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Chapter 8

August 1, 2007

Although this might have been a great observational for July 4 th I didn’t think of it. An article in today’s Daily Advertiser triggered the memories that follow. I was watching the News on the 4 th and 5 th of July celebrating or bemoaning the defeat of the then Hot Dog Eating Champion. The names of the winner and loser escape me since I don’t follow this sport any more closely than I follow baseball. I think the winner ate 60 something dogs in 12 minutes. It seemed to me to be more of an accomplishment than the 4 minute mile, the 100 point basketball game, or the perfect game in baseball.

I do remember that the loser (but past Champion – sort of the Barry Bonds, Ali, or Shaq of Hot Dogs) didn’t look like he could hold that many of these delights even if you put them in a blender and he drank them. He appeared to be a smaller guy. The new Champion looked more the part of a big eater – a Super Star.

Like so much in sports today there was controversy. The story being leaked in the media was that the defending champion had jaw problems (sort of like the ham string of eaters). It’s sad that all competitive sports today are plagued with scandal. After watching a brief replay of the event I do think there are grounds to test both contestants for performance enhancing drugs. These guys are animals. I also think its unfair that Michael Vick is being brutalized for abuse of some 30 something dogs when the two finalist together completely devoured 4 times that many in less than 20 minutes. Life’s not fair. Where’s the justice?

I digress – today’s Advertiser announced the results of an unofficial survey on the best hot dog in Acadiana. There were 8 nominees but the part that I RELISH the most is that 3 are from New Iberia. I think an early update mentioned all of them – Steve’s, Viator’s, and Freezo! I guess I’m a great food critic, futurist, and reporter to have captured the obvious in advance of this breaking story in the Advertiser.

The hot dog is an American dietary staple and one of the major reasons that so many fat folks today are considering “staples” for their stomachs. Big guts and bigger BUNS are a serious health problem today. We need to all quit being WEENIES and face the facts. (Sorry I got ate up with the puns.)

My personal favorite hot dog was the Hot Sausage on a bun at Bob’s Bar in New Iberia. The most famous Hot Dog – I’m speculating is that provided to drunks and a few brave locals on the streets of New Orleans – The Lucky Dog. I’m bragging and name dropping but I know personally and can call friend the owner of this franchise that has done more for Tums sales than anyone else in America. Doug Talbot is a great guy and ironically an advocate for Health Care reform.

As a personal note – we were so poor growing up that we couldn’t afford real Hot Dogs. Daddy would take a couple of day old bun, put his finger on it, add mustard and slide it to us. Today I still like mustard on bread. We thought this was good!

 

August 2, 2007

Walking in New Iberia (and I suppose most small towns) is as much a social event as it is an acceptable form of exercise for guys and gals that can no longer jog, lift weights, or play tennis. I’m a waver, head nodder, and greeter. I had thought about it before but maybe when I’m put out to the old consultants pasture I could be a greeter at Wal-Mart. The one challenge is that I really don’t like Wal-Mart.

Walking most mornings I’ll see other folks similar to myself. Older, fatter, and worn folks trying to get a few more miles out of the bodies we inhabit before they are recalled to the factory for the last time. Usually on Weeks Street I’ll see one or two folks heading to Main Street (where the action is), an occasional bicyclist with groceries heading home, and a fellow pushing his lawn mower converted to a shopping cart with most of his worldly possessions. I’ve been blessed – I’ve got a big old warehouse to house what I own.

Once on Main – you see the cross section of society that is New Iberia. Real men joggers – some even wearing ARMY or Marine t-shirts doing this because they must stay in shape, a few sickos that jog for pleasure, and an occasional mother jogging behind a stroller trying to outrun the crying babies in front of her.

Another interesting phenomenon is the groups of joggers I often encounter. My experience indicates that joggers or either loners or joiners. Some folks always run alone – other only sweat in herds. I guess if I ever was in good enough condition to jog I’d have to be a loaner. This would be necessitated by two facts – one is that I’m too slow to keep up with others and the second reason is that I’ve never been coordinated enough to run and talk at the same time. I digress.

The other observation that is common during these exercise safaris that I endure most mornings is to watch the approaching last roll call for many World War II veterans. These guys are now all in their eighties – slowed to a limp and yet still marching at attention. They may be bent with age, arthritis, or injuries but they still maintain the military bearing drilled into them as youngsters and the courage that will not allow them to bend in submission.

