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Chapter 2

February 1, 2007

I was visiting with a friend / business associate this morning when he received a phone call informing him that his son’s best friend has been killed. You could feel the energy sucked out of the room when he got the news. I’ve lost family and friends before but I’ve been told there is no loss like losing a child. I believe it.

In 2006 I was selected to participate in the National Security Seminar at the U.S. Army War College. It’s an honor and an opportunity without peer. There are over 2,500 candidates nominated and only 250 are selected. From my acceptance in March to Sheila’s leaving me at the airport on June 4, I waited patiently.

At the airport Sheila acknowledged my participation, the anxiety of the wait, the importance of the event. She said as she walked away – “I know how you’ve been looking forward to this. I won’t call you unless somebody dies.” We hugged, laughed and went our separate ways.

Fast forward to Thursday night June 8 - I attend a reception at the Commandant’s home, dinner at the Officers Club and then I join a group of folks for a nightcap in a restaurant and bar in downtown Carlyle. Life is good – all is right with the world.

We’re drinking, talking, and exaggerating to each other. There are about 5 of us in the group. LTC Mike Sanders gets a call while we’re in the Bar and walks outside so he can hear. He comes back in and hands me the phone and says, “Call your wife it’s a family emergency.”

My heart stops and my world with it. I shuffle outside to the quiet of the street. My mind flashes back to the airport and Sheila’s comments. I cry. I pray. I hope. Who has died? Did Momma fall or just keel over dead? She’s 87 and not in the best of health. Was Seth shot in his store? Did Slade have an accident?

With shaking hands and teary eyes I dial Sheila’s number. She answers – I ask “Who is dead? What has happened?” I don’t want an answer but I must know. Sheila, near hysteria, explains that Slade has been hurt. She’s flying to Austin… everything else is a blur. I go back in and Mike takes me back to the hotel.

I check my voice mail and get the comfort I need. Slade’s voice with a background of siren music is explaining in perfect calm, “I’ve been hurt. I’m in an ambulance. They’re going to open me and clean me out. Bye Dad. I love you!” His calm is a sedative for my nerves. He’s OK – safe – alive. I thank God and fall to sleep.

Sheila calls from Austin at noon. He’s alive - - barely. He was in an accident, has a gash in his leg and a fist size whole in his stomach. ¼ of an inch to his right and he’d be dead – his intestines would have been destroyed. His call was to comfort me with a final good bye. He thought he was dying. Thank God he was wrong! Thank God!

February 2, 2007

I just found this poem written months ago to tease Sheila about her redneck ways. Sheila sips Slim Fast drinks for breakfast and works in her flowers everyday in the summer. She’s a neat freak who yells at me for not disposing properly of my trash.

ON COOLING YOUR SLIM FAST IN THE BIRD BATH

On the porch I sit to ponder

Redneck people in all their wonder

Spit cups are good to keep you neat

So your juice won’t drool from snuff so sweet

Cars on blocks in the front yards

Drinking beer and playing cards

Marrying cousins, sisters and brothers

Make your children different from others

Hunting for squirrels from the yard

Makes PETA members think you’re hard

A big bright smile with just one tooth

Is really attractive on your friend Ruth

Animals and people keep the trailer full

Noah was a red neck and that’s no bull

A double wide is a redneck’s dream

This is the good life or so it does seem

But now I’ve lived to see it all

How rednecks get through the fall

Eating breakfast while working her garden

Keeps her slim and her body does harden

Most people would drink breakfast hot

But this young redneck will certainly not

She so smart and good looking too

She’s figured out a better way to do

In the bird bath she cools her can

She’s the smartest REDNECK in the land!

February 3, 2007

On Thursday night, Sheila and I met Johnny and Jill and Stewart at Clementine’s for a celebration / gifting which I hope to delicately explain below. It was fun.

Clementine’s is one of two white tablecloth restaurants in New Iberia. It also has a nice bar area that is less white tablecloth and more white / pink / blue collar than the dining area. Clementine’s I expect will be the scene of many more events chronicled in the coming months. As an aside – if you read James Lee Burke’s novels Clementine’s is the same as Provost’s in his David Robichaux stories.

Johnny is a character and that is a term that will be universally accepted in New Iberia. Adjectives may be added but character is a good starting point. He’s the son of Putsy (deceased) and Miss Mac. He was a college roommate and is a life long friend. Johnny is a dentist by training and a clown by choice. He is animated, friendly, charming when sober and sometimes cute, always daring, and very obnoxious when drunk. If you’re ever sick, Johnny’s the best friend you can have.

Jill is his devoted wife, loving partner, office manager and beneficiary of federal grants for putting up with him. Stewart is his first cousin and very close friend. You’ll learn more about these folks as time progresses.

A month ago I visited Karen’s Frame Shoppe. There was a full size Johnny Cash portrait hanging on her wall. She informed me that Johnny (the dentist - not Cash) said he was going to bring a full size nude photo of himself for her to frame.

If you didn’t know when men talk about nude photos of themselves they are suggesting they want to display their exceptional body – biceps, abs, buns, or (how can I say this delicately) member. One look at Johnny clothed indicates clearly that his abs, biceps, and buns are not meant for display. I have no reason to believe that his member is anymore worthy of celebration. This portrait idea was pure fantasy.

The concept of this nude photo was too great an opportunity to ignore. All Johnny’s friends know you must “get him” before he “gets you.” Again to assure “delicacy” and “taste” in this writing let me say that size may not matter to women but it is most important to men. To frame a full size nude of Johnny would cost me $700.00. A frame for his member only was $1.85 + a $5.00 hanging fee (don’t go there).

The frame was prepared by Karen and an estimate was also provided to explain the difference in the costs shown above. I contacted Stewart about arranging a meeting so that we could celebrate this gift. The frame’s final dimensions (interior measurements) were 4 ½” x 1 ½” so some matting may be required to fill out the display but it is beautiful (the frame not the portrait).

We had a few drinks and made the presentation. Johnny was speechless. His revenge will I’m sure be creative, swift, and memorable. I’ll take it like a man.

 

February 4, 2007

I was Cajun before Cajun was cool. When my contemporaries and I ventured out into the world we tried to lose the accent and be more sophisticated than our gene pool, culture, and experience would dictate.

It was not until I went into the service that I discovered the love affair that the people in this world have with the Cajuns and our Culture. Whether at Fort Polk, USAEUR and 7 th Army Headquarters in Heidelberg Germany, Munich for the Olympics, or at the October Fest if there was fun happening you would find a Cajun instigating, organizing, or contributing to the process. The world loves us!

Understand that this love affair is sometimes distorted by others’ perceptions and sometimes is an embrace of our reality. What you quickly learn is that people in the rest of the world have a prejudice about Louisiana and you can’t change it unless you can get them down here to live our reality. If you’re asked what something is REALLY like down here the questioner has already made up their mind!

Three of the questions asked of me while I was in Germany and my best answers are shown below (all of these were “really” type questions.):

Question: How many alligators do you see on a typical day while going to work?

My answer: Six to eight (“Really?” she responded.)

Question: What’s the education system really like in Louisiana?

My answer: We have the most efficient system in America. To teach in Louisiana you have to complete one grade beyond the grade you want to teach (example – to teach 4 th grade you need to have finished the 5 th grade. (“Really?” she responded.)

The Stars and Stripes newspaper had a story about a Sheriff that shot a burglar 8 times while he was hiding out under a house. I received several calls that day with the following question:

Question: Was that your hometown you “redneck hick?”

My answer: Yes it was. He killed the guy with the first shot and rolled him out with the other 7! The sheriff is efficient as teachers. (“Really?” he responded.)

Here’s the beauty of the Cajun people. We can laugh at ourselves, laugh at others, and laugh at life. We have been given by God beautiful land, bountiful natural resources, colorful politicians, a gumbo of people to create the Creole / Cajun culture that is ours and ours alone. Our music, art, and food are unparalleled.

Our joie de vivre, laissez les bons temps rouler, and lagniappe play out each day we live. We’ve got problems but life is good. We work hard, play hard, and pray hard. We live in the shadow of God’s hand here in God’s Country. Come down and stay awhile, Cher but remember we don’t give a damn how y’all do it up north.

