were worn out, almost dead from fatigue. It was six o'clock and almost dark when they chained the boat back to the dock. They parted and both guys hurried home. Fortunately, no one at his house noticed he was late getting home.

10. 1971 HABANS SCHOOL A KAMIKAZE—KARATE KIND OF GUY.

There are so many things that have happened in the past and that have been recorded in his brain, hat it would seem easy to push the rewind button, push play, and let the memories play back. It doesn't work that way. To try and bring a memory back from years past is like trying to remember whose picture was on Time magazine's cover on February 7th, 1984. Memories slip into the mind at the most unexpected times, and one has to be quick to grab it, before it slips out again. Like the memory that slipped into his mind just now as he was writing this. It was about a Japanese parent at Habans School. He grabbed it, held it, wrote it down..

A parent of one of the students at the school had been a kamikaze pilot for Japan during WWII, and presently, he taught karate at Tulane University. He had agreed to come to the school and put on a karate demonstration for the sixth grade students. (a mistake because afterwards all the kids were trying to karate kick each other), Anyway, he came, and he came in full regalia: wooden shoes, white robe, bandanna, the works. He instructed the kids in the basics, and then took a few turns with them, letting the kids throw him onto the mat.

He told the kids how to beat a large group by attacking one at a time. Later in the school year, at the School Fair, he wanted to take action against loud teenagers causing a disturbance, but not really bad. The Japanese dad asked if he could throw them out. Cooler heads prevailed, and the matter was handled in a different way. But this man was sincere. He could have thrown them out easily and would have. One on one. Pop! Pop! Pop! And out you go. He was powerful man.

11. 1953 LILLIAN MAE HER SONS WERE HOME

Lillian Mae had two sons, both grown, one son was 27, and one son was 23, and they ;both still lived with her and her husband. Lillian Mae was a real "worry wart" and was constantly worried about her two "boys." When they went out on dates, Lillian Mae waited up for them, or at least she tried to. Sometimes she didn't make it because they came home so late. Most often she was asleep. Lillian Mae wouldn't give them a key. She said she wanted to let them in herself, so that she knew they were home safe. They had to pound on the door and yell "Ma!" "Ma" "Ma, open the door." No use calling for dad. He snored with a constant drone, and would never wake up. Most often the "boys" would get Ma up by banging on the window near the bed where she and dad slept.

One day, one of the "boys" was doing some clean up work near the front door of the house, and discovered that one of the side panels next to the door was loose. He tried the panel on the other side of the door, but that panel was tightly anchored in place. He went back to the loose panel, pushed it and jimmied it a little bit and the panel came loose. He pushed the panel aside and easily entered the house through this open space. Instead of repairing it, he stuck a piece of cardboard between the panel and the door frame. He shared this most important information with his brother.

Now, when they come home late from a date, they don't knock or call out, but just slip the piece of cardboard out, slip into the house, and fasten the panel with the cardboard from the inside. Lillian Mae, their mother, and their dad would be sound asleep. The brothers would tiptoe quietly by, and go to their room.

Sometimes their mother would go into their room and awaken them, all nervous, "How did you get in." "You let us in Ma.. You were so sleepy you probably don't remember," The boys would say.

Lillian Mae would shake her head and say, "I sure don't remember." Then, she'd go back to her room and sleep sweet dreams. Her sons were home. She didn't have to worry anymore.

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12 1937 KEEPING COOL

Ed. and Jerry's dad worked very hard and long hours at the Bienville Furniture Company in New Orleans. He formerly worked at Woodward Wight, but when they got the offer to work at this new furniture company, he took it. Dad worked long hours and didn't get home until six or seven at night to a house that had only oscillating fans to cool the place down. It was before air conditioning. They didn't even have a window fan or an attic fan. The house at 6019 Dauphine St. was always very warm in the summer. Dad took the streetcar to and from work, and when he got home in the summer months, he always followed the same ritual.

His huge chest and back was always covered with heat rash in summer. As soon as he got home, he would take a handkerchief, fill one end with cornstarch, tie it, and use the other end to flip over his back to the rash he couldn't reach. "It helped keep me cool," he said. Cooling down a little, he would sit down to his dinner in his undershirt, even though his wife, Lillian Mae, would have preferred him to wear a regular shirt. "It's cooler," dad said.

After dinner was dad's special time. He would get his newspaper, his oscillating fan, and his radio together in the bathroom. He would fill the bathtub almost to the top with cold water, turn the radio to the baseball game, put the oscillating fan on so that the breeze would hit him directly, pick up his newspaper and slide slowly into the cool, cool water with a satisfying Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh And, oh yes! He'd have a cigarette in his mouth with a full pack near him.

Dad would spend the night in peaceful bliss until it was time to go to bed. This was when the ball game was over, of course. Dad would come out of the bathroom like a new man, finally cool, real cool. It wouldn't be long however, before he's start swinging that corn starch handkerchief again.

13. 1950 THEIR FIRST WHEELS

One Sunday afternoon in Dallas, he and his brother Jerry were sitting around with nothing to do, and were passing the time reading the paper. They wanted to go out and do something but they had no car. They didn't feel like taking the streetcar or bus that particular day, although they often did to get around on errands, and to go on dates. He was 24 and Jerry was 20. Only recently had their dad gotten a company car, and he let them use it sometimes, and sometimes they would double date with friends who had a car. As they read the paper they both spotted it almost at the same time: a used car dealer was selling a 1940 Chevrolet for $110 dollars.

They looked at one another, looked again in the paper, checked their finances and decided to go for it. Ed was in his first year teaching at Letot Elementary School and was making $50.00 a week, while his brother was making about the same at his job at the Dallas Medical Clinic. They could afford it they said to each other as they walked out of the house, and took the streetcar to the car lot.

The 1940 Chevrolet was an absolute wreck. The guy who would buy that car would have to be a bloody moron. The sides were dented, there was hardly any paint, and there was a dice handle for the gear shift. It was what they should have expected at that price they said to each other as they turned to leave.

Walking out of the car lot they saw a little two seater Ford with a rumble seat in the back. It had a rubber top which was caved in, it had no windshield wipers, but it looked good, the paint almost looked new. Most amazing of all, the price tag said $95.00. They called the salesman over, and he began talking the usual bull corn about the car belonging to a little old lady, and she was the only one who had ever driven it. It was a 1936 Ford and the little old lady had driven it only 64,000 miles in the 16 years that she owned the car. The two brothers looked at each other and smiled, the salesman smiled. All three of them knew that bullcorn was flying around. However, months later after they had the car for awhile, they began to believe the story about the little old lady was true.

They asked the salesman if they could take the car out for a test drive. He said O.K.

but to be careful because the brakes were bad. That was an understatement. They almost had to stop the car by dragging their feet, but they liked the car, especially the sound of the motor, and the price. They bought it, got it home, and later had it repaired.

With the top fixed, new seat covers, new brakes and new tires, they had a great little car to ride around in. The right parts couldn't be found for the windshield wipers, and they never did get those fixed, but what the heck, it hardly ever rained in Dallas anyway. It was the first car they had ever owned, and they had many an adventure in it. Best of all, two years later they sold their first love bug for $175.00 in New Orleans. They both wish they had kept it. A 1936 two seater Ford with a rumble seat in the back would be priceless.

14. 1939 SKEWERED

After much persuasion, and much begging, his mother and dad had let him have a paper route. He was thirteen years old at the time and can still remember his mama saying, "You be careful now, carrying those papers on your bike, and you be sure you don't ride any other boy on that bike with you." "Okay, Ma." he remembered saying, although, often what she told him went in one ear and out the other. He wanted to obey her, for she was right almost 100% of the time, but sometimes he didn't remember, or got carried away by the situation at hand.

Like when his friend was pulling his wagon back to the paper station. They were in Chalmette and had about a mile to go to the paper station to check back in. He couldn't very well let his friend walk all the way back, now could he, so he offered his friend a ride. He had his friend sit on the handle bars, not on the side bar. That's the way all the kids did it when they rode two on a bike. They got a rope, tied the wagon to the back of the bike seat, and pulled it behind them as they sped along, laughing and talking, as dozens of cars sped by them on busy St. Claude Avenue.

Now, his mother, Lillian Mae, didn't have an automobile, and heck, even if she did, she couldn't drive, so there was no way she could see him riding two on a bike, he thought to himself as he pedaled along. When a car pulled alongside of them, and a woman leans out of the window and screams, "DIDN'T I TELL YOU NOT TO RIDE ANYBODY ELSE ON THAT BIKE," he looked over at the car, saw it was his mother and almost fell off the bike. He was in shock; devastated. He managed to stop the bike and keep it erect. He learned that his dad had two fingers cut off in an accident. When his ma called the paper manager, he offered to drive her around. There you are! You never know! There he was, caught again!

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15 1939 ED JR. HIS FRIEND "NOSY"

The one thing he hated about his paper route was soliciting for new orders. Often, after delivering his own papers, he had to go knock on doors and ask people to take the paper. The paper manager would tell the boys not to come back to the station without an order. He learned later, that the manager did not actually mean that, but he was new and took the manager at his word

When he started his route he delivered about 70 papers, but after about two months he was delivering around 85, because of new orders he had gotten. He had knocked on many, many doors to get those orders. He hated it and it took time, lots of time. He really was satisfied with the money he made from the seventy papers, and with 85 he made all the money he needed. He just hated taking all that time to get orders. So he thought of a way to get orders fast. He wouldn't make any more money from it, but he wouldn't waste all that time.

He began to make deals. He'd tell the customer, "You take the paper for two weeks, and you'll get two weeks free. He got a number of orders like that, fast, but of course he made no money from the order. Who could resist it?- four weeks for two.

Then there was his friend "Nosy" who was about six years then him, but who was a good friend to all the younger guys, and was always there when someone needed help He told "Nosy" how he hated going around to get orders for the paper. He told him about the two week deal he had worked out. "Hey man.! When you're in a hurry, come to me. I'll take one." He did, more than once. In fact, over a period of time "Nosy" placed ten orders for papers with him.

"Nosy" worked as a delivery boy for a grocery store, and every evening, he'd drop off a stack of papers for him. He probably sold the papers to customers in the grocery or to customers to whom he delivered groceries. "Nosy" never refused him. He always thought of "Nosy" as a true friend who would be willing to help, no matter what. He remembers him still. His real name was Noel —– Noel Knox. .

16. 1939 ED JR. "DO YOU WANT TO DANCE?"

St. Maurice Parish in the lower ninth ward was a little community all to itself.

It was nestled between the Industrial Canal and the Chalmette Parish line. It was the area where he lived from the time he was in the fourth grade through the completion of his sophomore year at Holy Cross High School. St. Maurice Church was one of the few churches that had a gym, and it was at this gym that he attended his first dance. The dance was put on by the Catholic Youth Organization (CYO). He was thirteen years old at the time.

His idea of going to a dance was to drink a few cokes, watch other people dance, and, of course, look at the girls. He saw one or two girls that he thought were very pretty, and he would have liked to dance with them, but he wasn't courageous enough to ask them. He spent the time drinking cokes and talking to his friends.

Someone announced that the last dance was coming up, and that it would be a backward dance; the girls would ask the boys. That left him out, he thought to himself, and started walking towards the door. A girl started walking across the dance floor in his direction. He didn't even notice her, and if he had, he would have felt she wasn't coming for him. He was on his way out.....and then.......this girl......this girl walked right up to him and said, "Do you want to dance.?" He looked at the girl. He had never seen her before. She was pretty. He danced with her.

They danced around the floor, somewhat uneasily at first, but more smoothly as the dance went along. It was the first time he had held a girl in his arms to dance, or to do anything else, for that matter. Sometimes he felt like he had bricks in his shoes, and at other times he felt as if his feet were full of air, and that he was floating across the floor. They broke into conversation and he learned that she lived only a few blocks from where he did. She said that she knew where he lived, and that she had passed his house a number of times. The dance ended all too soon for him. When it was over she said, "Thank you," and went back to her friends.

When he walked home that night, he felt lighter, more buoyant, exhilarated. He had to see her again. Her name was Vera.

17. 1937 ED JR. ONCE UPON A BLUSH

The young boy, even the young man, always blushed easily. Only when he was older, more mature, and wiser in the ways of the world, would this ease for blushing fade, although, still, on occasion, the red flame would suffuse his face. In his life there were a number of times when the blush came upon him.

Once, when he was an eleven old boy, he experienced the heat of this affliction. It was the first time he served as an altar boy at St. Maurice Church. He was keyed up and determined to do everything right. His big moment would come during the benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. There were two older, experienced altar boys who were there to see that everything was done to perfection.

At one point during the benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, the priest had to climb up a little three step stool, to put the Blessed Sacrament at a higher place on the altar. It was the altar boy's task, his task this day, to bring the stool to the priest at the proper time, and to remove it after the priest had stepped up and then down.

His big moment came. Bright eyed and eager he got the stool, went quickly up to the priest and placed the stool against the altar. He remained on his knees with his eyes closed. There was no movement. The priest didn't move. He looked up at the priest, who was looking at him with eyes that seemed to say, "Son, you better not come to me for confession." He heard a "Psssst. Psssst" sound from the older altar boys. He looked at them and they were pointing with their fingers to the stool, and making a circular motion with their fingers. He looked at the stool and his face flared to the brightest of reds. He had placed the stool the wrong way. The steps were facing the altar instead of facing the priest so he could step up. It was a silly mistake and one easily corrected, but he was embarrassed, so embarrassed, at making this mistake in front of the priest, the older altar boys, who were snickering by the way, and all the people in the church; He felt sure the people in the church must have noticed. His face was flaming to such a scarlet red as he corrected his error, that it must have looked as if another candle, in its red glass receptacle, had been lighted on the altar.

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18. 1948 FULL BLUSH

....."But Mother," her son said, "You made coffee in it. How can I bring it back?

It's been used." "They'll never know." His mother said, looking at him with her clear, beautiful blue eyes, and smiling at him. "Look" she said, as she took the pot apart, " I took it all apart and cleaned it thoroughly. Besides, they don't even look." She put the coffee pot back together, and put it the original box. Weakening under the assault of blue eyes, big smile, and pleading voice, her son said, "O.K. Ma, I'll do it, but just this once."

He should have known better, he said to himself as he sat in one of the cubicles at Shaw's Jewelry Store in downtown Dallas. He and his brother had thought the coffee pot was a good idea. They had given it to mother and dad for their anniversary. It was an urn type of pot with a spigot that made fifteen cups of coffee. Mother had tried it out, but had objected because it made more coffee then she could use at one time. Anyway, here he was.

A nice elderly lady with gray hair and gray eyes came to the cubicle. He explained that the person he had given the pot to, did not like it, and he wanted a refund. She smiled at him and said, "Has it been used?" He looked straight into those gray eyes, and said, "Of course not" —– but he felt that she could read the lie on his face.

The nice little lady took the coffee pot to the back of the store. She wasn't gone long, and came back carrying the pot, with a kind of smirkey smile on her face, "The manager took the pot apart and found a little ring of coffee stain near the top of this little glass piece. See." she said, holding the glass peak of the pot up under his eyes. He saw. She conquered. He stood. He tried to respond but couldn't. He imagined in his mind that all the people in the other cubicles were peering at him and saying, "Liar. Liar." He felt a great warmth suffuse his face, his whole body, as if his athlete's foot and jock itch were burning him up completely. Red faced, he took the pot, stammered something, and made a hasty retreat.

19. 1934 STANDING ALL IN A ROW

"Honey, come see this," his father called out to his mother. He can still hear those words to this day. Maybe it was because the scene was etched in his mind along with the words. The urgency in his father's voice, the fact that his mother ran to dad so quickly, and even more so, when he heard his mother's scream, all that together reinforced the memory. It slipped into his mind, and was caught like a butterfly in a net.

He had noticed that his dad hadn't called him or his four year old brother, but when they heard their mother scream, they both ran to them, to see what was up. Mother and dad were on the back porch, looking out at the shed that was in the back yard. There, under the shed, (the floor of which was about six inches off the ground), were about thirty huge, huge rats standing all in a row. They were under the flooring of the shed, trying to keep dry, and were looking out at the rain. Now mother, who couldn't stand even roaches or spiders, could not take this invasion of rats. They lived a few more days in that house with every crack boarded up. By the end of the week they moved. The house at 3419 Esplanade is still there. He wonders if the rats are still there.

20. 1938 SPRING RIDE

He was twelve years old, a seventh grader, and one afternoon after school, he was shooting basketballs in the school yard. It was a beautiful Spring day. She came along on her bike and stopped by the fence to watch him. After awhile she called out to him, "Hi! Do you want to go bike riding with me?" He knew her. She lived by his aunts' house on Caffin Avenue. She went to an all girls school about a block from his own school. They had met and talked a couple of times before. They liked each other. He took one last shot, jumped on his own bicycle, and off they went on a bicycle adventure.

They both should have gone right home, but Spring had caught them in its spell. They rode toward the river and went up the steep bank to the top of the levee, where they could see the mighty Mississippi River. The water glistened, the sky was blue, and the Spring wind blew around them as they rode on top of the levee all the way to the Industrial Canal. They stopped there awhile, put their bikes down, and sat on the grass and talked. They watched a boat go through the canal.

On the way back, he got smart and wanted to show off for her. He rode his bike down the steep levee to the bottom, applying his brakes just in time to avoid crashing into a fence in front of one of the houses. It was a fast, wild ride, and he was kind of scared coming down. He waved to her. She waved back, and not to be outdone, she started down the levee, too. He tried to tell her to be careful, but it was too late. Down she came, just as fast, or faster, than he had, her hair flying in the breeze, and a determined smile on her face. She looked so pretty. She did fine all the way down, except, at the end, she didn't put her brakes on fast enough, and she crashed into the fence, damaging the front wheel of her bike, and making it unrideable. She wasn't hurt though, and that was a blessing. She didn't get mad at him, of fuss, and he liked her for that. She smiled at him after the accident, and his heart melted. He let her ride his bike alongside of him, as he walked her bike to her home. It was a beautiful walk and they talked about many things. It took them awhile, and when they got to her house it was late, almost dark. Her mother wasn't mad. She didn't fuss.She accepted our story of how the accident happened, but warned us about going near the river, and told her daughter not to do that again. It must have been because Spring was in the air. She picked up her bike to put in the garage, and turned to smile at him as he rode off. Her name was Evelyn.

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21. 1912 ROBERT PUYAU: A SAD DAY

Aunt Claire told this story about her brother to Ed. Jr. while they sat around a dining room table at her home at 607 Caffin Avenue. The table had been in the family for years. It could seat 14 people, and the amazing thing was that it could be extended throughinserts up to almost three times its size. The table played a part in the story she was about to tell.

.........Robert was fourteen years old, and on a warm summer day he went with a group of his friends to go swimming in the Mississippi River. He had strict instructions from his father, Francis, not to go near the river at any time. Aunt Claire said that she knew many of the boys often swam in the river, but she believed this was the first time that Robert had done so. She had seen where the boys swam. There was a big post, like a telephone pole, going out into the water. The boys would walk to the end of the post, and either jump or dive into the water. The jump or dive into the water was only about four feet.

There were five other boys with him when they went swimming. They had great fun jumping and diving into the cool but muddy waters. No one knew exactly what happened, but when Robert dove into the water when it was his turn, he didn't come up right away. The boys called for him, and then dove in to look for him, but couldn't find him. One boy ran home to get Robert's father, and while he was gone, the boys spotted Robert down the river aways, face down in the water. They swam out and grabbed him and got him to the shore.

Robert's father (GD to Ed Jr., GGD to Base ten, & GGGD to Base Ten Plus) ran all the way to the docks, and when he saw Robert, and saw that he was dead, he picked him up and carried him the three or four blocks to the house with tears streaming down his face. He carrier Robert into the house and placed his dripping wet body on the dining room table. Francis put his head down on the table and cried and cried and cried. It was heart rending.

Aunt Claire said they determined later that Robert had hit his head on a submerged log and had been knocked unconscious. The scene was vividly etched in her memory, and to this very day, even as she talked to me, she sees the body of her brother Robert laying on the table .

22. 1941 BLOW UP

El Paso was a very dry, sandy place where the sun shone every day. In the year he lived there he remembers not one day of rain. They had moved there when his dad became manager of the Bienville Furniture Co. It was a big change from New Orleans for all of them but they adjusted well and enjoyed the time they lived there.

They had a number of visitors that year, and one time his mother's cousin and her two daughters came to spend a week. Her name was Katy, and the two little girls were Catherine & Elizabeth. On Saturday night of their visit, to entertain them, they all went to downtown El Paso, walked through the stores, and around the square in the center of town. It was hot as always, and his dad took them all inside the big downtown drug store for a soda. They all sat on stools around the counter: Ed Sr., Lillian Mae, Katy, Catherine, Elizabeth, Jerry and Ed, with their tongues hanging out, waiting to lap up a coke or something wet.

They waited and they waited and then they waited some more. The little girls were twirling around on their stools, and Ed Jr. and his brother were hitting playfully on one another, which they soon stopped when Dad gave them that look. They waited and waited. They filled up almost a third of the seats available. They waited some more, and he could see that his dad was getting hot under the collar. There was a waitress behind the counter but she was busy putting plates, cups and saucers in the sink, taking things from the counter and putting them on a rack. She was well aware that they were there, but continued with her tasks.

Dad started spinning his stool back and forth trying to catch her eye to get some service. About this time a lady walks in and sits on a stool not too far from them. Almost immediately the waitress stops her tasks walks up to the lady and says, "May I help you?" The next thing they knew there was an explosion like an erupting lave flow. Dad had jumped up from his stool, walked over to the waitress and yelled, "Keep your got———sodas!!!!!!!!" and stormed out of the store, leaving the rest of them sitting there. They looked sheepishly at one another, but they all felt he was right, and they followed him in single file out of the store, just like the little girls in Madeleine, when they all followed their teacher.

Everyone was upset after that, and they took the streetcar home. They had no sodas that night, except the ones in their dreams.

23. 1938 A HAIR HERE, A HAIR THERE

Aunt Claire had seven brothers: Frank, Emile, Alvin, Edward, George, Robert, and John. They were all grown and had moved out of the house. She had three sisters: Blanche, Corine, and Margie. They all lived at 607 Caffin Avenue along with their sister-in-law, Canute.and Claire's husband, Al Rouyer. Living with all these women, Uncle Al was spoiled rotten, They catered to his every wish. They waited on him, and were at his beck and call. What a life! Life had never been so smooth for him, and it continued to be so until his nephew moved into the neighborhood.

His nephew was mischievous and full of pranks. He was really a rascal at times. His family had moved into St. Maurice's Parish and lived at 6019 Dauphine St., about six short blocks from 607 Caffin. He often paid visits to his aunts house, and he has to admit that they treated him great, giving him treats, and hugs, and kisses, and love. Uncle Al was a different story. He was sort of grouchy and fussy. He had a round face, heavy, bushy eyebrows, and dark eyes. The top of his head was completely bald and as shiny as polished, white enamel. Growing out of the sides of this shining dome were long, black hairs, the only hairs he had on his head. Uncle Al was chubby too, and couldn't move too fast with all that weight.

When Uncle Al would be sitting on a chair at the table, or sitting in an easy chair,

his little rascal nephew, would sneak up behind him and give those hairs on the side of his head a big yank, a very disrespectful thing for a boy of twelve to do. Uncle Al would cuss, jump up and try to catch him, but the little rascal was long gone.

On one occasion, after a particularly hard hair pull, his uncle, who must have sensed some movement behind him, jumped up, and caught the little rascal by his sweater, and aimed a tremendous kick at his backside which just missed by inches. After that, his nephew didn't play that game anymore. He didn't want to wear out his welcome at 607, and he didn't want to be kicked in the backside.

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24. 1960 DON'T JUMP! DON'T JUMP!

The young man had been assigned as principal of Andrew Jackson School at 1408 Camp St. It was a tough, elementary school in the Irish Channel. He had been on the job for about two weeks and felt pretty good about everything. He was sitting at his big desk, in his big office, feeling happy and at ease. It was his first year as principal. It was the noon hour, and the 800 or so students were at lunch or at play.

Jackson School is a three story building. Along the outside of the building is a fire escape that leads from the ground to the third floor. As the new, young principal sat back in his swivel chair, away from the noise and ruckus of the school yard, and sort of preening himself, a blast came over the public address system, calling him to come quickly to the school yard. There was such a frantic, imperative tone to the voice, that he slammed the swivel chair down, that he ran, actually ran, through the office, down the stairs, and into the yard.

Everyone in the yard, students and duty teachers, were looking to the top of the fire escape. A young boy, about 8 or 9 nine years old, probably a third or fourth grader, had climbed to the top of the fire escape and wouldn't come down. The duty teacher kept calling to him, but to no avail. The new principal, with the new authority in his voice, the voice of being in command, yelled out to the boy, "SON. GET DOWN FROM THERE, RIGHT NOW."

The kid laughed. The principal tried again in an even louder and more authoritative voice than before, and when he defied him again, he started up the fire escape. The screams of the teachers and kids stopped him. Looking up he saw that the kid had climbed up on the middle rail, bracing his legs against the top rail, with his arms outstretched as if he was going to dive down to the ground. The principal backed off.

The police were called. They came quickly, along with a fire truck that had an extension ladder. When the kid saw the policemen, he got scared, and came down as politely as you please. He was handed over to the social worker for evaluation. This incident was the first cause of many little bubbly ulcers to ferment in this new principal's stomach.

The incident was reported in the police section of the newspaper. Who reads the police reports, anyway? Most people don't. One principal did. He called the new principal, laughed, and said, "Welcome aboard."

25. 1980 "HEY POP.! YOU WANT TO GO."

He was an older man in his fifties, sort of old to have as many young kids as he did. It was the summer of 1980 and he had taken his wife and eight kids to the Wet N' Wild water park in Orlando, sort of a side trip from their stay at Disney World.

The kids had disbursed rapidly to the different pools, water rides, and other activities, and he and his wife sat a table directly in front of a water slide as tall as a six story building. The slide was called Kamikaze, and was the most daring slide in the park.

As he and his wife sat and talked, basking in the beautiful Florida sunshine, he longed for a beer or two. One of his greatest pleasures was to drink a few beers, soak up the sun, and hit the water. He had thought they wouldn't sell beer at the park, so he had come prepared. There was a six pack on ice in the van outside the park. He excused himself from his wife, walked all the way back to the van and hoisted a few. On the way back, much to his surprise, he discovered that they did sell beer in the park. What with the beer in the van, and the beer in the park and the sun shining bright, and the water sparkling and cool, he worked himself up to a beautiful glow. He spent a beautiful afternoon sitting at the table with his lovely wife, drinking beer, soaking up the sun, and watching those damn fools come down the kamikaze slide, half killing themselves when they hit the water.

All, except some. He watched closely and noticed that those few who raised their feet about a foot just before they hit the water, skimmed gracefully across the water and came to a smooth stop......a smooth kamikaze pilot landing. The other sliders raised their feet too high, or raised their feet not at all, and flip-flopped either on their face or on their back. From the expression on the faces of these sliders, they felt some pain.

Later in the afternoon, his oldest daughter, with a grin and a wink at his wife and the kids, looked at her dad and said, "Hey Pop, you want to go on the Kamikaze with me" His wife picked it up fast and answered for him, "No way. He'll kill himself." The other kids chanted, "Go Pop. Go Pop." but the tone in their voices sounded like they might be in agreement with the wife. Of course, they didn't know that old Pop had been closely scrutinizing the sliders for quite a few hours. Besides, he had enough of a glow on, that he felt like he could tackle anything, from parachuting from a plane, or skiing down a mountain

He looked at his wife with a foolish grin on his face, winked at her, stood up and said to his oldest girl, "Let's go." He walked with her up the six story ramp to the top of the slide. From the top the people looked like little dwarfs, and all his own little dwarfs were standing near the water where the Kamikaze slide ended, waiting for their old Pop to make a fool of himself.

He fooled them. His daughter went down first and she did pretty well. He was next. From up high, he looked around at the beautiful, clear blue sky, felt the warm sun beaming down on him, felt the brave, booster beer in his stomach, laid himself down on that slide, came down like a rocket, and just before the end, raised his feet about a foot, and skimmed over that water as graceful as a swan, to the shouts and cheers of his kids, and a thankful prayer from his wife.

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26. 1939 SLAVE LABOR

His dad's brother, Emile, lived about three blocks from where he lived at 6019 Dauphine St. His uncle lived at 6112 Royal, and owned a huge lot next to his house, that had weeds growing at least six feet high.

He passed his Uncle Emile's house whenever he went to mass, to school, or to play basketball in the gym. One day when he was returning home from the gym, his uncle stopped him and asked him if he would like to make a little extra money. Sure" he said. His uncle said that he would pay $2.50 cents to have the weeds cut down in his lot. He looked at his uncle, and then he looked at the lot. It was an awful big lot, big enough to build four houses on it, and the weeds were very high. He looked at his uncle with eyes that said he wasn't getting much pay for that big hot job, but, it being his uncle, he agreed.

He got a friend to help him. They worked a half day Friday, and all day Saturday until late in the afternoon, and finally got all the weeds cut down. They went to his uncle and his uncle promptly paid them the money— $1.25 to him, and $1.25 to his friend. The sun had been so hot that they were soaking wet, and with money in hand, they went quickly to a near by store for soft drinks, candy, and to play the pinball machine. They trudged wearily home and went right to bed. His mother, Lillian Mae, was worried about him because he hadn't eaten any supper.

Early the next day, before mass, his Uncle Emile came over to the house, complaining to his dad, that the boys had not picked up the weeds, bundled it, and brought it out to the curb for trash pickup. His dad knew the lot but went with his brother to see what he was complaining about. When his dad, Ed Sr, saw all the work the boys had done, and for such little money, and that his brother still wasn't satisfied he blew a gasket, blew his fuse, and exploded. He told his brother that he could pick up those weeds and take they them to the curb himself, and if he didn't want to do that, he sure as hell could take those weeds and shove them you know where.

He knew this was so, because he heard his dad telling his mother about it.

27. 1939 FIRST DATE

He was thirteen years old, and had been to parties where there were girls and boys a few times. He had gone to CYO dances with the guys a few times, but he had never asked a girl for a date, nor had he expected to, but that changed after the CYO dance when a girl had ASKED HIM to dance with her. He had been light headed for days after that. One day, a few days after the dance, they met while riding their bicycles. They talked awhile and she told him her name was Vera, but he had already found that out. He hemmed and hawed, looked to the right and to the left, slid off and on his bicycle seat, but finally got up enough nerve to ask her if she would go see a movie with him Sunday afternoon. She smiled at him and said she would like that. They parted. He doesn't remember bicycling home. He was glowing inside. His mother and dad looked at him kind of funny, and then looked at each other, smiled, and even giggled a little, when he told them that he had a date with a girl for Sunday afternoon.

In fact, when Sunday came, his mom and dad were smiling and giggling to themselves all day long. His mother laid out the things he wanted to wear: black socks, shiny black shoes, white long pants, blue shirt, dark blue tie, white linen coat. He dressed slowly and very carefully. He looked at himself in a mirror, combed his hair back over his ears, and then slicked his hair down with lots of Vitalis. His dad gave him some money and he felt for it in his pocket repeatedly. His mom gave him a big kiss, and his dad shook his hand, when he left. He looked back and saw that they were still watching him. He waved to them. He was off on his first date with a girl.

He walked the three blocks to her house very quickly, feeling like he was king of the mountain. It was summertime and very hot. He didn't feel ridiculous being all spiffed up and wearing a white coat and a tie on such a hot day. He didn't feel anything but excitement. He knocked and she opened the door. She looked beautiful wearing a yellow dress with a yellow ribbon in her hair. She smiled at him, making him feel good, making him feel that she liked him. No girl had ever liked him, at least not since he had been grown.

The theater was near Holy Cross High School by the Industrial Canal. It was a twelve block walk They walked holding hands; he, in his white suit and slicked back hair; she, in her yellow dress with a yellow ribbon in their hair. They looked at no one, but walked and talked in the hot sun.

He bought her popcorn, a candy bar, and a drink and held her hand all during the movie. They walked home hand in hand, not saying too much, but happy together. People were sitting out on their porches this summer afternoon, and little comments and some giggles flittered down to them as they passed, comments they could hear, but didn't mind. They had ears and eyes only for each other.

He walked her to her door and told her goodbye. She smiled at him. They both felt so good, they felt like they were bubbles floating in the air. It was more than a date. It was love. First love. Is there anything more beautiful?

28. 1945 THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKS.

He was stationed at the Navy Base, in Beuford. S.C. He didn't know about Pat Conroy then, or the beauty of the state, or about Yakama Island, or the Prince of Tides. He was just a sailor stationed at this base for some special training.

There were a hundred bunk beds in each barracks —–200 men. He had a top bunk, and one night while he was laying in his bunk reading, Ernie, who had the top bunk next to him, climbed into his own bunk with a book in his hand. He and Ernie started talking about books, and which book was the best book they had ever read. He said, The Robe, right off, no question. Ernie said that the best book he had ever read was The Count of Monte Cristo, and that he felt he could never read a book that was better than that. He had read both books, whereas Ernie had not, so until Ernie read the Robe, final judgment was withheld.

Ernie checked The Robe out of the base library, and for the next few weeks, every time he had a chance, he read until lights out. One night he finally finished, closed the cover, and held the book tight in his hands. Ernie looked at him and said, " You're right. The Robe is the best book I have ever read. It beats Cristo." Ernie got down from his bunk and left. He didn't. He laid back in his bunk, and looked at the ceiling of the barracks, his mind filled with the wonder of writing, the wonder of reading, and the beauty of books.

.

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29. 1957 A DEVASTATING STATEMENT

He was enrolled in the Masters of Education program at Loyola University. The incident happened in the statistics class. Each student had to make some sort of original survey and make a report of their findings to the whole class. There were about forty students in the class.

He decided that his project would be to determine the homework patterns of the students in grades four to six at Howard No. 1 School, the school where he taught. The project was approved by the teacher of the class. He put a lot of work into the project. He made a survey form that asking parents about their involvement, about providing a quiet place for the child to study, about the amount of time spent on homework etc. etc. The morning after the day the survey forms went home, he had students posted at each entrance of the school to collect the forms. The return was in the 70 percent range. He tallied all the forms, made up statistical tables, and wrote a lengthy report on his findings. He was thoroughly prepared and ready to make his report.

In class, when he was called upon, he strode up to the podium, faced the class with confidence and began, "The students at Howard No. 1 School show the following patterns in homework.........." and then, before he could continue, a student in the back of the room stood up and bellowed out, "ORLEANS PARISH DOES NOT ALLOW HOMEWORK IN THE ELEMENTARY GRADES." The classroom was deathly quiet. Most of the students looked around to the back of the room, and then turned and looked at me. This guy was attacking the entire credibility of his report. Whether the guy in the back was right or not, it was a heck of a time to bring it to light. The teacher looked at him as he stood silently at the podium with quizzical eyes. He eyeballed her back. The truth was he didn't know if Orleans Parish had such a policy or not. Eyeing the teacher and the class he told them that in the six years he had been teaching in Orleans, homework had always been given, and he felt certain there was no such policy against homework. If there was such a policy, not only the teachers at Howard, but teachers all over the system didn't know about it.

The teacher motioned to him to continue. As he went along with his report, he began to eyeball this guy. Who was he? He was short and heavyset, and as far as he was concerned, the guy had one big problem. His mouth was bigger than he was, and in later years that mouth got him into big trouble.

Later, he checked out the homework policy for elementary schools in the Orleans Parish School System and big mouth's statement was incorrect. Homework was required in the elementary schools.

Looking back on his life, that memory surfaced, that butterfly was caught. The comment that guy made at that time, an at that place, was the most careless, unthinking, insensitive comment that could have been made.

30. 1974 THE "BIG" FISHERMAN

They were lucky. They had been able to get the front site at the Holiday Campgrounds in Destin, Florida. It was the summer of 1974. The Apache pop-up trailer was up, the green and white awning was attached and swaying in the strong breeze that came off the Gulf of Mexico. It was about eight in the morning. The sun was hanging out over the green, blue waters, getting ready to rise higher into the clear blue sky, getting ready to turn the bright, white sand spicy hot underfoot.

He and his wife and young daughter, Mary, were sitting at the pagoda in front of the Apache, basking in the cool breeze, and listening to the waves pound the shore. Suddenly, his wife jumped up and cried, "Look, a school of fish. The water was so clear, the fish were easily visible, making a tremendous circle of darkness in the water.

Quickly, they got fishing rods and bait and ran lickety-split over the sand to the school of fish. He and his wife baited the three hooks on each of their lines, waded a little ways out into the water, and cast their lines towards the school of fish. Mary sat on the sand and watched them. Again and again, he and his wife would cast their lines but didn't catch any fish.

Looking back toward the beach, he saw Mary, his darling little four year old girl, sitting on the sand near the water, watching them He felt a surge of sadness for her because she wasn't take part in the fun. Walking back to the beach, he picked her up, carried her in the water a ways, cast out, and gave her the rod and reel to hold. Almost instantly, the line grew taut and the rod was almost pulled out of her hands, but she held firm, and with a little help from her dad, she reeled in her line.

She had reeled in not one fish, but three. Mary couldn't believe it. She jumped up and down, yelling, 'I caught three. I caught three fish." They were such big fish, too. She looked at the fish, and then, looking at her mom and dad, her face broke into the biggest smile, so big, that even the sun seemed a shadow. Her dad strung the fish on a line for her, and she ran with them back to the Apache to show her brothers and sisters——a little girl running on the beach in the sand in the summer of 1974. It seems like only yesterday.

31. 1976 ONE FATHER'S DAY

The Apache was hooked up at the Outdoor Resorts Campground in Lake Buena Vista Florida. It was eighteen miles from Orlando, and only five miles from Disney World. It was one of their favorite spots to camp.

It was Father's Day and he was sleeping late. He didn't hear the whole family (Marie, Ed, Therese, Roxanne, Maurice, Jerome, Jeanne, Mary & Julie) leave the trailer and go to the campground store to get him something for Father's Day. He sure must have been sleeping soundly because the trailer sways when someone goes in or out.

"Surprise! Surprise.!" they yelled when they returned. He looked up groggily, but quickly became alert when he saw that they had brought him bacon and eggs, milk, sweet rolls, coffee, and all sorts of presents. Was he ever surprised! It was a great Father's Day and one he always remembered.

He loves being on the road for Father's Day with the whole beautiful summer stretching out after it, all the new places ahead of them, waiting to be seen and explored. There is no Father's Day quite like a Father's Day on the road.

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32 1960 ALMOST HEADLESS

It was a lovely summer day in the year 1960. He had gone down to his mother's house at 6019 Dauphine Street, and was to meet MARIE in town later. They were to meet ED & NELL for lunch at Galitoire's in the French Quarter. He didn't have much time. After he saw his mother he had to get a haircut before he met his wife. He spent some time talking to Lillian Mae, always intrigued with her and her Irish personality. She was a jewel-one of a kind Saying goodbye to his mom, he drove down Dauphine St. headed toward town. He had driven only a few blocks when he saw a barber shop. Being pushed for time he felt any barber would do. All he wanted was a flat top.

When he walked inside, the shop seemed empty at first, but then he spotted the barber, a real old geezer, seemingly asleep in the chair. Skeptical, he turned to leave, when a voice from the chair said, "You need a haircut?" "Can you give me a flat top?" The old barber looked quizzically at him for a minute, and then nodded his head, yes.

Snip, snip, snap, snap, clip, clip, on and on, pause, and then more snip, snip, snap, snap, clip, clip. It took the old barber quite awhile, and his customer did not have the benefit of a mirror. The chair was facing away from it. Finally, the old barber was finished, and flushed with pride, gave him a big grin as he spun the chair around to face the mirror. HE WAS AGHAST. HE WAS RUINED. HIS HAIR HAD BEEN RAPED. The old man had given him not a flat top but a crew cut, like in the navy at boot camp. His hair had been scalped almost down to the bone with just specks of hair covering his elongated, knobby, rolling head. He was not a violent man, nor did he want to hurt the old man's feelings, so he gave the old man his money, and kept his anger tight within.

Once outside, however, he rubbed his bald head and cussed, and kicked dents in his car until his anger subsided. What could he do? He looked like an idiot, but he still had to meet his wife and Ed and Nell. He couldn't hide it unless he wore a cap or hat which he didn't have, He would just have follow through, go and meet them, and try not to ACT like an idiot. He did. He told them the story of the old barber, and they smiled and giggled with him, but they had a hearty laugh every time they looked at his head.

The meal at Galitoire's was one of the best he had ever eaten. The meal had a name. It was called Crab meat St. Pierre. Delectable. Unfortunately, he has never, never eaten it again. Maybe one day. Fortunately, he has never gone back to the elderly barber in the empty barber shop for another flat top haircut.

33. 1937 LITTLE LOST GIRL

She was a pretty little girl with curly blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. She lived In a big house at 2828 De Soto Street. Her name was Marie Seghers. She lived in the big house with her mother, Amelia, grandfather Vincent DeLuca, Aunt Mary, Uncle Irby, Aunt Jenny, cousin I.J., and her brother Edgar. As you can imagine, with so many people, the house was always full of activity, and little Marie enjoyed every bit of it.

One day when she was seven years old, and on her way to school, her mother called out to her, as she did every school day., "Be sure to come home right after school." "Yes, mother." On this day however, she didn't listen to her mother.

A friend at school, Kissey, enticed her to come over to her house. Marie liked her friend very much. She had been to her house once before with her mother, and thought the house grand. It was a huge house. There were a large number of servants to take care of the house, and even a yard man. The thing that Marie liked most, however, was the bowl of apples that had been on the dining room table. So, when Kissey asked her to come over to her house after school, she thought of that big bowl of apples, and for the first time in her life she disobeyed her mother.

The two little girls skipped along, holding hands, and talking as little girls do. They ran up the stairs into the house, and once again, Marie drooled at the big bowl of apples on the dining room table. She hoped Kissey would offer her one, but she didn't. (In later life, Marie always remembered the big bowl of apples, and when she was grown and had her own house, she always had fresh apples in her refrigerator). The girls played games and talked for a little while and then Marie told Kissey she had to go home. Her house was just three blocks from Kissey"s house.

When she walked in the front door she heard a lot of hollering and crying from the back of the house, and heard her name mentioned several times. She got scared and thought everyone was mad at her for not coming right home from school. She thought she might be punished real bad, and she didn't want that to happen.. She ran into the living room, which she called the ice room because it was seldom used, and felt cold and damp inside. She knew a good hiding place in that room, behind the catty-cornered piano at the far end of the room. She quickly ran behind the piano and stooped down so no one could see her.

She could hear them though. They were talking loudly, blaming one another. She could hear her mother crying and that made her feel bad. She stood up and was about to come out of her hiding place, when all of a sudden, there were footsteps running down the hall, pass the living room. She stooped down and hid once again. She was still afraid of being punished. The front door opened and she could hear her aunts and uncles outside yelling, "Has anyone seen Marie." "Has anyone seen Marie." After a little while they all came back inside And went to the back of the house again. She heard her mother crying loudly. Marie knew she couldn't have her mother crying anymore. She stepped out of her hiding place and went to the back of the house to get what was coming to her. She walked with her head down.

"Where have you been" was the first thing she heard when she walked into the back room. "Where have you been" she heard once again, almost in unison from her aunts and and uncles, and in a much harsher tone this time, but not from her mother. Her mother opened her arms wide and little Marie ran into her arms and held her mother tight. She pulled away and told all of them what she had done, and that she was sorry. She would surely be punished in some way, but it didn't matter. She put her arms around her mother's neck and held her tight. She loved her mother more than anything in the world, and was heart-broken for having made her cry.

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34. 1940 DID THE PRIEST COMPLAIN?

Both of them were fourteen years old, kind of old to be altar boys, but the parish priests liked to keep on some older boys. It was the Spring of 1940 and he and his friend John were servers for the visiting priest who was conducting services during Mission Week. The priest would talk to the congregation for about an hour and then have benediction of The Blessed Sacrament. When the priest finished his talk, he would go into the rectory for a large glass of orange juice (provided by the housekeeper and brought over during the service) before starting the benediction service.

The priest would speak from the pulpit near the front of the altar, and the altar boys would sit near the back of the altar. It the altar boys were to leave the altar the priest could not see them, unless he happened to look around at the time.

On the very first night of the service, John, who was the leader and the instigator, although he was a willing follower, got up from his seat, genuflected, and went into the rectory. Shortly afterwards he heard a psssssssssstttt sound. John was signaling him from the rectory. He went. John had emptied half of the huge glass of orange juice into two smaller cups and offered him one, an offer he couldn't refuse. John refilled the huge glass with water and stirred it around, before they lifted their cups in a toast to Mission Week. This went on for five nights, and they always wondered if the visiting priest had made any complaints about the quality of the orange juice.

35. 1941 DIRTY TRICK

He was a sophomore at Holy Cross High School which was adjacent to the banks of the Industrial Canal. Huge ships passed through this canal on their way to the Mississippi River which was nearby. At lunch time many of the students would go out on the levee with their bag lunches and soft drinks to eat lunch and watch the big ships go by.

It was the Spring of 1941. He and his friends, who were all sophomores, took their lunch to the levee to eat at their favorite spot, which was near a huge pipe that stuck out from the levee, over the water for at least ten feet or so. The pipe was about thirty feet from the ground and from the water.

After lunch, their favorite past time was to straddle this pipe which must have been at least two feet in diameter, and wriggle with both legs astride the pipe all the way out to where the pipe ended over the water. The length of the pipe was about 50 feet, and it was quite a wriggle. It was a fairly slow and hard process to get way out there, but almost everyone did it. It was a daring and dangerous thing to do, but it was an adventure and all the boys loved the excitement of it, with the wind in their faces, and sometimes a big ship passing by. Some days, there would be a long line of boys, one behind the other, wriggling astride the pipe out to the end. Then they would all wriggle backwards, for it was impossible to turn around, back to the safety of the levee.

One day some guy didn't even take the time to eat lunch. He went right to the pipe and wriggled out to the end. He sat out there by himself looking out over the water. Some smart guy got the idea of playing a trick on that guy. He thought it would be good for a good laugh. He went down the levee to the banks of the canal, found a box and filled the box with wet and soft river sand, he climbed back up the levee, mounted the pipe and slid the box before him as he wriggled out to almost the middle of the pipe. He put the box on his knees, and spread the wet, slippery sand over the pipe as he wriggled backwards. It would be impossible for the boy at the end of the pipe to get back to the levee. The wet sand made it so slippery that he might fall. If he did try, and was lucky enough to make it, his pants would be covered with all that dirty mud. He and his friends thought that it was a dirty trick, but they did nothing to help. They just sat there and watched. The smart guy yelled to the guy at the end to come on back. He did. When he reached the mud he stopped. Just then the school bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. The guys walked and ran back to their next class, leaving the guy on the pipe all alone.

Someone must have told, and the boy must have gotten help from the teachers, for they saw the boy in class about an hour later. It was a dirty, dirty trick, but it backfired on all of them, because from then on, none of the boys were allowed to go on the river levee to eat lunch, and watch the ships. The laugh was on them.

36. 1987 FILLING THE TANK WITH ANTI-FREEZE

It was the very last day of his job as principal of Paul Habans School. He was retiring that summer of 1987. There was almost absolute silence in the school as he sat at his desk. He was the only one there except for the custodian and his two brothers, and they were outside working in the yard. He wanted to treat them to something before he left, before he walked through the gates for the last time.

He drove over to a nearby daiquiri place and asked for four large daiquiris. The cute little serving girl said, "Why not get a gallon, it's almost the same price. So he bought a gallon of 150 proof anti-freeze daiquiri. The young girl said it was the most powerful one of all. She gave him four cups to take along.

He had a date with his wife to go to an important party that night, a party for which he had paid $50.00 a head. He didn't plan to stay long at school. Just fill up the tank with anti-freeze and be on his way.

Gathering together in the school lounge they toasted one another farewell —– Ed Williams, his brothers Henry, Al, and himself. The conversation flowed. Incidents came up for discussion that were hardly mentioned, except when the tongues were loose from drink, and the tongues became looser and looser and looser. After drinking two full cups, they finished off the daiquiris with a half cup each. They said their final good-byes and they went their way.

It was later then he thought. He hurried home to get ready for the party. He couldn't miss that after paying all that money. Besides, it was a retirement party for someone he thought highly of. He was light headed and felt high, but he didn't feel drunk. Even his wife didn't think he was drunk. He didn't act drunk, and she didn't notice any odd behavior, but while he was shaving, looking at himself in the mirror, everything began to sway, and he slipped slowly to the floor.. He was out. His wife and daughter couldn't revive him. He spent the night on the bathroom floor. He missed the splendid party, of course, and since that night has never even looked at a daiquiri, much less drink one.

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37. 1969 SAVE THAT BOY!!!!!!!!!

His little boy was only four years old, and had been swimming many times before at the Mel Ott pool with his parents, brothers and sisters, before the family joined the Terrytown Country Club. On the very first day they attended the club, his little son caused excitement and concern.

His dad had jumped into the deep water in the diving pool and looked up and saw his little son run for the diving board. The lifeguard was sitting in his chair high above the pool talking to some girls he was admiring, and who were admiring him. With such mutual admiration going on, the lifeguard wasn't altogether with it, otherwise, he would have stopped the little guy from even getting on the diving board.

His little son, went to the end of the diving board, looked at his dad, and then dove straight out into the pool, straight as an arrow and down. Some man yelled to the lifeguard, "Hey, lifeguard, that little guy just dove into the pool. SAVE THAT BOY."

People looked up from their tables. People who were sitting at tables around the pool looked up, and some people started running over. The lifeguard stood up on his platform, ready to dive in, but before he could his little son surfaced in the water, and with his head down under water, he kicked his feet, and came to his dad. His dad picked him up and hugged him.

"That your boy" said the lifeguard.

"Yep. He sure is. He's mine" said his dad with a big smile on his face.

"He swims like a fish" said the lifeguard turning back to the girls who were ready to admire him some more.

"And flies like a bird" said his dad, as his little son leaped out of the pool and ran to the diving board.

38. 1961 THE BIG SLIDE

The young principal sat in his office at Andrew Jackson School which was located at1408 Camp Street. His hair was cut short in the flat top style, like "The Teach" in the movie, The Blackboard Jungle. His glasses had slid down his nose a little as he talked agitatedly to the parent sitting across from his desk. A teacher came running in from the hall crying out "Come quick, come quick" A boy has fallen from the second floor to the basement. It seemed to him that he ran faster than Superman to get to the boy who lay unconscious on the basement floor. The boy's face was badly bruised and blood was running from his nose. The boy's parents were called and an ambulance. He waited by the boy and helped put him in the ambulance. He was still unconscious.