Look in their face and you see the lines of experience, hardship, and loss that they all witnessed at D Day, on Iwo Jima, falling from aircraft into machine gun fire, or staying away from sharks circling their sinking vessels. Look into their eyes and you can nearly see the battlefields, hears the combat and the cries that reflect its cost, and smell the smoke and death of war.

This morning Mr. Otto (pronounced Oh Toe) was in front of his house and his now closed business. He had a two pump, two service bay Gulf Station on Weeks street. Now the shell houses a part-time notary and a chain saw sharpener. The building is in the same disrepair as is the landlord. We talk – he tells of his wife’s challenges with her health and then accepts bravely his own issues – he’s still strong and brave.

August 3, 2007

There is war and then there are war stories. The folks that saw and did the most show it in the lines of their face – those that didn’t tell the stories about what they heard, what might have been, or what they did when others were actually in combat. The warriors suffer silently – the story tellers celebrate loudly and though unspoken show respect of the plight and sacrifice of the warriors.

Tonight’s porch party was small but fun. Jan and Bobby (the house builders), Simone, Richard, George and Carol and their son Tommy and his wife Shannon, and their baby (and the first Gros grandbaby) Isabelle, David, ___________ and Vicki were in attendance.

With this small a group it is difficult to fill the evening since most jokes have been told and most fantasies of sexual powers have already been exploited so we ventured into the virgin territory of war stories.

Understand that Richard, Bobby, David, and your humble correspondent are veterans – I hesitate to say combat veterans or war heroes since many eventual readers of this are attorneys and sticklers for truth (that may be the first time [and last] that attorneys and truth will ever be used in a sentence in this journal).

George and _________ are vicarious veterans – their fathers were in the Big War and both saw substantial combat. Both through their experience and demeanor have earned the respect of their children and the contemporaries of their children. To restate – Kilroy and Geronimo scared the “bejeezus” out of all of us as children and even as adults – when they spoke we listened. Enough about real war and warriors – let’s get back to the stories of war – not the fighting of it.

Bobby was in the Navy, Richard the Air Force, and I was one of the last draftees into the Army. David has mentioned his service but like the majority of his life’s story – he is very reticent of his history. George and ____________ did suffer through the angst of the Draft. George was # 4 in the lottery and within weeks of getting married – he was not a happy camper and I’m guess Carol was less so.

_________________ on the other hand had a lottery number over 300. He approached the point of safety in terms of the Draft – healthy women would have to go first and then Vietnamese would have to be on Bayou Teche before he would be called up. I remember the night of the lottery __________ and his brother Johnny (also in the 300s) and their girlfriends along with George, Johnny (a recent returnee from Vietnam) and myself watched the drawing. The girlfriends cried because their “men” might be called up, George thought about joining the Air Force and I remained hopeful. With a 143 number my future remained uncertain.

Richard, David, Bobby, and I are today better people for having gone and the exaggerations we shared were much greater than any service we provided.

August 4, 2007

For part of the morning this Saturday it was Coffee at Buster’s. Mary was at a family meeting. Understand that a meeting of Mary and her family might parallel a few video clips of One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. For the record Mary is OK / normal - ___________ and Johnny were at various times my college roommates and if I chose to write a book about their escapades it would be a best seller – Rated X but a best seller. James and Eleanor Ann are somewhere in between Mary and the other end of the normalcy spectrum that are Johnny and _____________.

Miss Eleanor and Geronimo both died in the recent path and Mary and her siblings are now working through the process of life without them. There are business issues, estate issues, and memories and regrets that must be dealt with. It’s a process all of us will endure someday. They meet periodically – most typically on Saturday mornings.

The good news is that even when Mary must be away – we can still have coffee at her place. Buster often is absent from coffee since he has an obsession with golf and many times will be absent from the coffee gatherings to pursue excellence in his passion – I’m sure Tiger Woods doesn’t suffer the game any more than Buster.

Understand that on any morning at Mary’s the conversations are unrestrained and certainly uncensored. In a two hour session the attendees can offend or celebrate any political party, ethnic or racial group, religion or specific preacher, and even folks with physical or emotional problems. This gathering is not for the weak, wise, or worried – this is life unencumbered.