 

February 5, 2007

Sheila and I celebrated her birthday last night at Bojangle’s Sushi and Oyster Bar on Main Street in New Iberia. We had a good time, a great meal, and a fabulous dessert. Bojangles was a nice bar opened a few years ago that in the 70s would have been classified a small “disco” and has just evolved to celebrate the food fad du jour – Sushi. Oysters are no fad – these are a staple of the Cajun diet.

When I think of Sushi, I’m reminded of Boudreaux who approaches this good looking young lady and asks her name. She replies, “My first name is Mary but now I go by my middle name Carmen because it includes my two favorite things – cars and men. What’s your name?” Boudreaux promptly responds – “Beer Sex.”

In much the same way Sushi includes two of every Cajuns’ favorite things – rice and fish. You can tell if a person is a true Cajun if you can take them to a rice field and they can tell you the amount of gravy needed to eat all of it. Fish cooked to a Cajun is a culinary delight and raw it is bait - important but only to secure more fish.

Oysters (or “ersters” if you’re a “yat” [a person, place, and dialect in New Orleans – “Where ya at?”]) on the other hand are a food, an adventure, an industry / economic development tool, social function, and a myth. In terms of the myth – we Cajun boys learn early on that Oysters are an aphrodisiac to “put lead in your pencil” or as we sometimes brag – “I ate a dozen but only 11 worked.”

Sitting at an oyster bar and eating them as they are shucked along with a couple of beers is a delightful way to spend an afternoon, evening, or night. With enough beer you can make a day of it. In the town of Abbeville near New Iberia they have built an industry on their oyster restaurants. These restaurants obviously serve other foods but you can have that anywhere – you drive to Abbeville for oysters.

Earlier I mentioned Profiles in Courage – I can think of no more daring a person than the one who ate the first Oyster – Why? How? Was he alone? Was he doing it to show off? Was he drug or alcohol impaired? Should he have been?

Finally as a food – I love an occasional oyster or oyster dish. I could live the rest of my life without an oyster (I cannot make the same statement about fried chicken, boudin, and M & M Peanuts.) but why would I want to. 30+ years ago at Brennan’s Restaurant I had a breakfast of an omelet and fried oysters. Oysters in a seafood gumbo are tradition. Fried oysters as an entrée are delightful and on Thanksgiving and Christmas my grandmother (Mamam) would take pastry shells and fill those with oysters cooked in a cream sauce – wow!

Finally I have fond memories of sitting one morning at Black’s in Abbeville with Johnny (Nitro) and Johnny (Glycerin) eating raw oysters until we hurt. Later that day we stopped at Ben Romero’s Bar near Erath and used the rest of that full day of our misspent youth celebrating the Cajun Culture, beer, whiskey and music. Bon!

 

February 6, 2007

The big paper came on the 4 th so I knew it was Sunday. Sheila and her momma were going to Baton Rouge for the day and so I was a bachelor. My only responsibilities for the day were church and watching the Super Bowl.

As a “bachelor du jour” I was able to do my own thing. Make my own decisions. I could go when I wanted, where I wanted, and leave when I got ready - the joys of independent living! The Catholic Churches in our town are numerous – their cultures unique. If you’re going to spend 365 days in New Iberia, you need to know your options.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help or T-Coteau to the locals (and Tickle toe to Sheila) is a blue collar church in a poorer part of town. As a young boy I’d go every Sunday to T-Coteau with my grandma (Mamam), Uncle Claude, and Nan Nan to the 5:00 a.m. mass. In those days it was a working folk’s church – exclusively white. Today it is a more diverse congregation – white, black, brown, yellow and maybe even a little red. There is no pretense here – I see some of my rich friends in the pews but you wouldn’t know it looking at them. The priests mirror their congregation.

St. Peter’s is my parish church. It is where Sheila and I were married nearly 32 years ago. It statelier (looks more like a Cathedral than a Church. I spent more time here than any other church in New Iberia. Father Jude is unique – a Catholic priest that speaks well. Father Charles was an Episcopal priest and married. He has children. His wife died and he converted to Catholicism and joined the priesthood. The old money and established names make up the majority of this parish.

Sacred Heart is modern. Father Steve does a good job of bringing faith into the 21 st century. Young people fit better here. There is more, loud, and better music. Sacred Heart “rocks.” It’s faith and the mass in the round. It’s not your “daddy’s Catholic Church.”

The Church of the Nativity is on the West End. It’s closer to T-Coteau than Sacred Heart and maybe more similar to St. Peter’s. Buster and Mary were married here and Mary momma was buried through this church. It’s been a long time since I went to mass here.

St. Edwards is the “black” Church. It adjoins the St. Edward’s School - the elementary feeder school to Catholic High. As a little boy I’d ride with daddy when he’d go to the school to sell candy. The congregation is majority black but you’ll see a few white faces at mass. These look like marshmallows in a cup of hot chocolate.

Sacred Heart may “rock” - St. Edwards “rocks and rolls.” All of these are good places to pray. St. Edwards is where you go if you want your spirit moved. The Saints were in church today but unfortunately they weren’t in the Super Bowl!

 

February 7, 2007

Life is good in New Iberia. Not for everyone but at least for me. Many if not most might find this an incredibly boring experience but for a guy who at one time was know as “Mr. Excitement” this place fills my need for minute doses of adrenaline. Today was no exception in my “search for dull.”

Four of us gathered at LeRosier for lunch. This Krewe (Mardi Gras season dictates using the carnival spelling) included Tom, David, George, and yours truly. If this had been a movie an appropriate title might be On Golden Pond (or bayou), The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, or Grumpy Old Men. We are contemporaries and collectively we represented about 240 years of living. All of these characters are an important part of my life so they’ll be repeat players in the next few months.

David is the foreigner – a Yankee. He found his way down here from New York City by way of New Orleans and Lafayette. He’s an interesting character enjoying semi-retirement and a self-imposed exile from the frozen Nawth. His background is publishing and marketing. He’s got a bigger universe than most of us or as he says a “different universe.” I can’t decide if he’s embracing the culture, studying it, or spying for the “Blue Coats.” Time will tell. I hope he doesn’t write an expose!

George and I have known each other since childhood. We were in each others weddings and have remained close these many a years. George is to conservative what David is to liberal. He is a Sales Manager for an oil field company and a parish council member. With George – what you see is what you get. He is also a cancer survivor. George has will of steel and is in great physical condition – when he’s fighting cancer you almost feel sorry for the cancer. George will win.

Tom is “crazy.” This is not hyperbole or an overstatement – this guy is certifiable. I’ve known him since my first day in the dormitory my freshmen year. He was crazy then and he’s crazy now. The great news is that it’s a fun crazy. He can and will make you laugh. He’s a guy that will say the most unexpected things at the most inappropriate moment – all well planned and strategically timed. He’s also a local celebrity – a TV morning show anchor. Groupies kept interrupting our lunch.

We started the lunch with wine. Because of our age and physical condition we were drinking the new wine for seniors called Pinot More. It didn’t work. We still wore out the carpet to the men’s room. The food was fabulous. We ate chicken, shrimp, and pasta but the main course was BULL – not beef, BULL.

We discussed our innocence as country boys, work, and the our college years. For some this was a four year experience for others it took much longer. During Vietnam the dumb guys graduated quickly and the smart ones stayed in school as long as possible. We relived moments in bars – the Swinging Machine, the Keg, the Library, Voorhies’ Roof Gardens, etc. It was great – the kind of event that will make us smile in our rocking chairs once senility sets in – which might be soon.

 

February 8, 2007

Birding – the dictionary defines this simply as bird watching. It’s not a term I grew up with but having matured into the sophisticated human being I am today I have become more familiar with the word and the process. Also being a resident of this multi-culture, diverse society that exists today I realize that one size and one term no longer fits all. As Paul Harvey says – “we’re not one world.”

In the isolated and insulated world of the 1950s in Cajun country the nearest we got to birding was sighting our rifles or shotguns or maybe on our annual field trip to Avery Island and its bird sanctuary. A few of our creative contemporaries may have even aimed at birds through a camera’s lens.

Birding to the traditionalist is not merely an activity or a sport but a religion or cult. Steve was a birder. His wife Becky still is. Michael and Carolyn lured them into the hobby. Our former Governor Mike Foster was another devotee. Many most citizens believe all politicians are “for the birds.” Relevant – I don’t know.