There was an eight inch banister that ran along the stairs from the third floor to the basement. When the teacher was not aware, the students had the habit of leaning their stomachs on the banister, and sliding down all the way from the top floor to the basement. Evidently, this boy had come down too fast and had flipped over at the turn from the second floor to the basement. Some sort of narrow railing had to be attached to the eight inch banister to keep students from using the banister as a big slide. He vowed to have it done and later he did, but for now his only concern was for the sixth grade boy who may be seriously injured, or maybe even die.

Immediately, after school was over, he went to the hospital, half expecting to find a corpse, but when he walked into the hospital room, there was the boy, his boy, sitting up, talking and laughing with his parents. Here was a boy who had fallen fifteen feet upon his head, on solid concrete, and all he had was a bruised face, no concussion or internal injuries, No broken bones. The young principal sighed with relief. Everyone had told him that kids from the Irish Channel were tough.

39. 1947 SQUISHED WITH LOVE

The house at 4141 Travis Street in Dallas, Texas was small. The house had a kitchen, living room, dining room, one bedroom, and a screened back porch that served as a second bedroom. The porch had canvas drops that were used in the winter time to belay the cold. The living room had a sofa and two chairs. The dining room was just about full with a dining room table and chairs, a china closet, and a side board.

For his twenty first birthday, his mother and dad wanted to give him something special. "What did he want for that great day," they asked. He thought for a minute, and then said that the only thing he really wanted was a desk to do his studies on. He was a freshman at Southern Methodist University at the time.

His mother and dad weren't so sure about a desk. They didn't have a lot of money, and had no idea what a desk cost. Nor did he. They finally decided to give him fifty dollars, and whatever desk he could find for that amount, he could buy.

He looked all over the city of Dallas and finally found the desk he wanted. He found it at an Army Surplus Store. It was one of those types of desks used in offices where the typewriter is bolted to the center of the desk, and when it wasn't being used, the typewriter could be flipped under the desk. It was pretty wide and fairly deep. It had sliding boards on each side, and deep side drawers. It was newly finished. It was beautiful. He loved it, and he got it for fifty dollars. It was a very big desk for his house, though, and he wondered how his mother and dad would take it.

It took two men to deliver it, and they had to struggle to get it through the doorway of that little house on Travis Street, but they managed. Now, no one wants a huge desk in their living room, and his mother, Lillian Mae, was no exception. The only other possible place was the dining room. He realized later, that it must have pained his mother's heart to mess up her dining room with this massive desk in there, but she didn't complain. Not once. Never. Such is a mother's love for her son. That desk sat in the dining room for three years until they moved to another house in North Dallas.

He remembers sitting at that desk on his 21st birthday, and running his hand over its glistening top, loving it, proud of it.

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40. 1948 NELLIE'S FINEST HOUR

Christmas Eve at 4142 Travis Street in Dallas, in the year 1948, was chilly and damp, but not too cold. His brother was away serving one year in the navy, and his mother and father had gone to midnight mass. His uncle Gus, Lillian Mae's brother, was in town at the time, and they had both gone to bed on the back porch. His uncle was asleep on the bed nearest the yard, while he slept on the inside bed, with Nellie his dog under the bed.

Suddenly, Nellie jumps up and runs into the kitchen, barking fiercely, waking him up. He goes into the kitchen and sees that someone is trying to break in the side door. Fortunately, there was a refrigerator in front of the door, blocking it. The burglar didn't know that. He didn't know either that the front door was never locked. There was hardly any crime in Dallas at that time. In fact, for the ten years they lived there, he doesn't remember crime being a factor at all. But this night there was. The burglar could have come right in the front door and made off with all the Christmas presents, which, apparently, he was after. He could have of course, except for Nellie. She kept barking fiercely, and the guy kept pulling at the door trying to open it.

He picked up the phone and called the police, and then went to the back porch and woke up his uncle, who sleeps like a log. He then got a flashlight, put on his coat, and went into the back yard. He looked around the side of the house to see who was trying to break in. Nellie stayed in the kitchen and kept giving the burglar her warning barks.

Outside in the backyard he had the cautious thought of holding the flashlight in his left hand, far away from his body. If the guy took a shot at him, he'd probably shoot at the light. He looked around the side of the house, pointed the flashlight and turned it on. There, impaled in the light was a white guy of about 35 or so, still trying to get that door open. Just then a horn tooted and a car pulled up in front of the house. To the guy trying to break in, it was a signal, for he turned and ran to the car. They must have been casing the houses on the block, make a quick break-in, steal the presents, and hop in the car when it pulled up. As he ran to the car the would be burglar shouted "That's a good little dog you've got there," and then he was gone..

The police never did come. He and his uncle waited up until his mother and dad came back from midnight mass to tell them what had happened. His mother and dad were surprised and alarmed. Dad said that he would get key made the next day. They didn't feel as safe as before. Dad also gave Nellie a special treat of hogshead cheese for being such a good, brave dog.

Finally back in bed, he reached down and gave Nellie an affectionate hug, as she lay sleeping under his bed, with her belly full of hogshead cheese. She was content. He was too. It. was his dog. It was her finest hour.

41. 1951 NELLIE'S FINAL HOUR

He and his brother loved their dog, Nellie. Nellie was brown and beige in color, and about medium size. She was very affectionate and a good watch dog. When he went off to join the Navy in 1944, his parents had given his brother the dog to sort of keep him company. His brother got her as a pup, and named her Nellie. His brother had all the fun of watching Nellie grow up into a wonderful dog. Nellie's years in Dallas is a separate story. This tale is about Nellie's days in New Orleans, and very few days they were. This tale is about her last day, really, about her last hour of life.

He and his brother moved to Dallas in 1951, driving down in their old 1936 Ford, and they took Nellie with them. They moved back into 6019 Dauphine St. The house was hot. The only fan breeze they had was from oscillating fans. It was the summer of 1951. He didn't know if the heat that summer had set a record, but it should have. The change in the humidity between Dallas and New Orleans affected all of them, especially Nellie, who walked around with her tongue hanging out most of the time.

One night he and his brother, along with his mother, had gone in the 1936 Ford to get milk and bread at the bakery on St. Claude Street. They brought Nellie with them. She sat on a little ledge that was in back of the front seats, her nose held up to catch the breeze coming in from the car windows. While their mother was in the bakery getting the bread and milk and some other things she wanted, he and his brother stayed outside in the car with Nellie. A black man passed, and whether it was because she had never seen a black man before, or whether it was the heat, or a combination of both, Nellie stuck her head out the window and barked ferociously at the man as he passed. They had never seen her bard so madly. After the man passed, Nellie continued to bark fiercely, and ran back and forth to either side of the ledge in back of the car. Foaming saliva started coming out from her mouth. The brothers thought it might be rabies. They didn't know then, about a sickness called distemper, that is brought on when a dog is overheated and excited. This is the same sickness that probably killed Zyn, but can the rope around Zyn's neck ever be forgotten. Anyway, they managed to get Nellie out of the car and they put her in the rumble seat in back and closed it tight. She continued to bark fiercely.

When their mother returned to the car, he drove swiftly to Aunt Claire's house which was just a few blocks away. They got Nellie out of the car and into Aunt Claire's front yard, which had a fence. She still had foamy saliva coming out of her mouth. Maybe rabies, they thought once again. Then they thought that maybe she was overheated and needed to cool off. They found a hose and turned it on. Maybe if they could cool her off, she would calm down. They corned Nellie against the fence, and sprayed her with the hose. Nellie must have looked at the two brothers and thought: How could you do that to me? You know I hate being sprayed with water. I loved you so much, and I thought you loved me. She gave one long look at the two brothers, and bolted out the yard and down the street. It was the last glimpse of Nellie they would ever see.

The brothers drove up and down the neighborhood, up one street and down another, for hours, looking for her, all the while trying to hear her barking, but they couldn't find her. The next day they called the SPCA to see if anyone had reported a lost dog. Yes, someone had called in a complaint about a barking dog that had run under his house and would not stop barking. The SPCA had gone out, caught the dog, and put her to death. From the description they gave, the brothers knew it was Nellie. Tests showed that she had distemper. They miss her, and think of her to this day.. They wished they hadn't sprayed her with that hose.

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42. 1938 THE HATLESS KID

There was a football game at City Park Stadium that he wanted to see. He was too young to go by himself, and his mother and dad couldn't take him to the game. The game was on a Sunday afternoon and his parents finally gave their permission for him to go with two older boys. He was twelve, and the older guys were sixteen.

The game was uneventful. He doesn't ever remember it, but something did happen after the game, that he still remembers to this day.

One of the older boys he was with was the trouble maker, the wise guy. He was tall and thin, with an even thinner face. He had a loose mouth and was always yacking about something. It upset him that he couldn't do anything about it, but it upset him even worse because he didn't say anything to this wise ass about it.

They were leaving the stadium after the game. He was walking in front and the two older guys were walking in back of him, when suddenly, someone behind him yelled, "Give me my hat." It was a smaller boy about ten years old who was doing the yelling. The skinny guy said, "Boy, I don't have your hat. What's wrong with you?" The little guy kept jumping up and down and still yelling. "Give me my hat.. Give me my hat." He noticed that the boy was dressed in a cub scout uniform. He looked at the two older boys. Neither one of them had a hat. The little guy must be mistaken. .."Nobody has your hat, boy." said the tall skinny guy. They all walked off out of the stadium. "I'm going to get somebody." cried the boy as he ran off for help.

Well, no one ever caught up with them. They were on the streetcar going home, when the tall skinny guy reached into his shirt and pulled out a little, yellow cub scout hat. The two older guys laughed and laughed. The skinny guy had pulled it off the boy's head when they were passing each other. He didn't tell the big guy what a bastard he thought he was. He should have. He wished he had.

43. 1986 HAVING FUN WITH MOTHER.

One summer day his wife went to Schwegman's to shop. She must have been gone about an hour when he and one of his sons decided to go over and help her.

Once in the store they easily found his wife, but she didn't see them. They watched her leave one basket that was filled to the top with groceries near the soft drinks, and then push her other basket down one of the aisles. They took the basket parked by the soft drinks and moved it down a couple of aisles to a place where she couldn't see it, but they could watch the soft drink area.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, here comes his wife back to the spot where she left her basket. Her eyes went up and she looked all around. She walked to one or two aisles and looked up and down those aisles. She came back by the soft drinks , stood there, and looked around once again. Then she walked off leaving the other basket.

Once again, when she was out of sight, they moved the second basket and hid it with the first basket. Sure enough, in a few minutes, his wife came back, and this time her eyes really lit up. She spun around, looked up and down the aisles quickly, put her hands on her hips, and then charged off to the place to where the cash registers were, every charging step saying that someone stolen her baskets of food.

Enough was enough. They each took a basket and scooted out to catch up with her, while yelling out, "Surprise, Surprise." Recognition dawned, and they all exchanged hugs and kisses. "I should have known" she said. They all laughed.

44. 1957 GOING FISHING

It was early on in their relationship, but far enough along, that she felt she could invite him over to her house for dinner, without making it look like anything serious. He had often told her that he never ate fish because of the bones. He liked to chomp his food freely without feeling around with his tongue and his teeth for bones that might choke him to death if they got caught in his throat.

She and her mother lived in an apartment at 2828 DeSoto Street. It was a beautiful place with white columns, and a porch with a railing. There were huge camphor trees out in front, giving added beauty to this enchanting apartment.

The three of them sat down to an early evening meal, this beautiful girl, her mother, and himself. They carried on an easy chatter and relieved him of any shyness he may have felt. Plates of steaming food were placed on the table. She said proudly to him that this fish she was serving was flounder, and that it had no bones. Skeptical, but taking her at her word, he forked up a huge chunk of fish, put it in his mouth and started chewing. They were both watching him. He felt a little self-conscious as he moved his jaws up and down once, then a second time, and was going for a third chew and then he stopped. The room was so quiet, that if a leaf were falling, the sound of it hitting floor could have been heard. His eyes bulged like fish eyes as he stood, covering his mouth with a napkin. He left the room, hunted for the bathroom and went in. He had four huge bones imbedded in his gums which he removed very carefully.

Later, she told him that there were bones, but only on the edge of the flounder. She didn't think that he would scoop up only the edge of the flounder. They both laughed. It would be improper to say that she had gone fishing for a man with that dinner. Maybe she was and maybe she wasn't, but one thing was sure—— she didn't catch her fish with that cast.

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45. 1983 THE MONEY TREE

His mother would be 81 years old on January 7, 1983. He and his wife and children planned to give her a special gift for her birthday. They had bought a little tree about three feet high, and decorated it with 81 one dollar bills, all neatly tied along the branches with bright red ribbons. It had been a work of love by her grandchildren, her daughter-in-law and her son. Granny, as then called her, was very good to them.

Granny, Lillian Mae, was about five feet, five inches tall. She had the whitest and purest of skin, hardly a wrinkle anywhere for all her 81 years. The most striking thing about her were her light blue eyes that sparkled and shined like rare blue diamonds. Her blonde hair had turned gray and she wore it rather short. She loved to read but her eyesight was going bad. Her son had ordered the large print edition of Readers' Digest for her and she read it avidly, often calling him to share some tidbit from an article she had read.

Granny loved television too. She had her own ideas about the kind of shows to watch. She told him often how much the loved the dramas on channel 12, the public television channel. She had a problem watching television, though, because her hearing was bad, real bad in fact. She had a hearing aid which whistled when she turned it too loud, but some of the time she turned it off, especially if she didn't like what was being said, or when she didn't want to hear anything at all. One good thing about having a hearing aid like Granny is that it can be turned off when there is a lot of noise, and sit there amongst all the commotion in peace.

One of things they enjoyed about Granny, were her "motherisms." That is the name they gave to Granny's pronunciations of things or names for which she did not know the correct pronunciations. They didn't laugh at her, but with her, because she enjoyed her own "motherisms" herself. When president Kennedy was killed she was very sad and deeply moved. She told them that it was one of the saddest days in her life when he was ASS-I-nat-ted. On another occasion she told them that she would never live in a Con-DOM –i-num. Liberache was LOB-i-riche to her. There were many others and they wish they could remember them all.

Granny sat in her big easy chair in her home on Ellen St. in Jefferson when they presented the gift of the tree to her. The grandchildren brought the tree up close to Granny, and with her poor eyesight, she reached out and touched the money with her hand.

"What kind of flowers are these" she said looking at her grandchildren one by one ,looking for an answer. The grandchildren laughed and said, "Look again,.Granny. You'll know what kind of flowers they are." Granny put her eyes closer to the tree and said, ":Why it's money. Money flowers." She laughed and laughed and they all did too. "Happy birthday, Granny."

46. 1957 CRABBING

It was the spring of 1957, a few months after the episode of the bone filled flounder. They had had words with each other, an argument over something that neither one of them could remember. She had come over to his house, and when he opened the front door, she threw a box that was full of all the little gifts he had given her, on the front porch. "You can keep all this stuff" she said, walking off to her car. There are many trials and obstacles to people falling in love, and this incident was one of those trials for two people who were on the verge of sharing their lives together. They had broken up, the shy young man, and the beautiful outgoing young woman, neither wanting to see the other again, or so they said.

A week or so later the young man had to go to the dentist. The problem was that the dentist's office was right across the street from where the beautiful young lady lived. He took care to park his car so that she couldn't see that he was there.

After his dental work was done, he returned to his car. The side of his jaw was numb from the shot. He got into the car and was putting the key into the ignition when he noticed a silver object on the floorboard of the passenger's side. He reached over mumbling to himself, "What the hell?" It was a pot. He took the cover off, and inside were boiled crabs, bright red, and still warm. It was at this precise moment that a body, a lovely body, reared up from the back of the car and yelled, "Surprise! Surprise!" It was the beautiful young woman. She had scared him half to death, and he was still recovering from the shock, but he reached out to her and they embraced. They kissed.

She had gone crabbing, and had caught a bigger crab then she thought. From then on they did all their crabbing together.

47. 1957 THE BIG HAT

It was the summer of 1957 . His younger brother was getting married. He was happy for his brother, but felt a little sad at first. They were good buddies and went everywhere together. This could be the end of their good times going out and having fun.

The wedding would be in June. It would be held in Franklin, Louisiana, the bride's hometown. He and his beautiful one, her mother, and his mother and dad would drive up together. She wore a green dress with a big yellow straw hat that had a green ribbon around the crown. She looked beautiful and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He had to be reminded by the others in the car to keep his eyes on the road. It was a beautiful ride in wonderful weather.

The bride's parents had rented a huge tent for their back yard. The house and yard were decorated exquisitely. He and his beautiful one enjoyed everything, walking around holding hands, talking to people. She wore her big yellow hat all the time, the rim swaying and fluffing in the breeze. Sometimes she had to hold the hat on her head with her hand because of the wind.

They gorged themselves on food and drink. He and his dad drank a few beers together, loosened up with one another, and talked about things they had never talked about before. They were real close, he and his dad. His mother, and his beautiful one's mother, talked a lot and were becoming friends.

On the drive home she held the beautiful hat on her lap. When he dropped her off at her house, she put the hat on again. He looked at her long and hard as she stood there in her green dress and yellow hat. Whenever he thinks of his brother's wedding, he thinks of her that way, with her beautiful smile, her green dress, and her big hat flopping in the breeze.

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48. 1957 HOOKED

The weather this summer of 1957 was beautiful, warm and sunny, the kind of weather he liked. His beautiful one and a group of her girlfriends were spending the weekend in Bay St.Louis. Some of the boyfriends had been invited to visit and go fishing with them on Saturday. He and Marie, her brother Ed, her friend, Lorraine and her boyfriend Mike rented a boat and went out on one of the streams that led into the bay. He didn't go fishing very often but he was enjoying himself immensely, and so was his beautiful one, as well as everyone else in their party. The fish were biting as if they had just come off a Lenten feast. The bait would be in the water just a short while when the cork would zoom down below the surface, and up would come a hooked fish to the shouts and yells of everyone aboard. They would have had a boat full of fish if a tragic — or was it tragic — accident had not occurred.

Lorraine had pulled her rod way back, and was casting out for great distance, but she misjudged, for the baited hook landed not far out, but in her boyfriend Mike's left ear. Hooked him just like a earring going through a pierced ear. The problem was that they couldn't get the hook out. They didn't have any snips or anything else that could cut the hook, and with the barb in the hook, to pull it through would cause great pain and possible damage to the ear lobe. Mike, certainly, was not in favor of that. They had to leave all those beautiful biting fish and head to shore. They had to get Mike to a doctor to get him unhooked and to get a shot to ward off infection. They later got married, and have been married now for many years, but even to this day, every once in awhile they'll tease Lorraine, "Girl, you sure know how to hook your man."

49. 1956 HIS EYES WERE OPENED

He had dated her before but hadn't seen her in about two years or so. She was enrolled in the same class as he was at Loyola University. They were both working on their Masters Degree in Education. There were about forty students in the class, and he hadn't noticed her, at least, not until she had to make her report, as each student was required to do.

She sat on the raised platform behind the desk, and made her report calmly and at ease. Every once in a while her face would light up with a bright smile that made her beautiful blue eyes sparkle and shine. Her long blonde hair hung down to her shoulders and framed her face in just the right way, or so he thought. Her full breasts pushed the fabric of her sweater to the outer limits. She had lost weight since he had last dated her. Why, she was beautiful! He'd have to ask this girl for a date. Would she go out with him after such a long time. He asked. She said yes.

He took her to an opera that was being performed by the Loyola music Department. They arrived at the auditorium at the university a little late and were surprised to find the auditorium empty of people. They were dressed to kill. They walked into the empty auditorium anyway, and as they were about to sit down, someone from the stage yelled out, "The performance is tomorrow night. This is our final dress rehearsal, but you're welcome to stay if you like." They did and they had an enjoyable time. Seeing a rehearsal can be even more interesting than seeing the performance itself. Maybe it was the company that made him feel that way. They talked about many things and got to know one another better. They discovered that they had some things in common. It was the first of many dates and was ultimately, to lead to a permanent one.

50. 1958 THE RED DRESS

He didn't learn until later about the red dress, and then it was too late.

It was a warm night in March and he had a date with his beautiful one, his Marie. They were going to a formal dance. He was to wear a tuxedo, and she was to dress in something special. He called on her early and she opened the door for him. She was breathtaking. Her hair was fixed beautifully, sort of up from her neck, showing off her lovely face and white skin to perfection. Her blue eyes sparkled as she gave him a kiss. Her shoulders were bare, except for two thin straps that held up the most beautiful red dress he had ever seen. She was lovely, lovely, lovely. The dress fitted her like a glove and not one of her luscious curves escaped his detection. Her skin was so white and soft that he felt like tasting her. She was gorgeous. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She pulled away and twirled from him like a shimmering bright red butterfly. He held his breath. He loved her. He was sure of it. The red dress had done it. It was the final jewel in an awesome collection.

That night when they returned to her apartment and were sitting on the sofa, he put his arm around her, and looking into her blue eyes said, "Marie, will you marry me? "She replied, "Yes! Oh Yes." They kissed, and hugged, and talked for the rest of the night, or was it morning. They wondered, now that they were about to join their lives together, what the future would have in store for them.

Much later, she told him that she had bought that red dress for a very specific reason, with a very special wish. That wish had come true.

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51. 1943 RIDE 'EM COWBOY

It was a beautiful spring day. He was a senior at Jesuit High School in Dallas, Texas. Before the school day started, he and his friend Bobby looked up at the five story school building on a prominent hill overlooking Oaklawn Avenue. The building looked too formal, too restricted for such a beautiful day and —— on the spur of the moment they decided to skip school that day.

They went to Bobby's house, which was about six or eight blocks away. He found some eggs in the frige and they ate eggs, bread and milk. Both his parents worked and staying in the house was no problem Still, sitting inside a house on a day like this was no fun, so they decided to take a bus to a stable near the outskirts of Dallas and go horseback riding.

He had never been on a horse before, but Bobby being a native Texan, had ridden a horse many times. The stable boy brought him the biggest horse he had ever seen. He couldn't mount the horse by himself, so the stable boy gave him a boost from the butt up and on. There he was on top of a giant horse. Faking bravado, he took the reins in his hands, squeezed his legs against the horse's sides, and Gidap, Gidap. Surprisingly, the horse moved ahead and followed Bobby's horse until they got to the woods. Once in the woods his horse stopped under the trees and began to eat the leaves from the branches. The horse wouldn't move no matter how hard he squeezed the horse's sides. One time, he must have squeezed extra hard because the horse turned his head around, bared his teeth, and tried to bite him.

When the horse finally made up its mind to move, he trotted off in Bobby's direction. He could see his friend far up the path. The path circled around and crossed a highway before ending at the barn. He saw the highway ahead with cars zooming by every once in awhile. Trotting is terrible. The horse shook his insides to pieces. Suddenly, the horse must have seen the barn, or smelled food or something, for he jolted forward and started galloping. It was all he could do to hold on. He pulled back on the reins with all his might,

yelling Whoa! Whoa!, but that old horse just took the bit in his mouth, put his head down, surged ahead and zoomed across the highway. No cars hit him, naturally, or he wouldn't be writing this at this time. Once near the barn, the horse slowed and walked along as sweet as a lamb. He hopped off the horse as fast as he could, and vowed that he would never ride another horse. When Bobby joined him and asked him how he liked horseback riding, all that Bobby got from him was a grunt.

After the school day was over, he had a job working for his father. Saying goodbye to Bobby at just about the time school ended, he took a bus to his dad's workplace where he typed up whatever needed to be typed. "Hi dad" he said as he walked in and went right to work. Dad said nothing and went right on with his own work. After a few minutes Dad asked, "How was school today?" He answered, "Fine. Fine dad." and went on with his typing. In a harsh, fiery tone Dad said, "I got a call from the principal today."

52. 1956 THE CURIOUS MAILMAN

The summer of 1956 was hot, very hot. His mother' house at 6019 Dauphine Street was not air-conditioned. A big window fan circulated the air. His mother would do anything for him, and she had graciously and willingly let him use the front room of her house, which was empty at the time. The room was empty because the double shotgun house had been converted to a single. The living room was on the other side of the house.

He used that front room to teach phonics to second through sixth grade students to supplement his teacher's salary during the summer months. In addition to teaching students, on one day each week he taught the parents the skills he was teaching their children. He felt that if the parents learned the phonic skills, they would be able to reinforce their child's progress at home.

He would sit in front of a blackboard with the parents sitting in a semi-circle around him. The front door would be open to capture every wisp of breeze. Overweight mothers of every shape and size would be saying ah– eh– ih– oh– uh –bla– ble– bli– blo –blu-sa-se-si-so-su-gri-gro -gru with their mouths wide open shaping the sounds, and their tongueshanging out from the heat.

The parents came each Friday. When the mailman delivered the mail on that day, he would linger on the porch for a minute or two, with his head cocked near the open door, while shaking his head back and forth. As the weeks passed, he couldn't resist his curiosity any more. He stuck his head in the door and said, "Ladies, I've got to know. What is it you all are saying?" When he was told that they were learning phonics. He said with a big grin, "Well ladies, it sounds like the biggest nonsense and gibberish I ever heard," shaking his head as he left, and laughing out loud as he walked down the steps.

His criticism or laughter didn't faze these ladies though. They went right on saying ah – eh – ih – oh - uh etc. etc.

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53 1986 "NO PROBLEM"

Spring comes every year, and it came in 1986 with all the beauty and promise of life that it always does. This spring was special, for they were going to cut down a number of trees in their back yard to make way for the sun. They needed the sun you see because they were having a swimming pool installed that summer, something they had wanted for a long time.

They were going to tackle just one tree this beautiful spring day. He and his wife and one of his daughters looked up at the tree. It was at least thirty or forty feet high, and the top was swaying in the breeze. It was a windy day, a bad day to cut a tree down. "No problem" he told his wife and daughter. They could do it.

The tree was right near the fence separating their yard from their neighbor's yard. It was a redwood fence six feet high. He took a long rope and attached a curved piece of brick to the end of the rope. After a few tosses, he caught the rope around a tree branch near the top, and pulled the rope taut. He got his tree saw and started cutting the trunk about four feet from the ground. He had his wife and daughter stand about thirty feet away and hold the rope as taut as they could. He sawed and sawed and sawed, and then sawed some more until he was three quarters through the trunk. "Come back" his wife called out to him, "It's going to fall." He looked up, and indeed, the tree was swaying. He ran back to them and together they pulled and pulled on the rope as hard as they could but the tree wouldn't fall.. He cut some more and they pulled. The tree wouldn't fall. He cut some more and they pulled. He cut. They pulled. He cut some more and they pulled but the tree wouldn't fall down into their yard.

A strong gust of wind came and suddenly a loud crack, and instead of pulling the tree, the tree was pulling them as it fell, cracking the fence, and falling not into their yard, but into their neighbor's yard, narrowly missing their house and grape arbor. He looked over the fence and surveyed the scene. "No problem" he said.

Luckily, their neighbors weren't home. He and his wife and daughter went into their yard, cut that tree up and hauled it out before their neighbors came home. They learned from that to never cut a tree down on a windy day. It could be a problem.

54. 1949 BOMBS AWAY

It was a hot summer day in 1949. The Travis Street house in Dallas was not air conditioned, and he was sweaty and hot. He had a heavy date and wanted to take a quick bath and get going. His brother was lying on the bed in the back porch bedroom reading a magazine. He got his shorts, socks, and a towel and was soon happily ensconced in a full bathtub of water, singing loudly and happily.

He didn't see the bathroom door open ever so slowly and a hand holding a light bulb, reach in. He heard "Bombs away" and looked up to see a light bulb arching up into the air and coming toward him. He ducked and the bulb hit the side of the tub, breaking, and the glass falling into the tub. He couldn't get out; he couldn't move. He could feel broken glass near his legs, and almost under his butt.

The door began to open slowly again. He reached down for one of his shoes near the tub, and as the second bulb was arched with "Bombs away". He threw his shoe with all his might at the hand hastily retreating. He missed, of course. The shoe had been thrown hurriedly and with such force that it imbedded itself in the sheetrock wall, making a hole that later he would have to hide somehow. The second bulb broke and the glass fell into the tub. He was mad as hell, but after awhile he calmed down, and slowly and carefully began to scrape the glass away from his body and into little piles. After about twenty minutes later he had all the glass out and was able to leave the tub.

He got dressed hurriedly, and looked all over the house and yard for his brother, but he couldn't be found. He was half way to his date's house before he completely calmed down, and even smiled to himself. He had to admit that it was a great prank. His brother had got him good. His brother was one up on him.

55. 1966 THE LITTLE HOBBLER

They had bought a little children's picnic table for the back yard at 412 Bluebonnet Street. It was right next to the big redwood picnic table. When they had lunch or supper in the back yard, some of the kids would play house and sit at their own little table.

One day, his little son, Jo, was playing with some of the other kids in the back yard. His real name was Jerome, but everyone started calling him Jo for short, and it stuck.. Jo was just a little over being one year old, but he had learned to walk early and was really doing very well, at least until the accident. Jo had gotten on top of the little picnic table and had fallen between the top of the table and the slatted seats below. He broke his left leg, not badly (a hairline fracture), but bad enough to need a cast on his leg.

Everyone thought that this would restrict Jo, and everybody was ready to help, to bring him things, or to carry him where he wanted to go. But not Jo. In two days he managed to master the skill of walking with one leg in a cast, and soon he was running around the back yard and outside, moving along almost as fast as he did before. The kids used to tease him and say "Hey crip."He would get mad and chase them, hobbling along with that cast as fast as he could go. He never caught anyone, and although they teased him, the teasers really admired him for being such a game kid, and such a good little hobbler.

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56 1973 AWE STRUCK

Having just bought an Apache trailer, and hoping to go on their first camping trip that summer, the whole family attended a camping show held at the Rivergate in New Orleans in the Spring of 1973. It was their first camping show. They signed up for all kinds of prizes but never expected to win anything. He was very surprised when a few weeks later he received a call informing him that he had won a free one week stay at a new campground in Lake Buena Vista, Florida. Outdoor Resorts was only five miles from Disney World.

On that first camping trip, which lasted eight weeks, they didn't know for sure where they were going, except for one place, Disney World. Winning that week at the new campground was a real bonanza. They arrived at Outdoor Resorts in late June, set up the trailer in this beautiful campground, and then hastily drove the five miles to see Disney World. They couldn't see it, because they couldn't see it. Disney wasn't set up on the main drag like other amusement parks. They learned that you had to go at least three miles along the Disney Highway just to get to the entrance, and even at the entrance you couldn't see the park.

The very next day he, his wife and their eight children (Ed 13, Therese 12, Roxanne 10, Maurice 9, Jerome 7, Jeanne 5, Mary 3, and Julie 1) drove to the entrance, boarded the tram, then boarded a ferry, which left them off at the entrance. They paid their admissions, and then entered Main Street in Disney World and have been entranced with its magic ever since. They were awed and are still awed after having returned many times, but there is nothing like seeing it for the first time. They went on a many rides as they could (using A, B or C tickets for rides). They ate, drank, and walked and walked and walked everywhere, pushing Julie in the stroller with Mary standing on the back. They got there at ten in the morning and didn't leave until one the following morning. They stayed for the fireworks at midnight and afterwards ate a late night ice cream cone, played in the penny arcade, and caught the last showing of the Disney story. Sleepy and tired they boarded the ferry, boarded the tram, boarded the station wagon and headed for "home."

57 1983 LAST CALL FOR JURY DUTY

It was a bright, sunny day, and he had a week off from his duties at Habans School. He wasn't completely free however; because he had to serve a week on jury duty., a whole week waiting to be called to serve as a juror. Reporting on Monday he had to stay in the jury room all the way until Friday. He was taking a class at UNO at the time and he had a class scheduled for Wednesday and a final exam on Friday –both at four o'clock. There were at least a 150 prospective jurors waiting in this huge room. Some people read the newspaper or books. Some people even formed a group and played cards. It was very boring to have to sit and wait and wait.

He waited through Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and all day Friday without being called. He spent all the time studying for his final exam. They had to wait until four o'clock every day unless they were dismissed early. During all this time his name was never called. Never called that is, until three o'clock Friday afternoon. Oh no, he said to himself. Why did they wait until the last minute to call me, I have my exam. He went up to the receptionist and told her his problem. She was real snotty, even hostile. "I'm sorry, but your name has been called and you have to serve. He was adamant and said, "Look, I have to take this exam. If I don't take it I'll fail the course." She looked at him with cold eyes and said, "Judges don't like to do this, but you can fill out this form and I'll have someone bring it to the judge. He might excuse you, but I doubt it." He filled out the form and she had someone deliver it. He must have waited about ten minutes with red ants in his shorts, until the request form was returned. The receptionist took it, looked at it, and then looked at him with surprise in her eyes. "You're excused." she said, and seemed sorry that I was. It broke up the routine as she knew it. He must have been a kindly old judge. Whatever, he hustled out and knew that as soon as his exam was over, he was free for the weekend, and it was Spring.

58 1957 SMOKING KISSES

He never would have gone back to smoking if it hadn't been for his girlfriend. He never was what he considered to be a heavy smoker. He had smoked about a pack of Pall Mall a day, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. That was before the uproar about cigarettes being bad for a person. He had not smoked for about four months now and he thought he was doing very well. The urge to smoke did not come on to him very often. He had quit outright as a test of his will and he was succeeding very well. He was winning the battle and would have won the war if it hadn't been for his girlfriend. She smoked and wouldn't or couldn't stop.

His fall came when he was out on a heavy date with this good looking, beautiful woman. They had come back to her mother's apartment after a night on the town and were sitting on the sofa in the living room. The lights were low; sweet music was playing, and she looked at him lovingly as she smoked her cigarette. She held the cigarette to her red lips and took a big drag, inhaling deeply, just before he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. She sighed and exhaled the smoke, but the smoke came through HIS nose. He felt the pleasure of smoking once again, along with the pleasure of a luscious kiss. They laughed over the incident, but kissed once more the same exact way, and then again, and then many more, He was hooked — on this lovely woman— and once more on the weed.

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59. 1951 BACK TO THEIR ROOTS

He and his brother returned to New Orleans to live in June of 1951. He had completed one year of teaching at Letot Elementary School in Dallas. His brother had quit college and gone to work at the Dallas Medical Clinic. They were happy in Dallas and moved mostly on impulse. He was twenty five and his brother was twenty one. It was a big step, a big change in their lives. Their parents had just bought the new house on Dickerson Street a year ago, after living nine years at 4142 Travis Street.

One reason they moved, they supposed, was to be on their own, to get an apartment and swing a little. They were a little old to still be living with their parents. However, they hadn't reckoned on mother and dad. They didn't want their sons to go. When they persisted, dad said that he was going to get a transfer from his job back to New Orleans to be with them. He did.

They left alone, however. He, his brother, and their dog, Nellie, drove away from Dallas on a bright summer day. They loaded everything in their 1936 Ford they had bought in January for $95.00. It was a relaxing trip. They didn't go over 45 miles an hour. They took turns driving, just sat back, and let other cars whiz by them. Nellie laid on a little ledge behind the front seat, her eyes sparkling, and her mouth open catching the breeze.

They went to Galveston and spent a day there. Nellie took to the surf as much as they did. She ran into shore when the waves came up to her and then run back out to wait for another wave. He and his brother body surfed and tanned themselves. It was a beautiful day that stays in mind, in memory. A butterfly caught.

They arrived in New Orleans and drove to their parents' house at 6019 Dauphine Street. It was in a rundown condition and would require a lot of work. Gone were dreams of an apartment. They would be staying with mother and dad and working on the house.

They missed Dallas already.

60. 1966 A TRICYCLE RIDE

She was a doll. She was five years old with long blonde hair down to her shoulders, and beautiful blue eyes. She was an outgoing child and made her parents, her big brother, her little sister, and her two little brothers laugh with her antics around the house. She lived with her family at 412 Bluebonnet Street, a mostly undeveloped subdivision in Gretna.

This little doll had one problem that scared her parents half to death. The first time it happened they were frantic. When this little one didn't get her way she rebelled. She would scream and carry on, hold her breath while her little hands curled up into claws, and then she would pass out. They had called, the doctor. He told them not to worry. She couldn't hurt herself by holding her breath. The best thing to do was just to wait until she came to. Maybe so, but they were worried every time it happened.

He didn't think about her problem at all one summer day when he took his oldest son and his oldest daughter for a tricycle ride. He walked with them as they rode along the sidewalk to Stumpf Street. Nearby was the wooded area that was later to become Holmes Blvd. It was an area full of trees with a walking path through it. It would be cool there and would be an adventure for the little ones to ride their bikes through the woods. They had a great time calling out to one another as they rode along. There was a light breeze, leaves were falling and birds were singing. He was having fun with his two little ones.

The problem began when they had gone about a block or so and were cutting back out of the woods. His little daughter didn't want to go. She yelled and screamed, held her breath, clawed up, and passed out. He was lucky to have caught her before she fell. He picked up his limp little daughter and carried her in one arm, and held the tricycle in the other. His son pedaled merrily along. As they left the woods he saw a group of women standing on the sidewalk looking at him. As he approached them one woman after the other posed questions, "We heard those screams. What happened.?" "Is that little girl all right?" "What did YOU do?" They may have thought he was trying to kidnap them or something. He explained to these women, as best he could what her problem was, and then walked off. He could feel their eyes on his back as he carried his little limp daughter back to the safe haven of her home.

61. 1949 CREAMED

It was a warm summer day in Dallas. He and his brother were both at home. He was four years older than his brother, and could whip the hell out of him when he was little, but it was a different story now that they were both in their twenties. They were both about the same size and weight. They teased and aggravated each other, they wrestled and they fought. It was a pretty even match.

This particular day his brother was asleep on the cot on the back porch of their house. He was snoring and his mouth was wide open. Just a few weeks ago his brother had bombarded him with light bulbs while he was in the bathtub. An idea came to him. He would even the score.

He hunted up a book of matches and very slowly and very quietly he stuck the sulfur head of the match into his brother's shoe. He found a tube of shaving cream and very carefully, very, very carefully pushed about an inch of cream onto the tongue of his brother's open mouth. He took a match and lit the end sticking out of his brother's shoe. He took safety in the doorway, ready to take flight, but waiting to watch the match burn down. The sulfur part of the match ignited and burned deep. His brother jumped up howling and pulled his shoe off, and then he swallowed the shaving cream and made a sound something like 00UUUGGGGG!. His face contorted as if he had swallowed a whole lemon. His brother put it all together when he saw him standing in the doorway laughing to split his sides. His brother jumped up, chased him all over the house and into the yard, but his brother didn't catch him.

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62. 1965 BOMBARDMENT (HURRICANE BETSY)

Hurricane Betsy devastated New Orleans in the Summer of 1965. Betsy was an unusual storm. It came into the Gulf of Mexico in September and headed straight for New Orleans. He and his brother had a feeling about this storm and they agreed that if the storm continued on this same path they would book adjoining rooms in the St. Charles Hotel.

Betsy fooled everyone. The storm turned completely and went over the Florida Peninsula into the Atlantic Ocean. The people of New Orleans breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. After a few days in the ocean, Betsy turned again, came back over the Florida, took aim at New Orleans and hit it dead center, with the eye of the storm coming right over the city. His brother thought the storm might swerve and backed out of a room at the hotel, but he followed through and booked a room at the St. Charles. He really had no choice. He had four little children ages 7,5,3 and 1. His wife was pregnant with another child and was due for delivery in two weeks or so. He didn't want to get flooded in Terrytown, which flooded it seemed with every few drops of rain. He didn't want to be flooded out and have his wife call out "Take me to the hospital. The baby is coming!"

In the St. Charles Hotel room he had his pregnant wife Marie, his mother Lillian Mae, his mother-in-law Amelia, and his four kids, Ed, Therese, Roxanne and Maurice. They were on the fifth floor and they thought they would be safe in the hotel, that everything would be nice and quiet while the storm raged outside. They were wrong. All night long there were tremendous thumps on the floor above, huge, noisy thumps. The ceiling shook and many times it seemed as if something would break through. They heard glass breaking and shattering. They were all scared. It was a hectic night with everyone jittery.

By morning when the storm was over, he went up the stairs to see what could have been all that thumping noise on the floor above. To his amazement there was no floor above his, but the roof of an addition that had been added to the hotel. The roof was covered with lumber of all sizes, bricks, broken glass and all kinds of debris. Even worse, across from the roof of this extension to the hotel was a large metal tower held up with guy wires. This tower could have easily been cut free by the ferocious wind and fallen on the roof, killing everyone within the rooms below. They had been fortunate and thanked God. They learned, also, that a hotel is not always the best place to be during a hurricane.

63. 1967 THE SWAYING PALM (HURRICANE CAMILLE)

Two years after Hurricane Betsy struck New Orleans in 1965, another hurricane threatened the city, Hurricane Camille. All the data said it was heading straight for New Orleans, and once again he took his growing family to stronger shelter than that afforded by their little house in Terrytown. For Betsy they had stayed at the St. Charles Hotel, but for Camille they were going to stay at his wife's aunt's house, which was old and strong, and had weathered many hurricanes.

The youngest son born to Base Ten had just missed being born in the midst of one of the worst hurricanes to hit New Orleans. Jerome was born on September 20th, just ten days after Betsy struck on September 10th, 1965. Now his wife was pregnant with another baby (soon to be baby Jeanne), and another storm was roaring in from the Gulf.

Marie, Amelia, Lillian Mae, ED III, Therese, Roxanne, Maurice & Jerome were with him a they encamped at 2828 De Soto Street. This was Marie's mother's apartment and it was the front half of Marie's aunt's house. They were all snuggled in on beds, sofas, and in sleeping bags. They were all safe and sound, ready to wait out the storm. The wind was Screeching and blowing outside. The house shook a little but stood firm. Hurricanes must have been second nature to this old house.

It was about midnight when he woke up, and went to look out a window to see how things were going. Up above him, bending down until it almost touched the roof of the house was a gigantic palm tree. It swayed back and forth with its huge fronds doing a dance in the sky. The thought came to him that this huge palm tree could snap and maybe fall through the roof. He woke everyone up and had them take their sleeping bags, covers, pillows etc. and put them under the dining room table, giving at least some protection if the roof should come crashing down. That's how they spent the night, all nine of them, cramped and crowded, cowering from the swaying palm.

Camille missed New Orleans by about 50 miles, but caused catastrophic damage along the Mississippi coast. They all went out on the porch the next morning to look at the swaying palm, but it wasn't swaying now. It was standing there, as quiet, as still, and as straight as you please.

64. 1971 THE LUSTY BEE

It was in the summer of 1971 that one of the strangest incidents in the life of their family occurred. He and his wife were both at home for the summer, one of the joys of the teaching life. The children were scattered around the house and the yard, playing, reading or watching television. SUDDENLY, the air was rent by a tremendous scream that continued on and on, rising shrilly. He and his wife ran around madly trying to find the source, and then little Jerome came running into the house. "It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!" he screamed over and over." Where? Where does it hurt?" his mother asked. "Here! Here!" as he grabbed his private parts.

Always a modest person, his wife picked up her child, shooed the other children away and carried her son into the bathroom. He, of course, followed his wife. She stripped off Jerome's clothes and there exposed for them to see, was his little penis, all of one inch long, which was stiff and hard, and pointing straight out. The head of his penis was red and swollen and there was a little indentation in the skin.

His wife was amazed and so was he. He didn't know what his wife thought, but he felt that his son may have started early, had certain feelings, and not able to get release. Hence, the pain. His wife took little Jo by the shoulders and asked, "What happened down their son?" Scared, he replied, "I think a bee bit me there." She raced to the phone and called the doctor, "A bee bit my son on his penis....don't laugh, doctor. It's not funny. He is in great pain and his little penis is hard as a rock." She was directed to lay her boy on his stomach in some water in the bathtub. She did, and in about twenty minutes his little penis went down and he stopped crying. The excitement was over and things began to stabilize. But outside, those bees were still flying around, and one of them at least, was very selective where he or she stung ——–one sexy, lusty bee.

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65. 1942 SHORTCUT

The family moved from El Paso, Texas to Dallas, Texas in the summer of 1942.His dad made the move to be closer to New Orleans, a city they loved. They all lived in an apartment at first, for about a month, but then settled in a cute little house at 4142 Travis Street. The house was small but adequate for their needs. . There were two huge sycamore trees in front of the house, and these trees which were wide and towering gave a luscious beauty to the place.

He and his brother were promptly enrolled in school. His brother was enrolled in the eighth grade at the elementary school, and he was enrolled as a senior at the newly opened Jesuit High School.

The first few days that they walked to school they were worn out by the time they got there, and just as tired when they walked home after school. It must have been a mile or more walking up Travis St. to Fitzhugh to Oaklawn where the schools were located. Another way they could walk to school was to go up Travis St. to Blackburn to Oaklawn, but this was even longer. He and his brother sweated out the long Fitzhugh route until someone told them about the shortcut. The shortcut passed through another world that they didn't realize was nearby.

All the land on Travis Street was flat. Fitzhugh Street had a fairly steep incline, and Blackburn Street an even steeper incline. The shortcut took Turtle Creek Drive which angled off to the left from Fitzhugh Street. The street angled down, deep down and houses along the way looked like mansions. There were cliffs along the way, and a beautiful creek, named Turtle Creek, that meandered through the property. Right across from the creek, off across the empty fields were their schools. Going this way they found that the school were only about four blocks from their house. It was the best of shortcut and was a beautiful walk. They went that way to school every day, and learned to love it, sometimes taking time to sit on one of the cliffs, and wonder at the magic of this place, which seemed hidden away from the rest of the world.

66. 1939 THE FANCY BIKE

The days were long and the days were hot this summer in New Orleans. It was 1939. If the guys in the St. Maurice neighborhood had their way, they would go swimming in the Mississippi River every day, but they knew it was dangerous, and to tell the truth they were a little scared, but every once in awhile they couldn't resist.

One day his friend Snake came over to his house riding a fancy bike. It was his rich cousin's bike and was the envy of every kid in the neighborhood. It was loaded with chrome. It had a headlight, a horn that blew when you pressed a button on the handle bars, it had a leather seat, and leather covered back stand that could carry a second rider. It had a built in lock right behind the front wheel. The key stayed in the lock when someone was riding the bike, but when the bike was not in use, the wheel was turned sideways, the key was removed and the bike was locked.

Snake wanted to go swimming, so they both rode the fancy bike to the river. Snake parked the bike on the river levee, locked it, and put the key in his top pocket of his shirt. They walked out to the very end of the pilings that extended out into the river. They stripped down to their birthday suits, being careful to hang their clothes on nails that stuck out from the pilings. They dove in, swam and splashed around, and then laid in the sun for about an hour. They dried off as best they could and began to put on their clothes. Snake swung his shirt around to put it on and out flopped the key. It fell in the water and sank swiftly. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" Snake cried out. He was besides himself. Frantic, there was no hope of getting the key, and without the key the bike wouldn't roll. They carried the bike to his mother's house at 6019 Dauphine and put it in the garage.

Now Snake's cousin lived about three miles from his house Snake cousin's dad was superintendent of the sugar refinery. That's why they had so much money and could afford to buy such an expensive bike. Anyway, Snake's cousin wasn't too happy about what they had done and he wanted his bike back pronto. He and Snake told his rich cousin that they weren't about to carry that heavy bike three miles to his house. They finagled a big sugar cart from his cousin's dad. This cart was large with big three foot wheels. They pushed it all the way to the house on Dauphine Street, put the bike in the cart, and rolled it all the way back to his cousin's house near the sugar refinery. The rich kid had a locksmith fix his bike and he rode it once again around the neighborhood

He can have his fancy bike. Give me a regular old bike anytime.

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67 1948 SURPRISE HITTER

They were friends of his brother. Most of the friends he had in Dallas had drifted away after the war and he was glad to go with these other guys when they had something planned. It was the summer of 1948 and his brother's friends wanted to play softball. They all piled into four or five cars and headed for an open field in North Dallas.

He was four years older than most of his brother's friends. He was 22 and they were 17 or 18. Many of these guys were bigger and stronger then he was. He was average size and strength and so was his brother.

The open field they picked had a row of houses behind the field. The house that was behind what would be center field was two stories tall and the roof was high pitched.

Teams were picked. He, being unknown to most of the guys, was picked last. He was an unknown.. They put him last in the batting order, a place reserved for that player considered to be the weakest hitter.

Before the game began it was decided that anyone who hit the roof of the house behind center field would have an automatic home run. That house was a long distance from home plate and the furthest spot that the ball could be hit. A number of batters came close, but none hit the roof of that house. He came to bat, tried too hard, and grounded out, an act expected of the supposedly weakest batter. That expectation showed in the eyes of his brother's friends. He had to loosen up, he told himself, and he did.

The second time up he caught the ball solidly, with a straight follow through, and a quick flick of the wrists. The ball sailed straight and true up toward the sky and arched down to pound itself on the roof of the two story house in center field. He hit it on top of the roof again his second time at bat, and once again the final time around; three times in all. He was the only one. There was surprise in the eyes of his brother's friends. He felt good.

68 1945 WHIDBY ISLAND

After boot camp in San Diego, and in Memphis ,Tennessee six months training to learn the Morse Code and become a radio operator, six weeks training in Purcell, Oklahoma learning gunnery skills, and a six weeks stay in Beauford, South Carolina where daily flights were taken to put the radio and gunnery skills in practice, he was given a 30 day leave to visit his home, before being sent overseas. He took a train to New Orleans and spent a couple of days with his aunts at 607 Caffin Avenue, and then went on to Dallas where he had one of the most relaxing, wonderful months of his life. It was hard to leave, even harder to believe that he would soon be flying over the Pacific Ocean in a plane that was dropping bombs on the Japanese forces. He said his good-byes with kisses and extra strong hugs. He was only 19 years old and hoped he would be one of the lucky ones to come home to the joys of family life.

Arriving at a navy air base near San Francisco, the crew he was with settled into a routine that lasted about two weeks. They attended orientation meeting to learn what they might expect in the days ahead. They were told to have all their gear packed and to be ready to board ship at a minute's notice.

Time dragged on into the second week and still was no call to leave. One day late in the second week, while he read his pocket book in the block long chow line outside the cafeteria, a sailor comes running up with a newspaper in his hand, shouting 'We dropped a super bomb on Japan. It's called the atomic bomb." The guys in line all yelled out and cheered. Lunch wasn't forgotten though. They all waited in line for their chow. Another super bomb was dropped on Japan a few days later, causing Japan to surrender. The last phase of World War II was over.

At first the top brass didn't know what to do with the hundreds of air crews scheduled to go overseas. It was finally decided to send them to Whidby Island, Washington. There, it seemed as if they didn't know what to do with these air crews. They were to be there about six months, and had a life of ease compared to what they could have been going through. The crews mustered in the morning and then they were on their own. They couldn't leave the base, but they spent their time playing cards, ping pong or reading. The main trouble with this base was the rain. It rained almost every day. The fields were so soggy wet all the time that board walks covered the entire base. To go anywhere on the base the boardwalks had to be used. If not, boots and clothes would be covered with mud. There was a movie theater in one of the barracks and every night a different movie was shown. During his stay at Whidby he must have seen close to a hundred movies. What a life!