This Saturday without Mary in attendance initially and without the adult supervision she provides the group ran amok. I can’t even remember how the conversation was directed to the sins of our past but it was fun. I’d was going to frame this in the context of the X Commandments or the 7 Deadly sins but I’m not certain where the issue of gambling would be positioned in these benchmarks of behavior. Suffice it to say – that once in our misspent you many of the Coffee Club members were devotees of and donors to the world of Sports Betting.

The good news is that all survived their failed attempts to gain wealth and fame by predicting winners of College Football games. Now since some wives may read this historical document I will create aliases for member of the group. Red bragged about his success by picking Ivy League schools. The reasoning behind this model was the lack of talent and competition in that league – so a dominant team could always beat the spread.

Fulton and Jimmy Dale had a method where each would pick 10 winners – if they matched up on any of the games they’d change their bet knowing that both of them could never get it right. Crow and Goo Goo celebrated the volume of money lost. All envied the money accumulated by keeper of the cards at the Sports Center.

August 5, 2007

Politics is the art of compromise as described in Political Science 101 and the ugliest of games as it has evolved in the 21 st Century. Politics is the obsession of the free state of Louisiana and our addiction to it and the Banana Republic that has evolved because of it is the reason that we are where we are in National rankings.

Now that the rumors of corruption, investigation, and compromise are unfolding in the pages of the Daily Iberian – New Iberia’s answer to the National Enquirer – it is fun to compare alleged facts to fiction and try to separate the real from the surreal.

Will – the Parish Council President has just plead guilty to a charge of malfeasance, agreed to a fine, and will sentenced to up to 5 years in jail. Probably most in the Parish could agree to this description as what happened. The challenge is separating facts of what happened from the intertwined truth, lies, and innuendo about what else happened, how and why it did, what will happen, and why it won’t.

A few days in advance of the “deal” Joe – a Parish Council Member and one of his sons were arrested on a gambling charge. This was one of the council members that blew the whistle on Will or at least suggested that whistle needed to be blown. Many have felt and many others now feel that Will won’t go down alone. Was the Joe issue the dropping of the first shoe?

Right after Will was removed from office a long time Council Member – Caesar, was appointed interim Parish President – nearly immediately after the announcement news broke that this interim leader’s daughter in law had worked for an elected parish official in direct violation of our ethics code. Was this the second shoe?

As you hear rumors about other folks that are nervous and the belief that Will won’t go down alone – you wonder if Will is a man or a centipede. How many other shoes might he have?

I think most people on his side or neutral on his politics and behavior would agree that Will is a likable guy. Most would agree that he was not and is not the biggest crook in the Parish. Most would even say that he has done what all of his predecessors have done (this is what we mean by a culture of corruption). The good news is that the rules are changing and such blatant corruption is no longer acceptable and now folks are starting to demand a clean up.

Now that the deal is done – the second guessing of the process, verdict, sentence, and future begin. Rumor has it that the deal was struck and then the judiciary was shopped for not a “hanging judge” but one more sympathetic to the foibles of politicians. Some believe that maybe even Coach intervened with the judge to beg for leniency and maybe in the end the Governor might intervene with a pardon. This is Louisiana – the state we’re in! God bless us!

August 6, 2007

Months ago I remember listening to a long discussion about porches on NPR. This was a flashback to my youth when every one had and everyone used a porch. It didn’t matter if it was on the front, back, or side of the house – you had a porch. Some were screened and others weren’t.

The popularity of porches was not based upon Architectural genius – it was more a practical application of housing around meteorological facts. In the summer Louisiana can get extremely hot and in the “good old days” there was no air conditioning and even after air conditioning became available – there was no money to buy it much less pay to operate it.

I then started thinking about screened or unscreened porches. This too wasn’t an issue of style but on reflective thinking – this was an issue of installation of air conditioning. Obviously the screen kept the bugs (MOSQUITOES) out. Before air conditioning a porch without screen was just a floor that no one would stand, sit, or rock on. After air conditioning and the ability to go inside for relief screens came down and porches became seasonal gathering spots.

Now when I walk I often pass the houses of friends with very user friendly porches. On occasion they even discuss the possibility of having a porch party at their home. Pat and Donna’s house sits on Duperier Street. There yard is gorgeous – in fact it was the Yard of the Month in July. There porch is smaller than ours but really nice. Often on Sunday mornings if I take the long route I’ll see them reading their paper and enjoying the good life. Some times I’ll stop and visit.