Sheila teaches with a lady whose husband Mike is world class “birder” (not the scientific name). I’m on a Board in Portland and during our last retreat I went birding with the group. I had limited success – with my eyes I have trouble seeing the forests or the trees much less the birds. In my quest for knowledge I’ve also discovered that Jefferson Island near New Iberia is a Mecca for birders and birds.

Most mornings I sit in my office very early and peck at the keys on my computer. Soon I hear a gentle tapping, rapping above my head. The warehouse includes a 6” glass panel at the top of my wall and under the eaves of the house. It simulates the screen that topped the walls in the pre-air condition days. The walls were open to facilitate the attic fans needed to cool the building and the chocolate stored in it.

This is bird watching at its finest – central air, CD playing, a cup of coffee (wine, beer, tea, etc.), reading the paper, etc. The focus of my attention is a “bird” – I don’t know what kind but (s)he has two legs, two eyes, two wings, and one beak + plenty of feathers. I’m not sure if (s)he has become enamored with the pig figurine on the ledge on the top of the wall, is vain and staring at itself, or trying to return to a nest in the walls of the old building. I’m really starting to enjoy this.

Birding in its most primitive and cynical form includes a friend Richard who returned to New Iberia after many years away and told me he knew he was home again because on his first day back as he drove over the bridge – someone showed him the bird. He didn’t mention the specific type.

Finally as I reflect back on my liberal friends that see the world as a whole system, I realize how right they are. Last night late I spread corn on the driveway for our little feathered friends. This morning I woke up to even see two cats – BIRDING. This is catching on! Go out and shake a tail feather. Watch for the cats!

 

February 9, 2007

It’s about 4:00 p.m. Friday as I stop in a Food and Fun Convenience Store for gas and something to eat. As I walk to the back a man is grabbing a 16 ounce beer from a 6-pack in the cooler. Another is taking an entire 6 pack. In the rear of the store is a storage cooler – beer only. Single beers (versus married beers) are “iced down” near the check out counter. The lady in front of me writes her check for the pint of whiskey she’s just stuck into her purse. This is an average day.

Drinking – it’s part of our culture / life. Drinking occurs everywhere – we’ve just made it an art form. I believe the 3 great truths of religion are that Jewish people don’t recognize Jesus as the Son of God, Protestants don’t recognize the Pope as the head of their church, and two Baptists don’t recognize each other in a liquor store.

I’ve been with many “foreigners” (out of state folks) on their first trip to Louisiana. I’ve seen them be drawn to the beauty and calm of a Cypress Swamp, the power of the Mississippi as she “keeps on rolling,” the history of standing where Huey Long was killed in the State Capitol, eat crawfish, etc. I had them make the mandatory visit through the LSU Campus and say a novena at Mike the Tigers Cage.

Yet ask for the most unique experience and they tell you – the convenience stores and gas stations that sell beer and the drive through daiquiri stores. We have our priorities in order – we may sell beer and gas in the same place but we lock the beer safely in the building and leave the gas outside. Fewer people steal gas.

As small children we would “taste” an adult’s drink. Around 15, Harvey, Wayne, Douglas, Ray, and I drove through a service station / liquor store in St. Martinville an attendant took our order and delivered to our car my first out of the house drink. Once Harvey brought a pint of rum when we went crabbing at Avery Island.

I was 16 or 17 (I was a late bloomer) when I went into a bar / pool hall for the first time. I was anxious. We had a drink or two and started to walk out. Someone screamed from the bar – “hey trash!” I knew he was talking to me. It was Bruce an employee of Gragnon’s Wholesale. He teased, threatened, and terrorized me (all in good humor) but never told my parents – bars are a right of passage.

I stood in the parking lot of the M & M drive in at 17 and drank a beer in the open as two “cool guys” from Texas who were 20 years old talked with us – holding their beers inside their coats and sneaking a drink because they weren’t yet 21.

During our college years we formed a softball team to play in the men’s league. We were the Pelican Aviation Jetsteppers. We never won a tournament but never lost a beer drinking trophy. At one tournament we were leading the previous beer champions (Kaplan Firemen) by over 100 cans. A fireman asked someone if they could catch us and retain their title. The lady responded – “No way, dem boys are in college – drinking beer is what dey do – that’s der job.” Let’s have a drink.

 

February 10, 2007

Usually for me writing is easy. An idea pops into my head, it incubates there and finally it flows through the keyboard and onto paper. Now that I’ve committed to a page a day, I realize the writing isn’t the problem – the ideas are.

Lewis Grizzard was one of my favorite columnist / writers. He said “writing is easy - you just sit at the typewriter until droplets of blood appear on your forehead.” I’m starting to understand the challenge as he so aptly defined it.

Since the basis for much of this adventure is the Cajun Culture, I’ll have to use a technique popular in our culture – the use of leftovers. Both Gumbo and Jambalaya are dishes we use here to keep from wasting leftovers. Tonight I’m going to retreat into the icebox of my soul and find something to throw together for your consumption. I hope you find it appetizing and nutritious.

Several times a year I venture to the Great Northwest and a meeting / social visit with my liberal friends. They’ve exposed me to a world I didn’t know existed. They taught me about Quantum Physics as a social model, Karma, the universe as a system, holistic life, and everything that is wrong with me, my Republican friends, and the south. I’ve exposed myself to them as well. I think they’ve got the better part of this deal but I guess it’s no big thing.

Every time I think these folks are off base with their beliefs and theories I observe happenings that make me doubt myself. Two days ago I wrote about birders. Today on my desk I saw a note from Bill – the President of NCNM. He’s the ultimate birder. His note card included an Audubon print and a picture of ducks that he feeds on Sundays. (We occasionally eat ducks on Sunday.) He mentioned his granddaughters Emma and Claire. My sister’s name is Emma Claire.

The last entry in this Daily Observational included stories about the influence of alcohol in our culture and our celebration of it. Today’s paper had an expose on the deaths caused recently by drunk drivers and the impact on the people involved – both the guilty and innocent.

This a.m. I wrote a letter to the Editor regarding the controversy of former LSU coach Nick Saban using the term “coonass” and the offensive nature of this term to the Cajun People. Not an hour later I’m behind a truck with a big bumper sticker – including the picture of a raccoon with his tail in the air. It includes the letters R.C.A. - Registered Coon Ass. For the record, I’m OK with the term.

This p.m. Sheila, Brenda, and I went to see the movie Because I Said So in which Diane Keaton is a controlling mother who has a love / hate relationship with her daughters. This story hit home with many in the audience. Maybe there is something to the wisdom shared with me by my liberal friends. I don’t care how they do it up North (except when they are right). May you have positive Karma!

 

February 11, 2007

As mentioned earlier, Seth is our “homegrown son.” He’s conservative. He has the pimento olive complexion. Like me, he is a pink American. If you ever see him you’ll know that he has my incredible good looks – that’s good. If you ever watch him play sports you’ll know he has my DNA – that’s bad. He’s a great son.

Seth was the birth child we never thought we’d have. During the early years of our marriage, we tried to get pregnant and were totally unsuccessful in the process. We used all the techniques known to modern science and some tested only in the fantasy life of anxious “to be” parents. We rode the emotional roller coaster that is infertility. We never gave up but after Slade arrived but we became distracted.

As I attempt to explain the rest of this process in a delicate fashion, I’m reminded of my college professor Doctor Ben Kaplan. He was a charming and world famous Sociology professor. He’d always ask the male students for an explanation about why they missed class. He’d never ask the female students. One day a male student asked in frustration “why don’t you question the girls when they miss class?” Dr. Kaplan quickly responded, “Once I did and she told me. I’ll never do that again.”

Based upon Dr. Kaplan’s wisdom, I’ll merely explain that about 5 or 6 months after Slade appeared on the scene Sheila was having “female problems” and had to visit the doctor for pain relief. He told her that he was legally required to give her a pregnancy test in advance of providing the medication needed to give her relief even though she couldn’t be pregnant. The next morning he called to announce Seth.

Seth was born on April 2, 1981. We celebrated that he waited till the second – an April Fool’s Day baby caused us some concern. If every baby, child, and adolescent was as easy to rear as Seth – there would be many more children in this world.

My memories of Seth are fun and easy. While still in diapers Seth entered the room with “black goo” in his mouth. Slade had shared a banana with him. Slade ate the inside – Seth had the outside. As a child he adored his older brother.