The crews alternated and every other week they had liberty. The base was near Seattle and Vancouver, Canada. He knew nothing at that time in his life about the natural wonders that were nearby, places like the National Parks, or Lake Louise which wasn't that far. He didn't know about Victoria off the coast of Vancouver where he could have made a great visit. All he and his buddies knew that both in Seattle and Vancouver there was booze and girls, and that is what they did whenever they had liberty. They would drink the booze and hunt up the girls. There were so many sailors in Seattle and Vancouver that sometimes it seemed there weren't enough girls to go around. So, he and one of his friends looked at a map and found a town that was about 50 miles inland, east of Vancouver. The town was Chilliwax.They got on the highway and started hitch hiking. One thing about the war, hitch hiking was easy. Just about everyone would pick up a service man in uniform. When they got to Chilliwax, they were the hit of the town. The town seemed loaded with girls who had never seen a sailor in uniform. It had been a great idea to come to this town. The girls were all over them, talking, laughing, asking questions, flirting. He and his friend had a great time. The only problem was that they had to be back at the base by 7:00 A.M., hitch hiking all the way. They left reluctantly, with hugs and kisses from these Canadian girls.

About three months into their stay at Whidby Island, the crews were told that they would be flying their PV Ventura medium bombers to Oklahoma where a plane grave yard was being set up. His crew went on one of those trips, and on this flight, he had one of the best times of his life. He still has to catch that butterfly.
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69 1940 THE WARRIOR

It was a beautiful summer day. Hot, the way he liked it, the hotter the better. The hot summer days had always appealed to him. This summer of 1940 was no exception.

To enjoy this beautiful summer day, he and a group of the guys decided to ride their bikes to the Slips, a dock for the banana boats that came up the Mississippi River, and for the first time to go beyond the slips, even further up the river. They rode along the river levee where they could see the huge ships going up and down this mighty river. The guys were all about 14 or 15 years old.

It was a beautiful ride along the river to the Slips. They watched the dock workers unloading bananas, and then for the first time, rode their bikes around the slips to where the river levee continued on the other side. They had never done this before. They rode for a mile or two, enjoying the view, and being cooled by the gentle river breeze.

Suddenly, as they rode around a bend in the river, they came upon a black man in a rowboat out in the river. He was sitting out there alone, fishing in the hot sun. He was about ten yards out in the river. Sitting on the levee was a black teenager. He was just sitting there watching the man in the boat. He was about our age or older. He had on only a pair of shorts, and his black skin glistened in the sun. One of the five guys in our group, foolishly, picked up a rock and threw it at the man in the boat. Stupid! Stupid! He was shocked that one of his friends would do this.

The black boy sitting on the levee stood up and yelled at us. He stooped down and picked up a long thin object that rose up taller than he was. One of our guys yelled, "He's got a spear." The black boy yelled fiercely, and once again yelled fiercely as he came running towards us holding the spear in a position that looked like he meant to throw it at us. He looked like a warrior coming to do battle. One of our guys yelled out, "Let's get out of here."

They wheeled their bikes around and rode like crazy, one guy trying to pass the other. It is a wonder they all didn't fall down in a heap. As they rode they glanced back from time to time. The black guy ran like a warrior all right. He was not only keeping up with them, but seemed to be gaining on them. He held that spear upright as if he was taking aim. In fact, he cornered them at the Slips, as they rode under the sheds. They stopped and he stopped. They saw that the spear was really a long, thick fishing pole. Everyone was breathing hard and there was an ominous silence. He held them all at bay, with his cane spear raised in his hand. .

The tense situation was saved when one of the men workers at the slips came up on us. He asked the boy with the cane spear what was his problem. When he learned the situation, he told the black boy to be on his way. He left. The worker turned to them and he said, "Get the hell out of here and never come back." They never did.

70 1952 THE FROG

He doesn't remember the exact date of his "blind" date. He remembers the year. It was 1952, the year that General Eisenhower was running for president, and the day he paid a visit to New Orleans. He was teaching at Howard Elementary School at the time, and his brother was working at the Henderson Sugar Refinery. They planned to go see General Eisenhower parade down Canal Street, and then go to the Municipal Auditorium to hear him speak. His brother was going with a lovely girl, and he asked his brother to ask his girlfriend to get him a blind date for the event.

A teacher at Howard School had gotten married on the same day of the Eisenhower visit, and he had gone to the late afternoon wedding and then to the receptions that was held somewhere on St. Charles Avenue. His brother was going to pick up his girlfriend, and then his blind date, and then meet him at the reception.

He was enjoying his second glass of champagne at the reception, when a teacher came up to him and said that there was a phone call for him. He was surprised. He found the phone, picked up the receiver and heard his brother say, "Man, you don't want me to bring this girl, your date for tonight over to the reception. She's the worst." "Oh come on, brother, it can't be that bad." "I'm telling you; she's the pits." "What does she look like?" he asked. "She looks like nothing you've ever seen. She has a pimply, ugly face with a wide, wide spreading nose. She wears little round, granny glasses. She has real narrow, skinny shoulders and hips wide as a barrel." His brother convinced him that to bring this girl to the reception would be a disaster. They decided to meet at the auditorium where Ike was going to give an outdoor speech.

When they met at the auditorium, he saw that everything his brother had told him was true. When he was introduced, he could hardly understand what she said to him. It sounded like she said that she was pleased to meet him, but it all came out like "Croeesed goo Croaseet groauu. Her voice sounded like she had swallowed a frog and the frog was trying to speak instead of her. Her voice had a deep sound, too, like a tuba. He looked at his brother, and his brother's eyes told him that he had forgotten to mention her voice. His brother raised his eyebrows, and he raised his shoulders in resignation.

They spent the night, hiding and croaking in the trees around the auditorium trying to get a glimpse of Eisenhower. He didn't want anyone to see him with this girl. He had been on many blind dates, and all of the girls he had met on these dates were pretty and fun, but on this blind date he had struck out.

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71. 1945 FIRST FLIGHTS

Beaufort, South Carolina had a beautiful air base not far from the Atlantic Ocean. He was sent there from Purcell, Oklahoma with a hundred other guys. He was a Radioman 3rd class and he had received his radio and radar training at Memphis, Tennessee, while completing his gunnery training at Purcell, Oklahoma. It was the Spring of 1945. They were sent to Beaufort to put all their skills together while in flight. He was 19 years old and had never been up in an airplane before.

The airplane they were to fly in was a medium sized bomber named the PV-Ventura. It had two large engines and what looked like large finger nails sticking up on either side of the tail. The older guys on the base cheered up the new guys by letting them know that the plane was nicknamed the "flying gas can." This was true. In fact, the second day after they arrived on base, a Ventura had crashed while landing and had burst into flames. The crew had been badly burned and one man was killed.

These first flights were made to determine if the crew could adjust to air flight without succumbing to air sickness. They were given paper bags in case they had to vomit, not the pilots of course. They had already proved their air worthiness. These planes were not that big, and he learned soon enough that they bounced up and down when they hit air pockets. Those crewmen who repeatedly got sick were shipped out to some other duty.

On his first flight he held tightly to an overhead bar. He adjusted to the lift and drop of the plane. He didn't get sick, and soon he overcame his fear. He began looking out the windows at the clouds, and then the ground and the water below. It was exhilarating. He was flying.

Each plane had a crew of five: pilot, co-pilot, machinist, ordinance man, and a radioman. Each person had an important responsibility. They all knew that it wasn't a game that they were rehearsing for a match with death.

His crew took about twenty practice flights, and he became at ease, enjoying each flight more and more. One flight he remembered in particular. They had to fly back and forth out to sea and then track in to different points on land. With permission from the pilot, he spent more than an hour in the tail of the plane, lying on a transparent plastic glass, watching the waves and the surf as they came up over land. It was the first time he had seen surf from high up. That flight was one of their last flights. Their training was over. They were given a month's leave to go home, before reporting to an air base near San Francisco, California.

72. 1939 TOOT TOOT TOOT

This was a great year for those of us who lived at 6019 Dauphine St. It was the year his dad bought a 1934 Chevrolet automobile. He took his wife Lillian Mae and his two sons for rides around the city, to the park, to the lake, and other places. He was very observant as to how his dad drove the car. He watched how he shifted the gears, and how he used his foot to push down the clutch, and how slowly he let the clutch up. He told himself that he could do that if he had the chance. The great thing about this car was that it had the best horn he had ever heard. It wasn't part of the original car, but had been added by the previous owner. It had three red buttons and was mounted on the dashboard. Each button when pressed made a different sound, and you could press the buttons back and forth and make the best sound a kid ever heard. His dad used it sparingly, but he knew if he ever had the chance, he would make music with that horn.

His chance came one summer day. He doesn't remember why his mother wasn't there, because she would never leave three kids alone in the house without her being there. He was home with his brother who was nine, and his cousin who was ten. He was thirteen. His dad didn't take the car to work, and he knew where he kept the keys to the car. This idea of taking car keys was something that was to get him in trouble later on, but not this time. Except for one mishap the escapade went perfectly.

"You guys want to go for a ride?" "Yeah" they said, like little kids do. They went out to the garage and got in the car. He had no trouble starting the car, but when he looked back and saw what he had to do, he doubted if he could do it. The garage was at the back of the house and there were two cement strips going out to the street. There was only a foot of clearance from the fence on one side and a foot from the house on the other side. He doesn't know how he did it, but with the help of the kids, one at a window on either side, he slowly backed the car out to the street. It wasn't smooth, sort of bucking back. The clutch gave him trouble.

Once in the street things went more smoothly. When he was about a block or so from the house, driving real slowly, he started blowing the horn. Toot a toot a toot tah too tee toot to tooooooooot. The kids climbed over the front seat and they blew the horn. The car was moving slowly still as he turned a corner. He was on a straight away now with no other cars on the street. He picked up speed and went about three blocks and turned a corner. He didn't realize that he had to slow down when turning and he took the corner at full speed. The car almost tilted on two wheels before it straightened out. He had gotten pale as a ghost after that turn. He looked at the two kids and they were real quiet and as white as he was. Subdued, not even; blowing the horn, he drove slowly home, got the car back in the garage, and put the keys back where they should be.

Shortly afterwards his mother came home. "I was delayed. I didn't mean to leave you all alone. Have you all been good?" "Yes," they said in unison, almost too eagerly.
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73 1973 LUCY

Their children ranged in age from one to thirteen. As a surprise for them they gave them a puppy for Christmas 1973.

The neighbors next door had a dachshund named Snoopy. She was a beautiful dog, friendly and gentle. They all called Snoopy the "weenie"" dog, because she was so long and so close to the ground, sort of funny looking, but her face captured their heart. A dachshund's face is long and thin with a slender nose, and has the saddest eyes. A friend of their neighbor had a dachshund that was having a litter and they got one of their little pups for the kids.

Another neighbor kept the pup Christmas Eve during the day, and that night when all the kids were asleep they put the pup in the doll house in the back yard. On Christmas morning the children were told that they had to look for their surprise gift. When they finally found their gift, the children could hardly contain themselves, jumping up and down and shouting.

They named her Lucy. She was solid black with mournful eyes. Lucy was the friendliest, most affectionate, laziest dog in the whole world. She would climb on their lap and lay there for hours if they would let her. She loved to chase bicycles and motorcycles, barking like crazy, her short, little legs flying one after the other. She never snapped or bit anyone, although once, when a plumber, a huge giant of a man, walked into the house, Lucy, went up to him and grabbed him by the ankle, and opened her mouth around it. The man's ankle was so big, Lucy couldn't close her jaws. The plumber laughed and laughed as they took Lucy away from him.

Lucy lived with them for many years, bringing them much joy and happiness. She got heart worms in her later years, and although treated for it, she died quietly one night while lying on the floor in the living room, lying there quietly while the family watched television. She didn't moan or make a sound of any kind. When they went to pick her up and realized she was dead, the tears flowed. Lucy is buried in the back yard near the magnolia tree.

74. 1943 THE KNIT SHIRT AND THE PIG STAND

He remembers the shirt to this day. It was a knit shirt his mother had bought for him. It was made of large knit white circles with a green knit band around the collar. He loved it from the moment he got it and wore it often.

On a beautiful fall night in 1943 he wore that shirt when he went out with his friend Bobby to the Pig Stand, a hangout for teenagers and young adults on Oaklawn Avenue in Dallas. They often took their dates there but that night they went there alone. The place had a long bar in the front and a long row of booths against the wall across from the bar. There was a larger room in the back with more booths. The place was easy to find because outside was a big, neon lit pink pig with flashing lights saying The Pink Pig.

That night in October, he and Bobby were sitting at a booth in the back room enjoying a few beers, when three guys sitting in a booth across from them started making insulting remarks to them. Neither group was feeling any pain. Everybody was a little high. Two of the guys in the other group were about his size. The third guy was larger, just a little bit shorter then Bobby who was about 6"1". Their insults grew worse and Bobby asked them if they wanted to step outside. All of them walked out of the Pig Stand to the back parking lot.

The big guy from the other group walked first with him behind. The two smaller guys were behind him, just in front of Bobby. The big guy turned around suddenly swinging his fist to "cold cock" him. If that fist had landed he would have had a broken nose and some missing teeth. The big guy had grabbed his shirt when he turned and ripped the shirt down to the belt buckle. Stepping aside at the last second, the blow missed, and he grabbed the big guy around the neck with his left arm and kept hitting him in the face with his fist as they fell to the ground. He heard the big guy grunt a couple of times. He looked up and saw Bobby fighting the two smaller guys at the same time. Bobby was dancing and bobbing and weaving while the two smaller guys kept dancing away from Bobby's fists. Bobby had just landed some good blows, and he had just made the big guy grunt louder than usual when he landed a good blow to his face, when two men came, broke them up and kept them separated.

They jawed at each other for awhile and then the three guys left, telling Bobby and him that they would meet them at the Pig Stand the next night.

When they had gone he looked at his favorite knit T-shirt. It was ripped to pieces. How could he go home looking like that? He walked a mile or so to Bobby's house and borrowed one of his T-shirts. On the walk to his house he found a trash can and threw the beautiful shirt away.

When his mother said a day or so later that she couldn't find the shirt anywhere, and wanted to know if he knew where it was. He said he didn't know where it was NOW.

He hadn't lied.

He and Bobby went to the Pig Stand the next night but the three guys didn't show up.

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75. 1940 ARE YOU CRAZY?

Sometime had gone by since the joy ride he had taken in the old 1934 Chevrolet. He was so eager to drive a car again but didn't get a chance to do so until one day his dad's brother came over to 6019 Dauphine to pay him a visit. He came with his wife Jessie. They all sat in the back kitchen and seemed to him to be settling in for a long talk. His uncle had hung his coat in one of the front rooms, and ever alert, he had noticed that his uncle Emile had dropped his car keys into his coat pocket.

While they were talking, he slipped the keys to the car out of his uncle's pocket, went out the front door, slipped inside the car, and started it. He knew he didn't have much time. His aunt and uncle could come out at any minute. He was so shaky and nervous; he could hardly push the clutch down without it popping back up again. He was just going to drive it around the block. That was all.

His uncle's car drove much better than his dad's old car and everything was going smoothly as he rounded the first corner. Unfortunately, at the next corner he saw his mother's friend Mrs. Bringold standing in her front yard. He sort of slunk down a little bit, looking neither right nor left, but straight ahead as he passed her. He turned the next corners easily, parked the car exactly where it had been before in front of the house, hopped inside and put the keys back in his uncle's coat pocket. They were still talking. In fact they talked for another twenty minutes or so. He could have taken a longer ride he thought to himself. All had gone well.

The next day his mother was sitting on the front porch, and he was in the front room listening to music, when Mrs. Bringold came walking along. "Hi Lillian Mae, what are you doing sitting out here on the front porch with nothing to do?" "Just taking a little rest?" "I saw your son drive past my house the other day." "Drive?" "Yeah. He didn't look at me, but I saw him plain as day. I didn't know he knew how to drive." "He doesn't, he doesn't even have a car; how could he be driving if he doesn't have a car?" "I don't know anything about that, but I saw him driving a car yesterday." "Now look, Mrs. B, he doesn't have a car and he doesn't know how to drive. He has never driven a car. If you think you saw my son, you must be mistaken." Mrs. B was adamant, " I SAW YOUR SON DRIVE A CAR PAST MY HOUSE YESTERDAY." Her voice was high pitched, almost screaming. Lillian Mae, who had an Irish temper, stood up, and said angrily, "Are you crazy? If you say one more time that you saw my son driving a car, I'll run you off this porch." "Humph! Nobody talks to me like that. You're the crazy one" Mrs. B. yelled as she stomped off.

He sat quietly as a little mouse, listening to it all. He waited for his mother to ask him the question. Did he? Should he lie or tell the truth. But the question never came. The whole idea of him driving was so absurd that it wasn't worth asking.

Lillian Mae and Mrs. B. didn't talk to one another for almost two months.

76. 1941 THE KEYS

His Aunt Corinne lived at 607 Caffin Avenue with her sisters Blanche, Claire, Margie, and her sister-in-law Canute. Corinne was the only one who owned a car. Whenever she was home she always kept her keys on the mantel piece in the living room, and that's where they were the first time he took the keys to her car.

On Saturday's nights the aunts got together with a few friends to play a card game called 500. They would start playing around 7 or 8 and often play until 11 or 12 o'clock. It was the best time to take her keys, and he was guilty of doing that four or five times while they played cards. He would stay out an hour or more with the car, picking up friends and driving around the neighborhood. They would stop and get soft drinks, candy, snow balls, whatever, and have a bang up time. His only problem was that he couldn't always put the keys back in the same place where he had got them. Sometimes when he returned the keys, there would be people in the living room talking, or someone sitting there reading or resting. When this happened he put the keys wherever he could do so without being seen, sometimes in the kitchen on the refrigerator, in the hall on a table, next to the radio, even near the kitchen sink. This different placement of the keys was a big mistake, causing much pain for his Aunt Corrine and for him.

On that Saturday night that became a nightmare, he took the keys around eight thirty and must have stayed out about two hours — longer than usual. He had a friend with him the whole time and they did the usual, cruising around neighborhood with stops here and there. When they turned the corner of the block where his aunts lived, they saw all of his aunts standing on the front porch of the house. He stopped the car, planning to back up out of sight, but they had seen him. His friend jumped out of the car and was gone. As he pulled to a stop in front of the house, his aunts were all over him. "We've called the police. We thought the car was stolen. Somebody, go call them and say that we found the car " "We never thought you had taken the car" said another aunt. Still another "Have you done this before?" He couldn't speak. He could only nod his head, yes. "And you put the keys in different places." Again, a nod. It was then, that his Aunt Corinne, in a loud crying voice, said, "And you all made me feel like I was losing my mind, that I was a fool, that I couldn't remember where I put my own keys. You all fussed and fussed at me and made me feel so bad" and she started crying. All her sisters put their arms around her, hugged her, and told her they were sorry. One of his aunts glared at him, her eyes saying, see what you've done. They led him back into the house, where they made him tell them the whole story.

Of course, they told his parents. He was grounded for a month, couldn't go anywhere. His dad told him if he did anything like that again he would give him a whipping he wouldn't ever forget.

That was the last time he took anyone's keys. He didn't drive again until he drove the truck at the machine gun driving range when he was in the Navy.

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77 1958 HOT STUFF

When they were first married in 1958, it was hard on their mothers. Amelia, used to having her daughter around always, would get lonely, and Lillian Mae as well. She was used to having the company of her son around. Although they both adjusted well, it was always a treat when they visited them, or took them on an outing. Sometimes they took their mothers with them one at a time, but more often took them both together when they went out on a drive, a picnic, or out to eat.

For mother-in-laws they got along well together although they did try to outdo one another on a number of occasions, or frequently disagree. They hardly ever saw eye to eye on things. If one thought blue was the best color, the other would say that the color red was infinitely better, and would get into a big discussion on colors, not heated, but forcefully. If one said that the weather was beautiful, the other might reply that she didn't think the weather was so nice. If one would talk about a place where she had been and which she thought might be the most beautiful place in the world, the other would try to top her by describing the most beautiful place she had been to, and state that there is no more beautiful place anywhere. He wished he could have recorded some of these conversations as they drove around. As it was, he and his wife would just look at one another and smile.

On one particular occasion they took their mothers to eat seafood at the lakefront. One of the great benefits of living in New Orleans is that there is seafood in abundance. It was a beautiful drive along the lake, and for once they carried on a conversation where they didn't try to "up" one another.

Once they were seated in the restaurant, and the waitress had brought the drinks, and placed a basket of sliced bread on the table, their mothers got into an animated conversation about food. "You see that stuff there" said Amelia, pointing to the bottle of Tabasco sauce and the jar of horseradish, "I never eat that. It's bad for you." "Oh no" replied Lillian Mae, "That stuff is delicious. It's good for you." "How can you say that? Hot stuff is bad for your stomach." "That's foolish. I eat hot stuff all the time." "Not me. I have a bad stomach to begin with. I never have eaten it." "How do you know you don't like it, or that it will hurt you, if you've never tried it? Watch me." Lillian Mae, definitely showing off, took a slice of bread, dug a spoon into the jar of horse radish, and spreading it a quarter inch thick over the whole slice of bread, added a generous amount of Tabasco sauce, folded the slice of bread over, and downed it all in three huge bites. Lillian Mae smiled triumphantly at Amelia, but the smile lasted only a few seconds before her face turned bright red, and she began to gasp, "I can't breathe." She took a glass of water and downed it all. She drank another glass, and said that she still felt bad. They took her outside to get some fresh air, and gradually she began to feel better. She smiled shyly. She knew she had overdone it just to "up" Amelia. She had had the triumphant smile for awhile, but Amelia had the last laugh.

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78 1940 SAVING THE FAMILY JEWELS

The mighty Mississippi River flowed just a few blocks from his house on Dauphine Street. The year was 1940. He was fourteen years old.

Summers in New Orleans can get very hot. The humidity is thick and heavy, and sweat just rolls off the people living there. He and his friend were no exceptions to the heat. They were hot and sweaty on this beautiful hot summer day, and his friend brought up the idea of going for a swim in the river. He agreed.

They rode their bikes to the river levee and parked them there. They had swum in the river before and it wasn't new to them. Huge pilings (large timbers like telephone poles) crisscrossed diagonally all the way out into the river, and extended upward thirty or forty feet, maybe even higher. These huge poles were used to support the docks at one time, but have since been demolished leaving only the supporting poles left.

He and his friend walked along these poles for the fifty feet or so they extended into the river. They took off their clothes and went "skinny dipping." Awhile later, he was sitting on one of the pilings, enjoying the river view, the river breeze and the sunshine, when he heard a cry from above him. Looking up, he saw his friend walking halfway up one of the diagonal pilings, his bare butt shining in the sun, and his talent swaying in the breeze. He watched his friend get on his knees and crawl all the way to the top. His friend waved to him and yelled "Come on up." He was kind of hesitant at first, but he made the climb, and joined his friend at the top. They were very high up, and the water far below them glistened in the sunshine. It was scary. They were so high up, too high to jump they thought. They decided to go down the same way they had come up, but after trying it a little ways, they felt it was more dangerous to go down on the pilings. One slip and they could fall. The only way out was to jump.

They sat along the piling for awhile, getting up their courage. His friend, who was more daring then he, decided to jump first. His friend held his private parts, jumped off into space, and hit the water like a rocket. He went under, but after a little while, his head bobbed up. He looked up and gave out a loud "Yahoo. It was great." He looked at his friend; looked at the water, and jumped way out, making sure his butt didn't hit the piling. As he fell, he felt like he was flying through space. Just before he hit the water, he had the presence of mind to grab his private parts just before he hit the water, thus saving the "family jewels. "He went down, down, down but soon surfaced. He looked to his friend and they both yelled their joy together. It had been a magnificent jump.

Talking about it later, he and his friend realized that what they had done was both risky and dangerous. They never tried that stunt again. Looking back as he writes this, he knew that he hadn't known the expression "family jewels" at that time, but it is a good description,. Those jewels played a part in giving life to eight kids, and indirectly to seven grandchildren, who are all jewels in themselves.

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79. 1939 GIFTS OF LOVE

Like most kids she wanted a bike. It was hard to see her friends riding bikes and having fun, and not have a bike of her own. Her friends were nice to her and they would let her ride their bikes every once in awhile, but that wasn't enough for her. She wanted her own.

She lived with her mother Amelia and her brother Ed. Her father had died when she was an infant, and her mother Amelia had her hands full raising her two children by herself, but she managed. Her brother Ed had an old bike, but it was a boy's bike and had a bar across the front. It wasn't suitable for a girl and she never rode it. She knew her mother did not have the money to buy her a bike and she didn't pester her for one. What she didn't know was that her mother was secretly putting money aside to buy her daughter one for Christmas. When that great day came she walked into the living room and there, right next to the Christmas tree, was a brand new girl's bicycle. She hooted and hollered, ran to the bike, sat on the seat and held the handlebars. She hopped off and ran to her mother and gave her hugs and kisses. "Oh mama! What a great gift. You couldn't have given me anything more wonderful. I love you so much."

On Christmas day she rode her bike from morning to night and even then didn't want to stop. Every day during Christmas week she rode that beautiful bike. When school started she couldn't wait to get home and ride her new bike. She rode with her friends up and down the street and around the block. They rode and rode. It felt like heaven with the cool breeze on her face. She was never so happy.

On this particular day, some months after Christmas, she did as she always did and went to get her bike out of the garage in back of the house. When she opened the door and looked inside the bike wasn't there. Maybe her brother had taken it for a ride— but his old bike wasn't there. Maybe one of his friends took it to go riding with him. That had never happened before but it was possible, but then most boys didn't like to ride a girl's bike. She waited patiently inside the house for her brother to come home. The time seemed to pass so slowly, but finally her brother arrived. He put his bike in the garage and when he came inside the little blue eyed girl called out to him, "Did you take my bike or one of your friends." "No" said Ed "Why would I take your bike. I have my own bike." "Mine's gone." and she started to cry. He put his arm around his sister and tried to comfort her. "We'll find it" he said, and with that he called some of his friends and they looked all over the neighborhood that afternoon, and every afternoon for the rest of the week. They didn't find it. The bike was gone. Stolen.

She was heartbroken and for the next week went to school feeling very sad. On the weekend her mother took her out shopping to try and make her little daughter feel better.

When she got home her brother greeted her and said "Hey Sis. Come out to the garage. I have something to show you." When he opened the garage door and his sister looked in she saw her brother's bike with the bar cut off. It was freshly painted and looked like a new bike. "I don't need my bike. I have a friend who has an extra bike that I can use. I wanted to make you happy again. She reached out and hugged her brother, before hopping on the bike and riding away.

80. 1943 THE CHICKENS OF WORLD WAR II

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 things became very different for the people of the United States. All the eligible men were drafted for the armed services. Many foods and products were rationed. Citizens were given ration cards to buy things and when they were gone they were gone. Gasoline was rationed. Tires were rationed. People were encouraged to raise their own vegetables in their back yard, and to raise their own chickens for food. All of these things caused some hardships for the citizens, but it was nothing compared to the danger and agony of the men at war, or the problems of the people who lived in those nations conquered by the Nazis.

Amelia wanted to do all she could to help the war effort. While sitting in her apartment one day, she looked at her 13 year old daughter and her 17 year old son and said "We don't have any yard here at our apartment and can't plant a garden, .so what can we do to help." Different ideas were brought up and talked about, but nothing seemed practical until the youngest one there called out, "How about chickens. We could raise chickens." "How can we raise chickens in an apartment? They'll mess all over the place" said the 17 year old. "We could build a cage or buy one" said Amelia. They talked about if for awhile and decided that it was the best they could do.

Amelia had a man come to the apartment and build a five foot square cage that stood on legs about two feet off the floor. The cage was in a large spare room of the apartment. As soon as the cage was finished, Amelia and her two children went to a man who sold chickens from a warehouse type building on the outskirts of town. They bought 20 tiny little chicks, brought them home in boxes and put them in the cage. There was a lot of chirping going on. It was a sound they would get used to as the weeks passed. The cage had to be kept clean and the three of them shared this task. As the weeks passed the chickens grew quickly and in time they were given to friends and neighbors for food. Amelia and her children grew so attached to the chickens that they found they couldn't eat any of them. Fried chicken, roast chicken, baked chicken all sounded good in these hard times, but they couldn't bring themselves to use them for food.

One chicken in particular caught the eye of Marie, the thirteen year old teenager with the blonde hair and the blue eyes. She named the chicken Victory. She would pick this chicken up and walk around the house with it on her shoulder. It was her pet and she didn't think she could ever give this up, but finally she did, and was sad for awhile. She never knew what happened to her favorite chicken, but years later when the memory of this time in her life came to the fore, the very first thing she said, "I wonder what happened to Victory."

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81. 1941 THE SPEECH

He was 15 years old when his dad moved the family to El Paso, Texas. It was quite a change going from wet and rainy New Orleans to dry and sandy El Paso. It rained only once during the year he lived there. World War II was raging in Europe at the time.

He was enrolled at Cathedral High School which had a student body of around 300. Christian Brothers made up the faculty. One of the courses he had to take in his junior year was Speech. There were about thirty guys in the class. They all knew he was the new guy in school, and they knew he spoke English, but they also knew that he spoke it differently than they did. HE didn't know that he spoke differently, that he had a New Orleans Ninth Ward (Nite Wawd) accent.

It so happened in the Speech class that right from the get go, each student would have to make a short introductory speech. The speech could be about anything the student wanted to present. When he went home after class he mentioned what he had to do to his parents. His mother came up with a short piece that was in the morning paper about a bird race track. It was the first such track in the world. When he read the article he liked it. The piece was short and it was interesting. He decided to use it.

Brother Anthony was the teacher of the class. He didn't call the students up to give their speech in any particular order. He just skipped around which kept him on pins and needles. When each student gave his speech, the rest of the class was quiet and attentive. After each speech Brother Anthony asked for criticisms from the class. One or two students raised their hand and made comments. Finally it was his turn. Brother Anthony looked him right in the eye and asked him to come up. He was nervous. He had never given a speech in front of a group before. He walked to the front of the room and faced all these faces, all these eyes looking at him. Haltingly, he began.

"Da foist boid race track in the woild was in the form of a coicle. It was the thoid attempt at building a boid race track, but this was the foist one to be actually built. There were three boids entered in the foist race: Thoisty Boid, Oister Boid, and Doity Boid."By this time every guy in the class had a grin on his face, or was laughing outright. He beamed within and his confidence grew. He had a hit talk on his hands. The guys must really like it. He continued "The race went swiftly with foist Oister Boid taking the lead, and then Doity Boid, and then Thoisty Boid. They coived around the rack track foteteen times wit Doity Boid being the winner."

He sort of expected applause for such a hit speech, but instead sat down to laughter. When Brother Anthony asked for criticisms, every hand in the class went up. All the guys were eager to tell what he had done wrong, "He didn't say the R's in his words". All the guys looked back at him with big grins. What the hell, he thought to himself. What do they know? To hell with them. He wasn't angry, just embarrassed, because he didn't know what they were talking about. Still, he felt as if he could "Moider Da Bums.".

82. 1983 BALLOON LOVE

Their little dog, Peanut, joined the family on Christmas 1983. He and his wife had gone to pick up the pup after reading an ad in the paper. The ad said that the pup was a thoroughbred miniature dachshund. When they entered the house, the mother of Peanut barked furiously at them. There were four pups in the litter and they picked out the little, reddish brown one. The kids would later name her Peanut, and they all learned that their pup was just like the mother who bore her. Peanut barked at anyone who entered or left the house, at the mailman, at passing boys and girls, bikes, anything that moved. That is, until she had her first meeting with some balloons.

Someone brought home some helium filled balloons and put them in the girls' bedroom. No one thought anymore about them. The whole family was sitting in the front room watching television, when someone called out, "Where's Peanut?" Peanut always sat snuggled on the sofa with the family, or on the rug under the piano. They looked all around the room and didn't see her, and then went looking through the house. They found her in the girls' bedroom staring up at the balloons that were swaying gently, almost touching the ceiling. She wasn't barking but just staring with sort of a wild-eyed gaze. She had been there all that time, almost an hour, staring up at those balloons. When they went into the room Peanut growled at them, and when they got closer to her she actually snapped at them. She must have felt that those balloons were hers and she wasn't going to let anyone get near them or take them. Now, the girls had to go to bed, and the problem was: How to get Peanut out of the room when she seemed to be in love with those balloons?

The family huddled together and came up with a plan. While Julie went into the room with a broom, (something Peanut always attacked) ED III would jump on the bunk beds and grab the balloons. Julie entered the room and thrust the broom right in front of Peanut, and sure enough, Peanut took her eyes off of the balloons and attached the broom viciously, more viciously than she had ever done, emitting fierce growls, snapping her head back and forth. Her attack was so vicious that Julie backed out of the room before Peanut went crazy mad. Julie tried again and this time forced Peanut to the back of the room. Ed III, seeing his chance, with a hop, skip and a jump leaped onto the bunk beds, grabbed the balloons, and ran out the door. Julie backed up with the broom while Peanut bit at the straws, shaking them back and forth, growling with deep, eerie growls that came from deep down in her throat. Julie closed the door and left Peanut in there alone to moan the loss of her beloved balloons.

Ed III took the balloons out into the back yard and tied them to the branch of a tree. Later when Peanut had calmed down they left her out. Immediately, she went sniffing around the house looking for those balloons. She looked and looked in every room, in every corner, but of course, she couldn't find them. Finally she got tired, jumped on the quilt that served as her bed, and went to sleep.

The next morning, after a good night's sleep, everyone had forgotten about the balloons. They let Peanut out into the back yard to do her business, and thought no more of it. Some hours passed without them noticing that Peanut had not come back into house. She would usually scratch at the door if they forgot her, or give a few hesitant barks. They went into the backyard to see where she was, and they found her sitting as still as a statue, staring at the balloons swaying in the breeze.

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83. 1960 LOADED

He had applied for and won a grant to spend eight weeks at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois taking a full semester of concentrated courses in chemistry and physics. It was right after the Russian Sputnik scare and the U.S. was sort of in a panic to see that more science was taught to students. Any current teacher who had not had chemistry and physics in college was eligible. The idea was that by indoctrinating teachers with science skills and knowledge, they in turn would be able to share this knowledge with their students.

It was a good deal. He received free tuition, free books, free lodging for the recipient and his family, as well as a thousand dollar stipend. The courses would be held in the summer from June 15th to August 15th. This was the summer they bought a new house in Terrytown (which wouldn't be ready until November) and moved out of their apartment at 2826 De Soto Street to stay in his brother's empty apartment for two weeks until they left for DeKalb His brother was on vacation When they returned they would move into the new house. His wife had taken measurements of all the windows and sliding glass doors of their new house. She obtained these measurements from a model house that was completed.

She did this so that she could spend the summer in DeKalb making drapes for the windows. She bought huge bolts of material and backing. All this and more was to be loaded in their1954 Chevrolet automobile. Finally everything in the apartment had been packed and stored away. The only thing left was to pack the car and be on their way.

They learned right away that the trunk of the car would not hold all they had to bring. They put some boxes, the grips with some of their clothing, and some of the toys of their little one year old son few other items and that was it for the trunk. In the back seat they put the two huge bolts of drape material and bolts of backing material. Some more boxes were placed on the back seat along with the sewing machine, the typewriter and the high chair. The playpen was slipped into the opening between the front seats and the back seat. On top of everything they laid piles of clothing, both for his wife and himself. The pile went almost up to the roof of the car. He had just a little space at the top to see out of the rear view mirror. They were a sight, looking somewhat like Oakies leaving the dust bowl.

There were no Interstate highways then, only two lane roads, and occasionally a four lane road. They headed north on the first leg of their adventure, the first really long trip they had taken together. He could barely see out of the rear view mirror and more than once when he shifted in his seat to see a little better, the car swayed on the road, as if he and the CAR had had one too many.

84. 1941 THE HOME RUN GAME

He was always one for making up games that he could play alone, or with another person, or for team play. He had made up one game that he played alone with a deck of cards. He made up two full baseball teams and kept records of which players hit the most doubles, triples and homeruns. He would also keep records of their batting averages. He still likes the game until this day, but hasn't played it in years. He also made up a game called Red Red Hot for team play which he used when he was grown, and even later with his own kids.

This particular game he writes about now was for two players, but it could be adapted for more. He called it the home run game and it was played in the vacant lot next to his house at 6019 Dauphine Street. All the guys used to have a lot of fun in that vacant lot until someone bought the property and built a house on it. He and his friend played the game almost every afternoon after school. They were both sophomores at Holy Cross High School.

It was a very simple game and required only a softball and a bat. The only way to score and win the game was to hit home runs over the fence into the street. The lot was uneven with big chunks of mud everywhere so regular softball couldn't be played there. The player to hit the most home runs in a seven or nine inning game was the winner. The batter would stand at the far end of the lot and try to hit the ball over the fence. It was a pretty long distance and took some skill and practice.

When he and his friend first started playing they weren't too good. A ground ball was an out and they hit plenty of those. Short fly ball was an out and they hit plenty of those. If a ball was hit in the air to the fielder, and if the fielder caught the ball it was an out. If he didn't catch the ball it counted a man on base and when a home run was hit the man on base came in as an extra run. The batter hit until he made three out. In the beginning the games were short, but as they played more and more they hit nothing but high fly balls or home runs.

That was when the game became a lot of fun, and they couldn't wait to play it every afternoon.

He and his fried became very proficient in hitting home run balls over the fence. It also helped them to improve their batting when they played in regular softball games. In their regular games they hit very few grounders. They loved the game. The neighbors must have had a fit with those balls going over the fence and into the street, often bouncing up onto their porches. Fortunately, no one was ever hit by a ball, and no property was broken. They were good neighbors and never complained. It was a good neighborhood.

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85. 1951-52 THE NUN'S DREAM

In high school she always admired the nuns of St. Joseph. They inspired her in many ways—– the desire to help others, the giving of self, and the religious life close to God. During her high school years and college years at Loyola, she often drove them to meetings and other outings, always with joy in her heart. She liked being with the nuns and talking to them. They shared a lot in common. The desire to be a nun was growing in her heart.

It is no wonder then, that after she completed her senior year at Loyola in January 1951, graduating with a degree in elementary education; she told her mother that she was thinking of entering the convent and becoming a nun. First though, she took a job to test herself, to see if being a nun was really the life for her. She started work at her job in January, living the life of a young, single woman, going out on dates and having fun. She was happy with her life, but inside her heart was a gnawing, a calling she thought was from God, a calling to be a nun. Early in September, she made up mind, and told her dear mother and her friends of her decision. Her friends gave her a party in celebration, wishing her well and God's blessing. With a bright smile and inner glow, this lovely, blue eyed woman entered the convent.

The peace of the convent, the warmth of the nuns, the almost constant prayer and the elevation of the soul to God, touched this young woman's heart and she adjusted easily. There were chores to do, dishes to wash, and floors to scrub and other tasks, but built into all this was the joy of offering all this up to God. The giving of one's self in menial tasks, no matter what they were, to be totally in love of God, was the essence of her calling.

She was full of love and joy at the convent, but doubts began to enter her mind, doubts as to whether this was the life for her. She was young and vibrant and maybe felt confined. She was an active person, always on the go, always doing things. Her tremendous energy wanted to break lose. She meditated and prayed and asked God for guidance. One night she had a dream. It wasn't a dream in answer to her prayers for guidance, but a dream about her sister-in-law who was not a Catholic. In the dream, a voice said "Your sister-in-law, Nell, will come to visit you and tell you something you will want to hear."

A few days later her mother, brother and sister-in-law paid her a visit at the convent. After warm greetings, the very first thing that Nell did was go up to Marie, take her hands into her own and say, "Marie, I am becoming a Catholic." Tears came into Marie's eyes. She hugged her sister-in-law and while they embraced looked up and silently thanked God. Happiness flowed through her heart at this moment. She knew what she had to do.

She left the convent in May 1952. She felt both sadness and joy at leaving, but felt in her heart it was the right thing to do. In later years she felt that maybe her stay in the convent had something to do with Nell's becoming a Catholic. Her dream had been so vivid, so lifelike; she just knew it had to come true.

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86. 1954 THE STOLEN CAR

The automobiles in the 50'S were the most colorful cars ever built. A CEO of one of the major car companies said that his wife told him one day, "Why do you guys always make cars that have such drab colors. Women like bright, gay colors, and I'll bet men would too." That started the trend. Cars began to appear that had two-toned bright colors. Not only cars with bright colors, but cars with fins. There was even a Studebaker that had a nose like a plane and had a little propeller in front. Often the fins and chassis would be one bright color, and the top a different bright color. The cars were the rage for awhile.

Marie's brother was no exception. He had bought a snazzy, bright blue and white car. It had a blue chassis, a white top, and white fins in the back. It was a beautiful car and caught the eye like so many other cars of the time. The car was a few years old when an unusual, somewhat frightening incident occurred.

Marie was at Ed and Nell's house for a birthday party for one of their kids. Marie and Nell were talking and making preparations for the party when Nell suddenly realized she hadn't bought any ice cream. Nell asked Marie to take her car and go the supermarket to get some. "Take my car" she said.

This fancy, bright, shiny car was to Marie's liking, although she hadn't bought one like that for herself. She got behind the wheel and thought she could feel the admiring glances of the people she passed. She pulled into the parking lot of the super market, went into the store, bought the ice cream, hopped into this jazzy car her brother loved, and took off. It was on her way back that she had some peculiar thoughts. The car looked a little different than before. When she got to Nell's, she brought the ice cream into the house and said, "Nell, do you have a two door or a four door car?" "I have a two door. Why do you ask?" "Because, the car outside is a four door." They both ran outside. "That's not my car" cried Nell. "Oh, My God" said Marie. "I got in the wrong car —but how did it start with your ignition key." "I don't know, Marie, but you better get it back in a hurry."

Marie sped back to the supermarket with wild thoughts going through her mind: would the police be there, would they think she had stolen the car for a joy ride, would there be a crowd, and would she be arrested? The parking lot was empty when she arrived. There was no disturbance. She couldn't anyone walking around as if looking for their car. Ever honest, Marie walked into the store and asked if anyone had come in asking about a car. There had been no questions asked. She breathed a sigh of relief. She went into the parking lot and saw her sister-in-laws car which was identical to the one she had mistakenly taken. She got into the right car after carefully checking to be sure it was a two door. She drove back to Nell's with a smile on her face. She was home free even though she had stolen a car, however innocently, taken a joy ride, and gotten away with it. Some days you're lucky.

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87. 1942 ELEVATOR TRAP

While he was a senior at Jesuit High School in Dallas, Texas, he worked part-time in the afternoon after school at the Bienville Furniture Company, where his dad was the manager. His job was to type the invoices and bills of lading for the furniture shipments that went out daily from the company. There were no computers at that time and he typed on an old manual Underwood typewriter. He had taken only one semester of typing at Cathedral High- School in El Paso the year before and wasn't too good when he first started on the job.

After the whole year of typing at his job he became pretty good and the skill in typing has remained with him to this day. It wasn't a hard job and he had some spare time to explore the factory which was crammed with furniture in all stages of readiness. He wasn't a kid. He was sixteen years old, and should have been more alert and more careful when he boarded the freight elevator to take him to the second and third floor of the factory. By not being as observant as he should have been lie could have been injured or even killed. If that had happened would there have been a Base Ten Plus? Each life has ripples through time.

The freight elevator was used to move furniture from floor to floor. On the top floor the furniture was assembled, on the second floor the stain and varnish was sprayed on, and on the bottom floor the furniture was packaged in crates and made ready for shipment. There was a slatted safety gate in front of the elevator that was always in the up position when the elevator was on that floor. When an occupant entered the elevator and wanted to go up or down, he pulled a rope, the safety gate came down and the elevator moved to the desired floor. Unknown to him, the workmen had placed a board under the elevator gate to keep it up at all times, and not looking carefully; he didn't notice that the bottom of the board was protruding over the edge of the elevator floor. Evidently someone had kicked the board accidentally, creating the hazard.

He boarded the elevator, the elevator started to go up, and almost immediately, the floor of the elevator hit the piece of wood. The elevator floor started to tilt sharply, the board cracked, sounding like a shot, the gate fell down, and the elevator floor tilted more sharply. In the quickness of a blink he jumped through the space between the top of the gate and the roof overhead, getting through just in time before the elevator floor passed him by. He was shaking and trembling from his narrow escape.

Was his dad angry? Does hot lava flow from a volcano or the earth shake from an earthquake? He was furious. It was only later that he realized how close his boy had come to death or serious injury. It was only later that he cried and was thankful that his son was safe. The elevator had to be repaired at great expense. From then on, whenever he wanted to go exploring, he used the stairs.

88. 1972 THE DOLL HOUSE

In November, 1960 when he and his wife moved into their new house at 412 Bluebonnet Street, the big yard was bare, no trees, no fence, not even grass. As the years passed and the children came, the back yard became filled with all types of playthings, from swings to jungle gyms, but nothing stood out in the yard as much as the doll house.

In 1972 he and his wife had four little girls and one on the way. He wanted a doll house for them, a very special doll house. He had a picture of the doll house he had in mind, but he couldn't put it into words or into dimensions. He had a friend, a fellow principal, who helped him and guided him. He was called Hyp, Mr. Hyp by the kids. His full name was Hypolite Ridolfo. Hyp's brother was a contractor, and a lot-of the building skills he had had learned from this brother. The two of them drove all over town looking for doll houses in backyards. . They looked at a number of doll houses and finally found one that fit the picture he had in his mind, and one that Hyp thought he could build. It looked like a large bird house.

Hyp came over every weekend for almost two months and was the expert on building, while he was the helper and designer. Using discarded lumber from houses his brother was building as well as some lumber that he bought, they started work on the house. Hyp was a fast worker and in no time at all he had the foundation down and the outer framework up and standing freely. The inner walls and floor went up just as easily. The peak of the roof stood at least twelve feet high, too high for the little girls that were to play in it. After much discussion it was decided to build a two story doll house, which they did.

When the ceiling of the first story (the floor of the second story) was in place, they realized they had a problem. It was almost a six foot drop from the second floor to the first floor; too far for little kids. Hyp had left a two and a half foot opening in the floor of the second story to give access to the first floor and vice versa. They considered a pole that the kids could climb up or down like the firemen in a fire house but this was vetoed. They considered having a lot of little steps. That was vetoed in favor of three large steps that would break the fall of any little one that wasn't careful.

The inside walls were painted, the roof was shingled, and the outside of the house was painted pink. In the front of the house there was a door and a little window on the second floor. There was one little window on the lower floor on each side of the house.

When it was finished it stood out like a jewel in the back yard. It was a doll house to be envied.

Over the years the kids had many good times in that doll house, playing in it until they were almost too big to get inside.

Hyp brought his wife over to see the house. He was so proud of it, proud that he had built it with his own hands, proud that he had built it for his friend and his friend's children. The building of this house was a labor of love.

Over the years the doll house was destroyed by termites and was torn down in the year 2000.

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89. 1947 NO PLACE TO HIDE

It was strange. When he was in high school he liked chemistry a lot.

When he joined the navy and had to write on a form what he intended to be when his time in the service was over, he put down a chemical engineer. When he actually enrolled at Southern Methodist University in 1947 in Dallas he no longer wanted to be a chemical engineer, but wanted to be a psychologist. He enrolled in the Introduction to Psychology course. There were about sixty students enrolled in the course and the class was held in a huge classroom. When he was in high school he always made it a point to sit in the back row of the class, often in the corner seat if he could get it. He thought that by sitting way in the back, he would be less likely to be called upon. He never did like to be the center of attention, and even more so he wouldn't have to show his ignorance of the question asked. However, he learned it wasn't so. The student sitting in the back row, especially in the corner seat, was often the target of the teacher. So, by the time of his senior year in high school, he would still sit in the back row, but never in the corner seat.

When he entered the psychology class at SMU he looked to the back row of chair desks and to his dismay every back row seat was filled, The next to last row, however had some empty seats, and as he walked down this row he noticed that in the back row were some cute SMU coeds who were giggling and talking and cute as young women can be. He found a seat that was directly in front of them, and right in front of him was this huge guy who looked like a football player. He was pleased with himself. Although he didn't get the back, he had a seat that not only kept him hidden from view, but also had these cute young gals in the back of him. He settled in for a semester of comfort. He probably wouldn't be called on if he couldn't be seen.

The professor was a woman. She was very nice, a really good teacher. She called on people from time to time, but not often. Once she called on the big guy in front of him, He sought of slumped down behind the guy. The Prof. couldn't even see him. It was as if he wasn't even in the class. A few days after this, for some reason, the big guy in front of him moved his desk over, exposing the hidden one in plain view. Swiftly, he scooted his desk over directly behind the big guy. There was a tap on his shoulder and a sweet sexy voice whispered in his ear, "Are you trying to hide." followed by giggles from the other girls. Red hot blood flushed the back of his neck and his ears. He had been found out. He made no response, but kept sitting in his hidden place.

About four weeks into the course the Prof. .said that within two weeks there would be a six weeks test covering the first five chapters. The test would consist of 150 questions that would be true and false, multiple choice and matching. There would be no essay questions which made it easier. He studied like a fool for the test, underlining line after line in the text. The way he felt, was, that if he was going to major in psychology, he sure as hell should know everything he could about his field and know it well.

Know everything in the field and know it well. When the test day came he went in confident. The test was taken and it took the Prof. Over a week to grade them and then the big moment came. He was seated behind the big guy when the Prof. began talking, "I am really disappointed in some of you. Of the hundred and fifty questions, a large number of you missed more than sixty or seventy of the questions. If you want to pass this course you must do better. I graded the test on the curve. At the other end of the scale one of you missed only four. That was the high score for the test. Mr. Pie-ow, where are you? The hidden one didn't respond. "Mr. Pie-ow, where are you? As she started walking to the back of the room, his hand went up, sticking about six inches over the shoulder of the big guy. "Oh, there you are," she said, as she approached his desk The big guy shoved his desk aside to see who he was, and he was exposed, not only to the big guy, but to the eyes of everyone in the class, who had turned around to look at this guy who had skewered the curve. "Great work" she said. "Would you be interested in tutoring some of these students who are not doing well?" The Prof. didn't realize that he was an underachiever who had overachieved on this test. He had never aced a test before. He declined the offer. "Okay" she said as she walked back to the front of the room. Every eye was still on him. His face was as red as Tabasco sauce. It was at that precise moment that there was a tap on his shoulder, and the same sweet, sexy voice whispered in his ear, "See here little man, from now on there is no place for you to hide."

90 1948 THE "PONY"

He took French during his sophomore year at Holy Cross High School in New Orleans. When his dad moved to El Paso in 1941 he told the principal at Cathedral High School he would like to take second year French. The principal laughed and said that there was no French offered, only Spanish, so he took first year Spanish. In his senior year at Jesuit High School in Dallas, no language courses were offered. It was their first year of operation and there had been no language teachers available. When he entered SMU in 1947 he decided to take Latin. He thought at the time it would help him with vocabulary, and maybe even understand the Latin at mass. It was a mistake and ever since wished he had taken French. The first year of Latin was mainly grammar and rules, and was relatively easy, but the second and third year consisted entirely of the translation of the Latin classics. .He used to spend hours looking words up in the Latin/English dictionary.

