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Chapter 7

July 1, 2007

I’m like the butcher that backed into his meat grinder. He got a little behind in his work. Come to think of it I’m like a fat butcher because I’m a lot behind in my work. Today is actually July 15. I’m trying to find something exciting about the past two weeks. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I have been keeping notes to assure some idea of topics. To maintain the integrity of this journalistic exercise let me make the following disclosure. The dates shown and the updates provided in the month of July may not perfectly align.

Recently I was walking and saw the sign in front of the Baptist Church. It appeared to say, “God turns your burgers into songs.” I thought, “Wow!” most people are impressed by the loaves and fish story – “Burgers to songs” is really amazing. As I got closer I realized the sign said burdens not burgers. That made more sense. I was also forced to smile at the irony. Since Jesus made the blind man see – you’d think a little bigger font on the church sign would be nothing.

I continued my walk through Shadows Bend and onto Hilltop Circle. This is where some of my moneyed friends live. I then strolled to Duperier and back towards the warehouse. Pat and Donna’s yard looked really nice. (They’ve since won Yard of the Month from the local Garden Club).

As I approached the bridge – I saw what appeared to me to be a young girl (probably 10 – 12 years old) running across the bridge. I’m sure she’d take offense at my description. She sees herself as a young lady or a teenager. She was in shorts, a T-shirt and running shoes. The life jacket she was wearing was flapping in the breeze. As she reached the foot of the bridge she turned to the left and slid down the steep slope to the water’s edge.

As I looked out on the bayou I could see several canoes (manufactured pirogues) in a convoy heading to some destination for a picnic, party, or celebration. Most of the occupants were peers of this young lady – a few dads were strategically positioned to assure some semblance of adult supervision. This was a hot, sticky, and muggy day yet the few memory cells remaining assured me that for this group of young folks it was going to be a memorable event.

As my mystery friend jumped to her left and slid down the bayou’s bank – I saw Paul and me fifty years earlier making the same move. In my mind’s eye we were matching up with a convoy. We had just filled up the two gas tanks for Paul’s boat and were now free to burn gas for the next 24 hours. Cecil’s station sold gas and serviced cars. It was much like every other station at that time except for one distinct advantage. Paul could charge anything he wanted at Cecil’s. Paul wanted a lot and his charges proved it. Mr. Louie spoiled Paul directly and me vicariously.

Another look down the bayou and I could now see us in the boat – gas lines connected, engine cranked, and heads and hearts full of possibilities for fun.

 

July 2, 2007

As I begin the second 180+ days of writing for this Observational I’m reminded that Sherry was the originator of the idea and the motivation to keep the process going. Today the “new” Sherry visits for the first time.

Sherry and Sheila have been inseparable for years. They bonded as teachers years ago at Our Lady of Mercy School. They became known at school as Thelma and Louise. Part of this was attributable to their summer trip or better yet – Adventure and part based on the fact that at times they probably considered killing men – me or Sherry’s ex - Red.

The “old or previous” Sherry could be subdivided into the wife and mother and the newest “previous” Sherry the divorcee and mother. Sherry has always been a caring mother. Her marriage – I’m guessing like most others – had its good moments and bad. It ended – unexpectedly about 2 years ago. Immediately following the breakup Sherry suffered serious self-doubts, depression, and other issues accompanying such trauma. Sheila was her crutch in these times.

Sheila’s life became more complicated with her problems at Pesson School and the self-doubt from teaching too long in an environment that is too hard. Add to this her mother moving in with us and the accompanying challenges – Sherry reciprocated and became the crutch Sheila needed to limp through dark days. Friends are good at anytime. Friends in crisis are the best.

This visit was especially meaningful. Sherry is back – with bounce in her step. She’s met a friend – a male of the species. She’s having fun again – healing from the past and relishing the future. Enthusiasm and a positive attitude is critical to success and happiness and best of all its contagious. She’ll help Sheila as Sheila has helped her. Sheila will capture her energy and mirror her smile.

I’ll predict versus report – today they’ll spend time – lots of time on the porch. There will be talk – plenty of talk – girl stuff. Each will probe politely into the soul of the other and once there is confidence that their friend is OK they’ll revert to the silliness that was the trips to Branson or Destin or Las Vegas or merely the last few or first few days of class any year at Our Lady of Mercy.

At some point in time they’ll risk the gridlock that is traffic in New Iberia. Maybe they’ll go to lunch or to Walgreens to print some of the many pictures they’ll take or maybe even they’ll venture to their Mecca for a day of worship. To this day it is difficult for me to acknowledge that a woman smart enough to marry me and graduate college can enjoy going to WalMart. Such is life.

Tonight I’ll bring home boiled seafood. We’ll eat, drink, and be merry. 2006 was and 2007 is a challenging year. The good news is that both these young ladies have met the challenge and “they’re back.” Thelma and Louise are in town again!

July 3, 2007

Based upon the date above the controversy I’m about to describe has not yet happened. This is what happens when you fall behind in your commitments and must struggle to get current. From the perspective of July 15 I know what has already happened but from the declared date of July 3 I’m not sure this is news yet. Regardless here’s my attempt to link these evolving stories.

Edwin Edwards was the four time Governor of the State of Louisiana and probably the most entertaining and skilled politician in this country until Bill Clinton wrestled that title from him. Jimmy Swaggart was one of the best (in terms of fund raising and singing and fire and brimstone preaching) TV evangelists of all times until he and the devil wrestled not the title but the opportunity from his hands.

Bennett Johnston, David Treen, Bob Livingston, and John Breaux were all successful as politicians and statesmen. They weren’t as gifted Edwin Edwards or

Jimmy Swaggert but they did well with what they had. In order of natural talent for politics (I’m guessing – I’d rank Breaux, Livingston, then Johnston, and finally Treen). In terms of honesty, integrity, and family values I’d reverse the aforementioned order. (You can’t have everything.)

The other trait all of the aforementioned share is that they are a part of the past more than they are a significant influence in the future. If it weren’t for the recent scandal created by a relative newcomer to politics, the Senate, and the world of chaos and scandal that is Louisiana I would not have dug these folks out of the dustbin of our history. Today – Treen, Edwards, Johnston, Livingston, and Swaggart get another 15 minutes of fame because two characters – Senator David Vitter and Larry Flynt (a self proclaimed slime ball).

Let me try to explain. David Vitter is a man who preaches family values and yet has a “problem” with prostitutes. Jimmy Swaggart shares the preaching and the problem. Larry Flynt share prostitutes and has a problem with those that preach family values and don’t walk their own talk. Bob Livingston had the power – he was to be the new Speaker of the House of Representatives after Newt Gingrich resigned. Larry Flynt “outed” him just as he was about to “out” David Vitter. Confused? – you should be. Sin is OK in politics – hypocrisy is not.

Here’s the reality of Louisiana politics and our culture of corruption. We love characters. We can embrace sinners. We can tolerate a fair degree of mischief from our elected officials – but we don’t like hypocrites. In my opinion Vitter and Swaggart are in trouble today not because of what they did but because of their criticism of folks that did the same things that they preached against and did.

Edwards on the other hand was dirty / corrupt but funny, entertaining, and honest (he’d tell you what he was going to do - good or bad). Today Breaux, Treen, and Johnston or trying to get Edwards out of prison while others try to put Vitter in.

 

July 4, 2007

Last year on the 4 th of July we had more excitement than we might other wise expect. I was on the porch talking with George and Sheila. She walks in the house and George and I hear a crash. Sheila screams “the fan has fallen.” I roll my eyes and look at George thinking – “what’s all the excitement, so the globe came of the fan and broke.” We go into the dining room to find the entire fan – blades, globe, motor, etc. on the dining room table. If we had been sitting there someone would have been hurt badly. We clean up the mess, call the electrician, and thank God that we were on the porch.

This year I want less excitement. I go for my morning walk. I run into Bud and Sheila. Bud and I grew up together. Sheila is the missionary that adopted Bud as her social services project. She’s a great teacher and a better person. She’s done relatively well with Bud. We’re solving all the world’s problems while visiting behind Regions Bank on Main Street until Mr. Paul the Mayor of Main Street interrupts us to discuss tonight’s festivities. There’s going to be singing, fireworks, a parade, presentation of the colors, etc. I told Mr. Paul – “We’ll be there.”

After my walk I head to Simoneaud’s Grocery to pickup some ingredients for today’s lunch. Buster calls to invite us to the Judge’s house for their party. I tell them – “We’ll be there.” Even if we can’t stay we’ll swing by for a “to go” box.

As the day progresses I realize that the fireworks are going to be at our house not at Bouligny Plaza as planned. Independence Day this 4 th of July is not about celebrating the Independence declared over 200 years ago but rather about mourning the independence lost here in my own home.

Momma has been staying with us for about a month. She’s getting old (88) but can still fend for herself and enjoys – no demands independence. On Saturday she became disoriented but recovered her cognitive skills an hour later. On the 4 th she started the day in control but by noon she was no longer the Momma I’ve known.

Years ago in the book Tuesdays with Morrie – Morrie described “the last human dignity is the ability to wipe your own butt.” Suffice it to say that on this 4 th of July I learned that this is the meaning of Independence as well and when that is gone – remember what Janis Joplin said - “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” Momma, once so proud, so strong, so self sufficient in only 24 hours had become old, tired and dependent. It was not fun to watch. It was painful.