Seth was small as a child and not real competitive in sports. In one basketball game, however, the team’s objective was to get Seth to score. We dominated the backboards and cleared to Seth who probably took ten consecutive shots – none went in but I’ll remember the crowd chanting – “Seth, Seth, Seth.”

As a teenager, Seth was not a party animal and so when he first started going out Sheila and I celebrated his first violation of curfew. We were more excited that he was out having fun than we were upset that he was breaking the rules.

Seth is very gifted as a student but he hated school. His passion was paintball. His only job was working at a paintball field. He quit college to open up his own paintball business. This June he bought out his partner. We’re so proud of him.

 

February 12, 2007

Seth had his first letter to the Editor in the paper yesterday. He may have had a little help with the wording but the idea was all his. About two weeks ago The Advocate had an article about converting one of the BREC (Baton Rouge Recreation Department) Parks into an Xtreme Sports complex. Proposed activities included skateboarding, dirt biking, paintball, etc.

As mentioned previously Seth has been into paintball of have of his life. He’s owned and operated MCM Paintball Supplies for the past 6+ years. His avocation is paintball, this vocation is paintball and his career is devoted to the ultimate Xtreme Sport – being an entrepreneur, owning and operating his own business.

Seth approached me with the idea of a letter to the Editor responding to their article. I was impressed for a multiple of reasons. These included that he was my son and most of us are impressed by anything our children do that is legal, he was always the reserved and never sought the limelight, and now he “gets it” – being in business for yourself is all about shameless self promotion. It makes a Dad proud.

This observational on letters to the Editor also creates the perfect opportunity to transition into a subject I want to mention but couldn’t find the right way of introducing it without making this journal more of a “blog” than I planned.

On Saturday I wrote a letter to the Editor of the Advocate venting my personal frustration and I suspect the frustration of many (I hope most) other citizens of this state. I AM EMBARRASSED BY THE WAY TOO MANY OF OUR CITIZENS AND THE MAJORITY OF OUR LEADERSHIP HAVE RESPONDED TO THE POST KATRINA / RITA WORLD.

I accept the hard reality that Katrina and Rita were really bad storms in terms of damages done. I know that the flooding caused by failed levees in New Orleans and the total devastation caused by wind in southeast Louisiana and the coast of Mississippi resulted in the worst natural disaster in the history of this country. This is a fact and cannot and should not be ignored.

I also know that Rita on the heels of Katrina did equivalent damage to the Texas / Louisiana border towns and flooding resulting from this storm destroyed the small communities of Delcambre and Erath (80% of homes were destroyed).

God also provided perspective on what “really bad” is a few months later with a Tsunami that made Katrina and Rita combined look like a thunderstorm. Here’s the bottom line – we got hit hard. The nation and the world opened their hearts, souls, and wallets for us. They’ve done a lot. We have a lot to do. My letter focused not on the devastation caused by Mother Nature but more my disappointment in human nature. Our state and it’s leadership continues to whine and beg versus picking ourselves up, dusting ourselves off, and starting all over again. Lead on.

 

February 13, 2007

When Sherry encouraged me to begin this process that has now survived 44 days, she mentioned capturing the culture and characters that are Acadiana and New Iberia. Since then I’ve used the term “character” many times to define the people – my friends, associates, acquaintances, and fellow actors on this stage of life. I decided it might be wise to final “look up” the definition of character.

In Webster’s New World College Dictionary the 14 th description provides a definition of character that parallels my usage. It states - character [14] informal – an odd, eccentric, or noteworthy person. Merriam, you captured my usage.

To add sophistication and discipline to my very limited vocabulary I also searched out eccentric – [4] deviating from the norm, as in conduct; out of the ordinary; - again a correct answer. Beth a good friend once gave me a refrigerator magnet that stated, one out of three people are mentally unstable. Look around if the folks with you are OK – it’s you! Beth was right.

As you read today’s observational and as you peruse these pages in the future – if you consider yourself normal – you won’t connect directly with most of the folks described. Remember they deviate from the norm. I’ve known for years that many of my friends are “deviates.” They are, however, what makes life fun / interesting.

I walk most mornings for exercise. Yesterday I was on Main Street near Jefferson and I saw Freddie. He’s a local builder, politician, mayor pro-tem, artist (sculptor, painting, and BS), and character. Freddie in his forties and is in great physical shape. He’s short and fills the stereotype of Napoleon on steroids. Some that know Freddie believe that Napoleon had a Freddie complex. They may be right.

Freddie has more energy that many and more drive and focus than most. We talked – a talent we share. We often share our dreams (some may consider these delusions. Freddie often proves such critics wrong). In a 15 minute visit he showed me a 20 foot boat he has nearly completed, a two story bus that will soon be converted to some tourist venture along Bayou Teche, the plans for his next Crusade in this regions politics and his converted Hotel / Bar soon to be a ________________.

I’ve never met Freddie’s dad but I feel I know him because I bet Freddie is “one apple that didn’t fall far from the tree.” Freddie is a “fighter” – I don’t know if he fought with a boxing club as a young boy / man but he’s a fighter today. Months ago there was a Picture from the Past in the Daily Iberian. Freddie’s dad was in the picture – I didn’t need to search out the name – I saw Freddie in the photo – his “aura” / his macho / his enthusiasm for life emanated from the page.

As we finished our conversation we joked about Freddie’s next match – he’s going to take on the “status quo.” He’s headed in one direction and New Iberia’s Chamber is in his way – they move slow; Freddie doesn’t. Bet on Freddie.

February 14, 2007

Will was a good friend – who when challenged became “a great role model.” He was like all of us an ordinary guy whose life included some good, bad, and ugly. On the good side he was a man devoted to his family, an exceptional insurance agent, and a man who knew more about music than Wolfman Jack.

His greatest challenge surfaced on March 17, 2004 when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor and his and our worst fears were confirmed on March 19, 2004 when surgery “didn’t get it all. He died on July 4, 2005. He was anointed a “great role model” by his friends who stood in awe of how he handled this challenge. He smiled every moment he was conscious. We’ll talk more about Will another day.

I tell his story merely to segue to the topic of today’s observational – biscuits. Once Will took sick his friends made taking him to lunch a regular ritual in his life. On Thursdays he liked to go to Edie’s for their plate lunch – hamburger steak. I never ordered this dish but I didn’t often walk on the “dark side” of health food and eat one of Edie’s biscuits. They are great.

Months after Will died Edie’s closed. Rumor on the street was that his landlord had raised the rent and he got tired of the hassle. Having spend much time standing in line for lunch – I believe the owner – Stanley, merely had made too much money.

The last time Will and I ate at Edie’s we ran into one of Will’s former classmates. Alan (Sprinky) is a successful attorney. He was having lunch with friends. I asked him to come see Will before he left. I also warned him about Will’s condition / appearance so he wouldn’t be too shocked when he approached the table. Will and Sprinky had a good visit and as he turned away Sprinky offered the best line I heard during Will’s 16 months of challenge.

He smiled at Will and said, “You know this getting old crap was much more fun when our mommas and daddies did it.” Will and I smiled back.

Today I needed something in my stomach and stopped by Edie’s Express. This is the 2 nd generation of the restaurant. Now however instead of a full blown restaurant, Stanley the original owner has a small biscuit bistro and biscuit “takee-outee.” Stanley is too biscuits what Mr. Baskin and Mr. Robins are to ice cream.

The place is no bigger than my office and the bathroom is about the size of my storage closet. There is a modest kitchen visible from the counter, a few tables, and a couple of booths. A young lady is taking orders by phone while she simultaneously manages the rush of “pick ups” and “order ins.”

He has biscuits plain or honey or with nearly 31 flavor of toppings. The customers are as diverse as the biscuits – fat and skinny, short and tall, black and white, rich and poor. Stanley is a genius – his biscuits will make you slap your momma.

 

February 15, 2007

Valentines Day is about love and relationships – the unique balance between a husband and a wife, a boyfriend and a girlfriend, or as a friend described her partner, Fred Jones S.E. When asked to explain she said, “Spouse Equivalent.”

Since this journal is nearly exclusively about Cajun Country and since our international ambassadors are Boudreaux and his wife Marie, I think Valentines is the perfect day to reflect on their unique relationship.

Marie is walking her new puppy in front of her house. Comeaux drives up and says “Marie, wat dat is?” She answers, “That’s my new poodle, I got if for Boudreaux.” Comeaux responds – “Good trade!”