Ever a book lover, he haunted the book stores in Dallas. At one second hand store he struck gold. There were books called Interlinear Translation of the Latin Classics. The very classic he was presently translating was right there in the store. It had the Latin text on one line and directly below it the English translation. The owner of the store who was somewhat of a scholar said that such a book was called a "pony." He finished his translations in record time, and read well in class, but didn't overdo it.

There was an older guy (he must have been in his mid to late thirties taking advantage of the GI Bill to go to college) in the class who was having a hard time. He stumbled over the translations and was warned by the teacher that he would have to do better. . His name was Weldon. One day he found Weldon sitting in the library struggling with his translations. He sat next to him and showed him the Interlinear Translation. His eyes lit up and he grinned. "It's yours," he said to Weldon. He had bought one for this guy who was struggling so hard. Weldon went from being warned to being praised for his translations. Together, they rode their "ponies" through the Latin years, and were the best "pony" rides they ever had.. .

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91. 1945 FLYING TO THE GRAVEYARD

The graveyard was in Oklahoma. It was a graveyard for airplanes. With the war over the government didn't really know what to do with thousands of war planes they no longer needed. He had been at Whidby Island for about three months when a call came through for flight crews to fly the planes to Oklahoma. His original crew was long gone. They had been in the service longer than he had been and had enough points to get out early. He didn't mind still being in though. He was nineteen years old, the juices were flowing, and things were easy on the base. The funny thing was, though, that he had joined the navy to go to sea, to see the sunset over the water from a ship, and in the two years he was in the Navy, he didn't set foot on a ship, not once.

The planes were to fly two together with a first stop at San Diego. The flight there was beautiful, the sun shining and snow-capped mountains glistening in the distance. Being in San Diego for the second time was a real bonus. He remembered the first time he had liberty from boot camp and took liberty in San Diego. His hair was cut to his skull and his white navy cap that he wore was perfectly round, circling his head. The city was full of marines and sailors, some of them veterans, all of them with hats cocked to the side. Kids from boot camp stood out by the roundness of their hat. Catcalls often came about from the veterans who would yell "Boot" "Boot" as they passed a "booter" on the street. It was different with this second visit. His hat was cocked to the side, his tailor made, form fitting navy suit clung to him like skin, and he swaggered down the street with his buddies like an old salt. They spent only one night in Diego, but that was enough time to hit a couple of bars.

They left early in the morning for Fort Worth. He didn't know why they took the route they did to get to Oklahoma, but it didn't matter. While they were in flight they got word that there was a problem in Fort Worth and they were to land in El Paso and wait for clearance. What a break; El Paso, his old home town. Now, El Paso has no navy bases, but there is an army base, Fort Bliss. There were no barracks to bunk in, so they were put up at a hotel. Great! He called some of his old friends, but they were still away from home in the service. They were the only sailors in town and as they walked the streets they were often stared at, as much as to say, where did you all come from? When they went into bars, the bars were full of soldiers and there were many catcalls and comments, but no one was mean or ugly. The more they drank with each other, the friendlier they became. They took a night trip across the border to Juarez, and had wild night in a wild town. They spent three days in El Paso. .

They took off for Fort Worth, but once again they were told there was a problem in Fort Worth and that they were to land in Midland, Texas. They were told they might be there for awhile. As it turned out the plane was grounded there for five days – but not for him.

He didn't know at the time it would be that long, but he and a buddy asked the pilot if they could go to Dallas where he lived and his buddy had a friend. The pilot was in charge of the group, and they did not expect a positive answer, but to their surprise he said okay, but with the proviso that they call him each morning to see if they were going to fly that day. They were to meet him at Fort Worth and board the plane there. Alleluia!. They got out on the highway about eleven o'clock at night and put their thumbs up. The first car that came along stopped and surprisingly, it was a young woman who had a young child with her who was about four or five years old. How different then than now. The times were so different in the 40's. She was very friendly and talked the whole way to Dallas. He asked his buddy to spend the rest of the night with him at his home. They walked up to 4142 Travis Street, knocked on the door about 3:00 A.M. in the morning. When his dad opened the door, and after his initial surprise, yelled out "Honey, guess who's here?" Lillian Mae came running, her nightgown flapping around her. He introduced his buddy. There were hugs all around, and his mother as always insisted that they sit right down and have some milk and pie and whatever else she could dig up. Nellie was jumping all over him and it was great to hug that little dog. His little brother woke up with all the commotion and there were more hugs all around. His friend slept on the couch and left that afternoon. He wouldn't see him again until they boarded the plane.

It felt food to sleep in the bunk bed on the back porch with his brother. , Later the three days in Dallas were full. He surprised his girlfriend who was studying to be a nurse. They spent time together. He went out with his parents and his brother. Every morning he'd call about the status of the flight. On the fourth morning the call was positive. His mother, dad, and brother went with him on the bus to the base in Fort Worth. Looking out of the window as the plane took off, he could see them waving to him. Soon, he hoped, he would be home for good.

It was a sight to see in Oklahoma. Thousands of airplanes, stacked nose down to the ground, were spread out in rows and rows and rows. It was sad in a way. They watched as the plane they had flown was added to the pile. Silently they left. They were on their own to get back to Whidby. There was no set time to be back but they were to get to a navy air base and check in every morning to see if a flight was available. The pilot showed them the different air bases in the areas and said that they were free to choose. He chose Kansas City, and alone, boarded a bus to get there.

In Kansas City he took a cab from the bus station and asked the cab driver to take him to a small hotel where he could get a room for the night. No problem. The hotel wasn't the best, but it would do. In his room he took out the padlock and screw eyes he always carried with him on trips. He drove one screw eye into the frame of the locker and the other into the door. He put on his skin tight sailor suit and his cocky hat and put everything else in the locker. He put the padlock through the screw eyes and snapped it shut. He was off.

A cabby took him to a dance hall where he talked with a group of three girls who had come there together. Service men were still the rage. He danced with each one of them and then walked them home. He made plans to see them the next day.

Back in his room at the hotel, as he was getting ready for bed, the hotel manager burst into his room yelling "I ought to have you arrested for defacing property." pointing to the locker door." "What the HELL were you doing in my room?" he yelled back at him. "I want you out of here tomorrow morning" the manager said and stomped out.

The next morning he lugged his luggage to the air base, expecting to find no flights out, and to find a room later. But unfortunately there was a flight to Whidby and he had to take it. He never saw the three girls again. His fun trip to the graveyard was over.

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39

92. 1984

Ed opened the door to the back yard of his aunt's house to see what it looked like. There was a screen door with a big hole in the bottom of the screen. Near the back fence in the yard was a big cat. As soon as the door opened the cat looked toward the door and started running fast. He sensed that the cat was running toward the hole in the screen door. He quickly grabbed a broom and held the straw part over the hole. The cat hit the hole and was shocked when it was blocked from entering. The cat hit that broom and bounced back, and ran screeching toward the back fence, jumped over and was gone. This scene came to be because of something that happened previously. It was a butterfly caught a memory that came to the fore, and concerns his aunt, his brother Jerry, and most of all, cats. The cats caused all the love, all the pain, and all the pleasure. It happened like this.

Canute Puyau married Albert Puyau. He died young and Canute was a widow for many years. She never remarried, and lived the rest of her life with Albert's sisters at 607 Caffin Avenue. She had black hair and brown eyes. She was a sweet and kindly person and got on well with all her sister-in-laws. All the sisters died one by one. She nursed and cared for all of them, the next to last being Blanche, and the last being Corrine. Then she lived alone in a house in St. Maurice Parish which was very close to the St. Margaret's Nursing Home. She was pretty old herself (84), but often went to the home to cheer up the elderly people there.

It was about this time that Alzheimer's disease began to get hold of her. Her memory was going and she would forget things. He had taken his kids to see his aunts a few times but not often enough. He was not aware of her problem until one day a good friend of hers, a neighbor called him and said, "You're Mr. Puyau, Canute's nephew. Yes, well I'm worried about your aunt. She seems very forgetful and doesn't seem to know what she's doing. I went to visit her. Her house is a mess. She even has some of her retirement checks lying around unopened. Most of all, her house is full of cats running all around." He thanked her, told his wife and they went down to see her. When they got to her house, she wasn't home. They drove around, and found her walking on St. Maurice Avenue. It was a freezing cold day, and although she had a warm coat on, it was wide open. She was walking in the middle of the street, sort of laughing and talking to herself. They picked her up and took her back to the house. She seemed to know them, but they could see she wasn't herself. Her memory was mostly gone. Cats were meowing all over, under the bed, behind the sofa, even in the bathroom.

It took some time, but they made arrangements for her to go into the nearby nursing home. When it was time to go, and they told their dear aunt where she was going, she didn't seem to mind, but she remembered her cats, "Who's going to take care of my cats while I'm gone." He remembered the screen door and the cat who had tried to get in. He couldn't tell her, but those cats were long gone. Those cats must have comforted her in her loneliness. She was such a kind woman, and must have felt she had done a good deed feeding and caring for those cats.

Once Canute was in the home and her house was vacant, he and his brother went there to see if the place could be cleaned up. All those cats had left their doodoo all over. The place smelled like cats, stray cats, which they were. No way would he and his brother attempt to clean up the place. They hired a professional cleaning company and had the place scoured, not once but twice until the house was in good shape. After all the furniture and other belongings were removed the house was turned over to the landlord. He visited Canute on a fairly regular basis, as did his brother. They could see that she was slipping into complete memory loss.

Ed's brother told him this story sometime after it happened. Jerry was shopping at Sam's one day when he saw a large display of stuffed cats. They were beautiful he thought, and bought one with the intention of bringing it to Canute. Maybe her love for cats would bring her out of the silent world she was in. One day shortly thereafter, he drove down to St. Margaret's Home with the cat on the seat next to him. There were about a hundred elderly ladies staying at St. Margaret's. It was a happy place with a friendly atmosphere. To get to his aunt's room, Jerry had to walk through a huge living room where many of the ladies would sit playing cards, reading or writing, or watching television. As he walked through the room, the ladies started ooooing and ahhhing about the beautiful cat. They all wanted to hold it and pet the glossy fur. His brother humored the ladies and let each one hold the cat for awhile and pet it, before he took the cat to his aunt's room. She was in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth with a blank look in her eyes. Jerry put the cat in her lap. Her sense of touch was still there. She picked up the cat and hugged it to her and started petting it. She looked up at Jerry, not knowing him, but with a different look in her eyes, eyes that seemed to say thank you, thank you. His brother left his aunt feeling good that in some way he had made his aunt happy.

That night in bed he thought about his aunt and all the other ladies at the home. He remembered how much they enjoyed such a little thing as a stuffed cat. He had an idea, and the next day he went back to Sam's and bought all the cats they had left, ten of them. He loaded them all in the back seat of his car and drove once again to St. Margaret's Home. He had to make two trips to bring all the cats in, but his reward was great. The ladies were so happy they hugged him. There were cats all over the place. The ladies passed them around from one to the other, petting them and saying how beautiful they were. One lady held the cat for a long time and wouldn't give it up. A little squabble ensued but it ended on a happy note when she was told that it would be passed around to her again. All the while Jerry was the center of attention. They wouldn't let him go. Later, he said that it was one of the happiest moments in his life. He understood more strongly than ever, that it was better to give than to receive. He felt so happy when he left the home, he felt as if he was walking on air.

A month or so later, he went back to the home to visit his aunt. He thought the ladies might coral him again. When he went into the living room, the ladies greeted him warmly, but he saw no cats around. "Where are the cats?" he asked. The supervisor, who had come into the room said, "We've stored them away and give them out on special occasions. The ladies hugged and petted them so much, the hairs were coming out. One lady almost choked on a hair,

but they love them. Thank you again for your thoughtfulness." When he went into his aunt's room, he saw that she still held her cat. She had put up such a struggle when they tried to take it away from her, that they thought it would be better if she kept it. She loved that cat and probably held on to it until the day she died. She died in 1986.

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93. 1957 BEACH BOUND

Early on, soon after they came back to New Orleans from Dallas, they discovered

Gulf Shores. When they were little, their parents used to take them on vacations, but never went further than Biloxi, Mississippi. They were happy vacations, but never did enjoy swimming in the Gulf. There was no surf, and the water was full of sea nettles and sting rays. As a little boy he was stung by a sea nettle and he screamed to high heaven.

No wonder then, when he and his brother discovered Gulf Shores, they felt they had found a treasure. Back then in the late 1940's Gulf Shores was untouched nothing like it is now in 2001. There were a few little, family owned motels on the beach, and it was at these places that he and his brother would spend glorious days sunning on the beach and swimming in the surf.

When he started courting the lovely woman who was to become his wife, one of the outings he took her on, was a day trip to Gulf Shores. It was the summer of 1957. It was sort of a spur of the moment thing. She put together a lunch. He bought the drinks, which of course included a case of beer. In those days, and still today, his favorite sport is drinking beer while lying in the sun, listening to music, and every once in awhile taking a dip in the gulf waters, and riding back to shore on the waves. On this day, just as they were about ready to leave, he remembered that he did not have a beach umbrella. The sun would be blistering and they would need some kind of protection if they were going to spend a lot of time in the sun. He thought of his mother's clothes line in the back yard. It was the type of clothes line that had a pole in the middle and the lines would push up just like an umbrella. Hurriedly, he got the clothesline, grabbed a bag of clothes pins and a blanket and threw it all in the back seat of the car. They were off.

Now, it is about 170 miles to Gulf Shores. It was a long ride and with the wrong person, the wrong girl, it could have been a trying trip, but with this woman the time passed so fast they were in Gulf Shores before they knew it. Besides flirting with each other, they talked a lot and learned an awful lot about each other. They found a good spot on the beach. He dug a hole in the sand and put up his make shift umbrella. He put the blanket over it and fastened it tight with the clothes pins. It wasn't too windy of a day, and the "umbrella" held up well. They put another blanket on the sand and set out the lunch basket and the cooler of drinks. They took a long swim in the gulf, came back ate and had some drinks. Afterwards, she lay down on the blanket. She was so beautiful. He felt a tug at this heart. They talked and he drank beer after beer. She didn't drink one. She didn't need alcohol to make her happy and gay or to make the day seem brighter and rosier. The more beer he drank, the more beautiful she seemed to be. They went out and laid on the sand near the water and let the waves lap over them. He had his woman, his beer, his music, his sand, his sun, and the water lapping over him and her. He was in heaven. They stayed until dusk and watched the sunset. To this day it is one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen. Soon it was dark and they had a long way to go. They packed up and got on the road. Unfortunately, after driving a half hour or so, it started to rain. There were no Interstates then. I-10 was just a dream in some great planners mind. It was a two lane hilly road, and up and down these hilly roads he drove in the rain, straining his eyes to see where he was going. They made it home okay. He gave one last kiss to his love, and drove home to 6019 Dauphine Street.

He woke up the next morning with the worst headache he had ever had. It lasted three days before he went to the eye doctor. When the doctor asked what he had done to strain his eyes so badly. When he told the doctor that he had spent the day on the beach and driven over a hundred miles in a rain storm at night, the doctor said that it was a wonder he hadn't gone blind. The doctor gave him some pills and the headache cleared up. He smiled to himself. What a great day they had had. He would trade a severe headache for a day with his love at a beach anytime. It is a warm memory to this day.

94. 1939 WHEELING & DEALING AT THE CORNER GROCERY

There was a corner grocery about a half block from 6019 Dauphine Street. It was really a bar and a grocery. The bar was on one side of the store with a partition between the bar and the grocery. Many a time his dad would say, "Son, run down to the grocery and get me a pitcher of beer." He'd put the pitcher in his hand and off he'd go. The name of the grocery was Perino's. Mr. Perino, who acted as bartender while his wife ran the grocery, had no qualms about selling a pitcher of beer to a thirteen year old boy. He'd get the beer and start for home. What his dad didn't know was that he always took a couple of swallows of the beer on the way home. He didn't like the taste at the time, but maybe that was the answer for his love of beer later on. He worked out other schemes where he could make going to the corner grocery more interesting; give him a little taste of adult life.

One such scheme came about when his mother would say, "Son, I want you go to the corner grocery and get me a pound of luncheon meat/" 'Okay, Ma." he'd say, taking the money and running off to the grocery. He's say to Mrs. Perino, "My Ma would like 3/4 of a pound of luncheon meat sliced thin." When he'd get home his Ma would be none the wiser except that she would give him a skeptical look as he fingered the nickel or two in his pocket that he had made on the deal. He'd done this a number of times and had gotten away with it. He'd spend this money on candy or soft drinks, but that changed when a friend introduced him to the pleasure of tobacco, and he started spending the money on cigarettes.

The first time he smoked a cigarette, he got sick as a dog. A friend had a few cigarettes and gave him one. He puffed away. His friend showed him how to inhale, and that's what did it. He turned green and almost threw up. Later on, when he had smoked two or three and learned how to inhale, he began to enjoy them, maybe even get hooked on them. He began to use the little money he made on his schemes to buy cigarettes.

It was against the law to break the seal on a pack of cigarette and sell them singly. The lady at the corner grocery had no qualms about it however. Cigarettes were selling for 12 cents a pack. She would open a pack and sell them singly for a penny apiece. He and his friends would go into the store with their pennies or with a nickel and buy cigarettes. They couldn't smoke out in the open for fear of being caught. Most often they would go under the house at 6019 and smoke away. They were never caught. He did this until they moved to El Paso when he was 15. No smoking until navy time. Unfortunately there was no corner grocery in El Paso.

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95 1958 HONEYMOON MONEY

The summer he was to marry; money for the honeymoon trip was a problem.

He and his wife to be had planned a trip to Florida , and looked forward to driving around the entire peninsula, stopping at all the places they had heard so much about. He had taught summer school the past five years at Howard Elementary and planned to do so again. At least, that was the idea, until he read the latest notice from the School Board: summer school teachers were not going to have the use of school textbooks. It was a shock.

It was the last day of school before summer vacation. The entire faculty was gathered in the lounge and he said to the principal, in a somewhat hostile tone, "Man! You're not going to let me use the textbooks. How am I going to teach without books?" The principal didn't say a word. He got up and walked out of the lounge. A half hour later he got a phone call from the personnel office and was told that he would not be the teacher for summer school this year. The principal had selected someone else. It was a blow, especially since he and the principal had always had a good relationship. Evidently, the tone in which he had spoken to his principal had hit a sensitive button. He didn't even come to the wedding later that summer.

He was in a bind. What to do? He was only making around $4,500 a year, and unwisely, had not put enough money aside. He had been depending on summer school, which was always a sure thing, and bring in about $600.00. Of course, he had his phonics program that he could fall back on. So, taking the initiative, he went to a little church about a block from the school and asked the minister if he could rent a room to teach a class. "Son" said the minister, "You can have the room for free — just keep it clean." He printed up notices about the phonics instruction and had some students distribute them around the school neighborhood. He garnered about 20 students for the six weeks course, five students at a time, and one hour a day. He did well and made the 600.00 he needed.

World Book Encyclopedia ran an ad for salesmen, especially teachers. He applied and became a book salesman in the afternoon and at night. He made enough selling books to increase his money bag to a little over a thousand dollars. In those days that was more than enough for their trip, and what a trip it was. There is no trip as wonderful as a honeymoon trip. As always, never being without a book, he brought two books for their honeymoon reading, one for his wife and one for him. He still remembers the title of his book, The Black Cloud, and his wife's book, Beloved. Need I say, that both books returned unread.

96. 1948 A FORK IN THE ROAD

At the beginning of his sophomore year at Southern Methodist University, he decided to go to mass every morning before classes. Mass was at seven and seven-thirty at Holy Trinity Church which was directly across the street from Jesuit High School on Oaklawn Avenue. He had a deep spiritual need at that time, and on the one hand, he was filled with the presence of God in his life, and on the other hand, he had longings and desires like any other man. He didn't have a car. His dad didn't have a car. In fact, the last car his dad had was the 1934 Cheverolet with the toot– a toot horn, back when they lived at 6019 Dauphine Street in New Orleans. He could have walked but his bike was faster. He'd ride out Travis Street to Fitzhugh, take a left to the shortcut at Turtle Creek Drive, zoom down the incline over Turtle Creek bridge, ride through the grassy area to Jesuit High School, ride through their grounds to the church. He did this every day for about six months. The mass was in Latin, and as he remembered the duties of an altar boy from his youth, whenever an altar boy did not show up, he would go up on the altar and serve mass. He did this many times, often serving as altar boy for both masses. He was twenty two year old. He didn't realize that his serving as altar boy was not going unnoticed.

One morning as he was riding his bike home after mass, a car pulled a little ahead of him and stopped. A man, an older man, dressed to the gills, got out and came up to him as he braked his bike. "I go to mass every morning" he said "A practice I've had all my life. I never miss mass in the morning. I've watched you come every day, how devout you are, and how you enjoy serving as an altar boy. If you have a desire to be a priest, I'll pay for all your needs until you are ordained. He gave him his card and said, "Think about it. Give me a call." He got in his car and drove off. He looked at the card. He didn't know the name, but he knew the company. This man was president of one of the biggest companies in Dallas.

He did think about it, long and hard. He prayed on it. He came to a decision, called this wonderful man, thanked him, and told him he was not going to be a priest.

As he thinks about this butterfly that flew into his mind, that gave him this memory, he wonders at how staggering, how amazing the simple answer to a yes or no question can have far reaching effects. If he had said yes, he wanted to be a priest and had accepted the man's offer for help, there would have been no Marie Puyau. There would have been no Base Ten, no Ed, no Therese, no Roxanne, no Maurice, no Jerome, no Jeanne, no Mary, and no Julie. There would have been no Base Ten Plus, no Megan, no Brittney, no Kyle, no Christopher, no Annelise, no Brigitte, no Alix. He wonders, too, how many of his ancestors have made decisions that sent their lives in different directions when they came to a fork in the road of their life, and said yes instead of no, or no instead of yes. It is awesome, how a decision, one way or another, can send so many ripples along the pathways of time.

THIS WAY OR THAT WAY

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97. 1942 GROCERY MAN

It was stretching the truth a little bit to call him a man, but he did serve as the grocery man for his parents when he lived at 4142 Travis Street in Dallas, Texas. There was a grocery right at the corner of his house, Miller's Grocery. Mr. Miller had an idea that was ahead of his time. In fact he has never seen a grocery like his any time since. People could call in their grocery list which staff in the store would fill and bag. The groceries would then be delivered to the house, and best of all, the grocery bill could be charged. Eat now and pay later.

Mr. Miller probably lost some money on dead beats, but overall he must have made a fortune.

Miller's Grocery wasn't a large place, just a regular corner grocery, and his mother sent him there to get things on many, many occasions. Once she sent him to get a pound of Luzeene coffee. Mr. Miller was a kindly man, and other than give him a quizzical look, he would reach up on the shelf and give him a pound of Luzianne coffee. He must have felt this was a new kid in town and didn't know how to say the name properly. Another time, his dear mother, Lillian Mae, sent him to get a piece of daube. Now, Mr. Miller's brother ran the meat section, and when he told him what he wanted, the butcher looked at him and said, "Dobe, never heard of it. What is it?" He replied to the butcher, "I don't know." "Go ask your mother what it looks like?" Lillian Mae told him to tell the butcher it was like a pocket, a pocket of beef. On his return t the grocery, he delivered his mother's description, and the butcher filled his order. When he got home with the meat, his mother cried out, "That's not daube.". Anyway, she kept it, and served it for supper . Whatever it was, it tasted good.

Because Mr. Miller gave so many services to his customers, his prices were naturally higher than most places. His mother knew this, and that is why when she had a large number of items to buy, Lillian Mae would sent him to a much larger grocery on Knox Street, where the prices were cheaper. It was about five blocks from the house. One time she gave him an especially large order to fill, and he said "How am I going to carry all this?," An answer was forthcoming, "Take your little brother with you." Together, he and his brother, made the journey, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging, talking all the way there.

At the big store it took them quite awhile to find everything, and when everything was counted and paid for, they started for home. He was carrying two huge bags, and his brother one smaller bag. They had gone about a third of a block and his arms ached already. An idea came to him. Why not take the streetcar? It stopped right in front of the store, and left them off about a block from their house. They did. They boarded the streetcar, found a seat and put the groceries down. It was a short ride, and once again they had the huge bags in their arms. As the bus lurched to a stop at their corner, a bunch of potatoes rolled out of the bag onto the floor of the bus. They put the bags down and scrambled for the potatoes. All the while the bus driver was yelling "Hurry up, Hurry up." As they got off the bus, embarrassed, faces red, he vowed to himself, never again, but then he knew he could never refuse Lillian Mae when she looked at him with those beautiful, sparkling, light blue eyes.

98. 1936 NO PROBLEM

They moved into the house at 6019 Dauphine Street in 1936. It was a double shotgun house under one roof. His family lived on one side and the other side was rented out. There was the narrowest of driveways on either side. The house was built on blocks that were about three feet off the ground. The side the family lived on had an empty lot next to it, and that was one reason why his Aunt Annie O'Riordan made the down payment on the house, while his parents picked up the monthly note. The house was bought for under $2,000 dollars. He didn't know what the monthly note was, but he knew the monthly rent for the other side of the house was $10.00. You can't beat that, and when the war came, the rent was frozen for years.

There were two small garages on both sides of the house, and although neither family had a car, his mother said that she wished she had a bigger garage to store things in. His dad, who could fix or build anything, said, "No problem." His dad went out and bought some cement, laid a chain wall about three feet from the present garage, put 2 x 4's to hold up the side of the garage while he knocked out the others. He anchored new studs to the chain wall, extended the roofs 2 x 4's to the studs, put new corrugated tin for the roof, and presto, his lovely wife had a bigger garage.

It didn't freeze often in New Orleans, but when it did, the pipes under the house would freeze up, causing a problem. The first time it happened, Lillian Mae told her husband, "What are we going to do? We don't have enough money for a plumber." Her husband would smile and say, "No problem." He went out and borrowed or rented pipe fitting tools came home, cut away the pipes that were clogged, rejoined them with new pipe, and presto, the pipes were fixed, and the water flowed once more.

One time, the back porch on the renter's side of the house was sagging. The six by six piece of lumber that was holding up the porch had rotted out. The renters complained to his dad. "No problem" said his dad. He went out and borrowed or rented a house jack, and jacked up one side of the house off the blocks near the porch, cut and put in a new 6 x 6, lowered the house back on the blocks, and presto, the porch didn't sag any more.

One great wish that he had, was that his dad could have seen his grandchildren and his great grandchildren.. He knows that if his grandchildren of Base Ten: Ed III, Therese, Roxanne, Maurice, Jerome, Jeanne, Mary, Julie, and his great grandchildren of Base Ten Plus, Megan, Brittney, Kyle, Christopher, Annelise, Brigitte and Alix would have gone to him and

said, "Granddad, Great Granddad, Can you fix this for us?" he would have held each one of them in his big arms, given each one of them a warm, loving hug, and said, "No problem."

DAD, GRANDDAD. GREAT GRANDDAD

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99. 1966 March 6 THE TALL GLASS

His fortieth birthday celebration centered around a book, a movie, and an unplanned surprise with a tall glass. A few years before his fortieth, he had read The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone, one of the finest novels he has ever read. It was a fictionalized biography of Michaelangelo. Such biographies are often better than a straight factual biography, in that the person is brought to life with feeling and emotion. As he read the book he followed along with the complete art work and sculpture of the great one at hand, letting him see the works of this artist as they were being described in the book. It was a great experience. A few years later, the movie that was made from the book, was to be shown at the Orpheum Theater, and wonder of wonders, it was to be shown on his birthday, his big one. He would celebrate by going to see The Agony and the Ecstasy.

To add to the festive occasion, he and his wife joined his brother and his wife for dinner at one of their favorite places, the Royal Sonesta Hotel, where their specialty was a steak named Adam's Rib. First they met at a bar and had a few drinks; or rather he had a few drinks. His lovely wife didn't drink alcohol at all, and his brother and his wife had only one. He was feeling pretty good when they left for the hotel.

When the menu was presented to them by the waiter at the hotel, he noticed under the drink list, a Yard of Beer. Inquiring of the waiter what a yard of beer consisted of, the waiter said that it was a tall glass, 36 inches high, filled with beer. Gee, he thought to himself that would be a tall glass to put on the table. He might have to stand on a chair to reach the mouth of the glass. The waiter may have noticed his mind rumblings, for he said that the glass came in a stand and was kept on the floor and the stand and the glass was raised up when drinking. What a great idea! What a great drink for a beer lover like himself. In his already alcohol enhanced state his eyes gleamed; he looked at the waiter saying, "bring me one."

While they enjoyed their steaks, the chatter flowed freely at this birthday party, and when they would take a sip of ice tea from their glasses, he would take the tall glass, raise it high in the air and take a swallow of beer. The stand that held the glass had two handles, one near the bottom and one near the top. The very bottom of the glass was round and about the size of a cantaloupe, while the rest of the glass was about an inch thick and went straight up for about three feet with a little outward lip at the end. The glass was held firmly in the stand by a clasp near the bottom and near the top. Every time he raised his glass to drink, out of the corner of his eyes, he could see other guests watching his maneuver. The glass had to be held horizontally first, even with the mouth, and then the glass had to be slowly lifted up for the beer to flow. At the end of the meal with everyone ready to go, and it being nearly time for the show to start, he still had some beer left in the very bottom of the glass, in the little cantaloupe sized bowl. Feeling real good, and lusting for every last drop of beer, he raised his glass high, very high to get to the very bottom of the little bowl. All the beer that was left came rushing down that 36 inch tube, hit his open mouth, and then overflowed, all over his face, his neck, his clothes. There wasn't that much beer left, so it wasn't much of a mess. He laughed with the rest of them. He was feeling good. What could be better than a beer lover soaked in beer? He was in paradise.

He walked merrily with his wife, brother and sister-in-law through the French Quarter to the Orpheum Theater. He talked louder than usual, even sang and hummed a little. His brother said that he would smell like beer in the show. Being his birthday, his wife said nothing, just squeezed his arm real tight. Arriving at the theater, they found seats in the first row of the balcony, right in front of the railing; the best seats in the house. He put his feet up on the railing, something he never did, and talked loudly, another no-no. Darn, he was feeling good. But, when the movie started he was quiet as a mouse, absorbed in this magnificent movie. Although disappointed that they filmed only one chapter of this twenty chapter book, and showed nothing of his struggles to sculpture the David, the Pieta, and other great works, the filming of the painting of the Sistine Chapel was masterful, engrossing, uplifting. They left the theater with nothing but praise for the movie. He was still feeling good, exhilarated, not only from the alcohol, but from the movie. He looked at them, smiled and said, "Let's go get a tall one." His brother and his wife declined. It being his birthday, his very special fortieth, his wife looked at him, smiled with her pretty blue eyes, and said, "Let's go birthday boy."

Back they walked, arm in arm, through the French Quarter to the Royal Sonesta.

They didn't go to the dining room, but entered the little bar on the corner. They sat at a little round table that was about the size of a Frisbee. His wife ordered a coke and with a smile to himself, he ordered a yard of beer. After a few swallows of beer from that tall glass, all of his high came back to him. He became his loud, boisterous self, and put his quiet, controlled self aside. After taking another swallow, he took the glass, stand and all, which he supposed was to be kept on the floor, and put it on top of the tiny table. The glass stood up straight and tall as if in homage to beer lovers everywhere. As people passed by their table he could hear their remarks, "Look at that drink" or "Where did he get that'" or "Let's get one of those." Showing off, he'd raise the glass from the table, hold it horizontally, and then tip it up in the air, letting the beer flow down, swallow after swallow, and ending with a satisfied, "Ahhhhhhhh."

The waiter came to the table and very politely said, "Sir, would you mind putting the glass on the floor. The glass may get broken and hurt someone. "In reply, his quiet, conforming self in abeyance, he replied in a sharp tone, "Sir, if the glass gets broken I'll pay for it, and if someone gets hurt, I'll take care of it. You will not be responsible." He held the glass firmly in his two hands as he said this. Seeing the waiter fusing up to reply, his wife chimed in with a lilt to her voice, "It's his fortieth birthday." The waiter looked at her, looked into those beautiful eyes, looked back at him, and left to talk to someone at the bar. They both looked at him. The waiter didn't return to their table. He looked at his wife. She smiled at him. She had just given him a great gift; the gift of love and understanding. He kept the glass on the table for drink after drink until there was just a little left. Triumphantly, he stood for that last drink, raised the glass high in the air until it almost seemed to reach the ceiling and let that beer cascade down into his mouth, catching it all this time. He put the glass back on the table, took his wife's arm and they went home. That night as he drifted off to sleep, he counted tall glasses, one after the other, and went to sleep with a smile on his face.

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100 1939 HIGHS AND LOWS

He was out in the field trying to catch butterflies when he caught a memory he wished he hadn't caught. The incident happened when he was in the seventh grade at St. Maurice Elementary School. It was to be his last year at the school before going to high school. There was no eight grades in elementary school at that time.

St. Maurice had a softball team coached by the assistant pastor of St. Maurice Church. The coach entered the school team in the CSAL, Catholic School Athletic League. The league used a large softball six or seven inches in diameter, larger in size than a regular soft ball. The bases were closer together than regular softball. The pitcher's mound was so close to the plate it seemed as if he was almost on top of the batter. He played left field on the team, and was considered a good enough hitter to bat fourth in the lineup. The team played exceptionally well that year and made it to the championship game. It was the memory of that game that surfaced when he caught that butterfly, a memory he would like to forget.

All the guys on the team were excited about the championship game. They invited their puppy love girlfriends, their parents and other friends. He invited his parents and his aunts. His parents couldn't come, and none of his aunts except one, his Aunt Claire. Before the game he went up in the bleachers and she gave him a big hug. During the game he could see her rooting for him and the team. It was in this game that he made an error, giving birth to a memory that became lodged in his brain, and only came back when he caught that butterfly while hunting in the field.

It was the eighth inning. St. Maurice was ahead by two runs. The team they were playing had the bases loaded with two outs. The batter hit a long fly ball out to left field. The ball seemed to float up to the sky in a huge arc, and then started down straight to him. He raised his hands to catch it just as he had caught many balls before, when to his shame he dropped the ball. Three runs scored and the other team was ahead. He heard the big groans from his teammates, and from the stands. To this day he would swear he heard his Aunt Claire yell out, "That's all right. That's all right," trying to boost him up. He was saved from a worst memory when his team rallied to score two more runs and win the championship.

On graduation day the coach gave each member of the team a little sterling silver softball that said Champs CSAL 1939. Oh where, oh where, has that little ball gone?

That wasn't the only butterfly he caught that day that had to do with cabbage ball. He caught two other memories, both of which were on the upside, not the downside. The first is a memory of the semi-final game. It was the ninth inning and St. Maurice was ahead by one run. The other team had a man on first with one out and their heavy hitter was at bat. The coach told him to play back, way back, because this guy could really hit the ball. The count went to three and two, and their heavy hitter connected, hitting not a long high ball, but a soft high floater that would fall between third base and left field. It looked like a sure hit. The coach for the other team waved the guy on first base to go. Way out in left field, seeing that ball sort of float in the air and then start to fall down, he ran like the wind and caught that ball before it hit the ground, and then running at full speed threw to first base to make a double play. That catch got them into the final championship game. The memory of that catch lingers with him to this day.

The second pleasant memory came when he was playing cabbage ball for the CYO, the Catholic Youth Organization. That summer after graduating from elementary school, he went out for the CYO team. They played their games at night. There was a senior division for the older guys 16 and over, and a junior division for the younger guys. They accepted him for the team. Being the newest member of the team, a little younger and a bit smaller than the other guys, they put him in the lineup batting last, the weakest position in the batting order.

His moment of glory came one night when his team was behind two to one. It was the last of the ninth inning. His team had one man on first base with two out. It was his turn to bat. All the guys on the other team knew he was batting last and the chant went up among their players, "Easy out" "Easy out." as the outfielders moved closer in to the bases. On the third pitch he got hold of one, caught the ball solidly, and it went up and up, not only over the outfielders heads, but way high up and far. He was already around the bases and at home plate before the guy got the ball and threw it to the infield. Scoring two runs their team won. In his mind he can still see that playing field, still see the bright lights, still feel the impact of the bat on that ball, still hear the cheers of his teammates. Memory is a wonderful thing, even though it keeps a record of the bad as well as the good.

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101. 1947 THE RADIO SOLDIER

She had a date with a soldier and couldn't believe it. At times she was nervous, but almost always fluttery and excited. She was going on a double date with her friend Wibby who also had a date with a soldier. The girls couldn't stop talking about it when they were at school. All their friends gathered around them and all of them wanted to know the details as to how it came about. True, the war was over, but men in uniform were still the rage, and she and Wibby felt themselves extremely fortunate. After all, they were still young teenagers in high school. "Tell us, tell us how you met them?" they asked almost in unison, almost breathless, they were so eager to know.

'It all started with the radio, can you believe it? Marie said, and told the girls how she and her mother listened to the radio almost every night. These were the days before television, and radio was king. They listened to lots of shows, especially Amos and Andy, The Lux Theater, Inner Sanctum, the Jack Benny and the Red Skelton shows. One night the radio station they were tuned to, made an announcement that their local radio broadcast would be held in a hall on St. Charles Street, and invited anyone who would like to see how a radio show was put together and aired. They gave a time and place. Marie and her mother were excited about that and decided they would go. Wibby called and said that she and her mother were listening to the same station and that they would like to go too; so the four of them made plans to go together.

The place was packed, but they managed to get seats up near the front. The program the station broadcast was explained in detail and everyone enjoyed the comedy show that was presented, but the big surprise came when that part of the show was over. The manager of the station came on stage and sang, "Is There a Lonely Girl Out There Somewhere For Him?" pointing to a young, handsome soldier who came on stage. Every eligible female hand went up, including two giggling teenagers. The announcer's eyes caught Marie and she was invited up on the stage. The soldier and teenager were brought together and the announcer said that they had arranged a dinner date for them at a fine restaurant. Marie's mother, Amelia, called out from the audience, "My daughter can't go out with him alone." The announcer turned to Marie and after saying something, Webby was called on the stage and another soldier from the audience. "Now she won't be alone. It will be a foursome." the announcer called out to the audience. Amelia and Wibby's mother were satisfied.

After the date, and back at school, all their friends wanted to know everything.

That happened. "It was fun. They were real nice and we had a good time" "Were they fresh? Did they try anything? Did you let them kiss you?" "Nooooooo" the girls giggled. "Will you go out with them again? "No, they're shipping out in a few days." The memory of that

exciting date lingered for a long time. Soldiers dating teenagers doesn't happen every day

102. 1950 SAILORS EVERYWHERE

Marie was a junior at Loyola and was on Christmas break when she got the invitation to go the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis. A girlfriend's brother was a midshipman there and he had asked his sister if she would invite six or eight girls to come to June week graduation at the academy. Marie was one of the girls she asked, along with her friend Wibby. That invitation made the Christmas holidays all that more exciting. All the girls got together and talked about the great event, excited as little honey bears discovering a honey patch.

About a week later Marie's friend, Wibby, told her that there was an opening to ride in the Babylon parade during Mardi Gras. She told her mother about the good news, but her mother had to put a damper on her enthusiasm, telling her that each event would cost about three hundred dollars, and that she had to choose one or the other. Hands down, the sailors won. She was going to Annapolis.

The girls went up to Annapolis by train. It was a once in a lifetime trip. When they arrived they were met by midshipmen who escorted them to their lodgings. The band master at the naval academy had opened up his home to the girls. He had a huge loft where all the girls would be able to bunk together. They couldn't have asked for a better arrangement.

Almost immediately the midshipmen started calling the girls asking for dates, and of course every one of them accepted. They were escorted to dinners, to dances, to luncheons, even going sailing. The highlight of their stay was the invitation to the senior graduation dinner which was a gala affair with everyone dressed up to perfection. Marie held on to the arm of the good looking midshipman who escorted her to their place at the table. It was one of the most delightful experiences of her life. It came to an end all too soon. Some of her friends went on to New York, but she and her friend Mickey took the train home. It was shortly after this that Mickey entered the first stages of becoming a nun. This may have influenced Marie later on in her life, but when she got home from her trip all she could do was dream of was handsome sailors swarming around her, making her feel like a princess with stars in her eyes.

103. 1963 THE BIG FELLOW

Andrew Jackson School was located at 1408 Camp Street. It was a big three story school with an enrollment of about 800. Some of the kids were three or four year's overage for the grade, some in the 6th grade being 14 or 15 years of age. When the big, husky young man came to school to register, the principal looked over the counter to see what kid he had in mind, and saw no one. "Where is he?" the principal asked. The big fellow shifted his huge shoulders insolently and said, "I came to register myself." The principal looked at this big guy who looked about 20 years old and told him that this was an elementary school and went only up to the sixth grade. "I'm in the sixth grade." he said with a smirk. "How old are you?" "Fourteen." "Do you have your birth certificate?" "No." "You'll need that before you can register." The big fellow shrugged his shoulders again, gave the principal an ominous look, leaned over the counter a little, then turned on his heel and walked out. That was the end of that thought the principal, but fifteen minutes later the big fellow was back with his birth certificate that certified that he fourteen. The principal could hardly believe it and looked once more into the sassy, cruel looking eyes of this huge kid. What a big surprise the teacher was going to have teaching a kid that looked like a man. The big fellow lasted about two months before he was suspended for hitting a kid over the head with a chair. The kid had a hard head and survived.

46

104 1924-25 THE COURTING OF LILLIAN MAE O'RIORDAN

A memory within a memory— remembering what his mother told him that she remembered about meeting her husband. She said that one day she had gone over to her friend's house, and when she entered, her friend greeted her with such bubbling enthusiasm; she thought something really wonderful had happened. It was wonderful for her friend. She had received a letter from her boyfriend who was in the United States Marines, stationed in Cuba. She listened to her friend talk on and on and on about him, how much she loved him, and couldn't wait until he got home. "Guess what, Lillian Mae; he said that a friend of his wants to write to some girl in New Orleans. He's from here and lives near Arabi around the Jackson Barracks." " Huh" said Lillian Mae "He mustn't be so hot if he didn't have a girl to write to begin with. Besides, I already have a boyfriend." "You mean Milton Catire? I thought you said your dad (Bill) and your mother (Rosa) wouldn't let you go out with him anymore." "That's true – not so much mother as dad. You know how strict he is. Milton brought me home too late one night and dad exploded. He yelled at Milton WHEN I SAY TEN THIRTY I MEAN TEN THIRTY and told Milton that he couldn't take me out anymore." "So?" said her friend. "Don't you dare tell anyone, you hear. I meet Milton in the movies or at the ice cream parlor. He walks me home but doesn't come inside." "Are you serious about this guy?" "Could be, maybe," said Lillian Mae flashing her light blue, sparkling eyes. "I guess you don't want this guy to write to you then?" "Tell your boyfriend the guy can write to me if he wants to, but I don't promise to answer his letters. I'll write back if I feel like it."

About two weeks later a letter came from the young marine. She answered. The letters flowed back and forth for about a year. (Wouldn't it have been a magnificent treasure if these letters had been preserved?). His mother told him that Milton didn't like the idea of her writing to some marine she didn't even know. They had an argument over it and they broke up. (Years later when they lived at 6019 Dauphine Street, Milton Catire showed up at the house. He had married and was divorced. He said that he had wanted to see Lillian Mae once more and had tracked her down through friends. He, his dad, and little brother were all present while Milton talked to their mother, Lillian Mae. He didn't stay long, but when he left, Milton had a sad look in his eyes. Young love doesn't die easily). Lillian Mae was sad that they had broken up. It was all nice and dandy to get sweet letters from a young Marine, but he was in Cuba and that didn't do her any good. She would stop writing him and find herself a new boyfriend. That might make Milton jealous. Maybe they could get together again.

One afternoon not long after she had decided not to write to the marine, and while she was at home with her mother and dad, there was a knock on the door. Opening it, there in front of her, stood a marine in full dress uniform, hat cocked to the side, and brown eyes looking at her intently. "I'm Eddie" he said with a smile. "I'm Lillian Mae. How nice to meet you after writing to you so long. Please come in." Although appearing calm on the outside, her heart was fluttering inside her body. He was so handsome, and that uniform made him look like a god. She didn't realize it then, but in later years she told her son that she had fallen for Eddie then and there. It had been love at first sight, and as it turned out the feeling was mutual. From that day on she never had another thought about getting together with Milton,.

Eddie courted her in style. He didn't have a car but he didn't need one. He floated on air actually, as he took Lillian Mae for boat rides at City Park, rode the St. Charles streetcar around the belt. (In those days one could board the St. Charles streetcar at Canal and St. Charles, ride all the way to Carrollton Avenue, up Carrollton to Canal Street, and then back to St. Charles.), rode the West End streetcar along the canal all the way to the lakefront to visit Spanish Fort, an amusement park. (The canal and West End streetcar was located at the large neutral ground on Pontchartrain Blvd.), for walks along Dryades Street, Canal Street and the French Quarter, and to movies at the Coliseum Theater.

Lillian Mae and Eddie became engaged and later were married at St. Joseph Church on Tulane Avenue on June 3, 1925. It must have been a gala occasion. St. Joseph is a huge church. There was probably a large crowd. Present were five of Eddie's six brothers (brother Robert had died in a drowning accident in 1907) : Frank, George, Emile, Albert and John, as well as his four sisters: Blanche, Claire, Corrine, and Marguerite. Eddie's father, Francis, died in 1917. His mother, Jeanne, died two years later in 1919. Present also were Lillian Mae's father and mother and her brother, Gus. Her uncle James O'Riordan and his wife Marcia and there children Henry, James, Molly, Katie, Annie and Genevieve were also probably present. Where did they honeymoon?

A little over nine months after they were married, Lillian Mae gave birth to a son on March 6, 1926. They named him Edward Jr. after his father. Almost four years later Lillian Mae gave birth to another son. They named him Gerard. They were good parents, loved and cared for their children and brought them up well. Edward and Lillian Mae had a good life together. They loved each other, were happy together, and had fun together. They spent most of their life in New Orleans, except for one year in El Paso, Texas and ten years in Dallas, Texas. Eddie left New Orleans for Texas to take on more important jobs as manager of the Bienville Furniture Company.

Eddie died on May 2, 1958. Lillian Mae lived another twenty five years before dying on Friday 13, 1983 and once again joined the young marine she loved so dearly.
47

105. 1994 THE WAITER WITH THE FUNNY BONE

It could be called the summer of the bone. First, there was Ed, who had been on a low fat diet for the first time in his life and had shrunk to skin and bone. His wife had put him on this diet because of high cholesterol and it had helped to bring that down, but it had also brought down his self-esteem about his body. He didn't like being thin, not that thin. When he would meet someone new, he began introducing himself as "Hi, I'm Ed, the living bone." He thought that was a pretty funny comment, but he didn't know funny until he met the waiter with the funny bone. Then there was his wife Marie who walked around with a limp, actually hobbled sometimes, because of a bone in her foot that she had injured the year before while teaching kindergarten. While walking in her classroom she didn't see one of her little students who was lying on the floor for some reason, and she tripped over him. While trying to avoid landing on top of him she bent her foot in an awkward manner. It had given her trouble ever since. She had to walk slowly. Ed called her slow bones. Bonus was the name he gave to his daughter Jeanne that summer as they camped at Disney World. Bonus because she added something extra to the day, a sweetness and a beauty that made everything seem better and brighter around them. Maybe it was her beauty that made the waiter with the funny bone act so silly.

They met this funny man, this waiter, at the dining room of the Wilderness Lodge. Not just the three of them, although at first Jeanne was the only one camping with them that summer, later, most of Base Ten Plus had joined them to enjoy a camping stay at Disney. There were ten members of Base Ten Plus at the dining table: Ed, Marie, Jeanne, Julie, Mary, Jerome, Jackie, Roxanne, Therese and John Paul. Wilderness Lodge had just opened that summer and it was an awesome hotel. The dining room was off to the side of the main lobby. The meal wasn't served buffet style, but rather, the food was brought to the table by the waiter in big serving bowls. When they were emptied the waiter would bring new bring new bowls of food heaped with chicken, brisket, spareribs, potatoes and corn. Salads were served in separate bowls, and a special kind of root beer was offered, as well as other drinks.

The fun began with the waiter as they were gouging themselves with this delicious food. The waiter had been friendly and nice from the beginning. He told us his name was Cash. After fiddling in the bowl of food Julie couldn't find what she wanted and told Cash "I would like two breasts." Cash sort of bowed to her, winked at her, and ran off. He came back almost instantly with two uncooked chicken breasts and held them in front of him chest high. He didn't say a word, just held them there and looked at Julie, as much as to say, here are my breasts, come and get them. Julie, who is never at lost for words, gave him the evil eye look that has probably squished many a man and said something like "Are you trying to be funny." With that Cash quickly left and came running back with two freshly cooked breasts for Julie which he gave to her with a wink and a smile and said, "Just teasing."

The chatter flew back and forth with everyone having something to say. When Cash came to the table once again Marie told him that the food was delicious, but that she wished they had lamb, that she loved lamb. Cash told her that he was sorry, they were fresh out of lamb, but not to worry, he would go kill a lamb for her. With that he hustled off and some minutes later they all heard from the kitchen BAA BAA BAA BAA and then a real loud thump; in pops Cash with two lamb chops in a skillet and puts them down in front of Marie. They learned later that he had gone to a more expensive restaurant in the hotel and gotten the chops from their kitchen. That was the kind of waiter he was. Moving around the table he made a friend of everyone there, and kept them laughing with his comments.

When it was dessert time and Cash told them what they had, Roxanne piped up that she didn't know what kind of berries loganberries were. Cash said not a word more, but hopped off to the kitchen and came back with a sample of loganberry ice cream. Roxanne tasted it and liked it, but when Julie tasted it, she made a face and said, "Not me." Without hesitation, Cash was off again and in a few minutes was back with a delicious, huge brownie that they learned he had copped from the dessert tray at the expensive restaurant.

The highlight of this waiter's histrionics, however, came at the end of the meal when coffee was served. Marie, again, was the cause of some light hearted foolishness when she told Cash that she didn't want a full cup of coffee for herself, but would just take a sip from her husband's cup. Cash was insistent that she have a full cup, that it was delicious, that it came with the meal, that it was free. Marie was just as insistent that she would just have a sip. When he came back with the tray and had served coffee all around, he had one cup left on the tray which he showed to everyone and then put it down in front of Marie. Inside the cup was about three teaspoons of coffee. She laughed, smiled at him, and then told him rather boldly that the only reason she couldn't drink a whole cup of coffee was because she would be running to the bathroom all night long. "Not to worry" replied Cash and with that he actually ran back to the kitchen and a minute or so later popped out with a whole cup of coffee for Marie, and a huge silver bowl. Marie looked at the full coffee cup and gave up. She resigned herself to drinking it. Questions came from around the table, almost in unison. "What's the bowl for?" With a twinkle in his eye Cash replied, "Chamber pot. Just in case." as he looked at Marie. They all roared with laughter. Then, getting a little vulgar, he raised the bowl up and tipped it so everyone could see the yellow liquid that was inside. When he was sure everyone had a good look he yelled out, "Oh! Oh! It looks like it's been used; "and with that he ran off with the bowl and back into the kitchen. The laughter was continuous. They wanted Cash to have the last laugh by giving him an extra-large tip. He deserved it and more. What a waiter! Cash had made that meal the best and jolliest meal they had ever had at Disney World.