Momma’s given unselfishly to me for 88 years. I was tested for about 18 hours. I felt like Taffy. I was being pulled in all different directions at once. I knew what was needed and what had to be done. I did it. I don’t know if what hurt the most was the unpleasant nature of the tasks or realizing that Momma was no longer entitled the dignity that she had maintained her entire life. I also in this one day gained a new found respect for nurses, nurses aides, and caretakers. Happy 4 th!

 

July 5, 2007

One morning recently while I was visiting with Momma at the hospital a team of nurses and others came into change Momma’s linens, give her a bath and check her oil. I took this opportunity to walk to Bi-Lo – I needed something to eat and some exercise to keep my heart working. It was good to get away from everybody and everything. As I walked I had the freedom to reflect on the past, pray for the future, and speculate on tomorrow.

In Bi-Lo I run into Blaine. He’s a contemporary and something of a local celebrity. In his youth – he went both ways (no sexual connotations) – he could hang with the folks on poor side of town as well as those “across the bayou.” He knew the “hoods” and the “Peter High” crowd and everyone in between.

We stopped and talked about yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I reminded Blaine about his involvement in one of New Iberia’s most historical events and his contribution of “the understatement of a lifetime” at this event.

It was the fall of 1964. CHS had their homecoming dance scheduled and only CHS boys and Mt. Carmel girls could attend. Unfortunately one of the cheerleaders and a member of the homecoming court was dating a guy from Senior High. He couldn’t go and no one else had the courage to take her for fear of Leroy – the boyfriend and local pugilist celebrity. Finally Kenny volunteered to be her date.

After the dance the predicted confrontation occurred. What was not anticipated was the fact that Kenny beat Leroy. Since bragging rights on the town were at stake a rematch was demanded and agreed to. On the appointed night – the “Peter High” crowd and the Leroy’s gang met at Duck’s Driven Inn with plans to caravan to a to be designated sight for the battle of the century.

One of Leroy’s posse pulled into Duck’s with knives, guns, chains, and bats proudly displayed on the back seat of the car. Blaine being the only Ambassador in town that could work both sides of the Bayou – approached Leroy with the following admonition – “Leroy, if you kill somebody tonight you’re gonna get in trouble.” The stage was set but trouble didn’t make it. Mr. Duck – the proprietor threw Leroy and Kenny in his car and drove them to the Church rectory where cooler heads prevailed. The fight was cancelled and Kenny was named King of our world. Blaine and I walked out reminiscing about the stupidity of youth and testosterone.

My body walked up the Street but my mind remained in yesterday. Suddenly I realized that I was walking ¼ of the block that George and I had covered many, many times in one night nearly 40 years earlier. George was never a drinker and this was his bachelor party – he got drunk – very drunk. In order to sober him up, avoid the wrath of his dad, and have him ready for his wedding – I walked with him for hours. Eventually we made it to his house and finally to the church. He got married – even if he doesn’t remember it. Ah – the stupidity of youth.

 

July 6, 2007

As a young boy we’d make a trip to Baton Rouge 3 or 4 times a year. It was not the easy 1 ½ hour drive (some of my friends make it in an hour – I drive like an old maw maw) that it is today. In the pre Interstate Highway days we’d leave New Iberia heading west and drive through Broussard and Lafayette.

In Lafayette we negotiated surface streets (no four lanes, overpasses, or loops) until we linked with the Highway to Opelousas. Come to think of it a trip into Lafayette still requires negotiation of surface streets since there are no four lanes, overpasses, or loops. Driving in Lafayette is hell – except I’m assuming hell is a little nicer (except for the heat).

Once in Opelousas we’d turn East and head to Baton Rouge. As we’d get closer, our pleadings of “Are we there yet?” would be met with one of two canned responses. The first was “No!” The second was always a few miles out, when Momma would say, “We’re not there yet but you can see it from here. Start looking for the State Capitol Building.”

In a few more miles and minutes the Capitol would come into focus and then a short time later we could see the Huey P. Long Bridge. This was the gateway to Baton Rouge. A trip to BR was always a multi-sensory experience because in addition to seeing the Capitol, the bridge, and the big city we could also smell it. At the foot of the bridge was the Kaiser Aluminum plant and the accompanying odor. It was not pleasant but it was an unavoidable part of the trip.

Another certainty in this grand adventure was painters on the bridge. As Daddy would explain the maintenance of the Bridge was a constant process. The painters would chip, scrape, and brush away the rust on the Bridge and then repaint it. They would start on one end and work to the other. Once they completed this trip across the structure it was time to start again. I guess the weather, wear and tear, and the chemicals that were the basis for the smog and smell that is Baton Rouge created job security for the painters.

What got me thinking of the Bridge painters this early morning was Sheila’s gardens at the Warehouse. Our lot is about 100’ wide by 200’ deep. Probably 2/3 of this land is covered by building, or concrete slabs that were the floors of the building that were torn down and are now our driveway, or limestone parking areas that were used by delivery trucks to the buildings.

In the 18 months that we’ve lived here Sheila has converted every other bit of land to a flora wonderland. She has weeded, tilled, planted, weeded, mulched, edged, weeded, and loved the land and its flowers and plants. It is beautiful. As I picked up the morning papers on the street I could see the results of her efforts – I realized like the bridge painters she never stopped. When one project was complete she merely started another. It is beautiful and the smell is much more pleasant.

July 7, 2007

It’s Saturday and as is the tradition about 48 or so Saturdays each year – it’s Mary’s for coffee. With my travel and other commitments I’m probably lucky enough to make 40 or more of these events each year.

To the untrained eye – each Saturday visit would be the same. A bunch of folks start walking in starting at about 9:30. The first in grabs a cup of coffee and the power seat of their choosing in the den / sunroom. As the wave of visitors enter the power seat entitles you to insult, attack, or greet the later arrivals. Crowd size will differ from one or two to twelve to twenty depending upon fate, other activities in town, the golfer’s schedule and the alignment of the planets.

Today a small crowd was expected because T-Model has moved, George was in Texas, Buster was playing golf, Johnny was to join him and summer vacation typically takes it toll. Since more often than not guests bring food the smaller the crowd results in more limited options. Today however was to prove this theory wrong. When I wandered in I was greeted by Mary, fresh coffee, and a promise of banana bread (Mary’s traditional offering). Because of a malfunction in the new stove – Mary had outsourced the baking function to Sylvia.

A short time later Sylvia arrives with Mary’s bread and her own contribution of chicken salad and crackers. The Judge and Rob followed with their contribution to the altar of obesity - Hog Head Cheese. Hog head cheese is like pornography – to most folks it has no socially redeeming value to others it is an important part of life. All of us sat poised ready to trade a few days of health off the end of our lives in exchange for culinary delights in the immediate. None want to die healthy.

Suddenly Butsy and Marla arrive with their contribution to decadence – apple strudel and cheese and sausage biscuits. The crowd remained small so there was abundance. We attacked. We ravished. We came close to conquering. With a full stomach and a satisfied soul I relaxed and observed.

There were some great cooks in the room but Butsy is the king. His real name is Merlin and he’s man enough to back up such a challenging name. In high school, college, and I’m guessing during his pro football career he was known as he Loreauville Locomotive. He’s now a coach, husband, and father. He’s also a threat to anyone with a cholesterol problem.

Although he’s never shared his cooking / eating philosophy with me it’s apparent that he is a front for the local fat, butter, and sugar cartels. Butsy has learned that anything prepared with enough butter, fried in enough fat, or dipped in enough sugar will surely taste great. He’s a pragmatic man as well - he’ll eat what he cooks and he’s still walking around and in apparent good shape. Marla is Butsy’s trophy bride and in an unusual twist – his first bride. She’s a speech counselor in the school system and the keeper of the children – Ross and Katie. Life is good!

 

July 8, 2007

Today was life as it is – a mixture of good and bad. I started the morning with a sauna. I haven’t joined a health club or made renovations to our bathroom, I merely walked for about an hour in heat and humidity that is South Louisiana. I came home soaked and probably smelling like a wet dog.

Sheila and I spent the morning as Methodists. We went to the First United Methodist Church and enjoyed the service. Our primary purpose in addition to prayer was to visit with Reverend Scott and ask him to visit with Lela (Mimi) at our home soon. Mimi is in decline and can benefit greatly from the attention, prayers, and reassurance that only the Good Lord and his workers can provide.

The service this morning was unique – July at this church has a casual dress code. I’m a slob but I came near setting the standard for dress this Sunday. Scott was wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots instead of being “robed up” as is the norm. A visiting preacher provided the benediction and spoke of each of us serving as a provider of encouragement to all of us. He was inspiring.

For lunch we joined Brenda and Bobby at Le Petite Paris Café in St. Martinville. The setting was the same as the many times we’ve visited. The music was good and the company was great. Unfortunately the ownership of the restaurant has changed in recent months and the quality of the food was “not there.”

Bobby, Brenda, and I had the etouffee lunch. I found the flavor good but the rice was mushy and the quantity of crawfish limited. Sheila had a shrimp salad and it was poor in presentation and watching her eat it indicated to me that the taste wasn’t much better. We really liked this little place but our expectations weren’t met – I hope they improve.