Marie wakes up one morning at 3:00 and Boudreaux is gone. She starts searching the house. Finally she finds him sitting in the kitchen, pale as a ghost, a coffee cup in his hand shaking violent, and tears rolling down his face. In near panic she asks, “Mais Boudreaux wat’s de matter?” He says, “Marie, you remember long ago when you was 15 and I was 20 and I got you in trouble.” She says, “Mais yea.” “You remember your daddy put that gun in my face and said boy you do right by my daughter or I’ll send you off for a long, long time.” Again she responds, “Mais yea.” Boudreaux says, “I just realized, I’d be gettin’ out today.”

One day Boudreaux is driving his truck with Marie hugging the opposite door. A young couple in a sports car drive by and they are nearly sitting in each others lap and enjoying a shared M & M. Marie says, “Mais dat’s romantic.” Boudreaux responds – “Mais I didn’t move!”

Boudreaux and Marie are making their final plans – wills, trusts, funeral arrangements, etc. when Marie becomes a little emotional and sentimental. She says, “Boudreaux, when dat time comes, I hope I go first.” He says, “Me too!”

Boudreaux is near death and Marie is holding him as he starts to reflect on his life. He reminisces, “Mais Marie you remember when we were small and I fell out of the wagon and you were next door and came to my side.” “Yea” she responds. “And you remember when I was the quarterback and you were da cheerleader and I got hurt and you were there wit me.” Again “Mais yea.” “And you remember when the kids got sick, and when I had the heart attack, and when I got dis cancer, you were dere!” “Mais yea” she repeats. “As I reflect on my life its only now dat I realize – YOU BAD LUCK WOMAN.”

Final as they embrace one last time, Boudreaux stares at Marie and in his fading voice he says, “Mais Marie – once I’m gone I want you to wait a few months and den I want you to call on Arceneaux and maybe see if you and him can match up.” She say’s “But Boudreaux, I thought you hated Arceneaux.” With his last words he says, “I do!” May you and your partner – live, joke, laugh, and love to the end!

 

February 16, 2007

A few days ago I introduced a definition of character that included the words noteworthy, odd, eccentric, etc. For some reason most of my friends and acquaintances can easily fit inside of this first umbrella of terms. Others however need “dress up words” to better define them. Merriam Webster anticipated this and included in his definition [8] moral strength, self-discipline, fortitude.

I met P. J. for lunch at Juban’s (my favorite BR elegant restaurant). He’s retired and somewhat physically impaired. He had just finished a physical therapy work out. He was impeccably dressed and except for his slow rise from the chair to greet me he looked much the same as he has for the 32 years that I’ve known him.

In 1975 P.J. was running for Secretary of State and was visiting our office to solicit support. His family-in-laws were owners of the agency and strong supporters. He was a banker and former legislator. His impeccable dress, focus, and manners were impressive – but much the norm for polite society in those – “the good old days.”

P. J. came within ½ % point of winning in the first primary. In the second primary his Cajun opponent went around the more populated southern part of the state speaking French to the folks and as they say – “the rest is history.” P. J. lost.

As a sidebar – about 2 years ago I asked P. J. if his life would have been more fulfilling or richer (not financially more rewarding) if he had won. I appeared to take him by surprise – after a moment of reflection he said “probably not.” This is quite a statement because P. J. as a statewide office holder would have been a formidable candidate for Governor at some point in time.

This defeat was a set back but certainly not a roadblock to his future. P. J. raised a family of which he is appropriately proud. He in some order also was the “father” of Public Broadcasting in Louisiana (by his own words – the business accomplishment of which he is most proud), the director of the LOOP – an offshore oil port, an entrepreneur / insurance agency owner, consultant, Chief of Staff for the Governor, and his final business challenge the President of Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Louisiana. A gumbo of success seasoned occasionally with set-backs.

The above is P. J. as a resume. I had lunch with P. J. the friend; I value his scar tissue – wisdom – experience, and wise counsel. I find it very interesting and rewarding to throw my ideas, opinions, and prejudices against his wall of experience to see what sticks. “How do we address this important issue?” “If you could appoint our next Governor who would be best?” “What’s really happened?” What if…? How come…? What’s this person like…? Why not…? What next…?

Today’s “topic” isn’t exciting like Mardi Gras, fun like an LSU football game, or tasty like Boiled Crawfish but is important in my life. Take time to have lunch with the P. J.s in your world. You won’t regret it and will be better for it. Thanks P. J.

 

February 17, 2007

On Thursday I also visited with Don. He’s older and has more scar tissue than P. J. Don is a friend, counselor, cheerleader, and role model. Don was a successful Financial Planner, business owner, and drunk. Don now is a very successful business owner, counselor, lobbyist, and recovering alcoholic.

In December I attended a surprise an __ th birthday party for Don. If you knew Don and not his age you wouldn’t believe the #. He looks / acts younger. I was asked to offer comments on “Don in my life” at this party. Some of these follow:

Jim and I met with Don for breakfast early many years ago. I was on a tirade about something and mentioned “the town drunk.” Don distracted me with his laughter. When I questioned why – he smiled and said “I am the town drunk.” He explained briefly that morning the out of control stage of his life that so marked him as a man – it gave him the scar tissue that he chose to convert to wisdom.

As a young man struggling to understand my life, wife and children and how to live Don showed me his love and devotion for his family. What was more incredible was feeling the love and awe that Betty and the kids had for Don. I saw this but still knew that a “town drunk” was not a good role model.

When I struggled with the dark moments that every father must face Don was there with an open heart and listening ear, a shoulder for my tears, a smile to diminish my angst, and his gray hair and wisdom to assure me that “this too will pass.”

When I struggled with heart problems Don advised that depression would soon follow and he simultaneously comforted me with the fact that when it appeared he’d be there. Weeks later when he saw my pain he asked, “Do you wear your seat belt?” I asked, “What?” He explained depression and that many depressed folks don’t have the courage to end this scourge but are willing to give God a helping hand by not wearing their seat belts. We talked through the process, the seat belt went back on and I could again enjoy my life again. (Thanks Don.)

In the world of government and politics, where egos often prevail over character, Don walks freely amongst the self defined celebrities. He’s lobbied longer and harder than most who do this for a living. He’s respected by friends and foes alike.

I’ve watched Don struggle with dignity when his children have “hurt.” I saw him near broken by the loss of a wife. I’ve learned from Don what “faith” is all about and from this most faithful man I’ve discovered that it’s OK to be angry with God.

I watched as Don worked through the loss of Betty and return to work with his broken heart. I watched the Don who likes control struggle as his emotions and passion ran out of control discovering that there is life after death as he fell in love with Barbara. Find a Don for your life – you’ll thank me for this advice.

 

February 18, 2007

As a young boy growing up on Harriet Street I remember smelling hot donuts early each morning. Once a week Momma would provide me 50 cents and her blessing to jump the back fence and run to the donut shop right by NI High School. I’d weave my way through the students waiting for school to start, order a dozens hot donuts, and weave my way back through the gathering, and head home.

Saturday morning this multi-sensory experience of yesterday flashed back in my mind as I stood in line at Meche’s Donuts. Meche’s in New Iberia is part of a family chain of shops in South Louisiana. Employees wear baseball caps indicating they’ve been around since 1988. In that time I’m sure their delicious morsels of fried dough and sugar have killed more people than IEDs have killed in Iraq.

I was there about 8:30 to get a couple of donuts for Mimi (Sheila’s momma) and a mini-King Cake (Bavarian Cream) to share with Sheila and Sherry. In a land ruled by “trans fat” and where people live to eat instead of eating to live, Meche’s is the Mecca of decadence. Meche’s and Legnon’s form the axis of nutritional evil.

Since there were two lines with about 10 people each I had time to conduct an environmental analysis. The building housing Meche’s originally was home to New Iberia’s first convenience store – Phil A Sak. Daddy sold candy and cigarettes there and I delivered these for Gragnon’s Wholesale.

Donuts are now 45 cents each or $4.80 a dozen. With additional funds you can buy fancy – chocolate covered donuts, cinnamon twists, jelly filled rolls and King Cakes. With additional funds + $5.00 you can have the King Cake altered to include some delightful creams. The price of coffee is not listed but I’m assuming it’s a dollar since one or two regulars poured themselves a cup and left a dollar on the counter.