Pat and Donna like I guess all of us they have had some rough spots on their road to here. To their credit and their faith they’ve made it and now enjoy the fruits of their labors. Pat and I were in school together. Donna was a year behind us but still looks great – thank her clean living. I used to deliver groceries to Donna’s daddy’s store a long time ago. She and Brenda held each other together during their rough times.

As I turn down Allen Street on Sunday morning I can smell Al a block away. He’s really not offensive – he’s a Cigar smoker and on most weekends his early morning includes a smoke on the porch. I’ve known Al since elementary school. His style is calm, controlled, and cool – his style is similar to my mother’s. He is not into the bluster or pomp and circumstance that is common for some of my friends.

Al lives one door down from where he grew up and now his daughter and his grandson live next door. That boy is Al’s eyes. Charlotte - Al’s wife is an artist and a painter. I don’t know her that well but I do know that she can turn food into a work of art. Her painting is on walls not canvass – she’s done the walls and ceiling of Johnny’s camp in Parks. Unless you’re really great painting pays more than art. Life is good – porches are fun and hopefully your friends are good and colorful.

August 7, 2007

When I take over the world one of the first things I’m going to do is outlaw smoked glassed windows on Automobiles. I’m half blind and my brain and my memory are no longer linked as they once were. As I often explain I have a 286 memory in a Pentium IV world. All the information needed is there it just backs up so slow.

One of the problems with returning home after 40 years is many locals know and recognize me and I may know them but I don’t always recognize them. I guess I’ve made it easier than most since I look exactly like I did in 1965 when I headed West to seek fame and fortune. If I have changed at all – I’ve gotten better looking – sort of a rugged barbarianism that didn’t show through the innocent and naïve good looks of my youth.

The other problem is that my old friends haven’t faired as well. They’ve gotten older, grayer, balder, and fatter. With such change identification becomes more difficult. As my old friends approach me it takes time to study them – add hair on their head, take hair off their face, remove 50 or 100 pounds from their waist, straighten their posture, and make the other adjustments necessary to return them to recognizable form.

Here’s the problem – when I’m walking and some of these old codgers honk and wave and I’m trying to see them through smoked glass of the windshield. I can’t do it. This makes instant identification impossible or limits the time I’ll have for my discerning eye too study them as they approach me after parking. Such a time for reflection is particularly important if this once friend now stranger is one of the jerks who likes to play the “guess who I am game.” You know the type that says I bet you don’t recognize me. I want to scream – JUST IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

From the beginning of this tirade I have admitted that my eyes have begun to deteriorate. What amazes me is that some of my friends – the ones that I can identify and some that know me best must have worse vision problems than I do. For example – walking a few weeks ago on a hot Sunday morning, Jody honked at me as he approached the stop sign.

He made some snide remark about my pace and posture and then expressed his mistaken perception that I might not be able to complete my trip home. I had to remind him that only about 36 years earlier in Boot Camp I’d march 7.5 miles in 65 minutes with 60 pounds of gear and dragging a less well conditioned troop with me. What’s wrong with these folks? Why can’t they accept that some of us have sustained our youthful bodies and stamina regardless of how much they’ve neglected their own?

The final group that intrigues me is the friends that stop along the path as I’m walking and offer to give me a ride home. Some even nearly insist on offering help. Don’t they realize these walks keep me young? What’s wrong with them?

August 8, 2007

A few weeks ago I saw a young lady friend jogging / walking. She was proudly wearing the T-shirt promoting her favorite candidate for State Representative. Since I don’t want to be accused of favoring any specific candidate I’ll not use names. We visited for a while. I pointed to her shirt and asked “can he win?” She was enthusiastic and confident.

Then the old cynic that I am challenged her innocence. I asked what was the basis for her confidence. She mentioned all the street signs (her company handles his advertising), his support from the Chamber of Commerce (the equivalent of the “tea and croissant” crowd mentioned often by Rush Limbaugh), and his good works. As a 30+ year resident of Baton Rouge and a frequent observer of the political process I can assure you and I reminded her that “good works” may play well in the Bible but in Baton Rouge or on the road to Baton Rouge – this has no meaning.

She then went accurate and negative. She mentioned the fact that he was the “best” candidate. I had to agree – if we all were like her and me. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately “we’re not one world.” The problem I believe is that the candidate doesn’t realize this or if he acknowledges the differences he can’t count because there are more different folks from us than there are folks like us.