Bobby was teasing Brenda about plants in her window boxes. Sheila lives in her yard and works daily with her plants. Brenda knows she has a yard and recognizes plant when she sees them. Bobby explained that Brenda had lost several plants (murdered them seems to harsh) in these window boxes because she forgets to water them. He joked about bringing in plastic flowers.

Following lunch Sheila and I made a quick stop at the Dollar Tree Store so Sheila could buy some plastic flowers. These were quickly arranged as we drove to Carmel Bend and Brenda’s house. I stayed in the get away car while Sheila quickly dispatched of the dying plants and replaced them with these “center pieces from a double wide” but “tacky flowers on Carmel Bend.” To supplement our gift you also left a purple and pink pinwheel that raised tacky to a new level.

As we drove to the hospital to visit with Momma we speculated on how long it would take the Shadow Bend Neighborhood Association to file a complaint with Bobby and Brenda. Momma didn’t look much better than the plants in Brenda’s window.

 

July 9, 2007

Right after I had returned from Mary’s for coffee on Saturday Richard called. He wanted to bring over some food for us. Our plight has become public – as volunteers operating a not for profit assisted living center we evoke much sympathetic support from our peers. I’m sure most people in most cultures reach out to their friends when there are needs. What makes us different here is that our friends cook so well. Comfort food is good – great tasting comfort food is better.

A few minutes later Richard shows up with a horse trough filled with Crawfish Fettuccine. Actually it was one of these disposal pans but it could have doubled for a horse trough. It was filled to the brim. Richard sat for a beer and entertained us with stories. Richard is an entertainer – not by training, education or experience. He’s a natural – a Roger Dangerfield character that will make you laugh and if you have any sensibilities or good taste, he’ll also make you mad.

I’ve known Richard since elementary school. He grew up about 4 blocks from the warehouse and 5 blocks from my Harriet Street home. My earliest memories of Richard were in the time we were Cub Scouts together. Momma was our Den mother and we’d meet at our home weekly. Richard was never the social butterfly – he was somewhat aloof. We finished high school together and if memory serves me correctly Richard was at USL for college for awhile.

I know he later transferred to Loyola in New Orleans. I can remember him being with George and I for the first Saints regular season game in the old Tulane Stadium – the then site of the Sugar Bowl. As an aside the Saints scored on the opening kickoff and the old stadium was rocking. The fans were talking of National Championship. In the subsequent 40 years the Saints and their fans have had one or two acceptable seasons and a great year in 2006. Wait till 2007.

At some point in the process Richard joined the Air Force and became a pilot. I believe and he has reinforced my beliefs that this was the happiest time in his life. I know while I was fighting the Vietnam War in Heidelberg Germany Richard was enjoying similar duty in England. I can’t remember if he eventually saw combat.

Richard has sort of a dark sense of humor. He’ll voice opinions, tell stories, and make jokes that will cause those that don’t know him some concern and those that know him might cringe. That’s the bad news – the good news is that you can put wine in him turn him lose with a group and he’ll have you in tears. Most of us have heard the stories before and will readily admit that some of these are even based in fact – the truth might not be exactly as Richard portrays it but it is close enough.

Mary is Richard’s guardian angel or his term filter. When she is around there is usually a more subdued or approaching political correct version of Richard. She is a good and devoted wife – a brave and patient soul. Come to think of it – what did she see in this guy? Richard – thanks for the food and laughs. Mary – just thanks!

 

July 10, 2007

It’s 4:00 a.m. I spent the night at the hospital with Momma. I slept on a torture rack that is alleged to be a lounge chair. My back feels like I slept on railroad tracks. My body feels like the train ran over me. Whoever sold the hospital those chairs should be sentenced to life in prison – sleeping on the chairs they sold. A steel rack without a mattress would have to be more comfortable.

Momma is doing pendulum. That’s not a new medication – it’s the best I can do to describe her condition. One moment Momma is alert and verbal – the next moment she merely stutters, stares and struggles. On second Momma is sleeping soundly and then seconds later she’s fighting sleep, the bed, and pain. Momma was never a swinger but here at this late stage she is – back and forth, back and forth.

Sheila and Lela visited Momma yesterday afternoon. Sheila came back depressed and frustrated. Sheila is very close to Momma and very devoted to her. Momma might have been better served with Sheila as her daughter and me as her son-in-law. Momma was shivering, cold, and limited in coherence during their visit. Momma spent some time on the phone with Miss Peggy and then couldn’t connect her thoughts with her words when Sheila asked what they had discussed.

Momma is 88 years old, tired, and worn. She’s been a good and faithful servant of her God and to her children. She’s a proud woman who has always been independent. Complaining is not in her vocabulary. Neither is dependency. Now as she lies in the bed with limited control of her body and mind and less control of her environment I know she can’t be happy. I hope her mind is dulled too much for introspection. I’m afraid it isn’t.

Uncle Booz and Momma were brother and sister and extremely close their entire life. I believe this is the result of the childhood they shared. When they were young their daddy was taken to Carville Louisiana and remained there the balance of his life. He had Hansen’s disease or leprosy. The social stigma accompanying this disease was probably more painful and damaging than the disease itself. The isolation from information, conversation, and traditional support systems resulting from the stigma not the disease created a bond that lasted a lifetime.

Uncle Booz told me that he would never go to a Nursing Home. When I asked how he could be so sure, he said simply “When I can’t live like I want to live I’ll just die.” At retirement Uncle Booz developed a lung condition. When the doctor told him that he’d be on oxygen the rest of his life, he said “Take me home.” A few nights later he went to sleep and never woke up.” I don’t think this was a coincidence – I believe he willed it.

I believe given the choice Momma will make the same decision. I feel she’s in the negotiation stages now. Father Charles visited last night. He offered the sacrament of the sick. Momma didn’t accept. She’s working out details. I pray.

 

July 11, 2007

Sheila has been aggressively encouraging (a.k.a. – nagging) me to concentrate on the “folks” when I write these updates. I’m about 200 days into this 365 page project and I will now focus more on the personalities that are my life. This is partly because most are fun and interesting and partly because I can find that many more exciting events to discuss in the fun capitol of Louisiana – New Iberia.

The challenge of this is to not repeat myself and the stories any more than I have already done. I know we only have one New Year’s, one 4 th of July, and one Easter so I haven’t been able to get confused on events (too badly) but with people I can’t remember who I’ve talked about or what I’ve said. The good news is that any one reading this is probably so dull, confused, or old – they won’t remember either or will be amused regardless how many times they hear the same old story.

Mr. Bubbie’s birthday was the 4 th of July. He was 90. He still lives alone and cares for himself. He’s relatively healthy and alert. I can’t decide if he chooses to live alone because he’s so independent or the thought of living with his oldest son still bothers him. He had to put up with Leon for 18 years in the beginning – why would he want to repeat that experience? I’m sorry I digress.

I wasn’t able to make Mr. Bubbie’s party on the 4 th because Momma was in a high maintenance stage. I had promised Leon that I would stop in and wish him a Happy Birthday as soon as I could. When I was walking on Saturday a.m. I saw the lights on in his kitchen so I knocked on the door. Mr. Bubbie greeted me with a firm handshake and a smile. We visited for a while. When I mentioned how good he looked he told me about the three stages of life.

He explained that stage one is teen age. Stage two is old age and stage three is “you’re looking good? Mr. Bubbie speaks volumes in support of having good genes. He smoked, drank, and has eaten Cajun Cooking all of his life and he’s still spry, healthy, and more independent than most of his contemporaries that lived right and much more relaxed than those “nannies” that tell us all how to live and what to do.

Mr. Bubbie is a veteran and was a banker. His father before him had the bank. Mr. Leon Sr. was even more “alive” that Mr. Leon Jr. (Bubbie). I can remember being amazed by the “old man.” We’d see him out on the town with young lady friends – today they’d be called “arm candy.” He lived and enjoyed the good life. About his relationships with women he’d say, “I like women that don’t yell, tell, or swell. What a man – today none of us have the courage to even say that!

Mr. Bubbie’s wife was “Miss” Irene. She was a fun loving and bold lady that would tell you what she thought. I remember when Leon and I roomed together at USL – she’d get upset with him but still bring goodies to me. Together they raised 4 children that they could be proud of – some more proud than others!

 

July 12, 2007

As I walked into the Hospital I spotted Mary. She was going in I assumed to visit with her mother who is at an age where trips to the hospital or not uncommon. WE asked each other why we wert there – Momma for me and Bob for her. Bob is her husband or maybe more correctly her cross.

Guessing – I’d assume they’ve been married about 40 years. Again my memory is not what it used to be. I remember the motto for the United Negro College Fund – “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” I don’t think I’ve wasted mine but it certainly is approaching worn out. Mary is calm, collected, and patient. I don’t know if that is how she has always been or if it is the result of medications prescribed for anyone with frequent contact with Bob or if it is because of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) that would also be a legitimate response from life with Bob.

Bob is animated – if he were a cartoon character he’d be some combination of Dennis the Menace, the Tasmanian Devil, the Road Runner and any character that spent more time getting in trouble and trying (often successfully) to get out of trouble. Under pressure – Bob becomes a fast talking and smooth. Some believe he could teach “Slick Willie” a few lessons in manipulation of the English language or redirecting people with the use of the English language. The fact that Bob is alive today is clear and convincing evidence that he is good at his craft.