.

48

106. 1927 THE TRAGIC DEATH OF GRANNY "ROSA" O'RIORDAN

He had seen his grandmother when he was one year old, but he doesn't remember what she looked like. He had probably taken his first steps and was enjoying the freedom of walking around the house by himself. His granny had probably picked him up and hugged him. She had probably showered him with kisses. She must have read him stories and bounced him on her knee. He laughed and giggled when she raised him in the air over her head. He wished he could remember all the things his granny did but he can't. He doesn't even have a picture of her to know what she looked like. The only things he knows is what his mother told him about her mother, about his grandmother.

It is amazing how little he knows about his mother's side of the family. Sometimes Lillian Mae would be in a talkative mood and tell her sons a story or two about her family. Maybe she told him a lot more than he remembers, but there is one vivid story that she told them more than once. The event had such a traumatic effect on her that it was locked in her brain and needed release more than once. Her mother's name, his granny's name was Rose Marie O'Riordan, but everybody called her Rosa. He doesn't know whether Granny Rosa lived with his mother and dad, or whether she was just visiting the night of the tragedy. In any event, on that sad night they were all together at the little house in the Irish Channel. It was a night his mother could never forget, a shocking experience she shared with her children.

On that fatal night when she was at the little house with her daughter, her son-in-law and her little grandson, her only grandson, she was full of laughter and happiness. She played with her little grandson and talked up a storm. It was a rainy night, but nothing could deter Rosa from making the novena she made every week at the Redemptorist Church. She had done it for years and a little rain wasn't going to stop her. Eddie had an old model T-Ford at the time and he told his mother-in-law that he would take her to church. "Don't be silly" she told him. "I have my umbrella. I'll be fine. I've done it many times before in the rain and the cold." "Mother, I don't think you should go at all. It's raining too hard," said Lillian Mae. "I'm going" Rosa said and with that she picked up her little grandson and said, "bye-bye little Eddie. I'll play with you when I come back." Eddie, at the door with an umbrella, helped Rosa into the car and they were off to church, which was just a few blocks away.

Although it was a short ride it was a difficult ride in the heavy rain, so much so, that Eddie repeated his wife's plea, "Maybe you shouldn't go tonight, Rosa." "I'll be okay. Don't worry. If it's raining this hard will you pick me up?" " You know I will, Rosa, I'll pick you up whether it's raining or not." "All right then, in about forty five minutes" she told Eddie as she turned to him with a smile. She was very pleased with this man her daughter had married, this ex-marine. "You know Eddie, you've made my daughter very happy." "She makes me happy too." said Eddie. As the church came into view Rosa said, "Here we are. Pull over and let me out." Cars were parked on the church side of the street and Eddie said, "Ill have to let you out across the street.. Be careful now when you cross over." Rosa opened the door, opened her umbrella, and walked quickly behind the car in the heavy rain. Just as she was crossing the street, a speeding car came from out of nowhere and hit Rosa, knocking her into the street where she lay unconscious in the heavy rain.

His mother never got further than this part of the story. She always ended by telling them that her mother had died while crossing the street. So, the rest is conjecture on his part. Eddie got out of the car and ran to Rosa and held her in his arms. Was she dead at the time or did she say something to him? Can you picture Eddie and Rosa sitting there in the middle of the street, in the rain, with a crowd probably gathering around? Someone must have called an ambulance. What about the man who hit her? Did he drive off or stay to help? What happened to him? What punishment did he receive? He remembers vaguely his mother telling them that the driver of the car was a teenager, but whether the police claimed it was an accident or a hit and run case, he doesn't know. One thing he does know: Rosa died that night. She was dead. His grandmother was gone.

Lillian Mae never did go into detail about how she found out about her mother's death. Did Eddie stay with her and go with her in the ambulance to the hospital, or did he let her go alone while he hurried home to break the sad news to his wife. Maybe Eddie went in the ambulance and sent someone else to tell his wife. His son doesn't think so. The news was too tragic, too traumatic. Eddie had to tell Lillian Mae personally, and hold her in his arms, comforting her as she cried and cried. It was probably one of the closest, most intimate moment of their life, a moment of sharing the deep grief that had come into their marriage.

Where was Rosa's little grandson during this tragic moment? Had his mother put him to bed while his granny was at church? If he was up, or if he woke up, how did the little boy react to the grief and tears of his parents? He probably said, "I want my granny. She said she would play with me when she came back. I want my granny."

His granny never did come back. Rosa never played with little Eddie again.

ROSA IS NOT DEAD

He cannot say, and he will not say

That she is dead. She is just away.

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,

She has wandered into an unknown land

And left us dreaming how very fair

It needs must be, since she lingers there.

And you—oh, you, who the wildest yearn

For her happy step, and the glad return,

Think of her faring on, as dear

In the love of There as the love of Here.

Think of her still in the same old way,

She is not dead—she is just away.

Paraphrase of He Is Not Dead by James Whitcomb Riley

49

107. 1960 THE BEATNIK BEAKER

While at Northern Illinois University taking chemistry and physics, as part of his final grade in chemistry, each student had to perform an experiment in front of all the students. He decided to perform a dangerous experiment, dangerous not in the physical sense of an explosion, but dangerous in the fact that it would probably fail. He based that assumption on the failure of a visiting professor from another university, who, while giving a lecture, tried the experiment and failed three times. He was embarrassed and frustrated and pushed the experimental equipment away from him in disgust, snorting out "I'll get you next time."

The experiment was a simple one using household materials to make a gas heavier than air. He doesn't remember for sure, but believes the materials were baking soda and vinegar. When these two materials were combined they made a gas heavier than air.

A V-shaped trough about three feet long with four lighted half-inch candles about seven inches apart placed in the bottom of the trough. The trough emptied into a beaker which held a one inch candle at the bottom. The professor had all this ready, mixed the materials, and slowly tipped the beaker with the gas into the trough, being careful that none of the liquid went into the trough. Magically, as this heavy gas worked its way down the trough, first one candle, then the second, the third, and finally the fourth candle near the bottom of the trough went out, but the gas that went into the beaker at the bottom did not put the candle out. This is what frustrated the professor, and although he tried it three times, the candle in the beaker did not go out, not once.

The students were told about three weeks before the experiment was to be performed, so they had plenty of time to think about what they wanted to do. It was just one of the many things the students who received this grant had to do. It was no picnic. The eighty or so students worked their fannies off. It was summer but there was no vacation time. They went to classes eight hours a day, five days a week, for eight weeks. Each day they had two hours of lecture in chemistry and two hours of lab, and the same schedule for physics, two hours of lecture and two hours of lab. They were either studying at night, or attending lectures from visiting professors. It was a full schedule. He hardly had time for his little one year old son or his wife, although, even though they slept in separate bunks, she did manage to get pregnant with their oldest daughter during this time.

The weekends, however, were free. That is when the three of them spent some wonderful time together. They explored the town and the surrounding area, went to the local zoo farm, went to drive-in movies, drove through country lanes where the corn was as high as an elephant's eye, ate pizza, and just had fun together. It was on one of these weekends that they went with him to get the materials he needed for his experiment. He bought the baking soda, the vinegar, some candles, some balsa wood to make the trough and the stand to hold the trough, some pins and matches. He was eager to try the experiment in the dorm. He went to the dorm to see if he could get that bottom candle out. As soon as he got to the dorm that Saturday night, two weeks before the experiment was due to be performed, he built the trough, put the candles in the bottom, holding them secure with pins, mixed the materials, and poured the gas down the trough. No success, and although he tried again and again during the next two weeks, the candle in the bottom beaker never went out. His wife asked him why was he so set on performing this particular experiment when it looked doomed to failure. "Why not try something else?" she asked. He told her it was too late now. It was sink or swim with this experiment. He told her also, that he liked this experiment. It appealed to him. He told her that when the professor was performing the experiment, the lecture hall was extremely quiet, not a sound, not even a cough or a sneeze. Every eye was on the candles as they went out one by one, and every student there was pulling for the final candle to go out, and when it didn't there was a collective groan throughout the audience. He knew the experiment would get the full attention of the other students. He expected that attention, but hoped he didn't get the groan at the end.

The night before the experiment he had everything packed and ready to go. The lab where the experiments were to be performed was about three blocks from the dorm where they stayed. He wanted to be sure he didn't forget anything. With everything ready for the next day, he and his wife and little boy walked over to the cafeteria for supper. The food at the university was exceptionally good, and they were looking forward to another good meal. They pushed little Ed in his stroller up and down the steps and into the dining hall. The meal was just as good as they expected. They had finished eating and were talking and playing with their little son as they sat and talked and digested their meal, when one of the men who worked in the kitchen passed they by carrying an empty jar that must have held at least two gallons of olives. The jar was almost twice as big as the gallon jar he used to make the gas. That was when the idea struck him that maybe the reason the candle didn't go out in the bottom beaker was that, although the gas went into the beaker, it didn't rise high enough to put the candle out.

There just wasn't enough gas to do the job. He went into the kitchen, asked for the jar and they gave it to him. There wasn't enough materials back at the dorm to try the experiment that night. He would have to do it live when he performed the experiment in front of the students.

He sat in the lab, excited and nervous, waiting his turn. The students performed all kinds of experiments and they were all good. Finally his turn came. He walked up on the platform and faced the students. Each student had to state where he was from, what he taught, and explain the experiment that he was about to perform. He did so, and then reached down into the huge bag he carried, and set out his materials and equipment. He set out the trough with the candles already attached. He lit the candles and then reached down and held up the huge jar for the students to see. The beatnik culture being prevalent at the time, he told them

"This is a beatnik beaker." There were a few chuckles around the room. He made the mixture, lifted the lip of the jar to the top of the trough and started pouring the gas. The candles slowly went out, one, two, three, four. He looked up at the audience. Every eye was on the bottom candle in the beaker. Quietly, ever so quietly, everyone waited. It took about a minute and then, the candle in the beaker went out. There was loud applause and cheers. He felt good.

That night, at supper in the cafeteria, the professor of the class was behind them and said, "Ed, your experiment was the only one that got a round of applause. Good work." Those comments made him feel really good. Memories are flighty, fluttery, just like butterflies.

50

108 1981 UNDER THE SKIP

There is nothing like being on the road for an extended period of time, going to places they hadn't seen before, or going to places where they loved to spend some time. One of these places they loved to go to was in Chicago, where Uncle Ed, Aunt Nell and their seven kids lived. Uncle Ed's company had moved him and his family out of New Orleans, first to Baltimore and then to Chicago where they lived until Uncle Ed retired. They were riding along the interstate, comfortable and happy, the big van pulling their Apache trailer with ease, but all of Base Ten ready to end their day of traveling.

They pulled into a campground about a hundred miles or so from Chicago, and set up camp for the night. After so many trips, all members of Base Ten knew what to do and did it quickly. The top was cranked up, the sides put up, the parts that leaked covered with duct tape in case of rain. The jacks were set, the air conditioner put up and plugged in, and the television connected. The girls made the beds and set up the tables while the wife began opening cans or barbecuing for dinner. After cranking up the trailer, dad supervised while drinking a beer, unwinding after a full day of driving.

After dinner, which was always good whether it came from a can or freshly served, they would explore the campground, check out the camp store, walk trails in the woods if any, and then settle down in the trailer to watch television —– a real home on the road. Lights out... soon they were all snoozing away.

All of a sudden the trailer began to shake violently, almost blasting in the plastic sides and almost ripping the roof of the trailer off. They all tumbled outside fearing the worst. A roaring wind was ripping through the trees making them sway way to the side. The sky was clear and the stars were out, but there was an eerie sound in the air and the wind was fierce. It all lasted a few minutes or so and then it was perfectly calm. They all went back to bed but didn't get to sleep very easily.. They learned the next day that a tornado had skipped up and down across Illinois. They had been very lucky that they were under the skip and not the down.

The next morning after a good breakfast of milk and cereal, bread and jelly, and after dad had his coffee and a smoke, they went to work to get the trailer down and hitched to the van. While dad was shaving, the gang would reverse what they had done the night before. When dad returned from shaving it was his job to check everything, crank down the trailer, put up the jacks and hitch up the trailer. On this particular morning as he returned he saw two of his sons cranking down the trailer for him. As he looked at the boys, he could see that they were in trouble. The trailer top was coming down crooked. The top was tilted badly to the left. The top should come down straight in order to be locked in the clasps at the bottom. He hustled over to the trailer thinking to himself that his sons had fouled up in some way. HE would have to show them how to crank down correctly. He was wrong. The boys were not at fault. He tried to crank the trailer top up, but it went up crooked. When he tried to put it down it was still crooked. He looked at his two boys. "We didn't do anything, dad. We started cranking it down and right away it came down crooked." It was then that they heard from a neighboring camper, who had been listening to the radio, that it was a tornado that had passed over them last night. They all tried once more to get the trailer top down with no luck. The strong wind the night before had probably fouled up the lift mechanism. Being on the road for weeks at a time it was best to go prepared. He looked inside the trailer and pulled out a one inch thick long rope. They anchored everything inside the trailer as best they could, and then wrapped the rope tightly around the trailer making it real secure so the top would not blow off when they were zooming along the interstate. They hitched up, piled into the van and started off, pulling their lopsided trailer behind them.

They kept an eye on the trailer as they moved along. Everything went well. The strong rope held the top fast although the top was shaking and straining. Nothing blew out of the trailer. They did get some strange looks from people in cars that passed them up. They may have thought that we were gypsies on the road. They were all thankful that it didn't rain. That would have been a disaster.

Arriving at Uncle Ed's, all the Seghers popped out of their house yelling almost in unison, "What happened?" They told them. Sure enough, there had been a tornado in the area. He got hold of one of the newspapers and put it with the dated receipt from the campground. He would use that for insurance purposes when they got home.

They stayed at Uncle Ed's four or five days. Aunt Nell cooked up batches of good food. They played pool in the game room, went to a soccer game and saw their cousin Greg play. He was real good and later got a scholarship to a school in Illinois. They went to visit different places including the Indiana sand dunes, having some of the best fun of their whole trip.

The trailer was still a problem. The very first day he was there he called an Apache dealer and told the owner their problem, and asked him if they could bring the trailer in to be repaired. He said that they would not be able to handle the job for about two weeds. What to do? The owner told him how to release the crank bar so that the top would fall all by itself. He said to be sure there were enough people holding up the top when he undid the crank bar. The top was pretty heavy. His three sons and cousin Greg each took a corner of the top. When he undid the crank rod, they lowered the top as easy as you please.

They left Uncle ED's with hugs and kisses from everyone, and started on the road again. They decided to continue with the rest of their trip. They had only two more places to go to on the way home: Mammoth Cave and Destin. It would be their second trip to Mammoth Cave. He and his three sons put the top us easily and locked the trailer down for a two night stay. They toured the caves once again, different sections this time than before. Later, on to Destin, where they spent four days and then left. It was rainy, cool and cloudy the whole time. They were all tired and getting on each other's nerves waiting for the sun to come out and the surf to come in so that they could swim and go body-surfing. It never happened and they left for home.

It was good to be home. The house seemed so huge after weeks in the small pop-up. He filed a claim and the insurance had the trailer repaired at a cost of almost 500.00.

The trailer worked like new again and they had many more trips in their little Apache.

51

109 1972 IS THAT YOU?

As a young man he always had long hair, not long like the hippies in the sixties, but long enough, sometimes with a big wave at the top. He didn't want the wave but his hair just fell that way. All that changed when he saw the movie, The Blackboard Jungle, with Glenn Ford, in the movie he had a flattop and it looked good on Glenn. Shortly thereafter he went to a barber and had his hair cut in the flattop style. He has a head those angles to a peak. When he got his first flattop, the barber cut his hair too short and the peak of his scalp showed. The barber told him, "Man, you'll be bald in five years." The barber didn't realize that his skull was not flat but peaked. His hair has held up over the years.

He liked his flattop and wore his hair that way for years. He got married with his flattop, became principal of Andrew Jackson School with a flattop, and later became principal of Paul Habans School with a flattop. He also wore glasses at both of these schools. At Jackson School it was the only way the teachers knew him. He almost always wore dark suits and white shirts to go with his flattop and glasses. It gave him a certain image. It was the way the teachers always saw him: a flat topped, horn-rimmed glassed, dark suit person.

A few years after he became principal at Habans School in 1967 he started to let his hair grow long again. The hardest thing about changing from a flattop to long hair is the ridiculous way the hair looks for a few weeks. It doesn't lay flat and it doesn't stick up straight. Finally though, the hair grows long enough to start laying flat on the head. It was around this time too, that his eyes seemed to get better and he began to go without glasses.

Men's clothing styles also changed around this time. Instead of wearing dark suits, white shirts, and conservative ties, he changed with the times and began wearing light tan and light blue suits, colored shirts and expressive ties. His image had changed and some of the teachers at Habans commented about it. His wife seemed to like his new image also.

Every school year on the first Friday in May, called McDonogh Day, all the children in the New Orleans Public Schools went down to City Hall and put flowers near the McDonogh monument. It was always a beautiful ceremony and he always went with the hundred or so students to this event. There was always a long line to approach the statue with thousands of students holding flowers. Many of the school bands were there playing music. It was Spring, the flowers were blooming, the birds were singing, and the school year was almost over. He felt good as he stood in line with the kids. Suddenly, someone pulled him on the arm, sort of pulled him around, and said, "Is that you? Are you Mr. Puyau? I can't believe it, the suit, the shirt, the tie, the hair and no glasses. Are you? Are you Mr. Puyau?" asked this teacher from Jackson School once again. "Yep" he said with a smile. "You look great" she said. "You've made my day" he said. She hurried off to some of the other teachers from Jackson, and she pointed back at him. They all smiled and waved. He felt good. If he had grown a mustache or beard; he would have gone unnoticed, maybe not even recognizing himself.

110. 1985 GRANNY GLASSES

Even though his eyes seemed to be getting better in the sense that he hardly ever wore his glasses anymore, he still had a restriction to wear glasses on his driver's license. He always carried his glasses with him, but on this particular day he hadn't. He was driving along Stumpf Street at a very slow rate of speed, or so he thought, when suddenly, from behind some bushes, out pops a cop who flags him down. He immediately thought about his restriction and reached for his glasses in his pocket. He realized he had forgotten them, something he seldom did, because he knew it was important to have them with him at all times, just for occasions like this.

The cop looked tough and all business like as he approached the car. Suddenly, he remembered that his wife had put a pair of little round glasses in the glove compartment. They were her Aunt Maxie's glasses and she had taken them as a remembrance of her aunt when her aunt died. He remembered telling her as she put them in the glove compartment that they looked like little old "granny glasses." These were the glasses he reached for frantically as the cop approached. The cop was looking down at his pad as he approached the car and he managed to slip them on.

"You were five miles over the speed limit. Didn't you see the signs? They say 15 miles an hour. You were doing 20 or better."

"I didn't realize that I was." The cop looked fuzzy to him. He couldn't see the cops face distinctly.

"May I see your driver's license?"

He reached into his wallet, pulled out his license and stuck it part way out the window in the direction of the cop.

The cop took the license, looked at it, looked at him, turned the license looked at the back and saw that he had a restriction, looked at him again and sort of smirked as he looked at the glasses he was wearing. He wrote out the ticket.

"Sign on the line" the cop said as he handed him the ticket pad that was clipped to a metal board. The problem was he couldn't see the line clearly, in fact he could hardly see the line where he was to sign at all. He almost panicked.

"Would you show me just where, please. What line?

The cop put his finger on the line. He watched that finger closely, straining his eyes, and signed his name.

"Watch the signs next time." the cop said as he handed him the ticket and then went to hide behind the bushes once again. He was still in sight of the cop, and he couldn't see clearly with the glasses on, and he couldn't take them off until he was out of sight of the cop. So far he had been lucky, getting only one ticket when he might have gotten two. He didn't want to screw up at the very end.

He looked back and then forward, felt pretty sure the coast was clear and drove off. He drove about half a block, thankful no cars came to him, took the "granny glasses" off and drove home.

"Thanks" Aunt Maxie" he murmured to himself as he put the glasses back in the glove compartment.

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111. 1991 THE LETTER

His wife wanted to send cash to their daughter in Lafayette. He told her that it would be safer to send a check, but she thought their daughter would like the idea of receiving cash and not having to bother going to the bank to cash the check.

They were going to a wedding at St. Joseph Church on Tulane Avenue. When they boarded the van his wife stood the letter up on the little tray near the dashboard. "Don't you think you ought to put it somewhere it can't be seen?' he told his wife. "It will be okay" she said. He and his wife and kids boarded the van, all except ROXANNE, who was going with her boyfriend, KEITH. Arriving at church they parked the van in the church yard along with a lot of other cars. St. Joseph's Church is a huge one towering high into the sky. It was the church where his own mother and father had been married years ago. He and his wife and his kids had also attended a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony there just a some years before. It was a church they were familiar with and loved. There was a large crowd at this beautiful wedding, and the bride and groom, now Mr. & Mrs. walked down the aisle and out of the church with big smiles on their faces and eyes only for each other. He and his group followed them out and walked over to the church yard.

His daughter JEANNE was the first one in the yard and she cried out, "Where is the van?" "Must be a little further down" someone said. They walked along the rows of cars and couldn't find the van, their van, the one that was so easy to spot in a parking lot because of its size and two tone coloring of brown and tan. The van was not to be seen. The van had been stolen.

Finally, the only car left in the church's lot was KEITH'S. They called the police and a report was made. KEITH drove them to the reception and back to their house afterwards. They went to bed sad and depressed.

For the next few days they called the police on a regular basis, but the answer was always the same: no tan and brown van had been found. Then, on about the fourth day, when they were considering buying a used van, a phone call came and a little old lady's voice said, "Do you know a Marie Pouwyow (and then she spelled the name out). "Yes" he said. "Well, there's been a tan and brown van parked in front of my house for the past three days. When no one came back for it, I went out and looked inside. I saw this letter near the dashboard. The door wasn't locked so I went in and took the letter. I looked up the name in the phone book and that's why I'm calling you. Do you know anything about this van?" "Yes mam. I sure do. That is my van. It was stolen about three days ago." "Well, I wish you would come and get it away from the front of my house." "We sure will, but first let me ask you something. Did you open the letter? "I did not!" "Will you open the letter now?" He could hear her opening the letter and then she said, "There's a hundred dollars in it.

"That's for you. If it wasn't for you finding that letter and taking the time to call us, we may have never found our van." "I don't know about that" she said. "I just want you to come get the van away from my house, but I don't want any money." She then told him where she lived and he and his wife took off for her place right away.

She lived about a half-block off of Tchoupoutulas Street near a big warehouse and loading dock. Knocking on her door she came out and gave them the letter. She was pretty elderly but sharp as a tack. She talked to them for awhile. They offered her the money again but she adamantly refused. He and his wife got in the car to drive it home. The car wouldn't start. When the raised the hood they saw that the battery, the radiator, and a number of other things were gone. Their new tires were gone also and replaced with tires that were slick, almost no threads at all. They called a tow truck to take their van to a repair shop, and when it was repaired, it ran like new and they were happy again.

If it wasn't for that letter they may have never found their van. The thieves had missed taking an easy one hundred dollars that was in that letter, but a little old lady didn't miss it. She found the letter and the money, but wouldn't take the money. What a wonderful woman. They often think of her and the good deed she did.

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112. 1942 "YEEAAHHHHHH"

It was a cold day in February in El Paso, shortly after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and the United States declared war on both Japan and Germany. The war was sort of remote to him. He was only fifteen and the war did not affect him much at the time. On this particular day he was happy to earn some extra money helping his dad unload a boxcar at the Bienville Furniture Company where his dad was the manager. He thought it would be a quick, easy job and wouldn't take that long. He was a fool to think that.

They arrived at work around seven in the morning. There were three other men there: Blue, Alexander, and Skeeter. They all worked at the company and the five of them worked like dogs until four in the afternoon. He had often seen boxcars ripping along the railroad tracks, but had never seen the inside of one. When his dad opened the boxcar, it was much larger than he thought and was stacked end to end and up to the top with furniture parts: sides and fronts for drawers, larger sides for the backs of cabinets, chest of drawers, and dressers, mirrors, spindles, gallons of varnish etc. Each man (at fifteen he thought of himself as grown) carried a stack of stuff and put it in a particular place in the warehouse. Other than his dad, Blue was in his thirties and the oldest man there. Alexander was in his mid-twenties and was the biggest and strongest, although he was very fat, obese in fact. He spent his Sundays going to movie after movie and gouging himself with food and drink at each one. The youngest was Skeeter. He was a jolly guy and lots of fun. Every once in awhile, when Skeeter would bend over to lay down a stack of panels he was carrying, his dad would goose him, and Skeeter would howl and jump about three feet in the air, while everyone laughed. He never got mad.

Finally, the boxcar was completely unloaded and everything was in place in the warehouse. His day of work was over and he was worn out. After Alexander and Skeeter left, Blue said that he needed a beer. He told his dad that he would drive them to the restaurant where he and his dad were to meet Lillian Mae and his little brother, but first he had to have a beer or two. They stopped at a bar and found a table. While waiting for the waitress, Blue looked at his dad and said, "Why not let your son have a beer?" Dad eyed his son and said, "You want a beer?" Not knowing for sure if he really did, in fact he would have much preferred a nice, cold root beer, but if he thought he was grown, he would have to act grown, so he looked at his Pop and said, "Yeahhhhh," as if he loved the stuff, although the only beer he had ever tasted, were the few sips he had taken from the pitcher of beer he used to get for his dad;. Blue winked at his dad and they ordered three beers.

He didn't like the taste of the beer. He wished he had gotten the root beer. As he kept taking sips, however, and as the beer in the bottle went down, he began to like it more. He had the funniest feeling, almost as if he was floating. He felt good. Happy. When the men were ready to order another beer, Blue looked at him and winked, as if knowing what was happening to him, and said, "You want another beer, kid?" He didn't much like the kid remark, but before he could respond, his dad, not seeming to know that his son was on a cloud, said, "You want one?" "Yeahhhhhhhh!" and this time it was no fake." "Yeahhhhhh" he said once again.

His dad gave him a quizzical look, but he ordered three beers.

The second beer was like icing on the cake. Each swallow was delicious, like nectar. He took swallow after swallow of this wonderful liquid that was flowing through his body making him feel so happy he felt like acting silly. His dad and Blue were finishing their beers rather quickly so he did the same, taking the last fourth of the bottle in one huge electrifying swallow. Blue put his hand on his shoulder, maybe to steady him as they walked to the car.

At the restaurant, Lillian Mae and his brother already had a table, and he and his dad sat down beside them. He felt loose and silly, like he had never felt before. He took the salt and pepper shakers and tried to stand one on top of the other. He succeeded, and leaving them like that on the table, he got up, went to other tables and got the salt and pepper shakers from them and tried to build a tower with them. When they fell, he laughed, and started over again. Lillian Mae looked at her husband and said "What's wrong with him?" "I let him drink a couple of beers." "Youuu letttt hiimmm drinkkk a couplllle of beers. Are you out of your mind? "By this time he had given up on building a tower, and had taken the pepper shaker and sprinkled it all over the table. He then took a deep breath and blew it all over his little brother who was sitting there quietly minding his own business. His little brother began sneezing and couldn't stop. "That does it!" said his mother, as she stood up, took his little brother by the hand and strode out of the restaurant. His dad, shame faced, took his older son by the arm and followed his wife. They boarded the streetcar to go home. He and his brother sat behind their parents. He could hear them having words about his actions, but he didn't feel bad about any of it. In fact, he still was on a cloud, but it was sinking down. He sang to himself softly as the streetcar rolled along. Yeaaahhhhhh!.

113. 1943 NO PROM???

The year they moved to Dallas in the summer of 1942 was the year that Jesuit High School opened its doors for the first time. Prior to their opening, there was one Catholic High School run by nuns. When Jesuit opened, that high school was closed. There aren't that many Catholics in Dallas. Most of the population was Baptist.

He was a senior when he enrolled at Jesuit. He was the new kid on the block, but he wasn't the only one. Most of the seniors were from the school taught by nuns, but there were some other kids who had been going to private schools and opted to spend their last year of high school at Jesuit.

The principal of this newly opened Jesuit High School didn't think much of the senior class. He openly said that they were not true Jesuit men, having attended only one year under Jesuit guidance. He thought of the senior class as less than half-breeds; he looked upon them as quarter-breeds, and as such, when the senior year ended, they deserved no prom. His decision caused quite an uproar among students and their parents but the principal held firm to his decision. The seniors had no prom. It was a big disappointment. The principal lasted one more year and was then transferred out. Although the transfer did them no good, it was a happy day for the seniors who were the first graduating class of Jesuit High School in Dallas.

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114. 1976 THE SUMMER OF '76

All of America was excited about the bicentennial year of the independence of America, and he was determined to have his family in Washington D. C. for the July 4th celebration of that great day. He and his wife had planned the trip early on in the year and when the last day of school finally came, they began to make final preparations.

Before doing so, however, he wanted to erect a basketball goal for the kids who were getting older now and had a keen interest in basketball. He bought the needed materials and put it together. He painted the backboard and the post red, white, and blue to act as a reminder of this great year. The hoop was red and the net was white. He and his oldest son and one of his friends helped him raise it up and slide it into the hole. The hoop had to be exactly ten feet from the ground. He had measured on the bottom of the post the exact spot that was needed to get the post exactly right, where the hoop would be at the right height, and with a little raising and lowering of this heavy weight the three of them got it exactly so. Also, at this time he built another basketball goal that had a hoop that was eight and a half feet from the ground, back near the house by the little side yard. This goal was for the younger kids. When they got back from their summer trip and for years afterward, the kids played so much basketball in the back yard that the grass in the yard disappeared and the yard became a mud and sandy area. Years later, the backboard and the hoop were taken down to make way for their swimming pool, but the post was left standing, and it still stands now, twenty five years later in this year 2001, having resisted high water, high winds and Formosan termites. It stands straight and tall, still red, white, and blue and serves as a reminder of the great summer of 1976.

Each summer was different from the other, not only because they went to different places, but because the ages of his kids changed, and their attitudes and behavior changed. On their first trip his oldest child was 13 and his youngest 1. On their 1976 trip ED was 17, Therese was 15, Roxanne was 14, Maurice was 12, Jerome was 11, Jeanne was 9, Mary was 7, and Julie was 4. He was 50 and his wife was 46. The space in their 1965 blue station wagon grew smaller each year as the kids grew larger, as did the space in their Apache pop-up trailer.

Some things never changed however. Loading up the trailer with enough food to last the entire trip was a must. The kids loved going to the store to buy all the food and finding room in the trailer to store it all. When that was done, and the house was secured, they hitched up the trailer and took off. One thing that worried him about this trip was the blue station wagon. It was eleven years old. It was an eight cylinder car and very powerful, but one of the cylinders wasn't working properly. The motor drank up oil like an alcoholic and spewed it out in a grayish-blue flume from the exhaust pipe. He allowed for this problem by bringing a case of oil, and every 300 miles or so at the campsite, he would satisfy the engine's lust for oil by giving it a quart.

Their first stop, as it was on most of their trips, was Destin. There they swam, body surfed, and soaked up the sun. This particular year was special. They were going to Washington D .C. The media was stating that people going there for the bicentennial would be lucky to find a place to stay. They expected huge crowds. To make sure they had a place, he and his oldest son drove to a nearby KOA campground and made a reservation for a campsite. The closest KOA to D. C. was in Fredericksburg about seventy miles away. It was a good distance but at least they were assured of a campsite. Tanned and relaxed they left Destin and drove to Disney World.

Disney World was always a must stop when they were going east. They spent just a few days there this time around, riding the monorail, the boats, walking the hiking trails, and renting bikes.

From D. W. they drove to the Stone Mountain Campground near Atlanta and spent a few days there. Climbing that whale shaped mountain is easy and a joy as the world opens up below. This time the whole family climbed together. Halfway up, Mother Nature gave an unexpected call, first to Marie, and then to Therese. Hiding behind a rock they fertilized the mountain. They said that they would come back some day and see if a bush or a tree took root and grew at that spot. Getting drinks at the concession stand at the top of the mountain, listening to the calliope play sweet music as they sat in the sun, made their day.

Their next major stop was at Jamestown where they toured this very first settlement in America. There were craftsmen who were actually working with the tools used at that time in history and making the utensils and other things needed in that day and age. Even with all the historic settings, the thing the kids remember most was eating cherries by a picnic table near the water. On the way back from Jamestown to the campsite, the old blue station wagon was spewing smoke from its exhaust as it pulled up alongside a cop on a motorcycle. Fortunately, the wind was blowing away from him and not towards him. If the smoke had blown toward him, he would have probably had a choking fit and given them a ticket for polluting the area.

They camped a few nights at Williamsburg and enjoyed seeing this historic area restored to its original look as it was years ago. The kids enjoyed seeing the craftsmen at work, but had the most fun getting themselves locked in the stocks along the road. They realized how bad behavior was punished in the old days.

As they approached Fredericksburg, where they had reservations, his son Ed, who was chief navigator and rain drop catcher, (the top of the windshield had a leak and when they drove through rain he got a nickel for each drop he caught in a plastic cup), looked through the Rand McNally Campground book and convinced his dad to drive to a Safari campground which was less than 30 miles from D. C. If they had an opening it was a great move, if not, they would have to drive all the way back to Fredericksburg. They were in luck. They got the next to last site near the top of a hill. Going up and down the hill to the restroom was somewhat of a problem, especially in the middle of the night if someone had to go.

They stayed ten days at this campground and drove into D. C. every day except one, and that one day was the 4th of July. The campground had chartered a bus for their campers who wanted to go by bus and avoid the huge traffic jam that was expected. He bought ten tickets at $10.00 per person, but it was a $100.00 well spent. Just being there in the capitol of their country on this bicentennial day gave them a great feeling. They visited the Lincoln Monument. People were jammed around this area between the Lincoln and Washington monuments, already staking out their place for the super fireworks display that night. The fireworks were fabulous and it was a 4th of July they will always remember. During their ten day stay they visited every museum, public buildings, the capitol, the White House, churches, George Washington's Home, Arlington Cemetery, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, President Kennedy's impressive grave site where the torch burned brightly, and nearby, the unassuming plot of his brother Robert with just a headstone and nothing else. Their kids learned a lot on this trip. Washington D. C. is a place that deserves more than one visit.

The station wagon was smoking worst than before, and as he drove out of the Safari Campground, he hadn't decided to go left and home or right and go on with the trip. What the heck, he turned right, and drove on to their next major stop, Niagara Falls. They spent a week there enjoying the falls during the day and the spectacular view at night. Especially exciting was the boat ride they took under the falls, and the climb up to the Cave of the Winds, that was almost directly under the falls.

Leaving the falls they took the long drive to Uncle Ed's and Aunt Nell's in Chicago. They loafed around their house, rested, played pool, and enjoyed Aunt Nell's great cooking.

From Chicago they went to St. Louis and were awed by the site of the Golden Arch as they approached the city. They drove into a nearby campground spewing smoke on the campers already settled in, and getting dirty looks from some of them. To stand under the Golden Arch is inspiring and go to the top in the little cars and see the view from there, even more so. They spent a day at Six Flags Over Mid America. The following day they left for Memphis, then spent few days at Wiggins, Miss. It was a campground somewhat like Money Hill. They swam, fished and relaxed before driving home.

Seeing that red, white, and blue post standing in the yard at 412 is a reminder to them of that great, that glorious, that wonderful summer.

55

115 1890-1978(?) BLANCHE PUYAU

Blanche was his dad's oldest sister and played a great role in the raising of his dad and his dad's sisters and brothers. She was the oldest of eleven children born to Francois

Albert Puyau (1860-1911) and Jeanne Gondrexon Puyau (1867-1919) between 1890 and 1911. There were eleven children in all.

Francois Albert was the son of Pierre Puyau who came to the United States from France in the last half of the 19th century. Pierre met and married Marie Ann Prongue. They had two children, a boy whom they named Francois and a girl they named Sophie. Sophie married and became Sophie Stille. Francois married Jeanne and fathered eleven children. It must be from him that his grandson got his great balls of fire.

Jeanne was 23 when her first child was born and 44 when she gave birth to her last child. Can you picture in your mind this house full of kids ranging in age from an infant on up? He would give anything to have a journal describing what went on in that home. There is nothing like kids to do or say something new or different to keep a home alive and full of joy. Sometimes he feels that those happy souls in heaven will have the privilege of seeing what God has recorded. If we can record things today, just think what God can do. HE must have recorded everything from the beginning of time, from the time of His creation. The souls in heaven just have to check it out and watch history and lives unfold, at super, super speed, of course, but with full comprehension as if in slow motion. One tape he would check out would be the lives of Francois, Jeanne and their eleven children.

Francois and Sophie both spoke French, but unfortunately, Francois did not pass this language on to his children. He put his French to good use, however, by teaching French at a French school in New Orleans. Probably not able to feed all his kids on a teacher's salary, he took a job as a dealer at a casino in Chalmette. Can you see in your mind, Francois, coming home, and playing with first one child and then as the children came and came, frolicking on the floor with them, raising them high in the air, singing songs, and reading to them, loving them. And Jeanne, his wife; what a job she had taking care of that household as it grew and grew, and grew filling up with children. First, there was Blanche, born in 1890, then Francois, Jr., born in 1891, followed by Robert, born in 1893, then George, born in 1894, followed by Emile, born in 1896, then Edward, born in 1900, followed by Claire, born in 1901, then came Albert, born in 1903, followed by Corrine, born in 1906, then came Marguerite, born in 1908, and last came John, born in 1911. It was a house full of joy and love until tragedy struck. Robert drowned in the Mississippi River when he was fourteen years old. His son's tragic death tore at Francois's heart. He died himself some four years later from consumption. His wife, Jeanne, was pregnant with John when her husband died. Jeanne, herself, died eight years later, leaving the task of raising the younger children to Blanche. She was 29.

Blanche took her new responsibilities in stride... Suppressing her own grief, she tried to relieve the grief of her younger brothers and sisters, who now had to live their young lives without the love and comfort of a mother. Blanche tried to fill this need, and she must have done a good job, because in later life when they were grown, they all looked up to Blanche as the head of the family.

Blanche was in good stead when her mother died. She had gone to Normal School, a special school that trained young women to be teachers. She had graduated and when this time of crisis came in her life, she was teaching at T. J, Semmes School in New Orleans. The school was located near the Industrial Canal and was not too far from where she lived. In her later years she became principal of the school and was loved and admired by all who knew her. She taught at the school while the canal was being built and said that experience was one of the highlights of her life. When she retired from Semmes she taught at St. Maurice Catholic School for a number of years.

Blanche's older sisters and brothers helped her to take care of the younger ones, especially Francois, Jr. He had gotten into the jewelry business and was doing well. Financially they were able to make it without too many problems. The younger ones were the ones who needed help and guidance when Jeanne died: Albert, who was 16, Corrine, who was 13, Marguerite, who was 11, and John who was 8. Once again, he would like to read a journal or see a video recording how Blanche and her older brothers and sisters handled the little ones. It definitely wasn't an easy task. We can only surmise how it was handled.

He first remembers meeting his dad's oldest sister, his Aunt Blanche, when he was ten years old. His dad had moved the family to 6019 Dauphine Street which was only about six blocks from where Blanche lived with her sisters. Her brothers were all married and had moved out on their own. He remembers his Aunt Blanche as a rather short lady, about five feet two inches tall, who was always sweet and gentle, and who talked very softly, Of all the times he visited as a boy and in later life, he never her heard her raise her voice or get angry at any one. She was a delightful person and dearly loved.

He has a number of memories of her. One day his dad came home from work and told his wife and kids that they were all going to City Park to teach Blanche how to ride a bike. It was night time and dark. How? They were going to rent a bike at the park, find a place that had a lot of light, like at the tennis courts, and he was going to teach his sister how to ride. Blanche was either teaching or was principal at Semmes at the time and she wanted to ride a bike instead of walking or taking the streetcar to school. It was the first of a number of trips to the park before she learned to ride, to balance correctly, and not fall off and break an arm or a leg or her head. She rode the bike to school. He never saw her, but he would have liked to... What a sight that must have been! She was in her late forties at the time.

When he decided to be a teacher and wanted to get a teaching job in New Orleans, his Aunt Blanche was a big help to him. She gave him tips, introduced him to the Assistant Superintendent of Schools, telling him to take good care of her nephew. She even got him dates with some of the teachers at her school.

The principal of McDongogh 19, a school near Semmes, said that he admired Blanche, and always enjoyed the Semmes's Mardi Gras parade up and down St. Claude Ave.

After her final retirement, her nephews Ed & Jerry asked her to write her memoirs. She did, and they will follow in future butterflies. Blanche was laid to rest in 1978.
56

116 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS I

Blanche, his dad's oldest sister, his aunt, and great aunt to the kids of Base Ten, and great, great aunt to the kids of Base Ten Plus, wrote her memoirs in 1977, the year before she died. She began with her papa, Francois Puyau.

Papa was a well-known citizen. He lived in the lower section of the ninth ward of New Orleans for many years, except when he was principal of the Fourth of July School on St.Peter Street .near Rampart Street. That area is so changed now. My brother Emile and I visited that area on January 7, 1960. The building is no longer a school. What was once a school is now being used as apartments. Emile and I walked into what was once the school yard. It was ill kept.

After giving up the principalship, Papa moved the family to a small house on St. Ann Street. The house was nearer to the river than the school. Later, we moved to the Barracks, as the lower section of New Orleans was called. The area was so named because the Jackson Barracks, an army post, was located in that section.

Papa was a member of the French and St. Maurice Societies. He loved being a teacher. He was a gifted man with a happy disposition. He was especially devoted to his family. His untimely death was mourned by a large circle of friends. He was survived by mama and nine children, five boys and four girls. Robert had already passed away at the age of fourteen and John was on the way.

Papa's oldest son was Frank. He was born fifteen months after me. We were always close. It was only natural that we leaned toward each other, and took up for each other through thick and thin. We had been pals from early childhood. Many a picnic, watermelon party, trolley ride and dance we attended together. I have some pictures of these pleasures in a picture book. In all of these pleasures, Frank was the drawing card. He was quiet popular with the boys and girls.

One of the best treats Frank and I had was to take long walks with other teenagers along the river levee. We would walk all the way from our home at 330 St. Maurice Avenue to the Chalmette Monument. The monument was a wooden one in those days. We would climb all the way to the top and look down. If it were not covered with marble and pointed at the top, as it is now, you would find our names carved in the wood at the top. Many Sundays we tramped those miles on the levee, watching the ships sail up and down the mighty Mississippi River, laughing and singing all the way. Then we would all come home and dance to music from the piano. Some of us would sing along. Papa and mama would always stay up until all the girls and boys had gone and we had gone to bed.

The passing of those days has certainly brought many changes, both for teenagers and adults. In those first years of the twentieth century, the only way to reach the Chalmette Monument and the Chalmette Cemetery was to walk along the river levee. That is where the front entrance is. Today, the way to go is by automobile and by way of the back entrance. Although the levee is not as well kept as it used to be, and although the Chalmette Slip has added to the problem, walking along the levee to this historic monument is still a wonderful outing and pastime for the young, the middle-aged and the old. It was one of the favorite outings for Frank and myself.

Then Papa died in 1911, and it was Frank and I, though but 19 and 20 years of age, who became the top breadwinners of the family. .Papa had left us no material inheritance, but he left us an inheritance that could not be bought — a love of family. We Puyau's have always stood by each other. May I say here, that it was a joy to finish what Papa could not do. God had a purpose in this. That, I can see today.

Then Mama died, and Frank and I became father and mother to the younger ones. No wonder I look to Frank, and he to me, in hours of trouble and joy. Mama was Frank's best girl as long as she lived. No matter how many girls he flirted with, had she lived, Frank would be a bachelor today. That, I know.

(This is all Blanche wrote about Frank. As a boy and as an adult, I never did see much of my Uncle Frank. The only time I saw him was at the Thanksgiving dinner which was held at 607 Caffin Avenue each year. It was a festive dinner and all the Puyau's and some friends gathered to celebrate the holiday. Each year Uncle Frank had the pleasure of buying huge red fish for the dinner, a sort of prelude to the turkey and dressing. My dad never did talk much about his brother Frank, nor do I recall ever going to visit them at their house. Two other times I remember seeing him were during Christmas time, and at the celebration of his fortieth birthday when I was about five years old. Uncle Frank owned a camp in Lake Ponchentrain. The camp had a long boardwalk out to a house that was built right in the lake. There were many such camps along Haynes Blvd. but I believe they are all gone now. Anyway, on that occasion when I was five, Frank's brothers and sisters had a surprise party for him out at the camp. It was a happy occasion.

I know that Uncle Frank got into the jewelry business as a profession. He must have been pretty good at it, because I would hear on occasion, my mother and father talking about Uncle Frank, saying that he had a lot of money, and that he had gambled a lot of it away. Whether, that is true or not I cannot say. Uncle Frank worked at the Traverse Jewelry Company (now gone), that was located a half-block off Canal Street, on the same street as the Roosevelt Hotel and the Orpheum Theater. My brother Jerry and I would visit him at the store when we would come to town from Dallas. They would find Uncle Frank in the store with a visor on, and his jeweler's gear, looking intently at a diamond. He was good at appraising jewelry, and setting stones to make rings and other jewelry.

When I reached that wonderful time in my life, the time that I met the girl I wanted to marry, I went to Uncle Frank and asked him to pick out a stone and set it for an engagement ring. He did, and I gave it to Marie when I proposed. Through this ring, which Marie has, I feel a special bond with Uncle Frank, and through him to Aunt Blanche and all the Puyau's, all the way back to Pierre, who came to our beloved country from France so long ago.

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117. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS II

Blanche took her new responsibilities in stride... Suppressing her own grief, she tried to relieve the grief of her younger brothers and sisters, who now had to live their young lives without the love and comfort of a mother. Blanche tried to fill this need, and she must have done a good job, because in later life when they were grown, they all looked up to Blanche as the head of the family.

Blanche was in good stead when her mother died. She had gone to Normal School, a special school that trained young women to be teachers. She had graduated and when this time of crisis came in her life, she was teaching at T. J, Semmes School in New Orleans. The school was located near the Industrial Canal and was not too far from where she lived. In her later years she became principal of the school and was loved and admired by all who knew her. She taught at the school while the canal was being built and said that experience was one of the highlights of her life. When she retired from Semmes she taught at St. Maurice Catholic School for a number of years.

Blanche's older sisters and brothers helped her to take care of the younger ones, especially Francois, Jr. He had gotten into the jewelry business and was doing well. Financially they were able to make it without too many problems. The younger ones were the ones who needed help and guidance when Jeanne died: Albert, who was 16, Corrine, who was 13, Marguerite, who was 11, and John who was 8. Once again, he would like to read a journal or see a video recording how Blanche and her older brothers and sisters handled the little ones. It definitely wasn't an easy task. We can only surmise how it was handled.

He first remembers meeting his dad's oldest sister, his Aunt Blanche, when he was ten years old. His dad had moved the family to 6019 Dauphine Street which was only about six blocks from where Blanche lived with her sisters. Her brothers were all married and had moved out on their own. He remembers his Aunt Blanche as a rather short lady, about five feet two inches tall, who was always sweet and gentle, and who talked very softly, Of all the times he visited as a boy and in later life, he never her heard her raise her voice or get angry at any one. She was a delightful person and dearly loved.

He has a number of memories of her. One day his dad came home from work and told his wife and kids that they were all going to City Park to teach Blanche how to ride a bike. It was night time and dark. How? They were going to rent a bike at the park, find a place that had a lot of light, like at the tennis courts, and he was going to teach his sister how to ride. Blanche was either teaching or was principal at Semmes at the time and she wanted to ride a bike instead of walking or taking the streetcar to school. It was the first of a number of trips to the park before she learned to ride, to balance correctly, and not fall off and break an arm or a leg or her head. She rode the bike to school. He never saw her, but he would have liked to... What a sight that must have been! She was in her late forties at the time.

When he decided to be a teacher and wanted to get a teaching job in New Orleans, his Aunt Blanche was a big help to him. She gave him tips, introduced him to the Assistant Superintendent of Schools, telling him to take good care of her nephew. She even got him dates with some of the teachers at her school.

The principal of McDongogh 19, a school near Semmes, said that he admired Blanche, and always enjoyed the Semmes's Mardi Gras parade up and down St. Claude Ave.

After her final retirement, her nephews Ed & Jerry asked her to write her memoirs. She did, and they will follow in future butterflies. Blanche was laid to rest in 1978. A child who lived two doors away had taught Corinne, the baby then, how to walk. I can still see the expression of joy on his face as he rushed home to tell the good news to Mama and to us. Papa was not there at the time.

How well I remember Papa's words the night after the funeral! Papa and I were sitting on the front porch. These were the words which I have never forgotten. "I stood by the coffin of my father and my mother, but the pain and anguish is naught compared to what I felt when I stood by the coffin of my child." Papa was never really the same from that day on, though he never showed it. It was as if something dear had been torn from him by Robert's passing away so early in life.

I can still see Robert's body as it was laid on our large dining room table, a table which we still have and still use. What stories that table could relate about the people who sat around it, about the card games that were played around it, if only that table could talk.

Papa gave $50.00 (a small fortune in those days) as a reward to the colored man who recovered the body of his son and our brother. I still have the card on which Papa wrote the reward. He had the colored man write or sign his name on it. An efficient man was our Papa.

(Reading Aunt Blanche's memoirs, I realize that the account of Robert's death that I wrote in Butterfly page 8 # 21 was not correct. Either Aunt Claire told a different story, or I didn't remember correctly. Aunt Blanche was there and lived the experience. Her version is the correct version.

Both accounts of Robert's body lying on the dining room table are correct. Can you imagine the grief they must have endured with the dead body of someone they loved lying there on the table they used every day lying in front of them? It must have been a terrible, heartbreaking experience. That table does have stories to tell.

The last house that the Puyau family lived in was at 607 Caffin Avenue. It is a huge two story house and was owned by Blanche and her sister Claire. When Blanche and Claire both died, their wills stated that the house was to be given to Claire's son Alvyn, who lives in Moscow, Idaho. He is a professor at the University of Idaho. When he sold the house, he rented a huge U-hall trailer, and took that dining room table up to Idaho. It is still there with him and his family, a dining room table that has stories to tell, but doesn't have the means to share them).