As a business this appears to be a money machine. Open from 4:00 a.m. to noon 6 days a week (closed Mondays) and people waiting impatiently to convert their dollars into calories. On Saturday and Sunday morning there are traffic jams created by the locals for some sugar addict – obviously she wasn’t a user herself.

One habitual offender walked in on crutches – I’m assuming her hips or knees were gone because of the excess of donuts that were converted to insulation on her hips. For a while I was # 7 in my line but next to me was the third person in the “full figure” line. It took 7 of us to match only 3 of them in thickness.

As I leave the store I see a sign two doors down for Life Insurance sales, and immediately on the left is a pharmacy. One door over on the right is an insurance agency that sells more Health Insurance than anyone else in the state. Meche is more than a donut shop – it is an adventure in debauchery – a sustainable economy and a holistic approach to illness and its financing all built on flavor. It’s rumored to be a front for the local hospital and its cardiologists. Is there no shame?

 

February 19, 2007

As I sat down to prepare today’s comments I heard that tomorrow was the Chinese New Year and this was the Year of the Bore (spelling). I had already decided to write about our Saturday evening with friends and thought may be this Karma thing was happening again – another coincidence.

You see I looked up bore in the dictionary (to weary by being dull, uninteresting, or monotonous) and thought that sort of captured the group. Then Sheila explained that the correct spelling was Boar. Another trip to the dictionary revealed the correct definition - a mature, uncastrated, male pig.

This new definition came close to defining half the group. Sheila, Mary, Carol, and Carmen obviously didn’t qualify but the definition did fit reasonably well Richard, George, Lloyd, and me. I can’ be sure it was 100% accurate but I can assure you that was at least 66 2/3% accurate for 100% of us.

If you saw us eating the great meal Carol had prepared and if you saw us laying around the house after we moved away from the trough – I mean table, you’d understand the analogy. Come to think of it observing us makes the other definition applicable as well.

To break the monotony and because our wives said so we decided to go to the late show at the local theater. This was the 7:20 feature. Late is a relative term. We had hoped to see The Messenger but it didn’t fit our schedule so on a whim we chose Music and Lyrics. The fact that the eight of us made up 90% of the audience by body mass and 50% by head count should have been a hint that this was not Academy Award material.

This was sort of like “Brittany Spears seeks inspiration from Mick Jagger” – cute would be a high form of praise. George and Carol dozed, I wish I could have, Sheila was engaged, Richard and Mary snickered politely and Carmen and Lloyd sat patiently. The pain of enduring this “flick” was eased by earning the right to tease Carol and Sheila for their selection.

We returned home for entertainment much more fun than the movie and previews combined. Richard was on a tear. Richard is sort of a Rodney Dangerfield type, wrapped in the body of Meatloaf and occasionally taking on the persona of his alter-ego Don Rickles. His wife Mary – appropriately named by some St. Mary patiently endured his tirade.

I had intended to profile some of the characters mentioned above but it took too much time to capture the excitement that was Saturday night. All of these folks are dear friends and so our paths will across again in the near future and then I can provide a better portrait of each at that time. For as bad as it may sound, I had a ball and I believe they did as well. Hopefully they’ll invite me back.

February 20, 2007

Yesterday Nancy the Chair of the Board of NCNM asked me to write a few paragraphs about myself and my relationship with NCNM. This experience is important in my life and my comments follow. I include it here since my comments reflect our culture.

Mardi Gras is an appropriate backdrop for my comments since I’ve brought the spirit of Mardi Gras – its beads, doubloons, King Cake and its joie de vivre, laissez les bons temps rouler, and lagniappe to the board and the school. The “smiling and frowning” masks that are Mardi Gras accurately depict my time and impact on the Board. On the “smile” side, I will take credit for providing more laughter at meetings than any Board member before or after either through a Boudreaux joke, a dumb question, or some tension breaking comment that is needed.

On the “frown” side, as an individual I have frustrated and angered some by asking what I consider to be fair but tough questions and challenged the alleged diversity and openness that is claimed by NCNM by presenting a conservative and dare I say it Republican viewpoint. I have participated in the most difficult decisions of cutting benefits, downsizing staff, and raising tuition. The Boards have made right decisions and wrong ones but always in the spirit of “what’s best for NCNM.”

My love affair with NCNM began in Tulsa Oklahoma before I knew NCNM existed and before I could spell Naturopathy. I was the keynote speaker at a meeting of the doctors (MDs / DOs) at the University of Oklahoma Medical Center in Tulsa. My contact for the meeting and most gracious host was a man named Clyde Jensen. My wife, Sheila and I spent two days with Clyde and became fast friends. A year or two later Clyde called to tell me that he had been named President of NCNM and he asked me to join him as a Board Member. As they say the rest is history.

As I reflect on my 8+ years of involvement, I’ve seen the school grow from a campus that made the medicine suspect, near closure, financial disasters, cultural dysfunction, etc. to a fully accredited, financially stable organization that can now celebrate the future with great leadership, a mature Board, professional staff and faculty, and a dynamic student body well prepared to assimilate Natural Medicine into the future of this nation and the World.

I’ve made great friends, learned a lot, been stretched in my thinking, and hopefully have broadened the universe of those that I have touched. I watched ordinary folks provide extraordinary leadership and make immense sacrifices on behalf of NCNM – Clyde, Bill, Scott and Judy, Wally, David, Pauline, and many others. I’ve also cried at the loss of friends – Wally and Dipali. Wow – what a ride!

Mike the person is a boring Cajun entrepreneur, writer, father, and jokester who is happy in his own skin sitting on his porch with friends in New Iberia, Louisiana. To those of you who have embraced me and tolerated my “difference” I say THANKS.

 

February 21, 2007

Boudreaux rushes home after completing his one day Spouse Management course and announces to his wife, Marie – “Mais I just finished this course and I’m here to tell you dat startin rite now tings are gonna change round here. You gonna clean dis house from stem to stern, den you gonna make me a big supper, den you gonna clean up the mess and finally we gonna go to bed and make love all night long. Den I assume you know whose gonna bathe me and comb my hair first thing in the morning…” Marie responded quickly – “the funeral director.”

I wasn’t going to start tonight’s Observational with a Boudreaux joke but when I thought about tonight’s topic – YARD LEAVE – it reminded me of the above story.

I’ve been happily married for 32 years and I still look forward to yard leave. Yard leave is a break in your routine – the right to venture out on your own after dark and with no positive purpose other than a drink or two at a local honky-tonk.

To the married man its yard leave - in basic training it was called a pass or post privileges, for prisoners it’s called parole, and for Pavlov’s dog it was a bell – the event that makes you salivate – gets you real excited.

Since Monday night Sheila was out of town I decided to go out for a drink – I debated about using Yard Leave or just sneaking out the window but I was afraid if I didn’t get permission and she found out later there would be hell to pay.

David and I met at the new Bourbon Hall Bar on Main Street. In recent years New Iberia’s Main Street has developed into a mini-entertainment district. Within crawling distance for the average drunk are the bars at LeRosier and Clementines, and Carabella’s, Mulligan’s, the Bourbon Hall, and Napoleon’s.

It was interesting to watch the locals of all shapes and sizes walk in for a drink, to watch the big screens, or to play pool. The crowd was equally male and female, a variety of ages, and varying degrees of alcohol influenced. Most carried their own sticks which was a new phenomenon. I never saw a man carry in his own stick during the good old days. The great ones could play with a tree limb in lieu of a cue.

The environment was different and the crowd was novel but what really surprised me was David confessing to being a recovering “pool hustler.” David is the mystery man – Yankee mentioned in an earlier journal entry. His past still is held closely to his vest but occasionally he’ll allow me a brief insight into this unknown world.

His confession included the fact that as an innocent Midwesterner, he became a Tulane Student and found the path to ruin in barrooms and back alleys of the big city. To hear his stories reminded me of my days in the Army and some of the more interesting characters and experiences I discovered there. We’re not one world and that is good and interesting. “Rack em, Blink – I’ll break!”

 

February 22, 2007

I’m very rich and yet I have very few resources. I’ve been blessed with a great family, wonderful friends (in spite of what you read here), and a job / business I love. To me independence is most important and for the past 14 years I’ve worked for myself. I wouldn’t trade that experience for a small fortune.