Bob is in the hospital for knee repairs. I’m assuming the damage was caused more by crawling out of tight spots and honky tonks than from over use at Church. Bob however I’m guessing has been forced to fall to his knees in prayer in some of the tighter spots when his own verbal skills have been exhausted and trouble still looms directly ahead. I can hear him now, “Lord if you’ll let me out of this – I’ll never…”

Sometimes separating fact from fiction is difficult when you’re dealing with a legend in any field. When the field is mischief it becomes more difficult. What follows are great examples of what Bob is capable of… I heard of one time at a pre-game party in Baton Rouge, Bob cranked up the lawn mower and rolled it into a party in a college apartment. Considering the color and length of the shag carpet and the housekeeping in the place – he probably did substantial improvements.

Another time Bob and one of his closest friends were found passed out on a table in Bob’s Bar. When they finally awoke and could respond to questions they explained a trip to the Pub in Abbeville and the return trip. (Kids – don’t try this at home.) Because both were impaired and seeing double – they each held the steering wheel with one hand, closed one eye, and for safety’s sake opened the driver’s door so they could see the stripe in the middle of the road. Remember God takes care of old women and drunks – he’s worked hard with Bob.

Bob’s greatest feat however was not as a perpetrator but rather as the victim. One night Bob was glued into a chair at LaFonda’s in Lafayette. I’ll explain later.

 

July 13, 2007

About 11:00 I started getting hungry and needed a place to eat and some entertainment during my meal. I made a couple of calls and all my heroes, mentors, and peers with personality (that sort of an oxymoron) were busy so I decided for a poor second alternative.

I called Vicki to see how her husband, __________ was doing. He’s the friend who tried to intimidate or blackmail me into better coverage in this Journal and for that most grievous sin he’s been banned for life from this Journal. __________ had his hip replaced (sort of) and is now recovering at home. If you want more details call me I’ll give you his number and you can call him. He’ll give you every detail and more. Suffice it to say – he survived the surgery and is getting better.

Vicki suggested I call him and assured me that he’d love the company and the free lunch even more. I lived with ____________ in college and I’ve known he was never above taking a free handout. Like Bob I could tell stories that would give you insight into this character but out of respect for his wife and children, I won’t.

I called – got his order and headed to Bon Creole Restaurant. About 11:15 I arrived and panicked. The parking lot was full and we were nearly an hour away from the rush. I had forgotten today was Friday – the big fish day for all good Catholics. Church rules changed decades ago – allowing Catholics to eat meat on Friday – but tradition is hard to break and most of us still seek out fish on Friday. Also down here fish is always good. ______________ wanted a half Shrimp po boy and I got the grilled shrimp salad.

I got in line (about # 7) as soon as I got there – delaying mother nature’s call so that I could make my order. After the order was placed I spent the needed time in the restroom only to exit and find about 25 people in line – the rush had begun. A minute later a group of kids walked in – some group that looked really hungry. I’m not going to say the line got long but it covered two different Zip Code zones.

It is difficult to explain Bon Creole, their processes and product but trust me when I say this place is a food / calorie producing and money making machine. The food is always good, portions abundant (bordering on absurd), and prices reasonable. The po boys are about 3 feet long with the half po boy being about 2 feet. On that they place a jar of mayonnaise, a head of lettuce, three tomatoes and a full trawl net of Shrimp. The cost for this half loaf is about $6.00. The salads, seafood baskets, and soups are even more abundant in their excess.

Interrupting the process were folks that had called in an order for their office. These individuals would back their trucks to the door – load several boxes and bags of food and then leave to bring ecstasy to their fellow workers. One 90 something year old lady in a wheel chair was there for lunch. She looked like this might be her last meal. What a way to go! Oh if you must know ____________ is doing well!

 

July 14, 2007

Each morning I read the newspaper. In this daily ritual is a scanning of the obituaries to be certain that I’m not gone. No sense getting up early to make more money if I won’t get to spend it. Occasionally I’ll spot a friend – someone important in my history and I must stop – mourn the loss, reminisce about their contribution to my world and celebrate the good times shared. Yesterday I lost not a friend but a part of my history. It was sad to hear of the change but delightful to remember the happy days. I sent out the following to others that had been Jetsteppers! `

What follows will have no significance too many of you and some will actually be oblivious to this past and present circumstance but I'm using this list to announce a most important historical fact anyway - to a few
others this will be a moment to reflect on the "happy days" of yesterday and some of our greatest success as a group...

With deep regret I must announce that today's Daily Advertiser (page 1C) headlines include Kaplan ends 90 years of history. This means that the Bastille Day festival and accompanying softball tournament are no more. In the more innocent times of yesteryear the Kaplan Bastille Day Softball Tournament was the one event that was OWNED by the Pelican Aviation Jetsteppers. In the world of beer drinking – the Jetsteppers Ruled!

We were able in a few short years to establish a dynasty of athleticism that probably prevails to this day. The Jetsteppers as first time competitors became the Beer Drinking Champions of that tournament and never relinquished our title during our years of active participation. I suspect to this day records we established on that field of honor remain as benchmarks for the youth of Kaplan and all of Acadiana.

I suspect some young Guidry, Boudreaux, Comeaux, etc. athletic, drunk, wannabes still lay in clover under a blue sky in an open field of dreams and visualizes himself or maybe even herself proudly bedecked in a red
Jetstepper jersey standing next to the greats of the past - LaSalle, Angers, Beaullieu, etc. - shoulder to shoulder at the beer tent buying and drinking one for the team. They picture themselves on the pitchers mound holding the Beer Drinking Trophy above their heads and knowing that soon the other drunks - I mean Jetsteppers - will dog pile on them to celebrate another victory - a dynasty.

The loss of this event is a cultural tragedy - the good news is that we can all now rest knowing that no young tattooed, hippie, sagging pants, pierced, freaks will ever unseat us as the KINGS of Bastille Day!! To those of you that remember this past (or anything else) I encourage you to wipe the tears from your eyes and tonight as you get ready for bed about 7:30 have a beer for the Jetsteppers and the glory that was yesterday!

 

July 15, 2007

To save time in your reading of this update and to be assured that you don’t waste my time and yours let me start with the following (this may take time since I’m typing [I mean word processing] with one hand on the Bible) – “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God!” This is the truth as I know it or as legend has it. You can believe it or a close facsimile there of! Before we start, go back and read the update on Bob one more time (July 13, 2007).

There is a restaurant on Johnston Street in Lafayette that is one of the anchors of polite society in Acadiana. Here they serve great Mexican food, steaks to die for, and Margarita’s to die from. I can’t attest to the quality and kick of the Margaritas but Brenda, Sheila, and others can. Johnny’s daddy – Putsy was a regular there and Johnny has proudly followed in his footsteps. Johnny, Bob, and Charlie were regulars. (Please note the word – WERE.)

Much of the trouble Bob has had in the past was the direct result of his impulsive nature – the night to be described however was not his fault (directly) and was not the result of impulsive behavior but was directly tied to a well planned conspiracy.

Something had happened in the recent past or some aggregation of aggravation had prompted Johnny and Charlie to get even and tonight was the night.

I’ll try to describe the facts as I know them with the objectivity of a police report. I don’t know if one was written but certainly one should have been. Drinking was involved as well as the collective mental instability of the group. Bob went to the bathroom probably to make room for another round – Johnny and Charlie went into action. As a pest control guy Charlie had access to Chemicals – for Chemical Warfare. He had snuck a can of Roach or Rat Glue into the restaurant.

While Bob is emptying his bladder in the can – Johnny and Charlie or emptying their can onto Bob’s Chair. Bob innocently (for once in his life) returns to his chair and sits down. He feels the moisture, texture, and “give” of the glue under his seat. He touches the chair to determine the problem and discovers that he is a captive – permanently attached to his chair.

Suffice it to say there is not space in this update, words in the language, or energy in this writer to adequately capture the chaos that followed. I would have loved to have been there – not as a patron of the place but as an observer of the near riot that ensued. Bob was escorted from the restaurant. This was not an easy task since his pants and rear were permanently affixed to the chair.

Charlie, Johnny and the other members of their group (a.k.a. – terrorist cell) were being shown the door. As they walked out the glue that now covered the restaurant, its guests, and staff was causing much amusement to a limited few, angst to many, and anger to most. Many years earlier Johnny had been barred for life from Duck’s – tonight as a repeat offender – the ban was imposed again.

 

July 16, 2007

Big news around the country was the date July 7, 2007 (7 / 7 / 07). This was hyped to be the luckiest day of the millennium. One of the businesses capitalizing on this idea was the folks at WalMart. They provided fully funded weddings and receptions to a lucky few chosen at random. As fate would have it one of these couples was from New Iberia.

If this event was big news throughout the country it was really big news here in God’s country. I did not follow this excitement but as you spend an evening working through the Daily Iberian you couldn’t help but be informed.

I grew up with Ozzie and Harriet and I Love Lucy. Families were traditional (maybe dingy but traditional). As Momma used to say – “don’t put your business on the street” and “fools names fools faces always seen in public places.”