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118. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS III

My brother George was born in 1894 when I was four years old. That made me the only girl with three boys. George was blonde with blue eyes. He grew up to be a rugged young man, much like our Uncle Paul Gondrexon. Though Papa had said never no nicknames for his children, he, himself, gave George the nickname of "Dutch" because of the characteristics mentioned above.

I recall very vividly when Papa admonished him for taking a few nails from the store where he was working. I do not recall the name of the store. Never again, did George stray away from the path of honesty.

As clear as day, is the picture in my mind of when we lived on Delery Street, opposite the Jackson Barracks, and quite near the Mississippi River. We moved there after Papa had gone to his Heavenly Home. Uncle John Ader of Port Arthur. Texas had come to New Orleans for a brief visit. He suggested that George, still in his teens come to stay with him and learn the tailoring trade. Mama left him go. In the light of what happened afterwards, of his being away from her, of changing his name to George Ader, of his being sent to France to take part in the World War, of his marriage to a widow with a child, and of his death in the Veterans Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas, I wonder if it would not have been better to have kept him home with us, with his loved ones, to struggle along with his family. If only one could look into the future.

When we learned that George was dying, Emile and I took the train and went to see him. Father Stergi, now deceased, a friend of the family, and pastor of a colored church of a parish in Little Rock, met us at the station. We went straight to the hospital and saw George, before he died that night in 1937. Emile and I did not telegraph the sad news to the family. It was Mardi Gras day in New Orleans and not a time for sadness.

Emile and I let the family know the sorrowful news late that afternoon. . Emile and I left Little Rock with George's body that night on the train.

George married in Texas. All I know is that she was a widow with a little girl. George loved his wife and the little girl as if it was his, although he and his wife never had any children of their own.

(I never saw Uncle George once in my life. He never did come to visit that I know off, and I don't know if any of the family visited him. They probably did. I wonder if he ever learned to be a tailor. I did hear a conversation once when the aunts were talking about George. They mentioned that he had been "shell-shocked" during the war. He must have been near a bomb when it exploded or some such thing. Whether that shock affected him in later life I do not know. The fact that he changed his name is something to consider. He is the only one of the Puyau's to do so. I have been tempted a few times, but never did follow through. Once when I mentioned it to my mother, she said "Your father would turn over in his grave." It may be, that about the time George changed his name, Blanche, or perhaps the sisters and brothers in unison, thought that saying "Pweo" was too difficult, and that it would be easier to pronounce if one said just "P –O." But think of it: the P in the name is easy to see and say, but after the P, the reader of the name is left with "uyau" and from "uyau" he is supposed to say "O". No way can that happen, and we can't really blame people for mispronouncing the name when they see that. If Blanche and the others though they were making the name easier, they made a big mistake. It is easier to say P rather than Pwe. Pwe requires a pursing of the lips that is probably common in France, but not here. However, people in our country have been exposed to the syllable "puy" as in the name Dupuy, and they have no trouble saying the "puy." The correct way to say the Puyau name is Pweo and that is the way we should go, and the way we should say the name. To people who may have heard you say P-O for years may call you on it. No explanation is needed, other than "Pweo is the correct way to pronounce my name."

In 1896 another boy was born into the family. (That's five children in seven years. Boy! My granddad sure had great balls). Mama and Papa named him Emile. He was the only one of the children not born in St Maurice Parish. He was born on St. Peter St. near Rampart St., because at the time of his birth, Papa was principal of the Fourteenth of July School, a French and English school for boys. He was the only one of us born with a veil, or so I was told. I was five years old then. Mr.and Mrs. Rivoire were his godparents. Mr. Rivoire was a photographer. We have many pictures taken of us at that time and at no cost.

When Papa passed away in 1911, Emile was taken out of Thomas Semmes School, where I serving my first year as a teacher. He was a pupil in the seventh grade. Whether right or wrong, Mama thought it best to take him from school and put him to work to help support the family. There were five children after him and one on the way. He got a job at the I. C. Railroad and worked there until he retired.

However, Emile, being studious, studied law at night and got his degree in it from Loyola University. I went to his graduation and was so proud of him.

(My dad and his brother Emile were pretty close. They lived just a few blocks from each other, and Uncle Emile and his wife Jessie, would often stop in for a visit. Emile, was the uncle my dad got mad at for ("slave labor" (10-26), and whose car I took (Are you crazy? 29-75). Emile was my brother Jerry's godfather. Each Christmas Uncle Emile and Aunt Jessie would come over with a Christmas present for my brother, and nothing for me. That always made me feel bad, and a little sad. They had no children of their own. Emile was a quiet, gentle, sensitive man. His wife was more of a pepper. Every Thanksgiving day she made her husband take her to the races at the Fairgound, causing them to miss the feast at 607 Caffin Ave. Uncle Emile was a good attorney, but never get into it full swing. He was close with his money. He was supposed to be the wealthiest of the Puyau's. We'll never know, for when he died in 1980(?), he left his house and the rest of his estate to his wife's side of the family.

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119. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS IV

The family was blessed with another son in 1900. Mama and Papa named him Edward Pierre. I was ten years old and now have five little brothers. Edward was born in the half-house on St. Maurice near Douglas Street. The house was rented from the Marshall's. I have never forgotten how little Edward smashed his thumb with a hammer as a baby. The accident was so severe; the bone had to be removed.

(That is all Aunt Blanche wrote about my dad. Evidently, no butterflies flew into her mind about the life of her brother at the time she gave thought to it. Maybe she was going to come back later, or jot down memories when they came to her. Whatever, she died, and never added anything more. >>> Dad was not accident prone, but in later life he did lose two of his fingers when he was using an electric saw on the job at Woodward Wight, a warehouse he worked at.

In his fifties he had to have two toes removed that had gotten infected from diabetes.

>>> Some of the things she could have mentioned were the time and love he gave to her when he taught her to ride a bike. He was always the brother on call when something had to be fixed or repaired. Fixing broken pipes, carpentry work, and electrical work, anything that was asked of him by his sister, he would do. If a leg of a chair or table got loose and he was asked to fix it, he would go over to 607 Caffin Avenue with his furniture clamps, heat up some glue and in no time at all have it fixed. On one occasion, after Aunt Claire's husband died, and all these ladies were in this huge house alone, they wanted to have more security. They asked dad if he could build a door halfway up the stairs with a lock. Dad had never built a door, but he said sure. There aren't many stairs with a door halfway up the stairs, but there is one at 607 Caffin Avenue.

>>> Living only about six blocks away from his sisters, Dad would often take my brother and me, and he would walk over to his sisters' house, to chat with them and have a glass or two of cherry bounce. >>> One night I remember especially. It was the night there was a gathering of all the brothers and sisters at 607. It was around ten or eleven and I remember all the brothers leaving and going to a saloon about two blocks away. Time passed and the brothers never returned. Aunt Blanche and my mama, Lillian Mae, got worried. They sent me to the saloon to tell my dad to come home. When dad saw me there, he said, "What are you doing here, son." "Mama said that it's late and for you to come home." "Tell your mama we'll be home in just a little while." as he and his brother's lifted their steins to each other. It wasn't a little later, but much later that they finally returned. Dad carried me on this shoulders as we walked home about one o'clock in the morning, singing all the way. >>> Dad was a good man, good to his wife and kids. He was strong, sensitive, and sturdy as a rock. My mother, my brother and I loved him dearly. I still miss him and often think of him. I wish Aunt Blanche had written more about him, especially his life as a young boy and as a teenager)...

Claire Therese Puyau was the seventh child born into our family. She was the first girl to be born after five boys in a row. I finally had a little sister. I remember her christening. The seventh child is the lucky one, so the saying goes. Except for the loss of her husband in later life, the saying has proven true. . She has a most wonderful son, Alwyn, who is now studying at Georgetown University for his master's degree. He is working and is paying his own way through school. Then, being studious, he will study for his Ph.D. at Tulane University. His mother and I will help him all we can.

(This is all Blanche wrote about her sister, Claire Therese. Claire had light blue eyes and blonde hair as a young woman, but which turned gray before she was forty year old. She was a teacher, and taught at public schools for awhile, but spent most of her life as a physical education teacher at St. Maurice Elementary School. She was very active in church functions, chairing and supervising the school fair, as well as many other activities. She was a happy person and always had a big smile for everyone. Claire loved kids and often had penny parties and Easter egg hunts for kids in the big yard at 607 Caffin Avenue. She always led her sisters in giving a big gift to my children and my brother's children at Christmas. Some of these big gifts were a merry-go-round, a slide set, and a jungle gym. She was always full of fun and very active. >>> Claire is the only one of the four Puyau girls to marry. I don't know exactly when she got married, but I believe she was in her thirties at the time. She married a man named Alwyn Rouyer. He was my uncle by marriage and the one I described in Butterfly 8-23. They had one child that they named Alwyn, after his dad. He was born when Claire was forty years old. Little baby Al, as he grew up with all these women, his mama, his aunts Blanche, Corrine, Margie and Canute, was spoiled rotten. They would do his homework for him. He was in the fourth grade before his mother realized he couldn't read. He was a bright kid, and with teaching by his mother, he learned the skill in a year's time. Each one of the aunts was like a mother to him. They'd bring him food and treats while he sat or laid and watched television. All these women who hadn't married thought of Al as their child. He turned out well though, growing into a fine young man who is now a professor at the University of Idaho, as mentioned previously. >>> Father Francis Greco was pastor at St. Maurice Church when Claire took an active role in many of the church functions. Father Greco was later made Bishop of Alexandria. Under his jurisdiction was the Maryhill Summer Camp for Girls. Bishop Greco made Claire Director of the camp, and for a number of years Claire was the driving force behind its success. I remember Aunt Claire, when I was grown and teaching in New Orleans, keeping notes, writing down events and activities, and preparing for her summer camp, during her regular school year.>>> Claire Therese got very sick one night in her home and was rushed to the hospital. She was operated on for some ailment of which I am not sure. She did well and recovered and after being in the hospital for five days, she was walking to the wheel chair to go home, when she collapsed from a heart attack. A scab had broken loose from her incision and blocked the blood to her heart. That is the information we received. I had seen her the night before and was in shock. I dearly loved my Aunt Claire. >>> Bishop Greco came down from Alexandria to say her funeral mass. There were five different priests in attendance on the altar. They each gave a eulogy praising Claire for all the good work she had done and for living a life close to God. She was a wonderful woman who always brought joy to those around her. After the funeral and burial, he and his wife Marie took all their little ones to place flowers on her grave. .

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120. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS V

Albert Maurice Puyau was born in 1903. I had another baby brother. I was thirteen years old when he was born. He was fair skinned, had light blue eyes and wavy hair. He grew up to be "My keepsake."

"Where's Blanche?" These words were very dear to me. They were the first words he would say whenever he would come to visit us at 607, after he married Edith "Canute" Hingle.

What I remember most was his days at Thomas J. Semmes School. I taught him history in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. It was I who helped him through school. I remember the new clothes I bought him when he was sent to Baton Rough as a contestant.

After Mama died he had to go to work. I remember coming downstairs to have breakfast with him —– coffee, bread, and butter. I would then see him off to work as Mama used to do.

What I remember most about his wedding is the reception that was held afterwards at Canute's home. There were happy times with Albert even after he married. It was then that we came closer as brother and sister. When he came over to visit at 607, and that was very often, his first words were, "Where's Blanche?" and Aunt Sophie, "Nenene," would smile and say, "Is Blanche the only one in the house?"

(All the things I wish Blanche would have written about Albert and all her other brothers and sisters, she didn't write. I would have liked her to write about their younger days when they were in school, their teenage years, their work, their girlfriends or boyfriends, and other things of their earlier years. Such was not to be.

I knew very little about my Uncle Albert. I don't remember even seeing him until we moved down to 6019 Dauphine Street which was only a few blocks from where Albert lived. I remember walking to his house once or twice with my dad and seeing him come over to our house the same. What I remember most about him was his light blue eyes. He had eyes something like Lillian Mae. The woman he married, Edith Hingle, was a very pretty and sweet woman. She always went by the name of Canute, which her friends sometimes shortened to "Nute."

Albert Maurice was only 33 years old when he took suddenly sick and was rushed to the hospital. I remember being on Canal Street with my mother, dad and brother. We had gone out to eat and to a movie. My dad called the hospital to say we were coming to see him. Blanche told my dad that Albert had died. He died on Lillian Mae's birthday, January 7,

1936.

After her husband's death, Canute moved into 607 and lived there until the house was sold

Corinne Puyau was born in 1906 when I was sixteen years old. I had another little sister. Claire Therese was five years old at the time. Here I was, a full blown teenager, almost a young woman, and I was blessed with another sister.

Corinne was the only one of the eleven children that did not have a middle name. She was to have one, but her godfather, Oscar Maumus, and her godmother, Bertha Despaux Maumus forgot the name, Justine, that she was to be given. They were on their way to church for the baptism, and they said, that for the life of them, they could not remember the christening name. Perhaps they couldn't remember intentionally, so as not to burden a little girl with a name like Justine, though it was our grandmother Gondrexen's given name.

(Oh! Aunt Blanche. How much more I wish you had written. When your mother died in 1919 little Corinne would be only 13 year old and you became a mother to her. Aunt Corinne I remember very well. She was the aunt whose car I took to joy ride in, and I told about that incident in Butterfly 29-76. Just as Claire was the only one of the sister to marry and have a baby, Corinne was the only one of the sisters to own a car. She was always in demand to take someone here or there, or to go pick up some one. She was always nice about it, but as the years passed, I guess it sometimes became a burden, but I never heard her complain.

Corinne became a nurse and joined the navy. It was sometime during the depression and maybe it was something she had to do... She was stationed in Savannah, Georgia for a number of years, and stayed there until she was discharged... It was while she was stationed there that I got one of the biggest surprises of my life. I was about ten years old and even then a book lover. My Aunt Corinne knew this and decided to give me a surprise gift. I was sitting at home at 6019 when the mail man came with a huge box addressed to me. Lillian Mae was as excited as I was. My little brother gathered around the box with us. I tore the cover off and inside the box there were about twenty books, some for me at my age level, and some for my little brother. It was one of the biggest surprises of my life, and something I will always remember.

Corinne was a good nurse. She often came to our house to take care of my dad when his feet got infected from diabetes. She would clean the wound and put on fresh bandages. She was always a source of help

Corinne had a good friend whose name was Marks. In her later years she moved out of 607 Caffin Avenue and rented an apartment in the Orlenian on St. Charles Avenue. Marks rented the apartment next to her and they lived there for a number of years, until Marks died. With Marks death, Corinne moved in with Canute who lived in a house on Tricou Street, directly behind St. Maurice Church. They lived together for a few years and then Corinne died in 1981(?). She was the last of the eleven children of Francois and Jeanne Puyau. They are all together once more. Canute, the sister-in-law, who was like a sister to all of the Puyau children, lived on. She was the last of the older generation to carry the Puyau name.

Canute was always a happy woman. She was the essence of friendliness and caring. She nursed and took care of Blanche until she died, and then Corinne until she died. Now she was alone. She began to lose her memory and was placed in St. Margaret's Home, a home for seniors. She loved cats, and probably died with a stuffed cat in her arms, a cat given to her by my brother, Jerry, as described in butterfly 39-92. Her death came in 1986.

.

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121. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VI

( Marguerite "Margie" Puyau was born in 1908 and died in 1964. She was the last girl to be born in the family, and the first girl to die. Blanche wrote nothing about her sister Margie's early life. She wrote only about the time Margie took sick and died. Before writing Blanche's account of her death I will list what memories I have of Margie).

In the big house at 607 Caffin, she had the smallest room, the room located just at the top of the stairs and to the left. The room was adequate for her. It was a pretty room, looking out over the trees that shaded the upstairs porch. Whenever I would go to my aunts' house and go upstairs, Aunt Margie would invariably be typing. She was a terrific typist, typing well over a hundred words a minute, error free. Wouldn't she have loved to rattle the keys of a computer? One of the first things I bought when I graduated from SMU was a brand new Underwood typewriter. It was my pride and joy and I used it for years. It is hard to believe that typewriters are now almost obsolete

In her early years Margie worked as a stenographer and her constant typing at that job enabled her to become very skillful as a typist. Margie was a very thin woman. She wasn't plain, but she wasn't beautiful either. She was quiet and somewhat shy with a sweet disposition and a gentle nature. Whenever I visited 607 she had warm and comforting words for me.

Margie was very religious and I believe went to mass every morning. In mid-life this religious fervor came to the fore and Margie made a great decision. She decided to enter the convent and become a nun. She chose the most severe order, either the Poor Claire's or the Carmelite nuns. These nuns were cloistered and once in the convent the nuns never left. They spent their time in prayer beginning in the morning, throughout day and late into the night. I remember the night Aunt Margie entered the convent. There was a get together of the whole family at 607 to wish her well in her new life as a nun. Margie was very thin at the time and did not really look well. I remember Aunt Jessie, Uncle Emile's wife, who was somewhat of a pepper, telling Margie to have one more drink before she left. The whole family had been drinking highballs all evening and were in a happy celebrating mood. I remember thinking that it didn't seem right for a soon to be nun to be having drink after drink. I don't remember how many drinks she had, but she was in a gay, happy mood. I felt it was pushing it for Aunt Jessie to urge another drink on Margie. She did have one last one, however, before she left to enter the convent. I can't remember who drove her there; it was either Aunt Corrine or Uncle Frank. She lasted about six months. Her frail body could not hold up with the rigorous schedule of the convent. Margie was tearful when she left.

In her later years she was a court stenographer and made good money. She was happy with her life at 607 until she got sick. Blanche describes that time in full. >>

>> July 2, 1964 was the night that Margie, feeling quite ill, came home from work early. Sis and Georgette were here. Because of the pains in her stomach, Margie did not eat, excused herself and went to bed. After supper, Sis (probably Claire) went upstairs, heard Margie moaning, and looking into her room, saw her tossing from side to side on the bed. She came downstairs and told us about Margie. Immediately excusing myself, and telling them goodbye, I went upstairs. I looked in on Margie, but I could not help her for I know very little about nursing.

Thank you, my dear Jesus, for Corrine, the nurse in the family and an excellent one, though retired. She came upstairs and took charge. It seemed serious enough for her to call Dr. Cabiran, the family doctor, but they did not hear from him that night. All through the night, Corrine would come to Margie's side to see how she was doing. Most of the time I heard her, but did not get up. I felt I would only be in the way

Margie was no better in the morning, so Co phoned the doctor again. He was not at home, but his wife answered the phone and said that the doctor would be home soon. We anxiously waited for the phone to ring.

When Dr. Cabiran came, he said that Margie should be taken to the Mercy Hospital in an ambulance. Co (Corrine) called for one. Canute went in the ambulance with Margie. Corrine, Claire and I followed in Co's car. Margie underwent emergency surgery on July 3, 1964. (I do not know what internal problem Margie had, what kind of surgery she needed. . She pulled through the operation and lingered in the hospital for five days. My brother and I, as well as the whole family visited her in the hospital. She was very frail and very weak).

On this day, July 8, 1964, Margie, the youngest girl, passed away at 7:00 P.M. She died very calmly and peacefully. She was 56 years old. She went into the arms of Jesus in his heavenly home, and with Him, His Blessed Mother Mary, his beloved father, Joseph, and our own dear deceased. I was sitting there at Margie's bedside when she passed away, and I didn't know that she had died. One of the nuns came and took me out of the room. She was very nice to me. The nun told me Margie had passed away. I went to the room and saw her. Saying a prayer for Margie, I begged Jesus to stand by me and not let me cry. He answered my prayer. I have never cried to this day, although my heart does. The nurse called home for my sisters to come to the hospital. When they came and found me so sad, they were worried about me, but I didn't cry.

The funeral was held at Schoen's on Elysian Fields. Following the wake, a low requiem high mass was held at St. Maurice Church. Monsignor John Adams said the prayers at the funeral parlor, at the mass, and at the cemetery. At the cemetery, he came up to me and said, "You are the mother of the family." He was right; I have been ever since mother went to heaven. My brother, Frank, stood by me through thick and thin. He became the father of the family, and I, the mother. Eddie and Jerry, my brother Edward's boys were wonderful to us in out time of sorrow. Al and Frank Jr. would have helped also, but Al was in Washington D. C. and Frank Jr. was in Nashville, Tennessee.

There are times when I miss Margie very much, as does Al and all the other members of the family. In the mornings I would get up around 6:00 A.M. and have coffee and toast for breakfast with Margie. Now, I have breakfast alone. In the evenings Claire and I would look for her coming home from work. Sometimes, out of habit, we look for her now, although we know she won't be coming. During the winter time she would always bring home chocolate candy. She always brought two special bars of diabetic candy for me because I have diabetes. Dr. Cabiran says that I inherited it.

My nephew, Al, is missing his Aunt Margie very much. She always typed his papers. He misses her, not only for all the typing she did for him, but because they would often sit together and carry on intelligent conversations. Once, Al said to me on the phone that no one could type as well as his Aunt Margie, and always appreciated the papers she typed for him while he was in Washington, D. C.

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122. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VII

(John Puyau was born in 1911, the same year that his father, Francois, died. He was the seventh boy born to this couple who loved children. Francois died February 17, 1911. John was born June 25, 1911. Jeanne was five months pregnant with her eleventh child when her husband died, leaving her with nine children to care for: Blanche 21, Frank 20, George 18, Emile 15, Edward 11, Claire 10, Albert 8, Corrine 5, Margie 3, and the soon to be born infant, John. Not having any clear data as to what my grandfather died of, it is possible and probable to say that he died of what my mother called "galloping consumption," a particularly virile and fast acting form of pneumonia Whatever it was, his sudden death must have come as a shock to all of the children, and especially to his wife. Maybe the shock of his death had something to do with her last child not being "right."

John was not exactly with it. He wasn't retarded. He just didn't react normally to situations. For instance, someone might ask him a question and he would talk fluently about it, but then drift off, gazing into space, perhaps abruptly leave the conversation and go somewhere else. Sometimes he would talk to himself. He would walk for miles around the city, causing a lot of worry to the family. These things I have mentioned are things I heard when I was at my aunt's house at 607 and would hear them talking. Can you imagine the strain it must have been on Jeanne, to care for all the younger healthier kids, and at the same time, worry about and care for her youngest child who had particular problems of his own?.

The only contact with my Uncle John that I can remember happened when I was about ten years old. He was in his twenties and we were outside in the side yard at 607 playing pitch and catch. Uncle John would wind up to pitch the ball, and when he was ready to throw, he would stop and look off into space, or start talking to himself. I'd yell out, "Uncle John, throw the ball." and then he would. This would be repeated a number of times until we quit playing. He was always nice to me and friendly, and for me, I never did sense anything really wrong.

I don't know what help, if any, Jeanne got for her son, or how he reacted with the rest of the kids in the family. John's mother died when he was eight years old, and the care and love he needed fell to his sister, Blanche, who was 29 at the time and well into her teaching career. What she did to help John is unknown, but something serious must have happened that caused the family to worry about him, for when John was in his late twenties or early thirties, Blanche, probably after a discussion with the family, made the heartrending decision to place her brother John in the East Louisiana State Hospital in Jackson, Louisiana.

After a few brief remarks about John's birth and her father's death, Blanche writes in her memoirs about the time near the end of John's life when he entered Charity Hospital in New Orleans for a fractured skull he suffered at the hospital in Jackson).

>>The youngest of the Puyau tribe was named John Marshall Puyau. His godparents were Mr. and Mrs. George Marshall. He was given that middle name because the Marshall's were good friends of the family.

John came after Papa had passed away. He was born June 25, 1911. Papa died February 11, 1911. Perhaps that was why John was not so well. Papa took sick around November 1, 1910, just after the house was enlarged.

John entered Charity Hospital August 29, 1962 for a fracture of the skull.

He passed away the night before my birthday, April 8, 1963 at the Colbert Home on Esplanade Avenue, and went to God's Heavenly Home. One thing I am sure of is that John went straight to his heavenly home and saw his Papa for the first time. John had his purgatory on earth. He is helping me in my prayers. His wake was on my birthday.

Memories come flowing back to me about that sad time that John was placed in the East Louisiana State Hospital in Jackson, Louisiana. The place has lovely, spacious grounds, but I wondered, and still wonder what goes on behind those barred windows. Every Sunday, week after week, for years, I went to the hospital to see John. As I aged, I cut it down to every two weeks, and still later to once a month when I was not feeling up to par. Sometimes my sister or brother would go with me. We would try to make our visit a ray of sunshine, a breath of fresh air for our loved one, as well as bringing him some good food. The people at the hospital had seen me so often that they dubbed me "Sister." "Where is sister?" was a familiar phrase when they knew I was in the building.

I was not at the Colbert home when John took his last breath. I had just left the home to return to my house, and I was there just a little while, when Corinne, came home and told me that John had died. His wake was held at Laudumiey"s Funeral Home, services at St. Maurice Church, and burial in the family cemetery.

Canute Hingle Puyau 1903?-1986

( Blanche wrote nothing about Canute, her sister-in-law, and wife to her brother Albert. I do not know if Canute moved in with the family right after her husband died, but as long as I can remember, she lived with the Puyau sisters. Canute was one of the sweetest, most giving persons I knew. She was a full bodied, full breasted woman with black hair and brown eyes. She was a constant joy and help to the sisters, and except in blood she was accepted as a member of the family. After Margie died, Claire, Blanche and Canute were the only ones living in the big house at 607 Caffin. Corinne had an apartment on St. Charles Ave. near her good friend, Marks. When Claire died, Canute took care of Blanche in the big house. Blanche wasn't feeble, but needed help in some things. Canute was in perfect health and enjoyed being with Blanche and helping her. When Blanche died and the big house was given to Blanche's godson, Al, Canute moved to a small house behind St. Maurice Church. When Corinne's friend Marks died, Corinne moved in with Canute and Canute took care of her in her ailing years. When Corinne died, Canute stayed in her little house and slowly sank into the clutches of Alzheimer's disease. Her last days were recorded in Butterfly 39/92.

Blanche continues her memoirs with a description of her own life, giving more personal insight into her thoughts and feelings. She calls this section, "Precious Memories." To follow.

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123 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VIII

PRECIOUS MEMORIES

My papa was born in in New Orleans of French parents. He was tall, black-eyed, with black hair and a dark mustache He was a French scholar. He spoke French fluently, but he also mastered the English language. He married Jeanne Gondrexon. He was twenty eight years old at the time. Mama liked to dance but papa did not. After they married they lived in the lower section of the ninth ward in New Orleans (Nouvelle Orleans in French).

Papa (great granddad to Base Ten and great great granddad to the children of Base Ten Plus) was gifted with a happy disposition, had splendid mental attainments, and was a lover of books, like Al Jr. He liked the books especially written in French. He was well versed and could converse fluently on any subject. I learned much from him.

The stream of life has passed me by. I sometimes have a strong feeling of being "let down" when something goes wrong. Thoughts of never having married, of going through life without a husband and children of my own, something for which most girls hunger, and I am like every girl. I feel down because I could have entered the convent and became a nun, but I didn't. This passing fancy came when I was ten years old and Sister Antonio was my teacher. Looked at in a different light, I don't get that down feeling when I pass the convent on St. Maurice Street with my nephew Alwyn Jr.in hand. I am happy now that I have him. He is my godchild. I am happy even though life is passing me by, and has left me stranded and floundering in that mighty stream.

When viewed in the light of my having completed the task that mama and papa could not finish, my life has been rich indeed, a life filled to the brim. That task, even though there were many rocks in the stream, some large, some small, has given me much joy and happiness.

I was born on April 9, 1890 at the beginning of the "gay nineties" in the house on Chartres Street, directly opposite the St. Maurice Rectory. The house is now modernized and covered with brick. I often wish I had bought the house, but I did not have the money then or now. . The section of New Orleans where I was born was then commonly known as "The Barracks" because it is was once famous as a military post.

My eyes are sometimes green, sometimes hazel, and sometimes gray. Papa wanted to name me Louise, Mama wanted to name me Blanche, Nenene, my aunt and godmother, wanted to call me Sophie. Papa decided that I would be named Blanche Louise. My godfather was Uncle Henry Gondrexon, Mama's brother, and my godmother was my Aunt Sophie, my Papa's sister. I was christened at St. Maurice Church and I have the record of that event somewhere.

I made my First Solemn Communion at St. Maurice Church, also. I was ten years old and one month later made my confirmation. Father Aveilhe wanted me to make it at the age of eight, even coming to the house to get my parents' consent. Both Mom and Dad said "No." Today the method has been changed. The children make what they call their "Little Communion" at the age of seven. The children are later confirmed at the age of fourteen.

I must state here that when the other children were born, it was decided that only English was to be spoken to them. Papa could not stand the mixture of English and French spoken by the children of the neighborhood. Both our grandparents came directly from France on both sides of the family, and Papa's decision was the reason our family, with such a French name, never knew how to speak the French language. Who am I to say whether Papa's decision was right or a mistake? But how Grandmother Gondrexon, who spoke not a word of English, would bless Papa for that decision. . I could understand what grandmother said, but I could not answer her. I learned how to read French at John McDonogh High School and can understand what I am reading, but I cannot speak it. Because of my French name, I was put in the French class. This was a mistake, I now realize.

I do not remember Grandmother Puyau. I was told that when I was three years old, I would trot along besides her when she walked among her orange trees. Her house was on Bievinue Street near Hancock Street. The name was changed from Hancock Street to St. Maurice Avenue after St. Maurice Church when the street was paved. Grandmother

Puyau died when was about four .The Carambats bought the house years afterwards . Both grandfathers had passed away before papa and Mama married. Grandfather Puyau always used to regret that there would be no one to carry on the name of Puyau. I hope he knows that his son Francois, my papa, had married after he passed away and had seven sons. . There are my three nephews with the name of Puyau, Edward, Jerry, and Frank. . My nephews have seven boys in all, carrying the name of Puyau. The name of Puyau will not die for a long time, maybe not until the end of the world.

Well do I remember Papa as a teacher, though only five years of age? He was principal of the L'Union Francaise School. The building that was the school is still there, but is now used for apartments. I wish I had the money to restore it to its former glory and use it again as a school. This, I'll never have.

It was while Papa was at this school that my brother Emile was born. During this time also, I was sent to Miss Hebert's School which was located just across St. Peter Street and at the corner of Burgundy Street. During this period, Jennie, Annie and Frank Sullivan and I became friends. Their home was just opposite Miss Hebert's at the corner of St. Peter and Burgundy. Year later, Emile and I were riding by the school one day, even stopped and went into the yard. It was then that we saw how ill kept the yard was.

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124 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS IX

PRECIOUS MEMORIES (CONTD.)

As a young man, Papa taught in Mandeville and later at the Catholic School opposite St. Maurice Church. It was in Mandeville that Papa had his first love. They were going to be married, but before the wedding took place, God called the girl to His Heavenly Home. Mama told me about this. I wore the ring that Papa gave her for many years. I could have cried when I lost the stone in that ring, a beautiful amethyst. Perhaps I did cry, I do not recall.

How I thrilled, though I just made six, when Papa's family would go to the Fairgrounds on July 14th to celebrate the French national holiday, and in commemoration of the fall of the Bastille. The whole school would turn out. Papa's family would be given places of honor on the grandstand. How proud I was of my Papa! The singing of the Marseillaise would make thrills go up and down my spine. It still does, and the fireworks did too, especially the grand finale that showed the Bastille and the French and American flags. The Star Spangled Banner was then sung. When it was all over the streetcars took the boys, the teachers, Papa, and his family back to the school.

How well I remember the time I saw my older brothers take Emile's baby carriage and ride each other in it. They were severely reprimanded by Papa, but he never told any of us about it. I am sure he told Mama, but never to us children.

I remember the big galvanized bath tub in the large bathroom downstairs, something unusual in those days, a bathroom and a bathtub, even though it was made of wood and tin. What fun we children had in it when we took our baths, diving in it, and getting in and out of it.

There was a great big cistern downstairs. I remember the night when Papa tried to get Frank, Robert, or me to go downstairs to get some water from it. He was testing our courage. I volunteered to go, shaking in my boots and scared stiff. I went down the flight of steps, got some water and came back, but still frightened. Unless an absolute necessity, I would not do that today, January 14, 1965. Anyhow, there would be no need, for we do not have cisterns today.

To this day, I still have the pearl and gold tip pen that the boys of the Fourth of July School gave t Papa. This I am leaving to Alwynn, when I pass on to my Heavenly Home.

I have a memory of my Mama that comes to my mind at this moment. Papa had just passed away. I remember seeing her dressed in a white voile waist and black skirt.

I remember wondering to myself how little Mama was getting out of life. Or maybe she got very much out of life, having us.

I remember being a little girl of six, sitting on the steps of our home on St. Anne Street. We had moved there after Papa gave up teaching and the principalship at the French school for boys. As I sat on the steps I was knitting a cape for myself. . A neighbor passing by said, "Look at that little girl knit." I was very thin then.

From St. Ann Street we moved back to "The Barracks." We resided in one of Courege's houses. It was located on the corner of St. Maurice Avenue, then named Hancock Street and not paved, opposite 330 St. Maurice Avenue. Later, we moved to one of Mr. George Marshall's houses, a small half house. . We lived on one side, and Josie Gautreaux lived on the other side. Still later, when Papa had more money, we moved to one of the larger Marshall houses at the corner of St. Maurice Avenue and Bienvenue St.

How well I remember the large oak dining-room table that we had in our house. I still have it to this day, at this late stage of my life, the only piece of furniture left from those days that have gone before. As we moved, so was the table. We needed a large table with so many children, as well as for our friends Adele and Delia Cazaubon, Bertha Despaux, our cousins Nanette and Germaine Ader, who spent many a day with us. I would sit spellbound when friends of Papa's would gather around the table and engage in spirited conversation. They would often do this after a good meal which Nenene Sophie had prepared. Cooking was Nenene Sophie's line. Her skills she taught to Claire, and Claire takes after her in serving up great meals.

I remember sitting on the steps of our house with Papa. Papa and I were such pals. . We liked the same things, books and learning. I remember Papa sitting on the front porch the last three weeks of his life, waiting for a glimpse of us as we came home from school or from work. I wish now I had not lingered on my way home from Thomas Semmes School, where I was going through the experience of my first year as a teacher. I remember Papa sitting on the staircase that led up to the second floor of our house after it had been enlarged. He was sitting there while the last meeting of the USONA (United States of North America), a club for girls and boys, was held at our house. The meeting was held in the parlor, a room that is now called a living room. We had an Emerson piano in the parlor. My dear Papa was sitting on the staircase with two of his sons and watched what was going on very intently. He was always so interested in what we young girls and boys were doing. Later, Papa would lie on the floor and let the younger children play on his back. How he loved us! We were joy untold to him.

Well do I remember the Mardi Gras day it snowed in New Orleans. There were no parades that year. They were canceled because of the snow. I'll never forget our disappointment. Papa's friends came over to the house to play cards. The large basket of delicious fruit the men sent over afterwards could never make up for missing the parades. I have a clipping from the paper about the snow that I have kept all these years. The clipping shows large blocks of ice and snow flowing down the Mississippi River. Even with all that snow, my cousin, Jeanne Despaux put on her mask and played with us in the snow. And I do mean SNOW. What fun we children had pelting her with snowball after snowball.

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125. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS X

PRECIOUS MEMORIES (CONT.)

When I was in the eighth grade at McDonogh No. 2, an all-girls school right next to McDonogh High School, an all-boys school, I remember my papa saying that the word automobile was a misnomer. He said that it should be "killomobile." I had mentioned that in class the day before, and when I went to school the next day some of the teachers were gathered around the principal's desk. Miss Hero sat behind her desk and she and the teachers were enjoying the humor engendered in calling an automobile a "killomobile. As I write this, I wondered to myself, if an automobile was called a "killomobile" way back then, what would it be called today in this year 1965? As I passed by Miss Hero's desk that morning, she asked me how I had thought of the amusing word "killomobile." I told her my Papa had given it to me. I could not take credit for it, when I had not thought of it myself. I could not lie, not then and not now.

On looking back, my days at John McDonogh High School, were the happiest days of my life. The days were so care free and easy going. Now, however, looking back over years further along, my happiest days were when I was helping to raise the flock of children with Frank that Papa had left behind him when he passed away.

Happy too, were the days and years I served as a teacher and later principal of T.J. Semmes School, my retirement years as a teacher at St. Maurice Parochial School, my one year as a substitute teacher, and even after that, coaching students at home. As I write this in my later years, I wish I were at St. Maurice School now. I liked working with Sister Gobnait, Sister Helen (formerly Grace Christenson who taught with me at Semmes, my good friend who later became a nun) and the lay teachers. Of course, Thomas J. Semmes School was my favorite school. How I hated to leave it! But one has to leave it when one reaches the age of sixty five. That is the law even to this day. I could have stayed longer at Semmes, for I taught eight more years after I retired, and even did a year of substitute work. No wonder the schools are short of teachers when one must retire even if one is able to go on.

Now, I am taking it easy and keeping myself busy working on "My Memory Book," and my "Stamp Books." This memory book is for my nephew and godchild, Alvyn Rudolph Rouyer. Another nephew, Eddie Puyau, will type it for me.

Looking back, I realize I had so much joy when I was helping my little brothers and sisters: buying school books for them, for there were no free school books in those days, buying them Christmas gifts, hanging their stocking on the mantle piece (there were no Christmas trees in those days), trimming a hat for Claire who was going on a trip for Semmes, buying a white suit for Albert when he represented Semmes School in Baton Rouge, fitting out John with a suit and overcoat from Godchaux's when I received a large raise shortly after Mama passed away. What an irony of fate? >>>

How well I remember those long walks on the levee during my high school days with my friends Didinie and Anna Hardouin, Amelia and Emelie, Anna and Marguerite D'Hemecourt, Bill Hulquist, Lois Spitzfaden, Darcisse Charbonnet, Fred Radford and James Loveress. We always met at my home before and after these long walks.

I remember that when in the seventh grade at McDonogh #19 School there were only four pupils in my class: Cecilia Dixon, Robert Norton, Sidney Brewer and me. I liked Robert Norton in those days. He lived opposite where the Paine family lives today, on Flood Street near the river. Miss Easton, who was the sister of the Superintendent of New Orleans Public Schools, Warren Easton, was the principal and teacher of the sixth and seventh grades. Later, she would have taught the eighth grade, but she passed away.

Finally, the elementary and high school days were over, and I entered Normal School, a school for the training of teachers. I did not like it as much as high school, not one-half as happy. I did not mind the hard study, but I made no personal contacts as I did in my other schools: McDongogh No 2, McDongogh #19, McDonogh High School , Miss Hebert's School on St. Peter's Street, and Miss Josephine's on St. Maurice Avenue.

Thinking back to my high school days once again, I remember my days at John McDonogh High School. It is now located on Esplanade Avenue and Claiborne Avenue. It is now called Esplanade School. Somehow, when I was there I could not grasp what it was all about. Perhaps that accounts for my average of 88.9. Another reason may be because I was put in the French class because of my French name. French was also hard for me to grasp. I could read it but couldn't speak it. In a class that spoke all French, I had a problem. Papa was disappointed in my average of 88.9, that I know. I felt his disappointment, but he never said a word to me about it, never expressed how he felt. I still have my High School and Normal School Diploma.

Papa went to both my graduations. We went in a carriage each time. When he went with me to my Normal School graduation, he told me that he was sorry he had not thought of getting an automobile ("killomobile" he laughed) instead of a carriage. Automobiles were just beginning to be the rage (1910-1912?).

When I completed my Normal School training, I wanted to teach at Semmes School. It wasn't too far from where I lived, but was out of my immediate neighborhood. Papa used untiring efforts to get me at Semmes. I did not want to teach at McDonogh #19 because I was too well known in the neighborhood. Perhaps this is another mistake I made. I'll never know. With the help of Bill McCue, Papa succeeded in getting me at Semmes. Strange as it may seem, Bill McCue's daughter, Retta McCue, now my dearest friend, came to Semmes School about eighteen years after I started. She and I have had a wonderful friendship since the day she came to the school. It a friendship that has stood the test of all these years.

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126. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XI

PRECIOUS MEMORIES (CONTD.)

Miss Mary A. Dudenhofer was principal of Thomas Semmes School when I came there to begin my teaching career. She always liked me. I began my teaching career teaching the second grade. Then I taught the third, fourth and fifth grades. In later years I taught reading and history (my favorite subjects) in the Departmental Grades: the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades.

One day, Mr. Nicholas Bauer, Assistant Superintendent of the New Orleans Public Schools, came to the schools to observe the teachers at their jobs. He observed the upper grades. When Mr.Bauer went to the office after his observations, he said to Miss Dudenhofer, "In my observation of Miss Blanche Puyau, I cannot give an explanation, but she held the attention of her class marvelously." Miss Dudenhofer did not tell me about this, but Lydia Spahr, who was home ill, heard about it from some of the teachers. When I went to see Lydia that evening, she told me about it. From that day on, my estimation as a teacher rose in Miss Dudenhofer and the teachers.

Some of the teachers at Semmes while I was there were Germaine Delaup, Naomi Koffskey, Anna Edwards, Retta McCue, Delphi Maccen, and Ruth Roeling. After I became principal of Semmes, Lucille Lalanne, Anna Caruso, and Grace Christensen came there to teach. Grace and Anna taught the third grades. Naomi, Germaine and Rhetta taught the first grades. Lucille taught the fourth grade. Grace, especially, was a very good teacher. We have been friends ever since. Today she is a nun and is now teaching at St. Maurice Parochial School which is located at 631 St. Maurice Avenue in New Orleans. Her name as a nun is Sister Helen. I often see her at the 7:30 A.M. Sunday mass. Germaine, Naomi, and Anna Edwards have retired. Anna Caruso and Lucille are still at Semmes School while Delphine and Retta are now teaching at McDonogh High School. Lou has retired, but is now doing substitute work at Semmes School. (An aside from ED. When Ed moved back to New Orleans from Dallas, he was single and an eligible bachelor, and all his aunts were getting him dates with young women they knew. Blanche got him a date with Grace Christensen. They went out a couple of times but there was no spark on either side. She was a pretty woman and very sweet. Who knows what causes the spark of love between two people?)

When my Mama went to her heavenly home, I redeemed Mama's earrings from Jeanne Appe, our cousin, at a cost of $100.00. My brother Frank needed the money so Mama sold the earrings to Jeanne to get the $100.00 that he needed. After I bought them back from Jeanne, I had the diamonds of the earrings mounted on a ring. The ring had two diamond stones. The ring is still in my possession. As stated in my will, this ring is for Alwynn Jr. when I pass on to my Heavenly Home.

The memory comes to me of my Mama washing clothes. She was always washing lots of clothes for us. I remember my Mama washing my green dress and hanging it on the clothes line. It was the day before she had the stroke. She never recovered from it. How ignorant I was in those days, even though I was a teacher! And how selfish of me not to have noticed the strain on her, not to have realized all the danger signs of this.

I remember Mama sending me Fred Radford's letter at school. Fred was from Kentucky and was now a soldier at Camp Polk. We met at City Park and became very good friends. Later, however, I realized how unworthy he proved to be at that time. We did meet in New Orleans some years later. How foolish I was not to recognize his true character! I wonder if he is still in the land of the living.

My memory brings to mind the time Mama's anger and indignation at my friend Darcisse Charbonnet for telling her neighbor next door that he (?) would like to marry me. That was the last of Darcisse and my friendship. I had met him at a blackberry picnic. I can still see myself in that pretty pink dress, trimmed with embroidery and black velvet passing through the embroidery.

One day Bill Holquist came into my life. I can still see Bill walking up and down the sidewalk opposite our house. The day after I met him, Mrs. Benedict, my piano teacher and the mother of my friend Leonie, had taken me with them to Bill's home. Strange that his little sister, Mary, should be in the second grade, the first class that I taught at Semmes School... He wrote me when he received a letter from his home stating that I was Mary's teacher. I answered it, but he never wrote again. I often wondered why. Was he married?

Or engaged? He could have told me. I was not in love with him, even though I have to admit that we had marvelous times at dances, hay rides, trolley rides, and watermelon parties. He and I were always partners at these affairs.

I will always remember my first Armistice Day on November 11, 1918. The night before I had slept at Val and Bee Lemaitre's house; it was a Sunday night. There was to be no school on Monday. When we came downtown in the streetcar from Jackson Barracks – no busses in those days – we saw Mama standing by the gate of our house on Chartres Street. She was so happy that the World War was over and her boys would be coming home. In the light of the passing years, I wish I had gotten off the streetcar and hugged Mama tightly. Thoughtless, selfish me! No wonder my Mama once said, "The war has taken my boys and the Lemaitre's have taken my girl. She did not mean this, I realize that now. It was just that I was foolish and thrilled over little things, while overlooking the big ones.

That night, after the Armistice Day show, when Mama and the younger children came home, they found a ladder against the kitchen window. Robbers had entered while we were away. Everything in the house had been ransacked. Some of Frank's jewelry was taken, but Mama's diamond earrings were safe. This was before Mama had sold her earrings to get money for Frank. The thieves had evidently been scared off. Strange, from that day on, the woman who used to wash for us never returned to her job again. A puzzle to all of us, to this day.

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127. 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XII

PRECIOUS MEMORIES (CONTD.)

I was born on Chartres Street, between Hancock and Tricou Streets, and just opposite St. Maurice Rectory. The house is still there, but has been remodeled and covered with brick. I just wish I had bought it before it was remodeled. If I had, I could go to church and make visits to the Blessed Sacrament as often as I desired.

I am told that I was often taken by my ;Grandmother Puyau and would spend hours with her in the orange grove on Bienvenue Street between Hancock Street (now St. Maurice Avenue) and Tupelo Street. I do not remember this but do hope that some day I can find the record.

The first homes I do remember were the ones on St. Peter Street and St, Ann Street. From St. Peter Street we moved to Tricou Street. It was a very pretty, white, single house with a large side yard and had a peach tree in it. The first day we moved there we children feasted on green peaches. It was a wonder we didn't get sick, but none of us did. Then we moved to Courege's house on Hancock Street, right at the corner of Bienvenue Street.

Memories come to mind of our stay there. Well do I remember that wonderful Christmas when we woke up Christmas morning and found that Santa Claus had left us many beautiful gifts during the night. Papa Santa Claus had money then. Aunt Nenene Sophie hung up a pair of her drawers and found that Santa Claus had left her a ten dollar bill. I remember also, that cold, bitter night when the men came home to play cards with Papa, and the large hamper of fruit they sent Papa the next day. Another thing that I remember well was Mardi Gras day when the snow fell, and the day Father Aveilha, pastor of our parish church came to our house. He wanted me to make my First Communion even though I was nine years of age (1899). There was only one communion in those days. Papa and Mama refused because they thought I was too young. We now have (probably 1970's} Little Communion at the age of seven, Solemn Communion when the child is in the sixth grade along with Confirmation on the same day, if the Archbishop or Bishop can perform the Confirmation ceremony.

From the Courege's house we moved across Hancock Street to a half-house owned by Mr. George Marshall. It was here that Edward and Claire were born. Our next home was the single house just next door to the half-house, then we moved back again to the half-house when money was scarce. We were there awhile and during that time the single house was renovated and enlarged. We moved back there and had plenty of room. The dining room had been made larger; a bath room with a bathtub had been added as well as a kitchen. There were three bedrooms and a parlor downstairs, and a large bedroom and two smaller ones upstairs.

How well I remember the house on St. Maurice Avenue with its large side yard and the smaller yard on the other side. I remember the violets growing along its path. Violets are my favorite flowers. I remember the many happy times we had in that side yard, especially the many penny parties we had there. I remember all the fun we had skating on St. Maurice Avenue after it was paved. I remember all the boys and girls who came to our home on Sunday evenings: Anna and Marguerite Guichard, the twins Didine and Nana Hourdoicor, Mamie and Louise Snow, Leonie Benedict (who married Doc Seither), Bill and Arhur Hulquist, Bennie and James Lloveras, Louis Spitzfaden (Mama's godchild), Bertha and Harry Darby, Louise Barthe (who married Harry Darby), Olivia Bazrthe (who married Arthur Hulquist).

Olivia and Arthur passed away so many years ago.

Memories from our front porch come to me, like the time Papa and I watched Halley's comet in the starry, starry sky, and like the time my brothers were playing with a pistol on the porch for the first and last time. Papa saw to that. I remember the Sunday evening I was sitting on the porch and Bill Hulquist walked up and down on the other side of the street. I was sitting on the steps with some friends. He did not cross over. I had just met him the day before. I remember sitting on the porch when a certain rich man who lived in our neighborhood passed our house, but on the other side of the street. Papa kept looking at him and then turned to me and said, "Well, I would much prefer to have the colored man who sometimes does work for us, to eat with us at our table, than that white man passing by." Papa was years ahead of those days of segregation and integration.

My Papa was some one to be proud of. He was a schoolteacher first and foremost, but later ran a gambling house, a respectable one. School teaching didn't pay as much as in 1965, so Papa had to give up teaching and do something else to raise us, his children. There were ten of us in those days. John was born after Papa passed away. Men who run gambling houses are high up in the world today, but I don't believe these men are of the fine caliber of man of which my Papa was made. Of that, I am sure.

After Robert's death, on the night of his burial, Papa and I were on the front porch and he said to me, "I've stood by the coffins of my father and my mother, but that is naught compared to the grief I felt when I was standing next to the coffin of my boy, Robert."

While living at the Puyau home at 330 St. Maurice Avenue, when I was seventeen years old, I would gather the eight younger children around me at least once daily. Later that number increased to ten, then down to nine when Robert died, and then up to ten again when John was born. The house was always full of people. Besides the children, Mama and Papa, and Aunt Sophie there were always guests in the house.

Luckily for me, I was made of strong, durable oak, Otherwise I would not have survived the wear and tear of those years, and still be living today. I am not oval or circular in shape. When I would stretch out to my highest height, I was very tall then, but now, it seems as if I have grown much smaller in size, As I write this there are only four family members in the house, but there will be more in the summer months for Alwynn Jr. will be home for the summer vacation.

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128 1977 BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XIII

PRECIOUS MEMORIES (CONCLUDED)

I must tell you about one sad, memorable scene. It was the day Robert drowned. When his body was finally found and brought home and placed on me (dining room table?). I'll never forget how lifelike he looked, and how handsome he was as he lay upon me. His sorrowful relatives were stunned and unable to grasp the fact that he had gone out of their lives forever.

A memory that keeps coming back to me is what occurred the week after Papa passed away. That week a meeting took place in the dining room between my boyfriend and me. He had come alone to see me. He and I had been partners in every frolic. He knew there were seven children after Frank and me and another on his or her way. Maybe all of that was too much for him because we said "Good Bye" to each other. We did meet years afterwards. He married, but is no longer among the living.

I remember that happy day when I was rated a superior teacher at Semmes School. I was so happy; I hurried home and told the family about it. How proud Frank was of me!!.