As we age we think in terms of our legacy – what we leave behind after we’re gone. I’ll never endow a Chair at the state university, establish a foundation, or have a building named after to me. I do believe, however, that I will leave a greater legacy – some young folks that one day will say – “that man had a real impact in my life.”

Obviously I hope my children do great things or do ordinary things in a great way and remember me as they relish their success. I also hope that other folks “I’ve touched” achieve the greatness that I see in them. Having taught Risk and Insurance at LSU for 10 years – I met and I hope influenced about 100 – 200 graduating seniors every year. This is a huge opportunity for influence.

Since then I’ve also met and kinda, sorta, adopted others as a mentor, coach, or at least contributor to their great adventure called life. On Monday I was invited to lunch by two young men (31 and 28) that are important in my life and I hopefully am important in theirs.

Beau is one of the sons of some very close friends. I’ve known him since “he was a pup.” When I started teaching at LSU I needed a freshmen or sophomore to help me jump start an insurance fraternity that had been dormant for years. I thought about Beau. He no more wanted to be in an Insurance Fraternity than fly to the moon but my offer came with a trip to New York – he went and was hooked.

Beau is the only “kid” in the world that ever took 4 courses with me and made As in all four. His Momma is really nice and his Daddy can blackmail me. He’s a business owner that has tasted success early and likes the flavor. Beau is very gifted and will do well as his life progresses. He’s married and already has 4 kids – 2 girls named - Don’t and Stop (at least that what he’s always yelling at them) and two young sons. His wife Kaci married down – Beau married up.

Mike I met at work. He and I were employed by the same association for a few months. Mike’s married with one daughter and a second biscuit in the oven. Tiffany (wife) and Sidney (daughter) are his family and he’s devoted to them. Mike is a worker – conscientious and deliberate. He recently moved on to a challenge including HR work – he’s growing into his potential. He also bleeds LSU purple.

Three 3 years ago I chaired an economic development committee. I asked Mike to gather a group of young folks to share their vision. They met, all were impressed, and they agreed to formalize their efforts. They formed a group called Bourgeois 2030. They think they can change the world. Don’t be surprised if they do.

 

February 23, 2007

Life is good. Life is good – not so much in its “specialness” but in its “ordinariness.” Flying was once described as 98% boredom and 2% sheer terror. I measure life much the same way – 98% routine and 2% exhilaration (terror, excitement, fantasy, etc.). The good news is that I’ve been blessed in that I love “my” routine.

With this backdrop I can assure you this weekend has been spectacular. The planets aligned this week in that Pit and Pot was Thursday, our Porch was open Friday, and we had coffee at Mary’s on Saturday.

Pit and Pot is the previously mentioned supper club formed 35+ years ago by some of my closest friends. It continued and continues uninterrupted all these years. A careful study of the attendees indicates that 3 and maybe 4 generations were present and so the future appears assured.

I remember in its infancy the founders were in their mid-twenties and full of piss and vinegar. Today the survivors look like piss and smell like vinegar. We all move slower, have more of us (in terms of Body Mass not head count), remember less, but know more than we did when we first met in those first times in the 1970s.

Thursday’s menu included chicken breasts covered in crawfish etouffee, rice dressing, green beans, salad, and a roll. There were blueberry and apple desserts ala mode if you needed a filler after the main course. It was great. The meal is preceded by some alcohol, card playing for those interested, jokes, lies, and pure BS.

Friday night the porch was open for the first time in several weeks. Pat and Donna showed up first, George followed, and then Richard and Mary, Lloyd and David joined us. (Please note David and Lloyd are not a couple – they just happened to be there unaccompanied for the evening.)

After the high school basketball game ended the Mayor, the first husband, and Carlos stopped by. Carmen, Lloyd’s better half – much better half showed up late. A previous commitment denied her the excitement of the full evening – she had to concentrate her efforts at fun and intellectual stimulation that are the hallmarks of the porch.

We ate, drank, and took it upon ourselves to solve all the world’s problems. We addressed issues of politics, society, race, war, marriage and stupidity. Consensus was reached that someday we as a nation / world may find a cure for cancer but stupid will be with us till the end of time.

Mary’s for coffee include a small but enthusiastic crowd. Buster and Mary were joined by T-Model (I’ll get the story on the name), Sylvia, Butsy and Marla, Robert, Charlie. George and Johnny completed the round table of wisdom for today’s discussion. Ritlan and ear plugs would have been needed by a first time visitor.

 

February 24, 2007

It’s Sunday the 25 th at 4:50 a.m. and I’m a day and 4 hours and 51 minutes behind in my production of this Observational. Yesterday I was lazy and condensed 3 sure columns – Pit and Pot, the Porch, and Mary’s for coffee into one. Now I’m paying the price. As cited in the past and to be an excuse many times in the future the problem is not putting the words on paper – it’s finding ideas to use up 543 words.

I walked outside to check on my papers – (the Advocate, the Advertiser, and the Iberian [NY Times lite]) and they haven’t arrived. This is good for production because I’d interrupt my writing to do some reading if they were here.

The good news is that received inspiration as I ventured out. If our residence has a truly unique feature it’s the Oak Tree in front of the house. I had Jim the local tree expert inspect the tree in advance of our purchase of the property. He indicated that it’s over 200 years old and healthy.

I am well under 200 years old and marginally healthy. I guess the tree has lived better. The one advantage I have over this live oak is that 100% of me is above ground. Old timers explain that live oaks have as much under ground as above ground and that’s why they survive hurricanes. This old tree has survived Audrey, Betsy, Hilda, Andrew, Lillie, Katrina, and Rita and many lesser known celebrities.

This Oak did not grow up in front of the Warehouse as it’s now positioned, the Warehouse grew up around it. When we began this grand adventure, we moved the building behind the tree. As mentioned earlier our house was the original Warehouse building – a simple frame facility housing the office of Claude P. Gragnon Wholesale and candies, paper goods, food stuff, and sundries sold.

I remember the word “sundries” on the side of the trucks. I stopped writing long enough to search “sundries” in the thesaurus in Word and I discovered the words “hodgepodge,” “miscellany,” and “miscellanea” so I’m still not sure of an exact definition but I guess “sundries” has more sex appeal than “etc.” and sex sells.

Some old Oaks are perfectly shaped, some have limbs that touch the ground, others are twisted, gnarly, and bent (Tourist Tip – take a trip to St. John’s Cathedral in Lafayette and visit the Oak there; it’s magnificent).

Our Oak – is registered with the National Oak Tree Registry as Mamam’s Oak – a name we provided in memory of Mamam (our grandmother). It was on her property. Mamam’s Oak is misshapen, has no low hanging branches, and is heavy on the right side. This was caused by expansion of the Warehouse complex, cut limbs to make room for “progress,” and trucks driving on the roots. Also it is packed with concrete to repair damages done when lightning struck the tree the day we buried Mamam and Jon (a nephew-in-law) was killed. The beauty of this tree is its size, age, and the memories of each of us and all of us under it. It’s stately (to us).

 

February 25, 2007

In the name of easy and convenient I’ve decided to “catch up” and get ahead in my writing by finishing with the geography and topography of the two blocks that were my world as a young boy. New Iberia in the 1950s was a safe and fun universe.

I don’t know if this was factual, merely the perceptions of my youth, or a staged environment that Momma, Mamam, and others created for us. In today’s world gone mad where a teenage girl can be abducted and killed in French Settlement and a 13 year old boy is kidnapped at gunpoint from his school bus stop, our innocent childhood was a gift we may be don’t fully appreciate.

The world of my youth consisted of a few blocks framed by Harriet Street, Weeks Street, Bank Avenue, and Hacker. Actually there were Lanza Lane and Henshaw Alley also intersecting these blocks but the major thoroughfares were as described. Center Street or Highway 14 or the Abbeville Highway also split these blocks.

I lived at 405 Harriet Street in a little frame house so typical of our community in the post World War II days. To our right were the Browns and our left the Napolis. These folks lived next to us my entire childhood and their whole lives. Next was a two story apartment where families came and went – the Galloways the Duncans were folks we were close to as friends – others were mostly acquaintances.

On the corner was Mr. and Mrs. Abshire in the big house. They had money and family prominence. I don’t exactly remember what – banking I think. From 3 – 13 (my 1950s ages) these issues aren’t important. Across Center Street was Mr. Broussard and his family. “Miss Lycia” a teacher (and a stern presence) lived between the Broussards and Aunt Mazie and Uncle Booz.