I’m aware and amazed by the public display of private that is the Jerry Springer world that exists today. Many years ago I think it was Andy Warhol that defined “the 15 minutes of fame” each of us will have, get, lust for, etc. I don’t think he had a clue as to the “look at me obsession” in America today.

In the good old days white shoe polish was used to shine shoes and for the only occasion that warranted a use other than shoes – a Wedding. Today the same white shoe polish is used as a public relations department in a bottle for anybody that wants to celebrate anything.

Weddings though far more rare today still create a legitimate reason for breaking out the shoe polish. Of course in yesteryear weddings and the drunks they attracted used the wedding and the whiskey as an excuse to be a “little edgy” and maybe even obscene in public pronouncements about the bride, groom, and honeymoon to follow. Hot Springs tonight! and 7 days make a hole weak were about as obnoxious as it got. Today we as a culture are shock proof.

I’ve seen Birthdays announced. Specific age benchmarks celebrated – sweet 16, 18, etc. There are memorials and sometimes near eulogies to deceased family and friends become permanent fixtures on the back windows of cars.

Of course in the sports obsessed world of today we can also celebrate and support our favorite team as we trek to their next game. Geaux Tigers! Roll Tide! Even the Saints in their unbelievable 2006 season created a run on white shoe polish in New Orleans. Add to this the little leaguers, soccer teams, and Pop Warner football clubs and on any Saturday you’re sure to see a team, a bunch of names and numbers all announcing their greatness, hope or success.

Today I saw the ultimate in self promotion – on the rear window of a truck - Kimberly Maid of Honor for Billy and Kim – 07 / 07 / 07. Self importance declared.

 

July 17, 2007

About 20 yards past the intersection of Iberia Street and Main Street in downtown New Iberia is Victors Cafeteria. I’m certain I’ve mentioned this place before and will probably discuss it again. It’s a main stay in the economy and social whirl that is New Iberia. This place has been around for as long as I can remember. The food’s good, the location great and social opportunities the best.

If you visit here enough you’ll have the opportunity to meet the movers and shakers of this community. I don’t mean the exciting people - I mean those with gastric distress and maybe early onset nervous conditions. Seriously it’s an interesting place. Victor the place and Victor the man have a few reasons to celebrate – this is the location where Dave Robicheaux eats, the breakfast club meets, and the only place in this parish where the Dallas Texans are celebrated. (I think Victor is kin to one of the owners.)

The balance of today’s observational will be devoted to the Breakfast Club. The cafeteria opens officially at 6:00 a.m. but much earlier than that you can see old guys limping, walking, or dragging in to await the first fresh pot of coffee, the eggs, grits, bacon, etc. In the back left hand corner of the place a collection of tables form a gathering area that King Arthur would have been proud off if his group had been called the “Knights of the Rectangle Table.”

The wall nearest the table is adorned with pictures of most of the members of this most August group. Just so visitors can be certain the living and the dead are displayed on different poster boards. Merely observing the members of the club at the table does not provide sufficient evidence to be certain of anyone’s medical condition. There are tall ones, short ones, fat ones and one skinny one – the only common denominator is old – either the individual is old, acts old, feels old, or is soon to be old.

This group does not gather simultaneously but more or less makes assemblage a process. In terms of “being there” it is best to be first and last. If you are first no one can insult you when you walk in and if you’re last you enjoy the same immunity – no one can insult you when you walk out. Everyone else is fair game.

The typical meeting includes exaggeration, hyperbole, rumor, jokes, attempts at legitimate conversation, senior moments, and folks at adjoining tables trying to keep their kids for pointing and staring and asking “What’s wrong with those old guys at that table?”

In the name of truth in advertising I must admit that there are a few younger folks that sit in on occasion – sort of “old farts in waiting.” Occasionally (usually Fridays) wives and children even sit in. Two things are amazing about this – the feminists burned their bras and marched in the street for equality – I’m sure this isn’t what they hoped for and why would a Momma expose her kids to this?

 

July 18, 2007

Sheila and I were walking the other day and ran into Mr. Paul or more correctly the distinguished Mayor of Main Street. If you don’t believe that New Iberia has a Mayor for Main Street just ask for one of his cards. Carefully compare the logo on his card with the city’s website and you’ll see that these match. He’s the real thing.

Mr. Paul was anointed by acclimation as the Mayor of Main Street during the previous administration. Although the current Mayor Hilda may have been suspect of his loyalties to the prior administration she’s allowed him to continue in this most valuable role. He handles the job with great flair and much dedication. I don’t believe he can be unseated and no one is talking of term limits.

The newspaper included an ad that recently announced Mr. Paul’s 80 th birthday. I’ve known him for about 54 of my 59 years. He was the leader of the Boy Scouts in New Iberia for as far back as anyone can remember and in that role he was known by all the Cub Scouts as well. Community service is Mr. Paul’s Avocation – his Flower Shop is his vocation.

Mr. Paul was also known to me as the Uncle of Dickie, Ruel, Johnny, T-Pierre and countless other contemporaries. Mr. Paul was one of 10 (I think) children and most of his sibling chose to raise big families as well. Mr. Paul never married and never had children. This might explain why he looks so good, enjoys life, and is still so active at 80. He still likes “kids” as well. Sometimes these aren’t traits that parents retain after the process is complete.

I’ve watched Noah (grandson of Vicki and _____________) rush over to Mr. Paul at his place of honor in Victor’s so that they can have a spin the quarter contest. The ritual begins with Noah baiting Mr. Paul with the challenge on quality of spin. After some back and forth banter Mr. Paul will pull a quarter out of his pocket or beg one of one of his unsuspecting constituents and begin the competition. Although it appears to me that Mr. Paul has been classically schooled and well experienced in the fine art of quarter spin, Noah always wins.

On this day however our visit with Mr. Paul was behind his shop in the Regions Bank parking lot. He offered Sheila another palm. He had given her a few earlier in the summer. This was just a ploy – much as he does with Noah – to get Sheila over to his place and unload what she and he call treasures on her. My discerning and cynical eye might describe this more as have dead plants and junk.

In his business I’m sure Mr. Paul couldn’t sell the floral “finds” Sheila has me load in our car. Sheila will rehabilitate these survivors of the flower shop wars and in a few months have them standing tall and looking good. We also inherited an old wooden (real old) military foot locker. Sheila will rehabilitate this antique and someday fill it with some that she prizes and I criticizes (it rhymes). Mr. Paul and Sheila are one of a kind – someday she maybe the new Mayor of Main Street.

 

July 19, 2007

In college Possum, Tiny, Bobby, Lee, etc. often referred to me as “Mr. Excitement.” It was this group of unique visionaries that saw beneath the surface of the apparent shy, insecure, traumatized youth of that day and recognized the dynamic personality, charm, intellect, good looks, athletic poweress, etc. that would become your humble correspondent. Some people just have a sixth sense like that and can see greatness even in advance of it being exposed to the unwashed masses.

I could go on and on but I’m sure you understand. In the name of truth in advertising and integrity in journalism (oxymoron?) I must say that others thought these guys were just being sarcastic and were making fun of me. Think what you will; I choose to believe in them and their sincerity.

In my mind there were others at least equally exciting and on occasion maybe some even “cooler” – more dynamic, and if I must admit more self assured. Back then I would even in the dark recesses of my mind attempt to compare myself to some of these folks. I remember certain “jocks” – George, A. J., Michael, Gerald, etc. – student leaders – Gene, Ted, etc., “frat rats”- Cool Man, Eddie, Hampton, bar owners – Ken, Pete, Preston, etc., bar flies / party animals – all of us, and crazies – Johnny, Bob, Johnny, Hampton, etc.

The three above paragraphs and the memories that created them only surfaced in my mind today because Dan and I spoke and agreed to have lunch at Uncle Pete’s. Pete and his brother Preston were occasional students, “frat rats,” part-time bar flies / party animals, and full time bar owners. They like Tiny, Poncho, Chip, and others, learned their craft at the side of Ken. Ken was the owner of the Keg – the place on campus in the mid to late 1960s.

In its hay day or to hear some more enlightened parents, administrators and others – “the darkest days” USL was nationally recognized as a Party School. I don’t know if Party Schools are good or bad but the reality is it was a fun time to be on campus or more correctly off campus. Ken and the Keg put Budweiser and its distributor in Lafayette on the map. We sold (I worked there) and drank a lot of beer. At 25 cents a draft Budweiser made Ken a rich man.

As I walked into Uncle Pete’s the only resemblance to yesteryear was the name, the lighting, and the license. Uncle Pete’s of my youth was a dark, smelly (though we didn’t notice or care about the smell), honky tonk. There were beer, pool tables, pin ball machines, a juke box, and friends. It was a place where the “in-crowd” gathered to show off – our skills drinking, partying, pool shooting, hustling, etc. It was a “run way” for the display of cool.

Today Uncle Pete’s has aged. It’s still a dark bar and has a license but at lunch – it was filled with tea drinking old men who looked as if they partied too hard in their youth and that was many, many decades ago. What happened to Mr. Excitement?

 

July 20, 2007

Beth called yesterday – we hadn’t talked in months. We agreed that we were long overdue for lunch and committed to a meal today. We chose Chris’ Po Boys in Lafayette for our rendezvous. It’s a place we had visited before.