In the 1960s one presidential contender said “I’m running against a mental and moral incompetent.” In this race, her aspirant could make the same claim. His challenge would be to spread the two terms over three folks and some, maybe all of them might use both terms. The more I challenged her by asking if she and her “guy” were walking the back streets – the more she asserted they were. The more she “protested” the more I lost confidence in their possibilities. I smiled – backed off and shook my head. She said if “we don’t win – New Iberia loses.” Such is life.

Her hope, her guy, her candidate might make a great statesman some day – unfortunately for all of us the first role of the politician is to get elected. If he can’t do that he’s just a good citizen. I was reminded of some of the more street savvy politicians and the tricks they’ve used – right here in Camelot.

The stories of bottles of wine with money attached by rubber bands and being passed out on the streets are common. One cheap but winning candidate passed out cold drinks – not even brand names. Another put in the pants pocket of a prospective voter a name or number to pull when they were in the voting machine and a promise to pay them if they did so. Then a poll watcher would see if their pants cuff moved (indicating they had reached in their pocket) when they were behind the curtain. If the cuff moved – the voter won and the system lost.

Caesar a legend from old times would carry his push cards on the campaign trail – one showed him to be a member of the Catholic Church. The other included his activities with the Masons – Catholics got one card – Protestants the other.

August 9, 2007

I think I mentioned early in this process that I haven’t let the facts stand in my way. If I didn’t I should have since I haven’t in the past and I don’t plan to in the future. I’m writing these updates for my personal satisfaction / therapy and facts and other details have never been that important in my life. I also consider that this journal may ultimately serve to entertain a few other readers. And it is my firm belief that anyone who is reduced to reading this for entertainment is so limited in options that facts won’t be important to them either.

For the above reasons I see no benefit in taking time to do research – why spend an hour looking up something that will fit in about 543 words that takes me 10 minutes to write. As a matter of fact I’ve already had to use 149 words to create the disclaimer above to justify my guess at a famous quote and its possible source. “First we kill all the attorneys.” I think it comes from Shakespeare.

I’ve always been tormented by this wisdom. I believe it might help but it is a harsher solution than I would suggest to most problems. Also it would mean the death of many of my friends. I struggle – “At what price justice – at what price peace?” Then I think about those times lawyers are really needed – when someone messes with me or one of my kids needs help or when an insurance company or someone else really needs to be managed (a.k.a. – financially pistol whipped).

I digress – yesterday I asked Beau a question. He was mealy mouth (not his style) in his answer. Then I realized he had just returned from a training, CE, compliance seminar and he had been pounded on for days by corporate attorneys warning or better yet threatened with what he should or shouldn’t tell clients. He listened. It will take him weeks to re-acclimate to the marketplace. Damn attorneys. This tirade isn’t appropriate for an update but I needed this off of my chest.

I’ll continue on yesterday’s story of politics, candidates, and craziness. Another tactic used by one of New Iberia’s characters is to stop at houses with signs in the yard and tell the residents that he’s a supporter / worker for whomever’s name is on the sign. Then after engaging the resident – he’ll mention that he’s also a candidate for City Council or State Representative or the office du jour for which he’s running. Some call this guy “crazy” – I think maybe “like a fox.”

I’m reminded about the lawyer while speeding down the highway loses a wheel off his car. He’s perplexed as he stares at his disabled 3 wheel vehicle and its errant 4 th wheel. “What to do?” he ponders. From behind a nearby fence marked Hospital for the Criminally Insane Boudreaux advises, “Just take one lug nut off the other 3 wheels and put the 4 th wheel back on. Drive to the station down the road and get them to add the other lugs needed. Amazed by such wisdom from a “crazy man” the attorney asks, “How did you figure that out?” Boudreaux with humility explains, “I’m in here because I’m crazy, not stupid!” The world is filled with Dumb and Dumber and sometimes it is us!

August 10, 2007

I was walking and crossed paths with Scarlet. She’s a runner. She’s young; I’m old. Someday she’ll walk and I’ll be part of the dirt she’s walking on. Such is life. We were both wet. I was sweating – she was perspiring. For you uninformed – women don’t sweat, men do. For you uninformed – men don’t perspire, women do.