If Papa's pen could talk, this is what it would say: I'm made of mother of pearl and gold. My gold point has long worn out, for I'm an old fashioned pen that has to be dipped in ink. When there is no ink on my point, I cannot write. I was given by the boys of L'Ecole Francaise to their principal, Mr. Frank A. Puyau about 1895 or 1896. I am now in the possession of Blanche Puyau, and I am to be given to Alwynn Jr. as stated in Blanche's will when she passes away.

I remember an incident that happened when we lived in the back of the house that was part of the Fourteenth Of July School. We lived both upstairs and downstairs. In the living room downstairs we had a sewing machine then, just as we have now. The sewing machine we had back then, however, was different form the one we have now. On this old one you used your feet also to sew. Of course we do not have to do this on the one we have today. The incident I remember and want to tell you about involves a severe storm. Aunt Marie was sewing on this old machine and Frank and I were in the room with her. The lighting was cracking all around the house, and Frank and I stayed quite close to Aunt Marie, who continued to sew. All of a sudden, quick as a flash, the lightning struck the brick wall that separated the school yard from the house next door. Down the hall ran Frank and I. We were so scared. Perhaps that explains why I am so afraid of lightning these days.

The Fourteenth of July School was a school for boys. Papa was its principal about the year 1895. If I remember correctly, the three upper front rooms were used as classrooms, while the rest of the house, both upstairs and downstairs, was used by the family.

How well I remember the night Papa bet that we would not go downstairs and get a glass of water from the big wooden cistern. I volunteered, but was shaking in my boots, I can assure you.

Emile was the only one of us not born below the Industrial Canal. In fact, there wasn't any Industrial Canal in those days, no busses—electric street cars. The St. Charles is the only electric car in New Orleans today. Emile was born in this school/home of ours. One day his older brothers took Emile's baby carriage and gave rides to one another in it, until the carriage broke. They offered to pay for it but Papa would not accept it. What punishment they received, I do not know. Papa never did tell it to us children. No matter, the boys had lots of fun in it, the time of their lives.

I remember one day when Mama wanted to give me some castor oil. I literally ran out of the house, into that large street, and then onto the sidewalk. I do not remember taking that castor oil. I surmise that Mama must have thrown it away.

I always like remembering the events that took place every July 14th, The Independence of France. On that day, all the boys of the school, with their teachers and Papa, would go to the Fair Grounds where the celebration was held. The school had a special place on the grandstand. All of Papa's family was invited to attend it. I recall very vividly the ride in the special trolley cars, the reserved seats in the grandstand, the fireworks, especially the American Flag, the French Flag, and the Bastille I remember, too, the boys singing "La Marseillaise" France's song for Independence and Freedom.

As mentioned before, it was at Semmes School that I received my experience as a teacher. One morning the teachers talked about my Papa and his family having to go and live in Abita Springs, to help Papa recover from "galloping consumption." The teachers happened to say how sorry they were for the family. Miss Dudenhefer's said that the one she really felt sorry for was Blanche because she had to be separated from the family while they were at Abita Springs. Later, the teachers told me about this conversation. Papa, Mama, Nenene and the children had been gone about three weeks. I was staying at the Lemaitre's and Frank was staying at Aunt Marie's. Every Saturday afternoon, Frank and I would take the train to see them, and return by train on Sunday night. Not realizing that it was a mistake to write it, I wrote and told the family about what the teachers had said about me being separated from the family. As soon as Papa read the letter in Abita Springs, he told Mama to pack up, and they all came home. Not long afterwards, Papa passed away to his heavenly home.

I find that retirement is a lonely life. I wish I were younger, so I could get out where there is life, fun, and activity. If I had the money I would travel by train, first class, to go to Washington D. C. to see Al, my nephew and godchild. Afterwards, I would travel to Eastern and Western Canada, and then on to the states of Washington, Oregon, and California. After I returned from that trip, when summer came along, I would spend some time in Florida. All that traveling would help take some of that lonesomeness out of my life.

Two of my present hobbies are writing a memory book of my life, which is about finished, and pasting stamps. I am running out of my stamps.

When Florence Pinac (Ed's 7th grade teacher) and Marion Ducros came to the house the other day they mentioned Father Greco. He was pastor of St. Maurice Parish for almost 20 years, and has been Bishop of Alexandria the past 20 years. I must write the Bishop for some information on St. Maurice Church, our parish church, for my memory book.

>> The end of the memoirs <<

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129. 1887 PIERRE PUYAU

(This is the man who came over from France and started it all here in the states. Although this information was in my possession, I had never read it until now. Pierre is my great grandfather, the great, great grandfather of Ed. Therese, Roxanne, Maurice, Jerome, Jeanne, Mary, and Julie, the great, great, great grandfather of Megan, Brittney, Kyle,

Christopher, Annelise, Brigitte, Alix, Amelia and Elizabeth. I don't know who compiled the information given below. There is some conflict as to Pierre's age at death. He is listed as being 68 when he died, but his birth date and death date do not match. Typed below as written).

Pierre Puyau was born December 28, 1810 at Belfort, France (written here in parenthesis is Puyauville) which is near Paris. He boarded the ship Isabella C. Jones in Bordeaux, France in late 1855 or 1856. A. Jones was the master of the port in Bordeaux at the time. Pierre was 35( ?) years old. (It would be nice to know Pierre's reaction to this new country, and especially New Orleans). He married Marie Ann Prongue who was also born in Belfort, France on April 1, 1826. They had two children, Francois and Sophie. (That is all the information we have about Pierre until he died). He died on April 19, 1887 at New Orleans, Louisiana and is buried at St. Vincent De Paul Cemetery No. 2, vault 318.

(The following write up of his death was in the paper). Pierre Puyau, age 68 died at 5:00 A.M. yesterday. He was a native of Bastide, Haute-Pyrenes, France. Friends and acquaintances of the family, and also the members of the Society of St. Maurice, and the members of the French Democrats Club we pray will assist at this funeral which will take place this afternoon at 2 hours precisely. On the part of the family, the convoy will leave from Pierre's last residence at the corner of Bienvenu and Monroe.

(The following notice was also in the paper).

130. ST. MAURICE MUTUAL ASSISTANCE SOCIETY

(Casernes and Versailles) Officers and members of the association are, by this notice, requested to assemble today, April 20th, at 1:30 P.M. at the assembly of the society, with badges, to assist in the interment ceremony of your founding brother, Pierre Puyau, who died yesterday morning at 5:00 A.M. The utmost of punctuality is requested. By order of the President, Sebastien Roy.

(There was also this notice in French. Exactly what paper this was written in is not listed). Decede hier matin, a 5 heures, Pierre Puyau, age de 68 aus, natif de La Bastide, Hautes-Pyrineas, France. Les amis et connaissances de la famille ains quo ics meinbras de la Soelete de St. Maurice et du Club de la Democratie Francaise, sont pries d'nassister a ses funerailles qui anrout lieu cette apresinidl, a 2 heures preciacs. Le convoi partira de so derniere residence coin Bienvenu et Monroe. De la part de la famille.

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131. 2001 (recorded) PUYAU GRAVES

Almost all of Pierre Puyau's grandchildren and Francois Puyau's children are buried in St. Vincent De Paul Cemetery. No. 2 In vault 315 Robert Puyau, Jeanne Gondrexon Puyau, and George Ader Puyau. In vault 273 Frank Puyau, the oldest son of Francois. Frank's son, the doctor, wrote a letter to the cemetery stating that forever and never was that vault to be used again. Albert Puyau is buried in vault 664. In St. Vincent De Paul Cemetery No. 3 in a community tomb (Quarter A, second section, Third Alley) are John, Marguerite, Claire, Corrine and Blanche. (We, Marie and I, were not sure of the day of Blanche's death, but decided on 1977. In reviewing the cemetery records we learned that Blanche was laid to rest in 1975. We missed by two years. If and when you should re-read Blanche's memoirs just remember to substitute 1975 for 1977. Remember! To err is human, to forgive divine). Emile and his wife Jessie are listed as buried in Room B, Level E, Tier 2.The only child of Francois not buried in St. Vincent De Paul Cemetery is my dad, Edward. He is buried with his wife Lillian Mae in St. Patrick's Cemetery right off of Canal Blvd. The tomb is on the main road, about half way down. Pierre Puyau and Francois Puyau are also buried at St. Vincent's but the sites are not listed. Also buried there is Edith "Canute" Hingle Puyau, the wife of Albert. She was the last person carrying the Puyau name to be buried there. Relatives of Canute as well as relatives of Jeanne Gondrexen Puyau are buried there, also.

132. 2001 (recorded) PUYAU'S IN FRANCE

(Some years ago, our cousin Frank (the doctor) took a trip to France. He spent some time over there, and spent some of it gathering the names and phone numbers of Puyau's who lived there. When Marie and I went to France, we tried some of the phone numbers, but had no success in getting information about the Puyau's. One, new great lead is learning that Pierre lived in Bastide, Haut- Pyrennes, France. That, I believe is right near Lourdes. The list follows).

Paris:

Alain Puyau 95 Innichel 5 Annie Puyau 95 R Montreiulli

Jean Puyau 139 R Lafayette 10

Marianne Puyau 12 r Amelie 7

Phillippe Puyau 141 Au Emile Zola

Bordeaux

Eddie Puyau 4R David Johnson

Fabienne Puyau Red Lion 24 R

Geraadine Puyau 65 R Maceau

Herve Puyau 12 R St. Eto Bordeaux (contd.)

Madeleine Puyau R.Doc. Schweitzer

Dax

Genevieve Puyau 4R Epargne

Paulette Puyau 36R Jardins

Pierre Puyau 38 R Jardins

Capreton

Charles Puyau 34 bd Lacheur

Gerard Puyau all Ferney Lot Mariotte

Jean Puyau 39 av Grand Brucca

Pierre Puyau 41 av Biairitz

Bayonne (?)

Jean-Claude Puyau 4r Saubiole

133. 20011 (recorded) PUYAU'S IN CANADA

In 1997 my brother Jerry took a trip to Quebec and while there stopped in a restaurant named Les Crepes de Amorique. He got into a conversation with the owner and learned that his name was Raymond Puyau. Wonder of wonders, Raymond told Jerry that his grandfather's name was Pierre Puyau. He said that his grandfather had five sons and two daughters. Even more astounding was the fact that his grandfather lived in La Bastide in the Upper Pyrennes, and that his father, Jean Marie Puyau still lives there. Raymond said that he moved to Quebec from France in 1966. He has three children, Patricia Puyau who is 25, Marc Puyau who is 22, and Cedric Puyau who is only three weeks old. Raymond even gave Jerry the phone number of his daughter, Patricia. Best of all, however, is that Raymond gave Jerry the address and phone number of his father who lives in La Bastide. He lives at 33 Rue Michelle, 65300 L Annemezan, La Bastide, Upper Pyrennes, France. His phone number is from the USA. From the little we know of Pierre Puyau of New Orleans, it is certain that he was born and lived, probably until he was 35, in La Bastide. This is the best connection we ever had to make contact and learn something about the Puyau history. The sad thing is that I have had this information for the past four years, but never really looked at it or studied it until I started reviewing Blanche's memoirs, and began to mail them to you. To think that Marie and I were in Lourdes and very close to where Pierre lived. One thing for certain, if Marie and I or any you go to Lourdes, we must made La Bastide a stop on our itinerary. In the meantime, I am going to ask John Paul to put his French to use and call Jean Marie in La Bastide and find out whatever he can about the Puyau family.

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134. 1961 PAPER MONEY

During his second year as principal of Andrew Jackson School, he brought up the idea of a paper drive at a faculty meeting. During his first year he had been acting principal, taking the place of the regular principal who was on leave for a year. During his first year he had noticed the school did not have a paper drive which was unusual. The money earned from paper drives was used to buy materials and equipment above and beyond what the School Board provided. As acting principal he observed the status quo and did not bring the subject up. The following year when he was appointed as principal he brought the subject up at a faculty meeting and received a heated reply.

"Paper drive!" said one teacher "Parents in this neighborhood are so poor I don't believe they get the paper." Another teacher who had been at the school for years and had a rather sour disposition piped up with "I doubt if these parents can even read." This comment got a series of subdued boos from the other teachers. Except for a few young teachers, most of the teachers had been at the school for years. The school had a little over eight hundred students and about twenty five teachers. Still another teacher said, "We have tried paper drives in the past but the kids just don't bring in the paper. It is not worth the effort." He told the teachers that he would like to try it one more time. The school needed the money. They agreed to work with him and to have a paper drive once again.

He mulled over the project for a week or so, trying to think of something that would motivate the kids to bring old newspaper to the school, if indeed there was newspaper to be had in this very poor neighborhood. He came up with an idea that might work. He bought a role of theater tickets, the kind they used in the old days at the theaters with six sequential numbers on the tickets. There were a thousand tickets in each role. He had the custodian paint three yard sticks, the lower foot red, the middle foot white, and the higher foot blue. On the day he announced the paper drive at morning assembly, he had the custodian tie six huge bags to a rope up high, near the top of the stage, and attach to the rope six huge bags filled with either candy, potato chips etc. He told the students that one month from the day they were holding a paper drive. He held up the yardstick and the roll of tickets and told them that any amount of paper that touched the red got one ticket, two tickets if the paper touched the white, and three tickets if the stack of paper was high enough to touch the blue. Teachers on yard duty would measure the paper and give the student the ticket or tickers. The student was to tear the ticket in half, keep one half and place the other half in a box provided. At morning assembly a drawing would be held and the student with the lucky ticket would come up on the stage and pick whatever bag he/she wanted. Tickets would be drawn until all the bags were gone.

The day of the first drive went smoothly. They didn't make as much as he hoped to make for the school. They made twenty dollars or so and that wasn't a bad beginning He doubted that the kids knew the first three numbers on each of the tickets were the same, and when the first number, and then the second and third numbers was called there would be a murmur throughout the student body and some kids saying "I've got it." In future drives the kids started bringing in more and more paper. One dad even brought in a whole pickup truck full of paper. That drive the school earned about seventy five dollars, the biggest drive of the year. The kids started bringing in more and more paper. Where they got the paper was a mystery. They started taking shopping carts from Schwegman's Super Mart, loading their paper in them and pushing them all the way to the school. Someone must have told the manager of Schwegman's about all the carts in the school yard because the manager called the school and asked to talk to the principal. His words to the principal were short but not sweet. He wanted those carts back at the store pronto. The principal agreed to do so and then told the manager why they were there and about the great effort put out by the students to help earn money for the school by collecting paper. The manager made a complete turn around and told the principal not to worry, to call him the day the school had a paper drive, and he would send two men over in a truck to pick up the carts.

In the last six of the seven years he was at Andrew Jackson School, paper drives averaged about 30 to fifty dollar a month, three hundred to four hundred dollars a year, brought needed cash to the school. The students took great pride in what they had done. His years at Jackson were rough but they were fun, too,

135. 1939 AHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHH.

In his freshman year at Holy Cross High School, he came across a treasure in the library. When he wasn't playing around on the river levee, or playing ball with his friends, he would go to the school library. All his young life he had been fascinated with books and having a library full of books was a real treat for him. The library was run by a small bald headed Brother who wore granny type eye glasses. He was very strict. If you talked in the library you were immediately asked to leave. Entering the library was like entering a tomb.

One day while walking along looking at the titles on the shelves, he came across a book that he has read and reread over the years. The book was Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs. He checked the book out, read it, and was hooked for life on the adventures of Tarzan. He learned later that there was a whole series of books on Tarzan. He read them all. The first five are the best of the series, but the first one is the very best of them all, and it was a book he has reread every five years or so.

Later in his adult life, when the editors of a classic book club, asked its readers to send in the title of a book they thought should be published in their collection, he sent in Tarzan of the Apes. He never heard from them. They didn't think Tarzan of the Apes was a book that qualified as great literature. It probably isn't, but it is a great adventure story.

Still later, during his retirement years, he read a biography of Edgar Rice

Burroughs titled, Tarzan Forever. From this book he learned that Burroughs wrote the first Tarzan book off the top of his head after reading an article about apes. He sent the story in to an adventure magazine. The editor read the story to the end, not able to put it down until he had finished it. He asked for more, Burroughs complied, and Tarzan has been around "forever." Since that first day in the library he has loved Tarzan of the Apes. When he reads it, or any book for that matter, he becomes part of the story. He joins Tarzan in the jungle when he swings through the trees, sharing with him his howling yell, Ahhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooahhhhhhhhh."

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136. 1962 ON BALANCING HIS CHECK BOOK

From the time they were married until his third child was born in late 1962, his wife had the chore of writing out checks and taking care of the bills. Whether she enjoyed it or not, he never asked. She did a real good job of it, no checks ever bounced.

Once he took over the task of paying the bills, he had his first confrontation with balancing the checkbook. He tried once, twice, even three times and it didn't balance.

So he said to heck with it. The check book didn't balance. So what! He went along two or three months like that with never a balance in sight, and knowing less and less about how much money he actually had in his checking account. That's when he had the bright idea of having two checking accounts, one in one bank, and one in another. One month he'd deposit his pay check in one bank, go three months in that bank, and then deposit his paycheck in the other bank. That way, during the three month period, the bank would balance his checkbook for him. This system has worked well all these years, never a bounced check, and never the bother of balancing out. He didn't learn until later on that he was missing a big "high" and the thrill of the hunt.

However, when he became principal of Habans School in 1967, the School Board issued a directive that the principal had to balance the school checkbook each month with the bank statement as well as the school ledger. Oh! Oh! No two different banks here. No escape here. He would have to balance out. He did well for a few months although it took more time then he wished to spend on it. He did feel a sense of satisfaction, however, when he did get everything to balance. Once, however, he opened his big mouth, and put his foot in it.

It was balance the school checkbook time, and he had worked on it for hours, but couldn't get it to balance. He was off by a very small amount. The report was due in by the end of the week and he had to get the darn thing balanced. In desperation, he called the auditor at the School Board, identified himself and the school and said, "I've been working on balancing the checkbook and can't seem to get it, although I've been working on it for some time. I'm off only three cents. Would it be a problem if I threw in the three cents as a deposit from myself to balance out the darn thing?" The auditor was silent for a just a few seconds and then he said, "Yes" quite slowly, and then, quite loudly "It would be a problem. I'll be right over." He must have flown over the bridge, for in less than half an hour the auditor was knocking at the door.

The auditor entered the office with a frown on his face which was directed at the wayward principal, of course, took the checkbook, ledger and bank statement to a nearby table and went to work, not frowning anymore, and with a glow in his eyes. He watched the auditor for a few minutes and then left the office to do some things that were more important than working with that confounded checkbook. .

About an hour later he walked back into the office, sat at his desk, and looked over at the auditor, who was looking over the data intensely, a gleam in his eyes. The auditor, for some reason, reminded him of the Good Shepherd in the Bible. The shepherd had all his sheep safely ensconced, playing sweet melodies to them on his lute, but when he learned that one of his sheep was missing, he left all the good sheep and went looking for the one that was lost. Here was the auditor, satisfied with all the good checks, but looking endlessly for the check that had gone astray. He left the auditor to his search and went into the front office to talk to the secretary.

About a half hour later he heard a loud "Ahah! Ahah!" from his office. He went in and there was the auditor, standing up, his lips spread upward in a smiley face grin. He beamed with pleasure. "I found it. I found it" he said, waving the checkbook in the air. He was at the peak of his "High." While explaining where the error was, he gradually came down, but still had a pleased look on his face. The auditor left shortly after that, happy with himself, possibly feeling like the shepherd who had found his lost sheep. After the auditor had left he realized that there was a certain amount of pleasure in balancing a check book. Balancing the first time out brings a "high" of satisfaction, but a bigger "high" follows the hunt.

A little over a year later he ran into a problem again. This time the error in balancing out amounted to one cent. He knew better than to call the auditor again, although he felt that the auditor would have jumped at the chance to go hunting again. After looking over everything at least three times, he came to the conclusion that the bank was the cause of the error. The bank had listed the wrong amount on its statement. The amount of the check in hand, did not match the amount on the statement. He had never known a bank to make an error, so hesitantly, he took his checkbook and bank statement to the bank, and asked to see one of the bank managers. The man, who heard him out, took the statement to the back of the bank and came back to him with an apology. He had won the fight. He had balanced out.

During all the time he was principal and balancing his school bankbook and school ledger, he still used his willy-nilly, lazy two banks and two accounts to balance his personal checkbook. Even after retirement, when he had all the time in the world, he still used the two bank system. He realizes, however, that in doing so he is missing out on getting "high"

137. 1944 POINT IT! SHOOT IT!

After six weeks of boot camp in San Diego, he joined a group of guys who were sent to a base in Memphis to learn how to be a radio operator. First, however, he had to pass some tests to qualify. One of these tests involved making a certain score at a shotgun firing range. This caused him some concern.

"I've never shot a gun in my life" he told the instructor who shoved a gun into his hands. "No problem" said the instructor "Just hold it, point it and shoot it." With that a clay pigeon shot straight out in front of him. He fired and the clay pigeon burst into pieces. He couldn't believe he had hit it. "You have to make at least fifty hits out of a hundred to pass this test. Some of the clay pigeons will come out right in front, some to the left, and some to the right. They will be fired in an irregular pattern. Remember, just point gun at the pigeon and fire." The ones that went straight ahead were easy. The ones that angled off were harder, but he held on and managed a score of 65, good enough to let him stay in the program. His shoulder hurt for days afterwards, but he walked around with a swagger.

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138. 1944 THE "YO YO" BOYS

The naval base near Memphis was a huge place. It was the training grounds for thousands of sailors who were learning the skills to be either an ordinance man, a machinist mate, or a radioman. He was among the large group that were to be trained as radiomen. That task would take six months of intense training and the skills he learned are with him still. Learning to operate the radio equipment was not that difficult and did not take that much time. What was difficult was learning the Morse code. They had to learn the code so perfectly that it had to be as familiar to them as their own name. They spent four to six hours every day for six months learning the code.

Learning the code is like learning a new alphabet: A ._ B _... C _._

D _.. E . F .._. G _ _ . H .... I .. J ._ _ _ K _ . _ L ._ . . M _ _ N _ . O _ _ _ P . _ _ .

Q _ _ . _ R . _ . S ... T _ U . . _ V . . . _ W . _ _ X _ . . _ Y _ . _ _ Z _ _ . .

Each trainee was placed in a carrel with a set of earphones. In the beginning the instructor would take five or six letters, say what they were and then send the dot or dash. After six hours a day the first week they knew the code, but only at a very slow pace. Each week after that the speed at which the code was sent increased. The letters became words and then the words became sentences. Overtime, by the end of six months they could receive code at a very fast pace, write the letters down as they were sent and put into words. It wasn't easy. Receiving code day after day could rattle your brain. The guys in the other schools thought the radiomen were nuts, and nicknamed them the Yo Yo Boys. They thought that taking the stupid code all day was just as crazy as guys who played with a yo yo all day long.

At the end of each day there was a test. The code was sent, the radiomen wrote down the letters or words and the paper were turned in to the instructor. There was stress taking these tests. If a sailor failed three tests he was shipped out to the Pacific Theater of the war, and was usually assigned to be a crew member on one of the PT boats that were used to perform sneak attacks on enemy ships. The war was on full blasts and there wasn't time to retrain or tutor would be radiomen. You either got it or you were out of the program. Every other day or so, the speed of the messages increased and as the months progressed, the sailors became adept in reading code. They got to know it so well that they could speak it aloud to one another to send verbal messages. In speaking Morse code the dash became dah and the dot became dit. Thus A would be dit dah, B dah dit dit dit, C dah dit dah dit and so on. This skill came in handy for secret speech when in a group as will be mentioned later.

Once they were proficient in receiving code they were given training in sending and receiving code by blinker light. Fifty or so sailors would sit in the bleachers with their pencils and notepads while the instructor would send code by blinker from about 200 feet away. They did this for hour at a time once or twice a week and had little trouble with it. In fact, they put the skill using the blinker light into play when they had to serve guard duty at night. There were three shifts: 6 –10. 10 – 2, 2 – 6. The duty stations were fairly far apart and he and his fellow guards would use their flashlights to send code back and forth. The messages would go something like this: Who are you? Where are you from? What are you doing on liberty this weekend? Knowing the code well, came in handy in many ways.

About six weeks into their training when they were fairly capable at receiving code, they began daily lessons and practice in sending code. This was not that easy a task, and gave some of the sailors trouble. Just as in not being able to receive code, those sailors who could not master the skill of sending code were shipped out. A certain wrist action and rhythm had to be maintained in order to send code that was legible. They had to learn to send the code as fast as they could receive it. He had trouble with this skill in the beginning, but got the hang of it as the months moved along. When this six months training was completed they all felt pretty proud of themselves. They could send and receive code with the best of them. They were now full-fledged aviation radiomen and would receive further training at another base, but for now their stay at the navy base near Memphis was over.

Before closing this segment of his memoirs, he would like to say a few things about liberty in Memphis. They got liberty only once a week on Saturday, and he and his friends had some wild times. They sure didn't go sightseeing but spent their free time in the bars, dance halls and night clubs. The legal drinking age was 21, but few places adhered to this rule. Their philosophy was if you can go to war and fight, you're old enough to drink. After a few beers they would start acting silly and go into their code mode. When a luscious young gal would enter whatever hangout they were in, they would start talking about her in code. He remembers one time they were in a bar and this mature woman came in (mature to an 18 year old was anyone in their twenties or older) and the only word to describe her was dit dit dit dah Dah dah dah dit dah dit dit dit dit dah dit dah dah dit dah dit dit dah dah dah dah dit dit dah Dit dit dit . That is how his friend described this lovely woman as she slithered on to the bar stool between us. She looked at his friend funny as he mouthed his coded speech. Dit dah dit dit dit dit dah dit dit dit dah dit dah dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dah

Dit dit dit he replied to his friend, and the lovely woman spun her gaze around to him. His friend quickly spurted out dit dah dah dit dit dit dit dit dah dah dit dah dit dah dah dit

Dit dah dit dit dit dah dit. This beautiful, well built woman took her drink in hand, slinked off the barstool, and looking at first one and then then other said, "I don't know what language you sailors are speaking, but what ever you said, I don't think I want to know." and with a sway of her hips she walked off. A sailor further down the bar yelled out, "Don't pay any attention to them lady. They're nutty. They're some of the yo yo boys from the navy base."

74

139. 1963 HAVE IT!!!!! THEY WON'T COME

In his first few years at Andrew Jackson School, all his efforts and the efforts of the teachers to get parents to come to the school for meetings had been in vain. The teachers had told him early on that the parents in the area were mostly very poor and uneducated and were hesitant about coming to meetings at school. Besides, some of the parents worked and were not available during the day. Meetings were not held at night because of the high crime rate in the area. Still and all, there were a lot of parents who were at home and could have, and should have come to the meetings that were held. He remembers one meeting held after school hours in the afternoon where the only people that showed up were the principal and the speaker. The teachers, who had been at the school for many years told him also, that some parents were indifferent, or that they just didn't care.

He was determined to find a way to get the parents to come to the school meetings. Different ideas rolled through his mind. Having speakers to talk on different school problems and goals did not seem to be enough of a stimulus for these parents. Having students of the different grades make presentations had not worked in the past, but that was something he wanted continued. Student performances and presentations were a must. He needed some gimmick that would get the parents to come. He decided to use a spin off on the candy technique that had been an incentive for successful paper drives.

He contacted the candy companies in the city and was able to buy 800 candy bars at cost. Butterfingers, Hershey chocolate bars and similar candies were only about ten cents a bar retail, but at cost they were only five cents a bar. He was able to get 800 large Butterfinger candy bars for forty dollars. .

At a Monday morning assembly, with a parent meeting scheduled for Friday of that week, he had a rope that held empty paper bags (with the number of each classroom on a bag), stretched across the stage. He looked out at all the students, held up a big Butterfinger candy bar and said, "Would you like to have a candy bar like this." The uproar was loud and boisterous. Some of the teachers frowned and looked disgruntled at him for causing this disruption to their disciplined classes. "If you want one of these candy bars you have to get your mother or father, or grandfather or grandmother, or aunt, or uncle to come to the parents' meeting this Friday afternoon at 1:30 P.M." The noise this time was subdued. A lot of the students knew that their mother or some other relative couldn't or wouldn't come. He continued. Holding up the candy bar again he said, "I know some of your parents can't come. So here is what I am going to do. On Friday morning these bags will be filled with enough candy bars for each student in each classroom. If five, only five parents or relatives show up for Friday's meeting from your classroom, a bag of candy will be sent up to your classroom with a your room. Think you can do it. Do you think at least five of you in each class can get your parents to come?" A loud uproar followed. When order had been restored, the teachers took the students back to their classroom.

At one o'clock as he stood in the basement with a group of sixth grade students near him, no early bird parents had shown up. At one fifteen he began to worry, and then parents started to come, some alone, some in pairs, and some in groups. The students escorted them to the third floor where the meeting was to be held. Parent after parent came, and every once in awhile a student stationed in the meeting room would come down and say, "Five parents have signed up for room 206, or 104 and so on. The student took a bag of candy for that room and delivered it toot sweet. Soon all the bags were gone. All in all a little over 200 parents came to the meeting. It was a first. When the meeting was over, parents commented to the teachers and to him that they had enjoyed the meeting and that they would come again.

He didn't want to press his luck and decided against monthly meetings. A meeting was held twice a year, once in the Fall, and once in the Spring. Each time the candy treat was used and enough parents came to make it worthwhile. It cost the school around eighty dollars a year, but getting the parents involved made it all worth it.

140. 1960 MISS TEMPER

In the second year of their marriage, he and his wife were still living in the apartment at 2826 De Soto Street. One morning, after he had finished eating a luscious Egg Benedict prepared by his wife, he was gazing through the paper and happened upon the horse racing section. He never looked at that part of the paper, but as he scanned it that morning, a horse's name popped out at him from the first race. The horse was named Miss Temper. He didn't know why, but he became fixated on that horse and took it as a sign. "Hey love, let's go to the races today." Their apartment was just a few blocks away from the entrance to the track. "Oh no," she said "I don't feel like it." "Aw, come on " he said. "Tell you what, you look at the names of the horses in the first race, and if you pick the same horse I did, we'll go, okay." He wrote the name of the horse he had picked on a slip of paper and turned it over on the table. His wife took the newspaper and looked through the racing page for the first race. After a few minutes she said, "Miss Temper." She went over to the table and turned over his slip of paper. "Miss Temper" she said and smiled. "Get ready. We don't have much time to get to the track for the first race." They pulled on their coats and headed for the track.

At the track they hurried up to the betting window. The man there said that they had just made it. A minute or so later and the first race betting would have been closed. "What horse do you want?" he asked. "Miss Temper" they said in unison, and gave him the two dollars for the bet. About five minutes later, after the first race was over, they went back to the same window and said "We won, We won." The horse had paid ten to one. "You're sure a lucky couple" said the man as he handed them their winnings. "We know that" they said as they looked at each other and smiled, walking off hand in hand, back to their little love nest.

. .

75

141. 1990 NUMBERS AND THE PING PONG PULL

He was sixty four years old, and had spent fifty four of those years in classrooms, fifteen of those years as a student, and thirty nine years as a teacher. He had always used numbers to assist him in his teaching and in maintaining discipline, but it wasn't until his final year in the classroom as a teacher that he made use of ping pong balls.

He had retired after thirty seven years in the New Orleans Public School system. After two years of trying other things, he went back for a two year stint teaching at John Dibert School. The first year he taught a fifth/sixth grade combination class, and the second year, his final year, he taught the fourth grade. It was a challenge going back into the classroom after a twenty nine year absence. He missed the freedom to move about when he was a principal. When in a classroom with about thirty students, the teacher is anchored to that classroom for the entire day.

That final year of teaching was a pleasure. He was determined to make the school year a profitable and happy one, both for himself and his students. On the very first day seeing all those young faces turned toward him gave him a feeling of joy, and also of sadness, for he knew this year was to be the end of his teaching journey through life.

After arranging his roll book and grade book with an alphabetical listing of the students' names, he gave each student a number, with the number one going to the student who was first on the list, the number two to the student who was second on the list and so on.

When tests, homework or other assignments had to picked up in class, he assigned one student to pick up numbers 1 to 12, another student picked up the teen numbers, and a third student to pick up the twenties and above. Each student had to arrange the papers numerically. They were paper clipped or stapled and put in the teacher's grade book. When the papers were graded and the test score to be entered in the grade book, the papers were alphabetically arranged, which saved a fair amount of time.

He made use of the number system in maintaining discipline. He would draw a square on the blackboard. If a student was not working on the assignment given, his/her number was placed inside the square. A student whose number was on the board at the end of the day had to spend time in class after school was over. Students knew that by good behavior or better attention to the task assigned, they could have their number erased from the board.

Around the middle of that last school year, he got the ping pong ball idea.

He purchased enough ping pong balls for the students in the class. He wrote the students' numbers on the balls: 1 through 30. He painted three extra ping pong balls red. He bought a large fish bowl and put the ping pong balls in the jar. He bought a giant bag of tootsie rolls from Sam's. He told the students that when the entire class was on task and stayed on task steadily, there would be a drawing from the fish bowl and the student whose number was on the ball that was drawn would get a tootsie roll. The students liked that idea, but when they learned that if a red ball was drawn, the entire class would get a tootsie roll. They liked that idea better and whooped it up. The idea worked well the rest of the year and used up three huge bags of tootsie rolls. Time on task improved and a lot of good hard work went on. It was a good year, and a great way to bring an end to thirty nine wonderful years of teaching. The very last thing the students asked him on the very last day of the school year was: "Can we have a ping pong pull?" We did, over and over, until all the tootsie rolls were gone.

142. 1938 A FUNERAL YEA!!!!!

When Father Weggman, the Assistant Pastor at St. Maurice Church, came into his sixth grade classroom around nine in the morning and said, "Sister, I need my two altar boys for a funeral. I'd like to take them now." "Of course, Father." said the nun. He and his friend Leo followed Father out of the classroom. As soon as they were outside, he and Leo pounded each other and laughed at their good fortune. Father turned around to them and said, "What are you boys laughing at. Someone has died and we're going to the funeral. It is no time for laughing." They could of sworn Father had a little grin on his face as he turned away from them. He knew they were happy to be out of school. They put on somber faces though, and acted from then on as good altar boys should.

As the three of them rode along in the big limousine, Father said his prayers while he and Leo looked out the car window taking in the sights. They drove over the Industrial Canal Bridge, all the way up St. Claude Street, to a funeral home on Canal Street near Metairie Road. After the services at the funeral home, they drove all the way back to St. Maurice Church where a mass for the dead was said. When the mass and the services were over, they drove all the way back to a cemetery near Canal Blvd. After the services there, they drove all the way back to St. Maurice Church.

All of this took time, and the more time it took, the better he and Leo liked it. Some funerals were short, and some were long, but this one was one of the longest. On the way back Father Weggman would talk to them, ask them about school, and just talk to them in general. When they were back at the church, Father reached into his pocket and gave each of them a quarter. What a day! No school and money besides.

It was about one-thirty or so, and they were on their own with money in their pockets. No need to hurry. They had missed the school lunch so they stopped at Du Bose Drug Store which was on a corner across from the school, and bought a pint of chocolate milk for a nickel, and a chocolate éclair for a nickel. They sat on the steps on the side of the drug store and feasted like kings. It took them at least a half hour to eat, and then they went reluctantly back to school. They were still rich with fifteen cents in their pockets.

They knew funerals were sad and solemn occasions, but they just couldn't help being happy when they were asked to serve as altar boys at one of them.

76

143 1957 HOUSE STRESS

Annie O'Riordan bought two lots in Jefferson Parish back in the 1930's She gave one lot to her nephew Gus and the other to her to her niece Lillian Mae. The lots were side by side, each lot 25 feet wide by 100 feet long. In those days, that is all the space needed to build a shotgun house. On the back of the lots stood a huge tree that gave the lots a look of beauty. As long as he can remember, every once in awhile, Lillian Mae would say to her husband, "Let's ride out to see the lot.". Before they left to move to El Paso, that often meant taking the street car or bus, but when they moved back to New Orleans, they would go by car. His mother always dreamed about building a house on that lot, and finally in 1957 that dream was about to come true.

One day his mother saw an ad in the paper about two houses built under one roof. They were called Tom Williams homes, and Lillian Mae thought that kind of house would be ideal for her and her brother's lot. She contacted Tom Williams and met with the man himself. He was very interested and said that he would be glad to build the house if the lot was adequate in size. He went out to see the lot and later said that the house would fit nicely on the corner lot. One side of the double house, a three bed room, would face the side street and the other house, a two bedroom, would face the front street. He began to draw up the plans when an unexpected complication set in. Even though his house was a double, it was considered a single house, because both houses were under one roof, and his house would cut across both lots which were owned separately. Legal maneuvering at City Hall had to be undertaken to rezone the lots into one lot. It took some time but the change was finally completed, and construction was ready to begin.

It was at this time that Lillian Mae had second thoughts. She loved the house. It was an all brick house and would look beautiful on the lot. She was concerned about meeting the payments on the house. The house cost around $30,000 which was a big amount in those days .and the note would be substantial. She and her brother could meet the note as long as everything went smooth, but what if something happened and they couldn't. She thought about it long and hard, and finally decided not to go through with the purchase. She looked at her oldest son and said, "Son, will you go tell Mr. Williams that we have decided not to go through with it." He really didn't want to. He felt bad about it, but he never could resist his mother when she asked him to do something, so he did it.

He went to the office, sat down at the front desk, and asked to see Mr. Williams. "Hi" he said with a big smile, as he sat down at the other side of the desk. "We're ready to go. Everything is in place." "Mr. Williams, my mother has decided not to have the house built." "What?" said Mr. Williams. "Why not?" "I don't know all the reasons, but she has decided she definitely does not want to build." Mr. Williams got real red in the face, his eyes bulged as he stood, leaned over the desk and yelled, "This is disgusting, after all this work and all this planning you want to drop out." His tone and anger caused this poor messenger of the terrible news, this quiet, calm person, to stand up likewise. He could feel the blood rush to his face, and his own eyes to bulge, as he stood up also and yelled back, "She has a right to back out, and she wants to. Nothing has been signed." With that remark, Mr. Williams pounded on the desk with his fist, took all the plans and papers and flung them across the room, yelling out curses, as he stormed out of the room. He was so taken aback by Mr. Williams's actions, that he also pounded the desk with his fist and yelled out, "To hell with you, too." as he bounded out of the office.

That was the end of that he thought. He had carried out his mother's request and the deal was over. However, there were further consequences. That night as he was going to bed, he noticed that his entire body was covered with red dots. They didn't ache or itch but he was worried. They were still there the next morning, so he decided to go to see a doctor that afternoon after school. The doctor wanted to know if he had been under any stress lately. "Not really" he said "Except maybe a very heated argument." When he told the doctor more or less what had happened, the doctor diagnosed that he had a temporary case of psoriasis from stress... The doctor said that the spots should disappear in a few days, as long as there was no more severe stress. They did.

It was one of the very few times in his life that he had lost his cool. He is normally a quiet, easy going, laid back kind of guy, but facing that unbridled anger, he had lost control. Looking back on the incident, he realizes that Mr. Williams was entitled to his anger. He had spent a lot of time and energy preparing for the project. He realizes further, that if that double house had been built, it would be worth well over a hundred thousand dollars in today's market.

144 1958 THE LITTLE HOUSE THAT WAS

A few months after giving up on the Tom Williams house, Lillian Mae decided to buy a smaller and less expensive house, one that only she and her husband would be responsible for, one in which she would not be tied in with her brother. Once again, she saw an ad in the paper about Jim Walters homes. They were frame houses that were inexpensive. She contacted Mr. Walters, selected the three bedroom model she and her husband wanted, and in no time at all the house was built on the back side of the lot that faced the side street and where stood the big, big tree stood. The front part of the lot would belong to her brother to build on later (he never did). The house cost $10,000 dollars and the monthly notes were low .The house still stands and the address is 4105 Ellen Street.

They (Lillian Mae, her husband, her oldest son, and her brother) moved from their home at 6019 Dauphine Street into their home on Ellen Street in January, 1958. Her husband spent only four months in the little house. He died in May. Her oldest son spent only seven months in the house. He got married in August. Lillian Mae and her brother, however, lived for twenty five years in the little house on Ellen Street, until she died in 1983.

Lillian Mae loved her little house. She had loved going to see the lot for years, and had dreamed of building a house there. Her dream had finally come true, and she was happy, as happy as she could be without the husband that she loved so dearly.
77

145. 1947 MY GRANDFATHER'S FRENCH QUARTER STORE

Two years after World War Two ended, my grandfather's hardware store at 917 Decatur Street was closed and sold. That store played a part in the early years of my life. It was a source of income for my mother Amelia, and a source of delight for me. As I think back to those early years of my life, memories of that store flood my mind.

Before I share these memories with you, I would like to tell you about my grandfather and his family. My grandfather Vincent De Luca was a sea captain for many years. He sailed all over the world, often to South America and it was there that he contracted malaria. He was too ill to continue, so he retired from the sea at the age of forty. He must have saved some money while he was at sea, because the very first thing he did when he became a landlubber was to buy a crockery store on Royal Street in the French Quarter. One reason he may have bought it was the fact that they had living quarters over the store. Not standing still and knowing he wanted to marry and raise a family, he went on the prowl to find himself a good woman He met my grandmother, Marietta Gicona, who was only twenty years old, but despite the difference in their years, they fell in love and were married. Vincent moved his new bride into the house above the store. Their love blossomed and Marietta gave birth to five children, two boys, Vincent and John, and three girls, Mary, Jenny, and Amelia.

It was around this time that he bought the hardware store on Decatur Street, and a little later bought the house at 2830 DeSoto Street and moved his family there. My mother, Amelia, got married during this period and she and her husband lived in a house of their own. I did not move into the house on De Soto Street with my mother and brother until shortly after my father died. I was nine months old at the time.

The hardware store fronted on Decatur Street but continued on through to the next street. It was really a huge piece of property. Behind the store were a number of small rooms that grandfather learned were used in the old days to house slaves when they were brought in to New Orleans to be sold. Grandfather put these rooms to use by renting them to seaman who were in New Orleans for a short stay while they were waiting for their ship to be repaired. Grandfather must have missed living over the crockery store where all he had to do in the morning was walk downstairs and he was at work. Now he had to take the streetcar to get to work. Every morning he would walk the four blocks or so to board the Ursuline streetcar, and after work he would reverse the process. He never owned a car. His daughter Jennie bought a car, but he never drove it.

Business thrived at the hardware store. It proved to be a good investment, and provided more than enough income to support his family. Specialties of the store were seines, and crab nets which were made right in the warehouse, and other items needed by fishermen, as well as supplies needed by the seamen who were always in and out of town.

Business was especially good before and during World War Two and grandfather was very pleased that he could be such a good provider for the family he loved.

I would go often with my mother to visit the store. It was always a treat, especially as a little girl. I remember the patio that was in the store. The patio had a square base brick wall which must have housed a cistern in years past. What treasures must be buried in that mud where once a cistern had stood. My biggest delight when visiting the store came not from the store itself, but from the store that was next to it. The hardware store was right next to Central Grocery which is still open and operating to this day (2002). The grocery housed barrels and barrels of olive oil. There were fish on display as well as sealed snails. There were mounds of candy covered almonds with little flowers on them Especially charming to me were little boxes of candy where the candy was covered with what looked like fish, food, or hosts. Sometimes my mother would treat me to some of the candy and let me pick whatever I wanted. I always chose the candy that seemed to have a little host on top of it. Grandfather knew I liked the candy and sometimes he would bring some of that delicious candy home for me and for the whole family. These were happy times but they were not to last.

Tragedy struck in 1937. Grandfather was now eighty nine years old and was still active in the store. His two sons more of less ran the store, but he was still the guiding force. One day he was walking up a short flight of stairs when he missed the handrail and fell backwards, hitting his head pretty hard. He lived a few months after that, but couldn't recover and he died. I was nine years old at the time.

After the war a new store named Schwegman's opened up on the corner of St. Claude and Elysian Fields. Although some distance from DeLuca's Hardware in the Quarter, people began to go there, mainly because the prices were cheaper. In fact, Schwegman's undersold almost everything that was sold in the hardware store. Even so, income was still good. My mother would take me with her when we went to the store once a month to get the $300.00 check that was her share of the profits for that month. Three hundred dollars in those days was a substantial sum. As the months rolled on and business continued to decline, thoughts of selling the store surfaced. The final decision was made by my mother's brothers, John and Vincent. The selling price was $49,000. This was really a bargain price but the brothers still had a hard time selling the property. My mother felt the property should have stayed in the family and not sold, but everyone else wanted their share of the money when the store was sold. The sale was finally made, but the sad news is that if the property had not been sold, and stayed in the family, even if the property was rented out, the property in today's market would be close to a million dollars.

As I close my thoughts on this part of my life, I wonder what happened to all the tools and other supplies that were in the store when it was sold. I wonder about the deed to the South American mines in which grandfather had stocks. Those deeds were kept hidden in the store. They were never found, were stolen, or disappeared in some other manner. No one knows, that is, no one but God...
78

146. 1948 THE FIN

For years the family was without a car. No one ever mentioned or pushed for a car. The thought never really entered their heads. Maybe his dad wanted a car or wished for one, but never mentioned it. They went everywhere by streetcar.

In 1941 when dad moved the family to El Paso where he became manager of the Bienville Furniture Company, a number of the men in other companies he dealt with wanted to sell him a car at a very reasonable price. Even though he was the manager, dad made only $18.00 a week. It sounds like a little but in those days a house or apartment could be rented for as little as $10.00 a month except for the 1934Chevy his dad never did buy an automobile.

They moved to Dallas in 1942, the first full year of World War II. The manager of the company in Dallas was drafted and dad was asked to take his place. The family was glad for the move. Dallas was a lot closer to home than El Paso. For the first six years there, they still took the streetcar to get around. He remembers their Sunday outings... He and his mother, his dad, and his brother would dress up swell, board the street car, ride into downtown Dallas, eat at a restaurant, go to a movie, and then ride the streetcar home. If one of his friends didn't have access to a car, he would pick up his date and go by streetcar or by taxicab (which was seldom) to a show, or dance hall, or whatever.

All that changed in 1948 when the big boss decided to give the manager of each store a company car for their own personal use. He was on a short trip at the time, but heard that his father was elated when he heard the news. His dad was allowed to pick out the car and opted for a pale green Chevrolet that had green fins on the back. To him the car was always the "Fin." It was a swell looking car and dad loved driving it. Dad had the car for only about a couple of weeks when he returned from his short trip and he couldn't believe his good luck. Surely his dad would let him use the new car. He did. His brother called a friend and right away they agreed to go that night and call on a couple of girls he knew who lived out by Fair Park. He wished he hadn't.

He got behind the wheel of this brand new automobile, listened to the purr of the engine, lit a cigarette, and they were on their way. He felt like a million bucks. One of his daydreams had been to sit behind the wheel of a car, smoking a cigarette as he rolled along, listening to music, dropping the ash from his cigarette out the window. He drove merrily along not knowing that disaster was about to strike

Disaster happened when they came to a stoplight. When the light changed and he started across the street, a car coming from the opposite direction cut left in front of him, and he plowed into the front fender of the car. The man in the other car had his wife and two children in the car with him. No one was hurt and the damage was not too bad. The fenders of the two cars had smashed inward and were against the tires. The police were called and when the police asked him for his driver's license, something he hadn't even thought about, he pulled out an old navy license that he had. Of course, it wasn't valid. He got the ticket siting that he was in the wrong. To ticket, of course, but to this day, he feels that he was wronged. The other guy had cut in front of him, but the invalid license gave him no defense. With the help of some men standing by, they pulled the fenders away form the tires, and both cars started on their way again. The only way he headed was home, the trip to see the girls forgotten. He hated to face his dad.

He opened the door to 4142 Travis Street and said, "Dad, can you come outside for a minute." When dad saw the wreck to his new car, he exploded, his face got redder and redder as he said, "I loan you're the car one time and you wreck it. Get the hell in the house." He fumed all night but got better in the morning. I heard him call his boss and tell him about the wreck to the company car. The boss was pretty understanding, said he would take care of the repairs, and to tell his son to be more careful. Dad didn't let him take the car out for about a month, but after that he relented. He didn't get in anymore wrecks and had the time of his life in the "Fin." He wasn't caught without a driver's license either.

When the family moved back to New Orleans from Dallas in 1951, he and his brother had their own little car, a 1936 Ford. They drove to Dallas in it, while his mother and dad drove back in the" Fin" Dad drove that car to work at the Bienville Furniture Company every day. He loved the fact that he did not have to take a streetcar anymore.

During the year 1956 disaster struck the "Fin" once again, but he wasn't at the wheel this time; his father was. His dad was on the way to work. He was driving up Prytania Street and came to a stop sign at Napoleon Avenue. He looked right and left and then started over. There was a huge shrub on the neutral ground on Napoleon Ave. When dad looked to the right, he saw that everything was clear and continued over, not seeing the car behind the huge shrub, and ran smack into the side of the oncoming car. The "Fin" careened off the other car and slammed over the sidewalk into an iron fence. The other car came to a stop against a tree. Dad wasn't hurt, but the man in the other car was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. Later they learned that the man had to have his spleen removed. He recovered and returned to perfect health. He was healthy enough to sue his mother and dad.

Dad was devastated. He never drove a car again. The "Fin" was demolished and towed to the junkyard. Some months after the accident an attorney contacted his dad and said he was going to be sued for damages in the amount of $80,000. His dad said that he might as well be sued for a million, because he was just as likely to get a million as he was to get $80,000. The attorney agreed with him, but added that he knew his dad owned the house at 6019 Dauphine outright, and that he also owned a lot in Jefferson Parish. They settled out of court for $10,000.

Dad didn't have ten thousand dollars so he had to mortgage the house on Dauphine Street for that amount. Dad died in 1958 and for years after his death, Lillian Mae made a payment on that mortgage, finally paying it in full a few years before she died in 1983.

So, the "Fin" was both a blessing and a curse. His mother and dad had years of pleasure with that car. They had received it free, but in the end they wound up paying more than five times its worth. Even so, the years of fun they had riding around together, going where ever they wanted, made it worth it. The "Fin" gave them wings. "Fin-is."

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147. 1063 FIST BALL

The use of a ball in any kind of game is always a plus. That is an understatement at Andrew Jackson School where the use of a ball on the playground solved a number of problems.

It wasn't until his second year as principal of Andrew Jackson School that he realized that the school playground was the source of a lot of the behavior problems, fights, and suspensions. The school yard was small, too small to hold over two hundred tough, active kids. The smaller kids, grades one to three, were not too much of a problem, but the larger kids, grades four, five and six were very much a problem. Kids in grade six are usually around twelve years old, but a lot of these kids were thirteen or fourteen, some even fifteen years old. The yard was all asphalt. There were always kids getting hurt, not seriously, but with scrapes and bruises. The kids always seemed to be running in the yard. They would chase one another, jump on one another, and pile on one another a favorite game was for one guy to punch another guy, and see if the guy he punched could catch him.