Beth is a dear friend and one of my heroes. She and Brenda occupy a special place in my heart and are two folks that speak volumes to the concept of making lemonade out of life’s lemons. They are winners over adversity.

My friendship with Beth, like Brenda, started in the context of her husband. David and Beth were married about 1975 – Tim and Brenda in about 1967. They were couples that Sheila and I would see at parties or as part of a group a few times a year. Tim and David had been life long friends.

Tim died in January of 1987 and left Brenda with 5 kids to raise. David was murdered in 1994 and Beth had to be Momma and Daddy for 3 little ones. Both rose to the challenge and handled their “lot” in life with as much dignity, courage, and conviction as anyone possibly could – don’t believe me – look at their “kids.”

Beth and I grew much closer after David died. I can only interpret my half of the relationship but I’m guessing Beth needed some comfort, a safe ear, and an occasional laugh. I always tried to provide these. I needed to honor my friend David and be available to his loved ones and more importantly I needed inspiration - a role model to make it easier for me to face the lesser challenges that life sent me.

Once I got to know Beth well – I was intrigued by her the person more than her as David’s widow or the mother of Katie, Zach, and Adam. Beth also has evolved from the Momma in service to a professional with much more depth of talent and experience than most here or elsewhere might ever realize.

Beth always had a fascination with health and healing – in the context of people as a consolidation of mind, body, and spirit. Though she had studied the topics of nutrition, healing, communications, and energy work while David was alive - her real growth and development occurred after he was gone. In Portland, what Beth does and who she is as a professional would be easy to define – here her knowledge is described by locals as more “woo woo” or “that alternative medicine stuff.”

I personally believed in that “stuff” before Beth and I ever engaged in conversation about it but her knowledge, ability to communicate, and confidence in herself and what she did further convinced me of the rightness of my beliefs. When I hurt so much with a bad hip – her energy work would give me welcomed relief.

Beth like Brenda – faced hardship with dignity and eventually was rewarded with a second love in her life. Steve, facing a death sentence sought information on Alternative Medicine and instead found love and healing in Beth – lucky Steve.

July 21, 2007

Last night we had the porch party – a small but interesting group that kept each other entertained and me a little anxious early in the evening. Understand – it’s only my friends that come to the Porch and I love each and every one of them – as they are not as I or others might like them to be.

The challenge is that some folks that don’t know these individuals as well as I do might judge them on some criteria that I don’t feel is important or may judge them on what they say or do versus who they really are. You see, some of these folks maybe on the outside are a little less cultured, caring, or sophisticated than I know they really are on the inside.

For example – Johnny to those of us who know him well is probably one of the smartest, kindest, most caring souls God ever put on this planet. He would do anything he could for anyone who really needed it and would not expect anything in return – especially acknowledgement for what he did.

The problem is – to the untrained eye he may appear to be a racist, chauvinist, hick, that is mean, opinionated, and rude. That’s the outside – the above paragraph is the inside. The regulars on the Porch accept each other as we are not as others would want us to be. The newcomers to the Porch need to be protected from their own good taste and common sense so that they don’t turn off to lovable, fuzz balls like Johnny until they get to know the real person – to feel the love that is Johnny.

Last night – Becky, her daughter Lauren, and her friend Liz finally made it to the porch. Becky had been promising to join us for months. Becky is a recent widow – her husband and my very good friend Steve died in November. In early September he was the picture of health. A belly ache, an MRI, and a diagnosis of pancreatic and liver cancer turned their idyllic world on its head and left her a widow 2 months later. Life is good but it’s not always fair. Becky and her children will do fine.

Becky, Lauren, and Liz are good people with high expectations for others – I know and respect this. I know if they watched a video my friends – porch regulars performing their shtick they might not be amused – but if they first got to know them – they’d laugh at the performance that will eventually be staged. My job is to keep them in the theater long enough to embrace the performers.

So in advance of the arrival of our visitors from afar – I quietly counselled Johnny, Richard, and Charlie – DON’T FORGET THEIR WILL BE SOME LADIES HERE THAT DON’T KNOW AND WON’T UNDERSTAND YOU SO SHUT UP FOR A LITTLE WHILE AND LET THEM GET COMFORTABLE BEFORE YOU SCREAM, BELCH, CURSE, THROW FOOD, ETC.

Once that is done – I attempt to get the new guests more loaded than the old friends so they can be more accepting of the obnoxious behavior that might occur.

July 22, 2007

Friday night Charlie drafted me to join him at Bobby and Jan’s house on Saturday morning. He needed a little help there.

Charlie is a bon vivant outdoorsman, cook, nature lover, and free spirit that is assuring his wife Marlene a prime spot in heaven. Charlie is a fun guy to visit with but I don’t think I’d want to live with him. In fact Friday I mentioned to Marlene that Charlie cooks so well and is so handy fixing things that if he was easier to look at I might marry him. She called my bluff by saying – she’d let him go but she had a no return policy.

About 8:00 I went into the convection oven that is morning in late July in Louisiana. I walked from the warehouse to Jan and Bobby’s new house. It’s about 2 miles – I arrived a few minutes early, wet with sweat and ready to face the challenge presented. I assumed Charlie needed advice on how to wire the house or install the plumbing or fix the garage door. I was sure it was my natural mechanical talents and engineering wisdom that was in demand.

About 8:30 Charlie and Bobby pulled up in Charlie’s truck. Leon arrived on his bicycle seconds later. We continued our exaggeration and banter that was Friday night’s conversation for a few more minutes and then Charlie said – “here’s what we need to do.” He pointed to his truck and a refinished bathtub that was in the back. It was an antique that have been restored to look new. The problem was it weighed “old.” In today’s world – materials are lighter. In the world of yesteryear – bathtubs were made of heavy stuff.

I looked at Leon, Bobby, and Charlie and reflected internally on my own physical condition – my heart sank. How in the devil were us old guys going to get that tub from the truck, up the steps and into the bathroom. There was the weight – the balance of a cumbersome appliance and the fact that from the four of us you couldn’t find enough working parts to build a respectable 45 year old invalid.

The good news is that our machismo overruled our physical condition and good sense and we attempted this task anyway. As we age we are prone to think more and work less so we did strategize the process. We first covered the holes in the ground between the truck and the steps. We place strategically mats that would assure us a soft landing if the tub started to win the tug of war with us. We also thought through the best map to the bathroom. We wanted to minimize our steps.

With all possible aspects of foreplay considered we finally commenced the act – we lifted in unison – and so slowly back the tub out of the truck. Each of us smiling, joking, and straining – but never letting our teammates see us sweat. Four turns – two set downs and three hernias and a ruptured disk later we shook hands, limped to the truck and headed home. I knew I had Ben Gay waiting for me at home – I bet the others had to go to the drug store for their own. The tub looks nice in its place.

 

July 23, 2007

Nancy had suggested that I go see Sicko. Nancy is the Chair of the NCNM Board – a liberal and a staunch critic of the insurance industry. She wanted my opinion or so she said – I think she really wanted me to confess the sins of the industry that has allowed me a career. She got my honest thoughts and feelings.

I struggled with objectivity during the watching of the movie and gathering my comments after. Since Health Care is an important part of all of our lives and a more important aspect as we grow older I believe we as individuals and as a society must take charge of our future and begin to transform our system into something better and sustainable.

Here’s my review of the movie – being as objective as I can be. Michael Moore is a very talented man – propaganda merchant that he is. He creates an interesting film on what could be a most boring subject. He paints his friends and their system with the colors of excellence, noble, and caring – his enemies are graffiti from the devil.

We do agree on one thing – that Michael from the left and this Michael from the right – OUR CURRENT SYSTEM IS BROKEN AND MUST BE ALLOWED TO COLLAPSE AND BUILT ANEW OR AT LEAST TRANSFORMED AS AND WHERE IT STANDS. Incremental change is no longer an option.

In my opinion, Michael captures the best in the Health Care systems in the rest of the world and the worst in ours. Then he compares the two. I don’t know all the facts and if Mr. Moore does – he doesn’t let them stand in the way of his story. I watch the reality of systems – there are more people trying to get into the U. S. for care than there are people leaving the U. S. to get care in France, England or Cuba.

To a high wire artist falling to their death – gravity is the devil. To the billions of us that stand comfortably on terra firm and don’t fall of the earth and into space – gravity is a very good thing. Michael uses emotional topics to undermine the feelings of the consumers of Health Care – the people that pay for the care and the people that use the care.

The reality – at present – employer based plans and individually purchased insurance policies are the method utilized for HC financing in our country. We can have any system we want but this is the only game in town at the moment. In such a spread of the risk model pre-existing conditions are a necessary evil – without this the system collapses. On this and other points Michael is effective in distortion but far removed from workable solutions. I’d welcome the chance to debate him in front of an objective audience. He’s talented but wrong.

Here’s the bottom line – our system is broken and a fix is too important to allow its restructuring to be left to lobbyist and legislators – we need to take control of our own health and the system – become involved – you’re a SICKO if you don’t!

July 24, 2007

On Sunday morning Sheila consented to join me in my walk. I think she knows how fabulous I look because of this regular exercise and she wants to keep up in this daily race to beauty and second she wants to make sure that there are no young groupies following me around as I complete this ritual offering to the exercise gods.