Uncle Claude and Nan Nan lived on the corner and Mamam was between Uncle Claude and Nan and the Warehouse. In this world I was safe and with this many eyes watching me the world was safe from me as long as I stayed in this “zone.”

Uncle Booz was Momma’s brother and a most significant male figure in my world. He and Aunt Mazie had 5 sons – Martin, Patrick, Jimmy, Paul, and Joseph. Martin was about 2 years younger than me and Patrick had about the same age spread from Martin. Growing up we were more like brothers than cousins. Jimmy, Paul, and Joseph came later. I have a sister Claire two years older and a brother John 7 years my junior.

Uncle Claude was actually the brother of Mamam and my great uncle. He and Nan Nan never had children. Claire was his eyes. He was successful in business and was the only family member in those days to have “real money.” Mamam lived with her mother Namam. Mamam was the Rose Kennedy of our clan. She was great. Ask each of us separately and we’ll each say with conviction “I was Mamam’s favorite.” I never could figure out how she fooled the other seven into believing that.

 

February 26, 2007

It’s February 28, 2007 at 4:05 a.m. I’m in trouble. I’m just now writing something for the 26 th. More correctly I am rewriting something for the 26 th since scanning my prior comments I realized I had duplicated an Observational.

Today should be a good day – come to think of it at my age and health condition, every day is a good day. I’m like the old “clunker” of a car that is rusted out, in need of repairs, and with 200,000+ miles, just cranking up in the morning is a major accomplishment.

About noon today I’ll have lunch with Stormy. Stormy is one of the few people I know who can change the world. He’s a nationally / internationally recognized leader in Health Care. The March 1 st update will be easy because I can merely report about Stormy and his ramblings.

Today will also be a good day for about 10 – 20 people in Portland Oregon. Their world will be changed ever so slightly but always for the better. Today while I’m sitting for lunch at Carmines in Metairie (try it you’ll like it) a King Cake from a Lafayette Bakery will be arriving at the Administrative Offices of the National College of Natural Medicine (NCNM).

I realize that Lent was a week ago and the decadence that is King Cake should be a memory of the not too distant past in our more austere time of Lenten sacrifice. Unfortunately when I attempted to order a King Cake on the Saturday before Mardi Gras the bakeries I approached were oversold and overwhelmed.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that they extended the season for export and agreed to send a King Cake today. The cake I’ve sent was from Keller’s in Lafayette. It is a bakery that has been around for at least 50 or 60 years because I can remember as a little boy consuming vast number of vanilla iced brownies that Nan Nan and Uncle Claude would bring to us on their trips to Lafayette.

King Cakes are good anywhere and anytime for ordinary folks. At NCNM they are an exceptional experience because for the most part the folks there are too healthy. This is their once a year chance to walk on the dark side.

This is like a “smoker” in the basement of the rectory, a bottle of whiskey that’s been smuggled into the Baptist’s Children Home, or skin flicks in the convent. It’s something that should never be done by the folks there but if once a year if it happens most people will “smell,” “taste,” or “look” and then deny doing it or any knowledge of it. To quote Flip Wilson’s Geraldine – “the devil made me do it.”

So about noon when you’re having a lite Lenten lunch, think about the vegetarians, vegans, and health nuts in a little office in Portland Oregon taking a walk on the wild side – the cake will be gone faster than you can say “this is bad for us.”

 

February 27, 2007

It’s now 4:38 a.m. on the 28 th. I am quickly working at getting current (not electricity – I mean caught up). If each piece takes only 23 minutes to produce there is a perception of less value – of cheap. Understand some of these ramblings are more difficult they take 30 or 40 minutes. This is not always an easy process.

Now I must repeat the difficult part of the day – “what the ‘devil’ do I write about today?” I had written “hell” but decided for Lent to try to clean up my language.

This morning when I made my first run to check on my papers (which weren’t here yet), I noticed that the water in the bathtub in front of the house was bubbling so I had to take a second to clean the filter so the turtles could breathe and have clearer water – blue water versus the green-black muck in there now.

I now have three options – I can talk about our pets or explain away the bathtub in the front yard or discuss the world of Rednecks that don’t need an explanation of bathtubs in the front yard. I think I’ll go with the pets first and then consolidate the other two issues into tomorrow’s ramblings which are actually today’s writings.

The bathtub with the filter is actually the condominium for Slade’s pet turtles – Cecilia and Mr. Green Guy. We adopted these pets when Slade came to New Iberia for his rehabilitation from his aforementioned injuries. Our other (current pet) is Pepper – a Heinz 57 dog that Seth had since he was in the 6 th grade.

He’s the only dog we’ve ever owned that is exceptionally well behaved, trained, disciplined. Seth achieved all this. If I realized how talented he was I would have let him raise / train himself and paid him to do the same for / with his brother. Our boys turned out OK but they don’t listen and behave as well as Pepper does.

Today stray cats abound in our yard and there are many healthy birds that frequent our feeders (the unhealthy ones feed the cats.) (Don’t tell PETA.) We’ve had many dogs – Babito, Pas Bon (no good in French), Lagniappe (a boxer – that mysteriously disappeared while the boys and I were out at a soccer game about 20 years ago), Scrub, and now Pepper.

Slade had a snake and very briefly pet mice that were used to feed the snake. The snake lasted for months the mice were lucky to make it for a few days. Our most limited success came in our attempts to house gold fish. (Don’t tell PETA.)

When the boys were small we bought an aquarium and filled it with fish. Unfortunately the water wasn’t right and we had about 8 casualties in the first two days. Each death was marked by a funeral at the commode – the deceased was flushed to its heavenly reward. About two days later Nan Nan died. I sat with the boys to explain her demise. Death is not an easy concept for a 3 and 4 year old. Seth asked innocently – “will we have to flush Nan Nan?” Rest in peace today!

 

February 28, 2007

I’m current – the last Observational only took 14 minutes (from the quality you can tell) and I have about 2 hours before I have to get ready for my trip to New Orleans. I’m going to catch back up and with a safe idea for tomorrow (the Stormy Story) I’m actually ahead of schedule. As the ultimate procrastinator I’m on foreign turf – this is exhilarating. I think I’ll delay the process and go check for the papers.

I’m back – the papers are here. I’m going to read the wisdom and idiocy (like intellectual Sweet and Sour) that are the Advertiser and the Advocate (and other papers) and then return to my daily responsibility of entertaining myself and hopefully you at the keyboard. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.

It’s 5:35 and I’ve scanned the papers. Now let me explain Rednecks and the bathtub in my front yard. If you understand bathtubs in yards – you’re a Redneck and you can quit now. You can go read your newspapers. (Oops – if you’re a Redneck reading might be something of a challenge. JUST KIDDING!)

Jeff Foxworthy has done a good job of defining Rednecks to the American public. If you want a Ph.D. in “Redneckism” get his tapes or watch Blue Collar TV. I’ll merely complement and supplement his observations. Rednecks are Cajuns without the sophistication. Are is it that Cajuns are Rednecks without the sophistication?

I get so confused (a common trait with both groups). Here’s the reality – if you are still engaged in reading this humbug you probably need help yourself. Sophistication is not your issue – good taste is. Rednecks have less teeth and education than most of us, there family trees don’t fork as much as some in the forest, chewing tobacco is a health food, and the few with money have sterling silver “spit cups.” Doublewides are their primary homes and singlewides are for camps.

They hunt and fish more than they golf. They work harder than most and are laughing at you as much as you are amused by them. They’re really good people if you get to know them and as a focus group of one – if you find the right one, they make a good spouse. They do keep sofas on their porches.

I had to add the last sentence to transition to the bathtub in the yard. We had an old bathtub being used to water our horses at the farm (for you city folks – horses drink from the tub – they don’t grow in the tub like plants). It was no longer needed (the horses quit drinking – just kidding) so Jimmy gave it to us.

During construction it was on the porch. This created speculation about Rednecks. The fear of our friends and neighbors is that Sheila and I would use it as a hot tub in the evening. It was always intended to be a fish pond in the yard. Now it is.

The biggest difference between Cajuns and Rednecks is a Cajun would flip the tub on its end, add a statue of the Virgin Mary, and create a front yard grotto. Amen!