This small school yard had a twenty foot fence on the Camp Street side of the school and a three story old house behind it. If you walked out of the school cafeteria the fence was to the right, and the old house was straight ahead; to the left of the yard was an extension of the school building. The yard was a closed in space.

He hadn't gone into the school yard that often, but on this particular day as he watched the chaos in the school yard, he decided to do something about it. He developed a game that was a cross between kickball and "red hot." The ball to be used was a red rubber inflated ball around eight inches in diameter. It was heavier than a plastic ball of the same size and carried much further than a plastic ball when it was struck. Rules for the game were completed and explained to the students. How the game was to be played and the rules for the game were as follows: Six students in the batting order at one time, there would be a catcher, pitcher, first baseman, second baseman, third baseman, two shortstops, and seventy fielders, that's right, seventy fielders. Each position had a red line about one foot wide that a player was to stand on. There were seventy red lines painted out in the yard in the outfield with numbers from 1 to 70. The fielders had to catch the ball on or near their red line. If a player caught the ball in front of someone else's line, the person whose line it was got to go in and bat. When an out was made, other than a caught fly ball, every one moved up a line: 70 went to 69, 69 to 68 and so on. When all the lines in the outfield were filled, students were to stand along the fence that was in front of the old house, the student who was first along the fence went to number 70 when that line came open. It would seem that the students would be restless if they were way back in the numbers. They weren't. They were eager to play and hustled out after lunch to get a line. The one rule that made the game work, the one rule that made success, the game a success, was the rule that stated: Anyone Who Catches a Fly Ball Goes Right In and Becomes the Batter. The kids knew that no matter how late they got into the yard after lunch, even if they were the last one standing against the fence, they could become the batter if a fly ball came their way and they caught it. In fact, the game developed a new problem. Some kids weren't eating their lunch so that they could get out into the yard first and get a good position. A new rule had to be made: lunch had to be completely eaten and checked by a teacher before going into the yard.

The principal realized that these tough kids would not always obey the rules of the game .unless they were supervised. He decided, along with a male teacher on the faculty, to play the game with the kids to get them started. He decided that in the beginning he would pitch the ball to the kids. The ball had to be thrown easy so that it could be hit.

The ball had to be hit with the fist. A ball thrown too hard could cause some pain. The kids enjoyed the game from the beginning. New rules were added as the game progressed from day to day. One new rule was that anyone who hit the old house in the back on the fly, didn't have to run the bases, and also got a lunch pass that let him get to the head of the lunch line when his class came down for lunch. Sometimes the line was very long. This was a real treat. Of course, the bigger guys had a better chance of hitting the old house, but this was good, because it made them eager to play the game, and helped keep them out of trouble. Whenever a fly ball was hit, there was excitement plus. The joy of catching a fly ball way out in the field and getting to be the batter was intense

During his seven years at Andrew Jackson School this game helped a lot with discipline in the yard. Some of the kids lost interest in it, but most of them played the game everyday. It was fun.

When a new superintendent took over the New Orleans Public Schools during the sixties, he wrote a letter to each principal and asked them to list their needs for the school. There were a ton of needs for every school in the system. Rather than list a whole slew of needs, he put down just one: to enlarge the school yard if at all possible. Before he left the school in 1967 to become principal at Paul B. Habans School, real estate agents representing the School Board were approaching the owners of the old three story house next to the school, and the house on the corner behind it, and making an offer to buy the property. Some years later, after he had left the school, he was driving past the school and the two old houses were gone. The school yard was now about three times as large as it once was. If you're ever driving along Camp Street, and pass the Jackson School at 1408 Camp Street, take a look at the yard.

When he drove past the school, a flood of memories came flooding back to him. He wonders if the kids still play Fist Ball. If they did, they wouldn't have the pleasure of knocking that ball against the old three story house, because it was gone. Then again, someone could possibly hit the ball over the school fence at the corner of the yard, and maybe earn a head of the line lunch pass. .

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148. 1949 PROGRESSIVE ED. 101

Southern Methodist University in Dallas is the only college in town.

Most of the students who go there are from pretty wealthy families. He was able to attend on the GI Bill which paid for his tuition and books and seventy five dollars a month besides. He was one of those wise guys who felt he didn't need a counselor. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to be a psychologist so he took psychology courses, but after a few courses he decided that was not what he wanted. He liked reading and books, so in his sophomore and junior years he took over thirty hours of literature courses. He enjoyed every one of them. His problem came in his senior year. What was he going to do with an English major? He still didn't see a counselor, but went to talk to the head of the Literature Department. He was told that he had two options: teach, or work for a book company or publishing house. He opted for teaching English in high school, but when he was told there were no jobs in that area in Dallas, he decided on Elementary Ed. where there were lots of position openings. He had to enroll for twenty hours of education courses to get his degree in Elementary Education. This is about one of those courses.

The course was called Progressive Education and its purpose was to prepare students for the approach to education used in the elementary schools in Dallas. There were thirty students in the class, only five of them boys. It was a six hour course. It was most unusual in that there would be no tests given. The professor said that his class would be taught the same way that they would be teaching. They were to imagine themselves as sixth grade students. The first thing the teacher would do would be to ask what they (the sixth grade students) wanted to do. The whole concept was based on learning framed around the students' interests. After a big discussion it was decided by the class that they wanted to put on a play. A good number of the students were musically inclined and it was decided to make it a musical. The class was divided into six groups of five students each. Each group had an area: science, social studies, math, language, literature, and the arts. Each group was to correlate and integrate the required sixth grade learning skills into the ultimate objective —the musical, which was to be the culminating activity. Sounds crazy. It was. Even crazier, he opted for the arts group. He loved music. His group decided to make homemade instruments for the musical. He chose to make the drums.

From time to time each group had to make an oral report to the whole class, and near the end of the term each student had to make a separate report to the class. For his report he brought up his homemade drums. He had borrowed different size nail kegs from his father's furniture company, stretched and nailed rubber innertubes over them. He talked about the history of drums in other countries and showed the class the sounds of the different drums. To him it was hysterical. The whole course was a disaster. .

The culminating activity was a farce. It was a disjointed hodge- podge of material that was sung and acted out by some of the students, to the accompaniment of the homemade instruments. Remember though, they were acting as sixth grade students.

When it was all over, the professor informed us that the grades for the course would be determined as follows: the student would grade himself, each student would be graded by the other members of his group, and the professor would grade the student. Being modest, he gave himself a B, although he thought his drums were spectacular. He ended up with a B for the course.

This approach to teaching might work with an experienced teacher, but for a beginner it seemed difficult and not in the best interest of the students. There was free discussion, movement around the room, talking out, with really lots of freedom. This way of teaching was to give him a problem, a serious problem, not the following year, but the year after.

149. 1950 LETOT

He graduated from SMU with a major in Elementary Education and a minor in English. He applied for a teaching position in Dallas, and waited all summer for a reply, but getting none, he decided to go for his Masters Degree in Education. He was able to get a part time job at a Sherwin Williams paint store, and was just about ready to start both, when a telegram arrived from the Dallas School Board; two weeks after the schools had opened, offering a position for a fifth/sixth grade at Letot Elementary School. He forgot continuing with his education, and his new job. He took the teaching position. He became a teacher.

Letot Elementary School was on the outskirts of North Dallas. Until they bought their little 1936 Ford he took the bus to and from his job. Teachers in Dallas had to be at their school twenty minutes before the kids came and stay twenty minutes after they left. They had to eat with their kids and go right back to class. There was no play period, but teachers conducted a physical education period every day. Restroom needs were taken care of by having a teacher in another classroom watch both classes. He had no experience of any other system and accepted the arrangement without knowing anything better or different.

The principal and the faculty were all great people, very nice and friendly. The class he inherited had had two weeks with the previous teacher and they never forgot him during the whole year. They said more than once, "Mr. ______ didn't do it that way." He learned that it is always best to get a class from opening day. He used the Progressive Education system and worked the whole year with the students in groups, using books and encyclopedias for research and reports, and closing with culminating activities, including one that was a trip to the airport. He doesn't know how much the children learned using this approach, but he didn't think it was too much. Teaching that way is relaxed though. There is freedom of movement and freedom to speak to one another which creates a noisy environment. During the entire year no supervisor, principal, teacher or anyone else came into the room to see how he was doing. He was on his own. It was an enjoyable year. The kids were great, most of them well behaved and bright. He remembers them to this day. It is hard to realize that the kids he taught that first year are now in their sixties. Time passes so swiftly. He looks back and wonders where it has all gone so quickly.

81

150. 1951 MISTER "A"

One of the worst weekends of his life occurred during the second year of his teaching life, and it came about because of the actions of one man. In this narrative this man will be referred to as Mister "A."

After one year of teaching in Dallas, he and his brother decided to move back to New Orleans. One of the first things he did was to apply for a position with the New Orleans Public Schools. Just as in Dallas, he didn't hear a word about a job all summer long. Finally, three weeks after the school year began, he was offered a fifth grade class at F. T. Howard No. 1 School. Howard was located on Cleveland Avenue and was directly behind Sacred Heart Church on Canal Street. The building was old (in the late 1960's the building was torn down because of structural damage. A new school was built on the site and was the given the name Fisk Howard, and is operating as of this date) and the classrooms had the desks bolted to the floor in straight rows. The principal, the faculty and staff were extremely nice. He felt comfortable and happy at the school. He spent nine years there, some of the happiest years of his life, leaving only after he became principal of Andrew Jackson School in 1960.

That first year teaching there, though, presented some problems. How was he going to teach the Progressive Method that he had learned at SMU with the desks bolted to the floor? He coped by using folding chairs to form groups, and small tables with chairs. Resource books from the public library and encyclopedias were used for research. The interest of the students and a culminating activity made up the core of his teaching. There was freedom of speech and freedom of movement, creating a subdued but noisy atmosphere in the classroom. Things went well. There were no complaints from anyone. No one ever came into the classroom, neither the principal, nor anyone during the first six months of the school year. However, in early March, around one thirty on a Friday afternoon, the principal walked into the room with an elderly gentleman. "This is Mr. "A" the Assistant Superintendent of schools. He wants to sit in your classroom for awhile." The principal left and Mr. "A" went to the back of the room without saying a word. He sat there for about an hour, watched was going on and then left without a word.

At about five minutes to three the principal got on the intercom and said that he would like to see him in his office after the students left. The principal said, "Mr. "A" told me to tell you that he will be back next Friday afternoon, and if those kids are not in their seats, and still speaking out at will, and if more traditional teaching isn't going on, he is going to fire you." "Fire me" he said in disbelief. He was in shock. No one had ever been this critical or this harsh with him in his entire life. He was in a funk. He was depressed, almost nauseated, as he left the school and went home. It was to be a long weekend. He spent most of it moping around the house at 6019 Dauphine Street. He didn't mention his problem to anyone. He just told everyone he wasn't feeling well. He sure wasn't. Finally he sat down and gave some serious thought to what he should do. What was it that Mr. "A" wanted? He wanted kids in their seats, no talking, no groups, no moving around, lecturing. He had only one week to turn the class around from a very loose arrangement to a very rigid one. He made up two rules: 1. If you want to speak or ask a question you must first raise your hand and get permission. 2. If you want to leave your seat you must first raise your hand and get permission. Each time a rule is broken the consequence would be fifteen minutes after school.

On Monday, the first day the rules were put into effect, almost the whole class was kept in until five o'clock. Parents were outside his door asking what was going on. What had their kids done? He explained the new rules that were in effect. They accepted it without a lot of fuss or anger. On Tuesday about half the class was kept in, a good number until five o'clock. On Wednesday about a fourth of the class was kept in, none until five o'clock. On Thursday three students were kept in until three thirty.

On Friday, about one thirty in the afternoon, while he was explaining a history lesson, Mr. "A" opened the door, walked in and took a seat in the back of the room. He said not a word. For a minute or so he stopped teaching. The room was quiet as a tomb, not a muscle was moving anywhere. He continued teaching. Hands popped up. Questions were answered. The students acted as if they were glued to their seats. After about forty minutes Mr. "A" got up from his chair and walked to the front of the room and addressed the class, "Why are you sitting in your seats and getting permission to speak, when you didn't do that the last time I came to your room?." Most of the students pointed their finger at their teacher and said, "Because he'll punish us if we don't" The teacher gave Mr. "A" a weak smile, which wasn't returned. Mr. "A" just turned and left the room. Later, there was another call from the principal's office. The word was that Mr. "A" was satisfied. That was that

Two years later Mr. "A" retired from the school system. Each school was designated to contribute money for a gift for the big occasion. The principal at Howard sent a messenger round to each room with a faculty list. Each teacher was to write next to his/her name the amount they were giving. Next to his name he wrote in "zero." The principal talked to him after school was over. "You're not giving anything. You of all people. That man saved your job." He replied to the principal, "No doubt he is a good man, but in my particular case, he didn't do anything for me. He didn't know me. He didn't know my background. Yet, after a one hour observation, he wanted to ruin my career. In my opinion, he handled it all wrong. He should have met with me and told me what he didn't like that I was doing. Tell me what he wanted face to face. Offer help if it was needed. He didn't do any of these things. I won't contribute anything to his retirement gift." The principal left it at that.

During the rest of his years at Howard, he grew as a teacher, learning and preparing new ways to stimulate students to learn. He never did go back completely to the Progressive Ed. format, and became more of a traditionalist, although, at times he would use a bit of both methods. In the summer of 1960 he reluctantly left this school that had such a warm, friendly atmosphere. Mr. "A" never visited his classroom again.

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151. 1983 ALONE

He celebrated his fifty seventh birthday on March 6, 1983. One week later on March 13th, his mother died. She always hated being alone. She was alone when she died. Marie was fifty three. Granny, as she was called, often marveled at how fast her grandchildren were growing. In the year she died, Julie was eleven, Mary was fourteen, Jeanne was sixteen, Jerome was eighteen, Maurice was nineteen, Roxanne was twenty one, Therese was twenty two, and Ed was twenty four. Their grandmother Lillian Mae was eighty one, having celebrated her birthday on January 7th of that year.

Lillian Mae loved coming to 412 Bluebonnet Street and visiting for her oldest son's birthday was a special treat. Marie always made something special for dinner, always trying to make a dish her mother-in-law would like. For years, Granny always brought cookies and candy when she came and this visit was no exception. She was especially happy to come this time, because her brother Gus who lived with her would be gone for a week and she would be alone at her home at 4105 Ellen Street in Jefferson Parish. Lillian Mae hated being alone.

Her son was treated royally for his birthday as always. His wife and kids showered him with gifts. They sang happy birthday to him and had cake and ice cream Granny joined in all the festivities, and always had a special gift for her son. Granny spent that night and the whole weekend with them. When it was time to take her home on Sunday, she said that she sure hated being in her house alone. It was then that both Ed and Marie told her to spend the next week with them. She said, "What was the difference staying alone at her house and staying alone at 412. She would still be alone." Her son told her that he would keep one of the kids home from school each day so that she wouldn't be alone, she couldn't be convinced to stay. Her son took her home, spent a little time with her, watched her lock everything up tight, kissed her goodnight, and watched her push the heavy lounge chair in front of the door as he left. It was the last time he saw her alive.

The week passed easily for Lillian Mae. She managed well and found the week being alone quiet and restful. On Friday she went to her younger son Jerry's house and enjoyed being with her other grandchildren. They had a fried shrimp dinner and had a merry time together. Jerry took her home Friday night and that was the last time he saw his mother alive.

Saturday morning around 9:00 A.M. he got a phone call from his cousin Gus. Gus said that he and his dad, Lillian Mae's brother, were at Lillian Mae's house.

They had knocked and knocked and no one answered. They had looked through the front window and it looked as if Lillian Mae was sitting in the heavy chair she pushed in front of the door for better security... Gus said that he should come over and check it out. When he first got the phone call he thought it was his cousin calling him about Lillian Mae's brother, who was the one that had been sick, and had spent the week with his son.

When he arrived at his mother's house and unlocked the front door, all three of them had to push the door as hard as they could to move the heavy chair away from the door. Once inside they saw Lillian Mae. She was slumped over with her face on her knees. She had probably suffered a heart attack while pushing the heavy chair into position. She was dead. Her worst fears had come true, that something might happen while she was alone. There had been no one there to help her or to comfort her if she was in pain. He didn't cry, but his heart was full of sadness. His mother was a wonderful woman, an Irish woman with a personality all her own. Everyone loved her and being with her. She was kind and good to her husband, her two sons, and to her many relatives and friends. Whenever anyone came to visit, she immediately brought out the soft drinks and cake or cookies. She would make a pot of coffee and she would enjoy talking with anyone of her visitors. A special treat for her occurred when he brought his children to visit. She always had a stash of ice cream or candy for them. They loved her as he did, as his wife did. They will miss her in the years ahead, and as he writes this nineteen years later, her face is often before him as he thinks of her.

On that Saturday morning when he tried to get hold of his brother, he couldn't do so. He and his wife had gone out of town to the Gulf Coast and his children didn't know exactly where he was. It was strange, because on all of the long trips he had gone on with his family, he had always laid out a means of contact with Jerry in case something happened. Now, it was his brother who was out of town, instead of him. For such a short trip no means of contact would have been necessary. Death comes when it is least expected. His children finally located him. He and his wife headed back to N.O., and when he arrived at their mother's house they embraced and shared their sorrow. Plans were made for the funeral and the burial.

Lillian Mae, mother of Eddie and Jerry, grandmother of Ed III, Therese, Roxanne, Maurice, Jerome, Jeanne, Mary and Julie, great grandmother of Megan, Brittney, Kyle, Christopher, Annelise, Brigitte, Alix, Elizabeth and Amelia, was laid to rest at St. Patrick's Cemetery No. 3. It is located on City Park Avenue near Canal Blvd. She is buried in the same grave as her husband who died twenty five years before her. They are together once again. Lillian Mae will be alone no more.

A WONDERFUL MOTHER

God made a wonderful mother,

A mother who never grows old;

He made her smile of the sunshine,

And He molded her heart of pure gold;

In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,

In her cheeks, fair roses you see;

God mad a wonderful mother,

And He gave that dear mother to me.

Pat O'Reilly

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152. 1950 SAILORS BEWARE

The young woman sat on her front porch at 2828 DeSoto Street with a bemused look on her face. She sat in a rocking chair in the shade of the huge Camphor trees. The soft breeze ruffled her blonde hair. She had to make a choice between two wonderful opportunities that had come her way. She had been given the chance to be a maid in the Babylon parade during Mardi Gras. Just yesterday, she and her mother were talking about going shopping to buy a fancy dress for the Babylon Mardi Gras Ball. She had been so excited she could hardly contain herself. Then this morning, her friend Arden had called with great news, "How would you like to go the United States Naval Academy for June week and meet lots of navy men. You know my brother Regmar is a junior there. Well, he called and asked me to come up and bring my friends with me." Now she had to make a decision. She couldn't afford to do both. It had to be one or the other. She rocked and rocked back and forth and then quickly she got up, and with a twinkle in her eyes she got on the phone and called Arden "I'll go with you. It should be a blast. Maybe we'll meet someone special, some seamen who will sweep us off our feet and carry us out to the wild blue sea." she giggled with a twinkle in her eyes.

The girls met at the railway station. There were six of them: Arden, Wibby. Chubby, Mickey, Josie and Marie. They climbed aboard the train, all of them laughing and talking. The whole trip to Annapolis went by quickly. They talked mostly about the kind of men that were at the academy. They read and rested, but mostly they talked. They pulled into the station at Annapolis. When they got off the train, who was there to meet them and greet them, none other than the band director himself. He took the girls in hand and drove them to his own home where he had a big attic with six single beds. The girls were all going to stay together in the same room. Perfect. Nothing could have suited them better.

The fun began almost immediately. Regmar called and set all the girls up with dates for breakfast, lunch and dinner for every day of the week. Marie thought she had gone to heaven. When her date called for her and escorted her to breakfast she felt giddy when he took her elbow and helped her up or down a curb, or up and down the stairs. She found that all of the seamen she went with did the same. They were the most courteous of men. On one occasion all of the girls, each with a date, went sailing on Chesapeake Bay.

The wind blew through their hair and they felt the warmth of the sailors' eyes. They anchored the boat and they all went swimming, diving off the side of the boat. There was a rope to climb to get back in the boat. On one occasion one of the girls, Chubby in fact, was climbing up this rope and the top of her bathing suit slipped down, unaware that she was revealing more than she wanted to. All her friends were screaming to her about her predicament. As she corrected the situation, she looked up into the eyes of a midshipman whose eyes were open wide and seemed glued in that position. Chubby made sure that such an embarrassing thing did not happen to her again. That particular sailor however, always seemed to have his eyes on her, perhaps waiting for a recurrence of the spectacular exposure.

They had dates to dances and dates to parades. They enjoyed the way the cadets would show their approval for their comrade's date when they saluted him as the couple passed by. One of the highlights of their stay was their attendance at the senior graduation. Another highlight was there being escorted to the wedding of one of the cadets who was getting married. The wedding took place in the chapel on the base. All the cadets drew their swords and held them aloft, forming an arch that the bride and groom walked under. It was a thrilling sight. One she would always remember.

All too soon this wonderful week came to an end. They hated to leave. Although no one had met the man of their dreams, and no one had tried to carry them off, it was a time that made memories, and those memories are with her still.

.
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153. 1959+ THE PLYMOUTH & THE ROCKING CHAIR

This is a memory that came flying into his mind and he caught it and held it fast. A lot of times memories will come suddenly, but if you don't grab it and hold it, it flies away. It may come back, but then again it may not. This is a memory of a Plymouth automobile and a rocking chair and how they came together.

Some years after he and his brother moved back to New Orleans from Dallas, and they both had jobs that were paying pretty good, they decided to pool their money together and have one account that they would both use. They bought what they thought was a good, solid automobile, a four dour, dark blue Plymouth. It was a second hand car. They couldn't afford a new one. This car looked great. It was a good buy they thought, although it wasn't as snazzy as the old Packard they had bought earlier. Everything didn't turn out as they wished, because the car gave them trouble from the beginning, but after they spent a good amount of money on repairs, the car drove well for a long period of time. It was during this good period that he and his brother had a parting of the ways as far as the joint account was concerned. It was mostly his fault; in fact, it was all of his fault. He was an impulse buyer while his brother was more conservative and gave thought before he bought. Like the time he brought home to 6019 Dauphine Street a new record player that had great sound. It was the type that came out just before stereophonic sound hit the stores. "Hey Bro, look what I bought for us?" He liked it, but wasn't too happy about not being consulted first. The big blowout came a few months later when he rented an upright piano and had it placed in the front room of the house. His mother had told him it would be all right. When his brother came home from work and saw the piano he blew a gasket. "What the heck did you buy a piano for" he exploded. "Rented, not bought; thought we could both take lessons." He had taken lesson in Dallas and wanted to continue. "No way" his brother said. The upshot was that they went back to separate accounts. He bought his brother's share of the Plymouth and the car was now his alone. His brother went out and bought a used Ford convertible.

The Plymouth was his mode of transportation when he married in 1958. It ran pretty well, but had been in the shop a few times since the car was totally his. He didn't think the car would last much longer without more trouble, more repairs. It was in early winter of 1959 that the car broke down. The repairs were too costly and he put the car up for sale, asking for a hundred dollars. He had no buyers. After a month or so, his wife called a salvage company and told them if they wanted a used car, they could have it free. All they had to do was come pick it up. They didn't want it. It looked as if the car would sit out in front of their apartment at 2826 De Soto forever, but one afternoon there was a knock on the door and two teenagers said that they would give him $25.00 for the car. He told them the problems with the car and the cost of repairs. They would take care of that they said. "Sold" he told them.

He and his wife celebrated the sale of the Plymouth by going shopping for a rocking chair. They were expecting their first child in July, and were getting everything ready for the big event. They didn't know what kind of a rocking chair they could get for $25.00. They shopped all the furniture stores and found one they liked and at the price they could afford. It was a spindle back chair, painted solid black with a flower design on the top. They set the chair up in their living room at 2826 De Sots Street and were eager to put it to use. Little did his wife realize at that time, that chair would be rocked and rocked for many a year. Altogether, his wife rocked eight children in that chair, spending many an hour rocking and rocking and rocking. When the children were too old to rock, the chair was still used on occasion. When it wasn't in use, the chair stood proudly in the living room, knowing that it had played a part in the lives of the members of Base Ten.

By the early 1980's when the paint had worn off the chair, he decided to antique the chair. This was a new process where varnish and paint were used to make a unique design. When he finished the job the chair looked like new, shining with a gold like finish, and it stood in the living room shiny and proud, at least until the early 1990's, when another chair took up residence in the living room at 412. The new arrival was his mother's rocking chair that she had used before she died. Because of a crowded living room, the golden rocking chair was put on the patio outside. That wasn't a wise move, because over the years, the weather has taken its toll on the chair. The seat has cracked, the arms are loose, and some of the spindles have come out. The chair looks forlorn. If it could speak, it would probably say, "After all the good rocking years I gave you, all the comfort I gave to your children, are you going to let me end like this? Are you going to put me on the trash pile for the garbage men to pick up? I don't deserve such an ending. Couldn't you have me repaired so that I can stand once more in your living room, proud and shiny, where maybe, maybe, every once in awhile, the children who are now grown, will sit on me, and let me rock them once again?"

85

154 1946 THE PIANO PLAYER

Here he was, back home in Dallas after being away for over two years in the U.S. Navy. It was good to be back at 4142 Travis Street with his mother and dad, his brother, and his dog Nellie. They were so happy to have him home that they would do anything for him. His mother fixed his favorite foods, baked his favorite pies: chocolate cream, coconut, lemon, and especially, banana cream. He met his dad a few times at the furniture company and after work they would go and have a few beers together. He romped in the back yard with his brother and Nellie.

After two or three weeks of this he surprised himself and his mother even more buy saying to her one day "Hey Ma, I'd like to learn to play the piano." "Play the piano. We don't have a piano." "I know, but I could rent one for a few months and see how I do." "A piano" she said, aghast, "Where in the world would we have room for a piano?" "Well" he said, "We could move this chair over here and the sofa over there and put the piano right here against this wall." He could see that his mother did not like the idea at all, but she smiled at him, and being the giving person that she was, and because she was so glad to have him home safe and sound, she said "Well all right, but just for awhile. I can't live too long with a piano in my living room." She gave him a kiss and scooted off to her house wifely chores.

With that okay, he started looking for a piano. He had money. After all he had received $50.00 a month pay when he was in the Navy. He was in for twenty seven months and if he had saved all his pay, he would have had over $1,000. But a sailor had to live. He had spent most of that money on cigarettes and beer and chasing girls around town. He had some left though, more than enough to rent a piano. Besides, he was a veteran, and as such, was a member of the 52/20 club (it may have been 52/50, he just doesn't remember). What it meant was, that up to one year, veterans received money every month until they found a job, and they weren't too strict about finding a job.

Two huge husky guys delivered the piano with ease. They had no trouble getting the upright piano up the four stairs of the porch and into the living room. They placed it right against the wall where he wanted it. He immediately sat down at the piano and started banging nonsense on it, loud and vigorous, and continued until Lillian Mae yelled from the kitchen, "That's enough. I can't take any more." "Okay Ma" and played nonsense quietly a few more minutes before he quit. He didn't want his mother to say the piano had to go before he even got started.

He looked in the phone book and in the newspaper for a piano teacher. There weren't too many listed, but he found one, made a phone call and went for his first lesson. The teacher was a young woman, probably in her early thirties. She had a fairly heavy accent. He couldn't decide whether she was Greek or Italian. Her first words to him were "So, you vant to learn to play de piano. Learning to play de piano is hard vork. Are you ready to vork hard? To be really good you must practice many hours a day. Vill you do dat?" He replied, "Look, I don't want to be that good, so good that I can go on the stage. I just want to know how to play some songs." "I vill only teach you if you vant to be good." He sighed and said "Okay."

Thus began three of the most intense and unusual times in his life. The teacher (I don't even remember her name) was very good, but very strict and demanding. She would criticize harshly, even getting heated in her broken English, when he would make the same mistake over and over again. He went to her twice a week and practiced six hours a day. She started him off slowly, gave him scales to learn to play, sight readings on easy pieces and gradually built up to more difficult ones. She gave him a piece that was difficult for him. He worked hours on it and could finally play it fairly well. The name of the piece was "The Spinning Song." He was proud of the fact that he could play it at all. This was near the end of the three months that he had taken lessons, and it was only then that he realized the havoc he must have caused at the little house on Travis Street.

The house was not a shotgun style house but was close to it. The walls were thin, and he realized near the end of the summer, that playing piano six hours a day was not the way to be a good neighbor. His mother was a saint to put up with all that piano playing, but an even bigger saint was the lady next door. She never complained once, although quite often, when he took a break and strolled to the back of the house, he would see not only his mother but also the lady next door sitting together at the farthest part of the huge back yard talking to one another. Early on he thought that they were just being friendly, but near the end he realized that they were escaping from the constant pounding on the upright piano. He had been very inconsiderate and selfish. It was mid-September and his three month rental of the piano was just about up, so he decided that this was a good time to bring his piano experience to a close. He told Lillian Mae of his decision and she said, "Ohhhhhhhh! Well, if you really want to?" He did. He called the music company and returned the piano.

When he visited his piano teacher for the last time and told her that he wasn't going to take any more lessons she said, "Dat is too bad." "Do you think I could really learn to play well? he asked. "Vell, wit many, many hours of hard vork, sure, you could become pretty good, pretty good." "I don't have those hours to give" he replied. "Good bye and thank you." "Good bye" she said, and as he turned to leave, she sat down at the piano and played a beautiful melody as he walked out the door. He felt a rush of sadness come over him.

It was at this period in his life that he applied for a job at the Eight Service Command and bluffed his way into a job as a multi-lith printer operator.

Years later, after he was married, he came across a copy of "The Spinning Song" and worked on it at the piano. Most of it came back to him and he got to where he could play if fairly well. It brought back a lot of memories. That piano, though, the one he played on when he was married, is part of another memory that flies in and out of his mind. When it comes again, he'll catch it, and post it, just as if he had caught a butterfly.

86

155. 1962 THE BOMB

Andrew Jackson School is located at 1408 Camp Street right across from Coliseum Park. Two blocks from the school was an on ramp for entrance to the Mississippi River Bridge. There was only one bridge at the time with two lanes going each way. There was always a lot of traffic on Camp Street. This heavy traffic always caused a problem when there was a fire drill at the school. Each school was required to have a fire drill at least four times a year and there was always a surprise visit from the fire department early in the year. The fire department wanted everyone out of the school in at least two minutes. The school was given a rating of satisfactory or unsatisfactory.

When the fire alarm went off in the school two of the older and larger boys in the sixth grade would rush down to Camp Street with a sign that said STOP and a red flag to wave. They also put on bright yellow vests so that could be easily seen. They were instructed to watch for a break in the traffic and then stop all cars. Meanwhile all teachers led their classes from different exits, crossed Camp Street and went into Coliseum Park. Once they were safely across the street the patrol boys let the backed up traffic resume.

Early in the year 1962 when some of the schools were integrated, the fire department made an unexpected visit to the school and set off the fire alarm. The alarm was loud and piercing and always frightened everyone. The patrol boys and the teachers and their students moved quickly, and hopefully, orderly. Everyone got out of the building and into the park while the fireman inspected the building, mainly to see that no child was left behind. That was a serious no no and could bring a strong reprimand.

The day was beautiful, early Fall. The teachers and students were standing around talking and laughing, waiting for the fire drill to be over. Suddenly, two firemen rushed out of the building. They looked for the principal and found him. "What teacher is in room 206? Can you get her over here right away?" one of the firemen asked. He knew exactly who it was and called her over. The two firemen each took one of her arms, and led her quickly across the street and into the building. The teacher looked frightened and as she walked off he could hear her ask "What is this all about?" By this time a police car had arrived with two police officers. One officer went to the door of the building, and the other walked down Camp Street and stopped all traffic a block from the school. He decided it was time for him to go into the building and find out what was going on. He walked up to the door to go in but the police officer stopped him. "I'm the principal" he said. "It doesn't make any difference who you are. I have orders to keep everyone out of the building. "Do you know what's going on?" "I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry." "Will you let me know as soon as you find out anything?" The officer nodded and turned away. With one more look at the officer, he went back across the street, where some teachers gathered around him, eager to know what was happening. There was nothing he was able to tell them. They could all hear the honking of horns on cars that were backed up for blocks.

The teacher who was in room 206 told everyone later, when they gathered in the faculty room for lunch. "It was one of the scariest moments of my life. The firemen who took me into the building were so serious. They held my arms rather tightly and marched me to my classroom. Once inside they pointed to my black briefcase that was on the floor next to my desk" "We want you to know Miss, that before we call the bomb squad, we thought you might save us that trouble and put us at ease if you can tell us exactly what is in that briefcase?" "Why there's nothing in my briefcase except my schoolwork, lesson plans, and teacher manuals. "And what is that ticking noise?" he asked firmly. "Oh, that, it's just my clock. You see that clock on the wall, it's broken, so I brought a clock to school to keep on schedule with my teaching." I opened my briefcase and pulled out my Big Ben clock and put it on my desk where it kept on ticking merrily away. The officers smiled and then laughed outright. They told me that they were sorry to put me through this, but that it was better to be safe than sorry.

For the next few days everyone would tease her when she came into the faculty room. Some one would call out, "Here comes the teacher with the bomb."

156. 1948 PACKAAAAAAGGGGGE!

His cousin Frank Cali went to work for Sears right out of high school. He always wanted to drive and he got a job driving a delivery truck for them. Each driver had a runner who would hop out of the truck, go up to the house where the package had to be delivered, knock or ring the bell, and yell out "PACKAAAAAAGGGGGE." Frank knew that almost every summer he came to New Orleans from Dallas. They would spend the entire summer there with his dad's aunts at 607 Caffin Avenue. Frank asked him if he would like to work that summer as a runner for him if his manager would okay it. The manager did. He got the job and worked that summer as a runner for his cousin.

The first day out, at the very first stop, he hopped quickly out of the truck, ran up on the porch of the house and yelled "Package." No one came out. He yelled again, at least what he thought was a yell, "Package." No one came out. Frank got out of the truck and said, "You have to yell louder than that. Let me show you: "PACKAAAAAAGGGE". Now you try it" said his cousin. He was never much of a yeller, but he tried it a couple of times and did a little better. Just then the door opened and a lady said, "What is all this yelling on my porch." His cousin handed her the package and said, "I'm sorry Miss. This is from Sears." and with that they both ran back to the truck. He improved in his yelling as time went on, and by the end of the summer he could yell PAAAAACCCCCKKKKAGE with the best of them.

Whenever the day's deliveries were over, his cousin and he would go to a bar and lift a number of cold beers, served in frozen glasses. It was delicious and they often left the bar very jovial, feeling no pain at all. However, they would never leave before playing the pinball machines. His cousin loved playing the pinball machines and lost a lot of money in them but it was fun. That summer he almost got addicted to them himself. It was a great summer and one he always remembers.

87

157. 1960 BUYING THE BLUEBONNET HOUSE

They were very happy in their little love nest at 2826 DeSoto Street. It was a cozy, little one bedroom apartment that they had rented from his wife's aunt. They had a little boy living with them, their first child, who brought much joy and happiness to them. They lived right next door to his wife's mother. They used to sit on the front porch, enjoying the breeze, and the shade form the big camphor trees in front. It was an idyllic place, but it was small, and they knew that one day they would have to move.

That day came sooner than they expected, when his wife's brother called to say that they were building houses in a new subdivision across the river in Gretna. They had never thought of possibly moving to the West Bank. His wife's brother had moved to the West Bank before there was a bridge over the river. He used to wait in long lines at the end of Canal Street to take the ferry across the river to get home, and to reverse the process when he went to work. No way would they have ever considered moving across the river if there wasn't a bridge. They told her brother that they would meet him in Gretna to see the houses.

It was a huge subdivision that was fenced off to the public the first time they went. They couldn't get in to see the houses, but could see them being built from a distance. Although they couldn't get in to see the houses, there was a salesman at the edge of the fenced in area taking down payments on houses if people wanted to buy before seeing the houses completed. At $16,400 for a four bedroom house, it was something they could afford on his $7,000 salary. They looked at a huge map, picked out a spot that looked good, and put $500.00 down. They were so excited, she hugged her brother and he gave him a pat on the back and thanked him. They couldn't stop talking about the house as they drove back over the bridge to their little love nest on DeSoto Street.

When the developer finished building four of the houses, one of each of the models, they went over to Gretna again to examine the house they were going to buy. The four houses were on the corner of Heritage and Stumpf Streets. The place was like a circus. There were at least thirty or more salesmen dressed in red and white striped jackets and wearing straw hats. There were hundreds of people milling around, all of them eager to buy. It was on this occasion that they looked at the big map that showed where the future houses were being built. The place on the map where there house was to be built had a thick black line running alongside of it. They asked the salesman, "Why is that line heavier than the other lines on the map?" they asked. "The house your lot is on is Stumpf Street. That street will be a major traffic street." That was something they definitely did not want. "Could we change the spot we picked? We don't want to be on a busy street." "Sure" he said. They looked at the map and found an area that said Butterfly Circle. It seemed like a closed in area and there were no heavy dark lines running through it, so they knew there would not be a lot of heavy traffic. They selected a spot on the map that was on Blossom Street. There four bedroom house would be built on that spot. The salesman said that the house should be completely built by early September, about four months away. That suited them fine. Everything was settled.

Before leaving in early June for an eight week stay in DeKalb Illinois, his wife went into one of the model homes that was completed and took all the measurements of the windows in their house. She wanted to complete all the curtains while they were away, and she did.

When they returned from DeKalb, they went right away to see their house on Blossom Street. The house was fine but they didn't like the lot they had selected. It had looked much larger on the map than it actually was. They went to the sales office and were able to change. They picked out a house on an extra large lot on Bluebonnet Street. It was still inside Butterfly Circle, so with little traffic. One problem was that the house would not be ready until November. They spent three months at the Parkchester Apartments while they waited. It was a tense three months. It was in this period that he began his first year as principal of Andrew Jackson School. Newly married, with a one year old son, buying a new house for the first time, and becoming a principal all added up to a lot of stress.

In early November they moved into their house at 412 Bluebonnet Street.

They liked it from the start. The lot was big, larger than they expected. On their first visit they walked to the back of the lot. The ground was all sand. Every house in the square block was visible. It was all one huge piece of ground with no fences anywhere. The house was painted light orange, which wouldn't have been their choice of colors. The house was huge for the three of them. They settled in, not realizing that this house would be their home for over forty years.

88

158.. 1961+ FENCING IN 412 BLUEBONNET

When walking to the back of their house a vast area of bare, sandy ground greeted them. The backs of all the houses on the square block were visible. The area was large enough to be a big playground. All the houses except one, the house that was bought in later years by Murphy and Reba Catois, had been sold and only one of those houses had a three foot cyclone fence surrounding their back yard. He and his wife wanted more privacy and a safe place for their little son to roam. They wanted to fence in their property and began visiting fence companies to see what kind of fence they would like. They decided to put a six foot redwood fence around their property. He visited each of the neighbors who abutted their property and asked them if they had any objection to having a wooden fence put up. None did. As he was walking away from one neighbor, he heard him say to his wife, "That is the only man who didn't ask me to pay for half of the fence that would face my property." They made a bank loan and in no time at all the first fence posts were put down. On the advice of the contractor, and to avoid possible future problems with neighbors, the fence was built four inches inside their property line.

Once built, they had the privacy they wanted. It was a beautiful fence. Grass seeds had been planted and their back yard was stunning with the green grass and the redwood fence. There was lots of grass then, and not a tree in sight anywhere. About two months after the fence was built a large part of it began to sag badly. He called the fence company and told them the problem. They were very busy the manager said; but they would be out as soon as they could. He made repeated calls to the company and waited about two months for some action, but none came. When his next note to the bank came due, he didn't pay it, and waited for the expected phone call or notice from the bank. The phone call came "Mr. Pie-you, you haven't made the payment on your loan." "That's right, I haven't, and the reason is that I can't get any action from the fence company to fix my fence. I've spent all that money on this fence and it is already sagging." "That has nothing to do with us" the bank man said. "You're right" he replied. But I'm not going to pay you until my fence is fixed." He was bluffing but it worked. Two days later a crew showed up from the fence company and the fence was fixed.

In 1962 the house next door to them was bought by a young couple. One day there was a knock on the front door of 412 and this young couple was standing there, and began plying them with questions about the neighbors and the people who lived along Bluebonnet Street. That was kind of unusual he and his wife thought. The couple moved in and they seemed very nice. There was no problem with them until one afternoon in the Spring of 1963.

The redwood stain on his fence slats had begun to fade a little bit, and although it didn't look that bad, he decided to buy some redwood stain and paint the fence.

He was brushing stain merrily along the fence area near the patio when his neighbor raised his head up over the fence and said, "When are you going to paint my side of the fence?" He replied that he had no intention of painting his side of the fence. It was up to him to paint his side of the fence. "I'll buy the paint if you paint it" he said. He replied once again that he would not paint his fence. He added that the fence was four inches inside his property line, and that both sides of the fence were his and that if he wanted to paint one side and not the other that was strictly up to him. He could see that his neighbor was angry, but he backed down from the fence and said no more.

About two weeks later a fence company truck pulled up in front of his neighbor's house, and a crew started putting up a six foot cyclone fence four inches inside the property line. Probably because his neighbor didn't want to see the unpainted side of the redwood fence, he had the more expensive type of cyclone fence installed, the type that had aluminum colored slats between the wires of the fence. Around this time also, his neighbor planted ligustrum bushes four inches inside his property line from the fence to the sidewalk. He and his wife realized that the man had done this in spite, with the idea of saying that if you won't paint my side of the fence, I won't cut your side of the ligustrum bushes.

In 1965 the eye of Hurricane Betsy came directly over New Orleans. When they came back to 412 after the storm had passed, one of the first things they saw were redwood slats and aluminum slats, often lying on top of one another, strewn all over the street, in back yards, just about everywhere. He didn't check on what his neighbor did about his slats, but he went into the street and into the back yards and gathered up as many redwood slats as he could. The fence was down in many places where the four by four posts had snapped. or fallen over. They had insurance and they were paid $1200.00 for a new fence. This would definitely cover having the fence rebuilt, but he decided to rebuild it himself, and they pocketed, after some fence expenses, about a thousand dollars.

The next door neighbors moved out shortly after Betsy and a wonderful new couple bought the house and moved in, Murphy and Reba Coatis. Murphy always cut both sides of the hedges or paid some one to do it. On two occasions he gave Murphy a hundred dollars to cover the cost of having the hedges cut. They were great neighbors for around thirty years until his wife died and he sold the house and moved out. During those thirty years the fence sagged from time to time and his three sons helped him rebuild it. Today in the year 2002 as he writes this, the fence still stands. Some of the original redwood slats are still sturdy and solid, but a lot of them are worn. With luck and some repairs the fence may make it to its fiftieth year, having giving years of privacy to the Base Ten family that lived at 412 Bluebonnet Street.

More to follow...

More to catch...

Caught Butterflies

1 | 1925 | GREAT GRANDDADDY THE LITTLE "BULL"

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2 | 1931 | A BOY AND HIS ARROW.

3 | 1930 | ONE TWO THREE JUMP

4 | 1944 | GEARING UP

5 | 1936 | RIDE/RUN LIKE THE WIND

6 | 1973 | BASE TEN LOOKING FOR A POST

7 | 1940 | AUNT SOPHIE ( Ed Sr.'s Aunt, Ed. Jr. Great Aunt)

8 | 1940 | FOOLING MAMA

9 | 1939 | ROW, ROW, ROW GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM

10 | 1971 | A KAMIKAZE—KARATE KIND OF GUY

11 | 1953 | LILLIAN MAE HER SONS WERE HOME

12 | 1937 | KEEPING COOL

13 | 1950 | THEIR FIRST WHEELS

14 | 1939 | SKEWERED

15 | 1939 | HIS FRIEND "NOSY"

16 | 1939 | "DO YOU WANT TO DANCE?"

17 | 1937 | ONCE UPON A BLUSH

18 | 1948 | FULL BLUSH

19 | 1934 | STANDING ALL IN A ROW

20 | 1938 | SPRING RIDE

21 | 1912 | ROBERT PUYAU: A SAD DAY

22 | 1941 | BLOW UP

23 | 1938 | A HAIR HERE, A HAIR THERE

24 | 1960 | DON'T JUMP! DON'T JUMP!

25 | 1980 | "HEY POP.! YOU WANT TO GO."

26 | 1939 | SLAVE LABOR

27 | 1939 | FIRST DATE

28 | 1945 | THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKS.

29 | 1957 | A DEVASTATING STATEMENT

30 | 1974 | THE "BIG" FISHERMAN

31 | 1976 | ONE FATHER'S DAY

32 | 1960 | ALMOST HEADLESS

33 | 1937 | LITTLE LOST GIRL

34 | 1940 | DID THE PRIEST COMPLAIN?

35 | 1941 | DIRTY TRICK

36 | 1987 | FILLING THE TANK WITH ANTI-FREEZE

37 | 1969 | SAVE THAT BOY!!!!!!!!!

38 | 1961 | THE BIG SLIDE

39 | 1947 | SQUISHED WITH LOVE

40 | 1948 | NELLIE'S FINEST HOUR

41 | 1951 | NELLIE'S FINAL HOUR

42 | 1938 | THE HATLESS KID

43 | 1986 | HAVING FUN WITH MOTHER.

44 | 1957 | GOING FISHING

45 | 1983 | THE MONEY TREE

46 | 1957 | CRABBING

47 | 1957 | THE BIG HAT

48 | 1957 | HOOKED

49 | 1956 | HIS EYES WERE OPENED

50 | 1958 | THE RED DRESS

51 | 1943 | RIDE 'EM COWBOY

52 | 1956 | THE CURIOUS MAILMAN

53 | 1986 | "NO PROBLEM"

54 | 1949 | BOMBS AWAY

55 | 1966 | THE LITTLE HOBBLER

56 | 1973 | AWE STRUCK

57 | 1983 | LAST CALL FOR JURY DUTY

58 | 1957 | SMOKING KISSES

59 | 1951 | BACK TO THEIR ROOTS

60 | 1966 | A TRICYCLE RIDE

61 | 1949 | CREAMED

62 | 1965 | BOMBARDMENT (HURRICANE BETSY)

63 | 1967 | THE SWAYING PALM (HURRICANE CAMILLE)

64 | 1971 | THE LUSTY BEE

65 | 1942 | SHORTCUT

66 | 1939 | THE FANCY BIKE

67 | 1948 | SURPRISE HITTER

68 | 1945 | WHIDBY ISLAND

69 | 1940 | THE WARRIOR

70 | 1952 | THE FROG

71 | 1945 | FIRST FLIGHTS

72 | 1939 | TOOT TOOT TOOT

73 | 1973 | LUCY

74 | 1943 | THE KNIT SHIRT AND THE PIG STAND

75 | 1940 | ARE YOU CRAZY?

76 | 1941 | THE KEYS

77 | 1958 | HOT STUFF

78 | 1940 | SAVING THE FAMILY JEWELS

79 | 1939 | GIFTS OF LOVE

80 | 1943 | THE CHICKENS OF WORLD WAR II

81 | 1941 | THE SPEECH

82 | 1983 | BALLOON LOVE

83 | 1960 | LOADED

84 | 1941 | THE HOME RUN GAME

85 | 1951 | THE NUN'S DREAM

86 | 1954 | THE STOLEN CAR

87 | 1942 | ELEVATOR TRAP

88 | 1972 | THE DOLL HOUSE

89 | 1947 | NO PLACE TO HIDE

90 | 1948 | THE "PONY"

91 | 1945 | FLYING TO THE GRAVEYARD

92 | 1984 | 1984

93 | 1957 | BEACH BOUND

94 | 1939 | WHEELING & DEALING AT THE CORNER GROCERY

95 | 1958 | HONEYMOON MONEY

96 | 1948 | A FORK IN THE ROAD

97 | 1942 | GROCERY MAN

98 | 1936 | NO PROBLEM

99 | 1966 | March 6 THE TALL GLASS

100 | 1939 | HIGHS AND LOWS

101 | 1947 | THE RADIO SOLDIER

102 | 1950 | SAILORS EVERYWHERE

103 | 1963 | THE BIG FELLOW

104 | 1924 | THE COURTING OF LILLIAN MAE O'RIORDAN

105 | 1994 | THE WAITER WITH THE FUNNY BONE

106 | 1927 | THE TRAGIC DEATH OF GRANNY "ROSA" O'RIORDAN

107 | 1960 | THE BEATNIK BEAKER

108 | 1981 | UNDER THE SKIP

109 | 1972 | IS THAT YOU?

110 | 1985 | GRANNY GLASSES

111 | 1991 | THE LETTER

112 | 1942 | "YEEAAHHHHHH"

113 | 1943 | NO PROM???

114 | 1976 | THE SUMMER OF '76

115 | 1890 | BLANCHE PUYAU

116 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS I

117 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS II

118 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS III

119 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS IV

120 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS V

121 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VI

122 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VII

123 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS VIII

124 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS IX

125 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS X

126 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XI

127 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XII

128 | 1977 | BLANCHE PUYAU'S MEMOIRS XIII

129 | 1887 | PIERRE PUYAU

130 | 1887 | ST. MAURICE MUTUAL ASSISTANCE SOCIETY

131 | 2001 | PUYAU GRAVES

132 | 2001 | PUYAU'S IN FRANCE

133 | 2001 | PUYAU'S IN CANADA

134 | 1961 | PAPER MONEY

135 | 1939 | AHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHH.

136 | 1962 | ON BALANCING HIS CHECK BOOK

137 | 1944 | POINT IT! SHOOT IT!

138 | 1944 | THE "YO YO" BOYS

139 | 1963 | HAVE IT!!!!! THEY WON'T COME

140 | 1960 | MISS TEMPER

141 | 1990 | NUMBERS AND THE PING PONG PULL

142 | 1938 | A FUNERAL YEA!!!!!

143 | 1957 | HOUSE STRESS

144 | 1958 | THE LITTLE HOUSE THAT WAS

145 | 1947 | MY GRANDFATHER'S FRENCH QUARTER STORE

146 | 1948 | THE FIN

147 | 1063 | FIST BALL

148 | 1949 | PROGRESSIVE ED. 101

149 | 1950 | LETOT

150 | 1951 | MISTER "A"

151 | 1983 | ALONE

152 | 1950 | SAILORS BEWARE

153 | 1959 | THE PLYMOUTH & THE ROCKING CHAIR

154 | 1946 | THE PIANO PLAYER

155 | 1962 | THE BOMB

157 | 1960 | BUYING THE BLUEBONNET HOUSE

158 | 1961 | FENCING IN 412 BLUEBONNET

HAPPY

88th

BIRTHDAY

POPS!

WE LOVE YOU!

Base 10+

layout and design by

moz

art

&

co.

2014