It was hot and humid. It was humid and hot. Both numbers – however you measure them had to be in the 90s. I had told Sheila about the bathtub experience on Saturday and how nice the house was looking so we decided to walk there. We headed up Weeks Street, down Main, across the Bridge at Indest and into Shadows Bend Subdivision. Bobby and Jan’s house is at the far end of the street entering the subdivision. It’s probably 90% complete.

When we arrived I found the hidden key to give us access to the place. We entered. It’s nice under construction and will be even more spectacular once it is complete. I was impressed. She was as well. The problem with Sheila is that she is a perfectionist – control freak. Why do you think of all the single men in Baton Rouge in 1973 she chose me? (It was her demand for perfect!) Why do you think after 32 years she’s still with me? It’s not the continued commitment to perfection – it’s the fact that I’m such “wuzzy” that I let her make every decision for me.

The above discussion about perfection and control is for a purpose – I’m trying to prepare Jan and Bobby for the fact that Sheila like their house a lot but she did have some criticism. In our 10 minute walk through of their home – she probably moved 2 doors, redesigned one room, changed the place of several appliances that aren’t there yet and based upon her assumptions second guessed 5 – 10 other decisions. Jan / Bobby she really liked it – this is just “her way.”

Upon our completion of the Martha Stewart home evaluation process we proceeded behind the subdivision and critiqued a stranger’s house. This home is huge and received modest praise. It’s only about 40% complete so it was more difficult to criticize. The owners whoever they are didn’t fare as well as Jan and Bobby.

Our next stop was at Bobby and Brenda’s lot as well as the lot they almost bought. We made the right decisions for them even though these are probably decisions they won’t follow. Some people just don’t listen. Finally as we left Shadows Bend we headed home instead of taking the longer walk that I usually pursue on Sunday. You see it was too hot and humid – God left the thermostat on high last night. We did stop at Food and Fun for water and to walk in air conditioning for a while.

As we headed towards Main Street I heard a horn – we turned to see a most welcome sight. Floyd in the Mayor’s car was rolling down the window to offer us a ride. We gladly accepted. His air conditioning was on high, Sheila could not find fault. As I read the proof of this to Sheila, she decided for that maybe I meant she was quite the controlling perfectionist I suggested. Sorry dear!

 

July 25, 2007

Sheila and I drove to Le Rosier for lunch yesterday. It’s a great restaurant in an older home directly across the street from the Shadows on the Teche. There lunch includes a good selection of reasonably priced food that is available in very few places and rarely if ever at such a value price. At night the food remains exceptional – the prices rise with the moon.

We were in a rush since we had a 1 o’clock meeting with the medical team at Iberia General Long Term Acute Care Hospital. Momma has been in the hospital about 10 days and we were due for an update on her condition and prognosis. The restaurant was more crowded than usual so we had to order something quick. Sheila ordered a soup dish – I think clam chowder. I had gumbo and a half of a sandwich. Mine was delicious and the way Sheila licked her bowl clean I’m assuming hers was good as well.

We debated about ordering dessert but good sense and too little time won out over our more decadent natures – maybe we bought one extra day on the end of our lives or maybe we’ll die a little healthier. We left the restaurant full of calories and entered the hospital filled with hope and anxiety.

Claire was there when we arrived and Johnny appeared a short time later. We were on time but as Sheila and Claire noted – the doctors weren’t. Johnny is laid back and Sheila and Claire have very high expectations for health care. Thirty minutes after our scheduled appointment their expectation were met and we were waltzed into a conference with the Doctor, a few nurses and one of every other kind of allied health professional on the planet. Seriously we were greeted and professionally treated to a lengthy discussion about Momma, her condition, and her prognosis.

Momma enjoys nearly iconic stature in New Iberia because from 1962 until it closed Momma was a teacher and the assistant principal at Mt. Carmel – the private Catholic girls’ school in New Iberia. There she touched many lives. Also her less than imposing physical structure (she stands about 4’ 5” in her bare feet) and her unflappable demeanor make her a memorable character.

Cut through all the niceties – they are doing what they can for her but she is also 88 years old and at some point in life things don’t work as well as they should and when parts break they can’t always be fixed and if they are fixed it’s more of a temporary repair than a permanent solution. The bottom line is that they hope to get her legs strong enough so that she can regain the independence of living at home.

I think we all left the meeting reasonably well satisfied with the care provided, comfortable with the concern of the staff, and hopeful in our hearts but doubtful in our brains that we will ever get Momma back to normal. I struggle with the uncertain of the inevitable that we all face and the ideal of a few more months of independence. I hope Momma makes all the tough calls that remain in her life.

 

July 26, 2007

Walk or drive through any neighborhood in New Iberia and street signs and billboards abound. Election day is only about 3 months away and the campaigning is in high gear. Qualifications haven’t begun but that’s never interfered before – everyone knows who is running and everyone running is campaigning like the vote is tomorrow.

The big buzz in Iberia parish right now however is all about politics but has nothing to do with elections – this is much bigger than that. There has been an investigation of potential corruption and / or malfeasance in the office of the Parish Council President (and maybe other offices as well) for a number of months.

Now the new wave of rumors indicates that a deal has been or is being done. Everyone who is anyone in the game of politics in this area (and remember politics is a very popular sport here) seems to know the “truth” and this truth always comes from “someone at the bank” or someone who knows. If you’re old enough to remember Woodward and Bernstein of Watergate fame – there is equivalent mystery and intrigue.

This morning I heard from a very good friend who is in the know and right more than he is wrong. His story came from “something said at the bank.” Supposedly the “authorities” finally got the Parish President’s (Will) assistant to go on tape and connect all the dots. Then they took the recording to Will and played it for him. Upon completion of the tape, the “authorities” allegedly explained to Will “how the cow ate the cabbage.”

My source told me that Will was told that he was going to resign, pay a $100,000.00 fine, plead guilty to a felony, and not serve any jail time. Is it true? Who knows? Who cares? The rumor is sufficient to keep tongues wagging and the hearts of political junkies beating fast for a few more days.

There are people in government that I know and trust. They don’t tell stories and don’t trade in rumors. I trust them for the same reason that I can’t get any information out of them. They are sworn to confidentiality and they don’t violate that most sacred trust. I called one of them and said here’s what’s on the street. This elected official thanked me for the information and then changed the subject. He knows and I know he knows and he knows that I know he knows but none of that matters. We both know and I respect that the facts will not come from his first. Why can’t we have such character in all of our elected officials?

The after shock and inevitable outcome of this scandal creates a new wave of excitement. Who will run now that Will can’t? (Great rumors are wonderful because you can start planning based upon the rumor and not have to wait for the facts.) You see a good government type might be able to beat an incumbent near conviction but once he’s gone all bets are off – a new crook might surface?

 

July 27, 2007

I bought a Motivational Wall Hanging this morning. It cost me $15.00 a letter. My wife thinks it’s ridiculous and overpriced. She’s a school teacher now retired. Hers was a world of lesson plans, tenure, benefits, and a consistent paycheck. I’m a recovering insurance agent and now a consultant. I’m an ENTREPRENEUR.

When I was an agent – I was employed. I had either a salary and / or commission. I had benefits. I had a job. I liked what I was doing and was blessed with many good bosses. In spite of these blessings – I felt confined and frustrated. On November 19, 1992 I resigned my job and the “security” it represented and jumped head first in to the world of Consulting. I have no regrets – occasional panic but no regrets.

In my opinion ENTREPRENEURS are the ADHD “children” of the business world. We for the most part can’t sit still, we don’t pay attention, and we want to do it our way. We’re the “hunters” of the economy and the rest of the business world is the gatherers. We must “kill” to eat. No “kill” – no eat. Did I mention panic attacks?

Rod was the first person that I told of my decision to go out on my own. He was a recovering Consultant. He said simply – “Mike, it’s the ultimate act of faith.” He was right. Whenever I’ve gotten to the bottom of the “cash flow” barrel, a dead end on my road to riches, another friend or colleague tells me that I am crazy or what I wanted to do is impossible – I retreat inside and remember – “have faith.”

Early on I was talking to another adrenalin junkie (a.k.a. – entrepreneur) and he talked about us needing to form a Support Group. I asked how would he qualify folks for membership – what was his definition of Entrepreneur? He thought for a moment and said, “Someone who must make payroll – for others or for themselves.”

I’ve used this definition often – it’s an accurate description of the function but I’m not sure it adequately explains the “risk” inherent in the role. The definition I prefer is “someone who performs without a net.” If you accept this description than you might also understand the following admonition – “Entrepreneurs can’t look down.” We must stay focused on our Vision and Goals - looking down means death.

This brings me full circle back to the issue of Motivation. I am a person who believes that there is no such thing as a Motivational Speaker even though I’ve been misdiagnosed as one on many occasions. Motivation can only come from within – I can’t change anyone. As part of my world, I do try to create an environment where others might choose to motivate themselves. Entrepreneurs must self motivate.

I buy motivational posters and wall hangings because I need something to help me when everyone else (though well intended) is telling me I’m wrong, crazy, or out of touch with reality. An entrepreneur is a lone wolf. The good news about paying $15.00 a letter for this wall hanging is that it only had 3 letters. The better news is that it captured in one word all the motivation I needed – the one word was - EAT!

 

July 28, 2007

While driving earlier today I heard a familiar tune on the radio but did not recognize the lyrics. Then I realized that I was listening to a broadcast in French or more correctly Cajun French. The song was one of my favorites – Amazing Grace. French music, news, weather, and farm reports have been a staple of broadcast journalism for as long as I can remember.

The same is true for the link between our faith and these same broadcast channels. As a young boy once a week a class from our school would go the Rectory for the recitation of the rosary that was broadcast on the radio. Sunday mass was and is still broadcast on several channels and you can still listen to certain broadcasts in French as well.

When Sheila and I were first married we visited David and Beth in Youngsville and thought we were listening to a French band only to discover later that their Cajun Accent was so thick that we just thought they were talking in French. I must confess that some whiskey might have distorted our hearing.

Once driving though Lafayette during the noon hour I heard a young lady providing the commodities report. I thought that she had an unusually thick accent because she said, “mais corn, mais, wheat, mais lima beans, etc.” It wasn’t until a few seconds later when she said “June corn, June wheat, June beans, etc.” that I realized she was talking in months not Cajun! I love this place.

I’m language impaired – I can handle the English language as well as the next Cajun but I have a mental block when it comes to other foreign languages. My most intimate friends know the history of my language struggles. I needed 4 semesters of foreign language to graduate in Liberal Arts from USL. It took me 12 semesters and a special dispensation from my Latin teacher to complete the process. I tried French, German, and Latin. My efforts in Latin required 10 attempts to pass 4.

I probably made it because I had had 4 semesters of Latin in High School. I hate to think what it would have required if I hadn’t been blessed with that preparation. Some of the students in the foreign language building thought I was a graduate or post graduate student because I had been there so long. I may have been the only student to ever be granted tenure in an academic discipline.

I had finished all of my degree requirements and still needed to complete Latin 201 and 202. It was at that point in my career (and the Draft breathing down my neck) that I decided to humble myself and beg my professor (Dr. Frederic) to help me with this dilemma. To his credit he did the honorable thing and helped me out (literally).

I have very few regrets in life but one is when given the opportunity to learn Cajun French I didn’t take advantage of it. Namam spoke primarily French and Mamam was conversant in French and English – it would have been so easy!

 

July 29, 2007

Life is good and getting better everyday. Friday night the TV commercial mentioned “back to school” and Sheila almost giddy said “I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” What a great loss to the system and the kids but what a gift to Sheila. Now the plants in our yard are the beneficiary of her talent and patience. As I walked outside to pick up the papers I noticed again how good the plants look.

For the past few weeks the local news and the daily papers present the foreplay to football season. About a month ago Coach Les Miles (LSU) mentioned something about the quality of the teams that USC competes against. It wasn’t that they needed to leave the Pop Warner League and play real teams but it was something close to that.

Add to that the mania created when Nick Saban accepted the job at Alabama (actually this continued the hysteria started when he left for the Dolphins) and the excitement now brewing as Nick and Les take pot shots at each other in press conferences, interviews, and media days. This reminds me of the days of my youth when professional wrestlers would slander each other in advance of entering and after exiting the ring. As the local prep for the season you’ll hear – “I’m making all the home games and we’re going to Alabama.”

The aforementioned items were sufficient to “stir the pot” of enthusiasm for another season but as it turns out these tidbits are mere appetizers in advance of what is to follow. This past week the Tigers were picked as preseason favorites to win the SEC – even to defeat defending National Champion Florida for the title. And many of the Tiger players are designated as preseason All American candidates.

Today’s Advocate does nothing to calm the “irrational exuberance” and introduce sanity to an enthusiasm that is starting to build. I notice that even a local dentist has been honored by one of his professional groups. This is not a misplaced sentence – his practice is called Tiger Dental (I don’t make this up and he is not a zoo or animal kingdom veterinarian – in LSU country he’s merely a wise marketer).

As I paging through the 7 pounds of flyers, pamphlets, and special sections that are part of any Sunday paper I see the ad for the “Big Boy Tiger Recliner.” This double wide lounge chair done tastefully in LSU purple and gold and proudly displaying the official Tiger Logo is a bargain at six hundred dollars and some change.

For the same $600 dollars you could take a Cajun family of 12 to one game on one night. Of course this same chair is large enough to seat your family of 12 for one game for one night in the comfort of your own home. Displayed next to the Big Boy is a full size sofa again tastefully appointed in purple and gold.

By now true fans are dreaming of spilling drinks, screaming, and flipping off the opponents + it’s been announced that Mike VI has been found! Geaux Tigers.

 

July 30, 2007

Yesterday was busy and fattening. Sundays in my world are rarely busy but often fattening. Even if we’re not going anywhere or doing anything they’re fattening because we usually aren’t busy and that leaves too much time to “pick.” If we’re busy – it is usually an indication of social activities and in South Louisiana social activities always (I started to say almost always but that would be wrong) involve food and drink. Sunday was no exception.

After reading my papers (the Iberian, the Advertiser, and the Advocate – the trifecta of intellectual stimulation) and taking my walk I got ready for Church. Father Green the new pastor at Sacred Heart does a good job. He mentioned his age during his sermon and I was shocked to discover only 7 years difference in our age. He looks good but what threw me off in the “guess the old guy’s age” contest was that he was a new priest in my home parish when I was still in high school.

After mass I ran by the hospital to check on Momma. She was sitting up in a wheel chair and eating her lunch. She and the lunch both looked good. I then ran to Subway as ordered by my wife to get her lunch and a little snack for myself.

At 3:00 Sheila and I drove to Lily’s house for a surprise party for Bud. Lily is Will’s widow. Will is the friend mentioned earlier that died on July 5, 2005 following a courageous battle with cancer (brain tumor). Bud is their son. Earlier in the week Bud completed Officer Candidate School – so now Bud is 2 nd Lieutenant Lindsay Roberts, Sir!

Bud was always a very quiet child and I think most of us wondered how he would do following the death of his dad. On the flip side Lily was always lively and friendly person – I think most of us wondered how she would do following the death of her husband. Lily faced additional challenges since she developed breast cancer during Will’s treatments and had to endure a double mastectomy + care for Will.

The good news is that both are doing fine. Lily has been in remission and has started to come out of the funk that is normal after the death of a loved one. Will was always a “take control / charge” sort of guy so Lily has really blossomed in the post Will world. Bud has done what every boy that goes through OCS does – enters a boy comes out a man. Bud had been grown up some in basic training (post Will) but OCS still scrapes off the remaining boy that lingers to a boy’s frame.

The party was delayed because the guest of honor did not arrive until about 5:30 – his flight had been delayed with weather problems. This was a small gathering of family and friends. There was beer, a little wine, and a lot of food. The crowd was small but many of the people were big – this is what happens when you have gatherings on a regular basis with lots of food, beer, and wine. When Bud stepped out of the car his face was the same, his smile contagious, his hair much shorter, his body now carved from stone, and his spirit full. Bud – I salute you!

 

July 31, 2007

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Leon, happy birthday to you. Now once again loud enough so he can hear us. Leon is near deaf – he has to wear hearing aids. In fact we discussed the possibility that when Leon would arrive we would merely mouth our words and see if we could drive him to distraction and force his to “tinker” with these same hearing aids. Since it was his birthday we decided to “make nice” and not do that.

Leon is now 60 – a benchmark of age that most never thought we’d make and now that we’re here we’re not sure how long we can hold this ground – from above it. Sixty is one of the benchmark ages that makes you realize someday you’ll have to hang on beneath the surface. The good news for Leon is that compared to his contemporaries at the party he didn’t look as old as he is. Anne his wife (much younger looking) and grandbaby (much, much younger) joined him.

Leon doesn’t look that good – it’s just that his contemporaries look that bad (present company excluded). Before you accuse me of exaggerating - there were even some funeral directors and buzzards across the street scouting the crowd for future prospects. The challenge for them will be – how well can they fix these folks up when the time comes. Whoever thought Leon would be the poster boy for aging.

There was a good crowd – with even more food and drinks. The drinks were conventional – beer, beer, beer, and for those few with problems with beer there were cold drinks and water. Most of society would think that the folks there all had a problem with beer – for Cajun folks beer is never a problem.

The food was conventional as well – the reality is that conventional food in New Iberia is always exceptional. The main course was going to be Bar-B-Q. I didn’t stay for the final call to the trough because of other commitments but I can promise you it was going to be plentiful and delicious. In terms of appetizers the sausage was fabulous when compared to what most folks eat – it didn’t even register on the culinary scale when compared to my favorite dish du jour – the crawfish pies (pastry shells filled with cheese, crawfish, and other health foods – I certainly felt better after I ate them).

Right before I left Mr. Bubbie (Leon’s dad) arrived. He turned 90 on the 4 th of July. As mentioned earlier in this Journal he still “looks great” (the final stage of life) and provided clear and convincing evidence that Leon will probably outlast us all.

During his lifetime Mr. Bubbie and Leon’s momma – Miss Irene – spoiled that boy. They gave him more than he needed and certainly much more than he deserved. What most of us fail to realize is that his greatest gift has gone unrecognized – his DNA / genes. Leon can probably continue to live wrong for at least 30 more years while he handles the estate issues for his friends that try to quit smoking, eat right, and cut back on their drinking. Did I mention that life’s not fair?