We were on Main Street. It was Saturday morning and I was heading home for my weekly R & R – Coffee’s at Mary’s. She offered a bottle of cold water and I couldn’t say no. New Iberia was hot and humid. Without water I wouldn’t be able to make my continuing contribution to the humid. She came out of the office with 3 bottles of water. I was looking around for anther person when Scarlet said, “this bottle is for my cat.” I asked how the cat could open the bottle when she explained the cat had a bowl and she was going to pour the water into the bowl.

I currently live with one of these cat women. Sheila has adopted “Cat” and “OC” (other cat) at our house. At least Scarlet has the wisdom to do this cat missionary work at her office. When we walked outside her cat appeared. She poured her some water and then went back in for the food. After pouring out some Kibbles and Bits she spent a few minutes baby talking her cat. She locked up the office and we left. I worry about Cat People like Sheila and Scarlet. Do you wonder what the cat is thinking? “Why’s this person baby talking to me? Why doesn’t she speak cat to me? Why should I have to learn her language? I’m an immigrant, I have rights.”

Our conversation turned to politics – elected and school. Right now the school politics in New Iberia are probably tougher than the elected one and we’re less than 90 days out from elections. On the way we saw Mr. Dick and Emma opening up Allain’s Jewelry Store. We headed down Main towards Bank Street. On the way Floyd yelled at me. He and I will talk later. We also visited briefly with Jan and Bobby. Jan is Lela’s new doctor and a miracle worker. She has Lela “happier than a pig in poo poo!” or as we say down here – “better living through Chemistry.”

Scarlet begins to jog and I limp home. I was never a jogger but I did once have the naiveté, energy, enthusiasm, and hopes to change the world that Scarlet possesses. Today I instead am more battle worn – more scar tissue than brain tissue. I enjoy watching younger folks willing to jump into any fight, tip at any windmill, join every group and / or convince others that they know best – if not everything.

When Slade was about age 2 he kept reaching for a candle that was burning in the Advent wreath. I would grab his hand before he burned himself. After about ten minutes I thought – how foolish. Someday when he’s 50 and I’m 83 he’ll still be reaching for the flame so I did the unthinkable – I let him touch fire.

Nineteen years later – on his 21 st Birthday we were talking about some of the dumb things he had done. He laughingly acknowledged that one thing he didn’t do again was touch fire. I hope Scarlet doesn’t burn her hand too badly. We all do.

August 11, 2007

I mentioned yesterday seeing Mr. Dick opening up the Allain’s Jewelry Store. Mr. Dick and his wife “Miss” Cookie are the parents of 10 children. I know most of all of them. I was really close to two. They together and now through their children have operated a Jewelry Store on Main Street as long as I can remember. I’m guessing this was a venture started in the 1940s.

For the past many years their showroom has been on the corner of Weeks Street and Main in the old LeBlanc and Broussard Ford Dealership. Their showroom was the old show room for the dealership. I believe we can agree that cars are bigger than diamonds and since diamonds today cost more than cars did back then, I’m assuming they’re doing well.

Jewelry is a high profit business and from the number of stores in town I’m assuming it is a big profit business as well. I know every business owner likes to moan about the problems unique to their industry and the intensity of competition. The reality remains if there are a lot of folks doing it there must be money in it.

I digress. Mr. Dick and Miss Cookie were anchors in my world of old. He was the Scout Master and if memory serves me correctly Miss Cookie was the Den Mother for the Cub Scout group “across the bayou.” My Momma was the Den Mother (for the St. Peter’s College / Catholic High School) den on our side of the bayou. Bobby’s Momma was the assistant Den Mother and Bobby’s brother Ray was Den Chief (Boy Scout “mentor”).

Since all of this happened over 50 years ago, I’m impressed that I remember so much. I’m going to give the above recollection as fact since it’s been so long no reader who was there then has a memory any more confident than mine.

Dickie was in my class. His brother Johnny was one year below us. They had an older sister Beverly and then a clan of seven that followed. Growing up I spent many days playing at their house and occasion I spent a few nights there as well. I can remember that being a fun place because there was always something to do and someone to do it with.

In addition to the tribe in their Kirk Street home, many of my other contemporaries lived within a few blocks of their house. Ruel, Tim, Meats, Pat, etc. were always around as well. Life was good and simple back then.

Unfortunately Dickie was killed in a training accident in the Air Force. He had flown plenty of combat missions in Vietnam and then died in training. Johnny was killed in a car accident. These were two good guys. Smart, physically strong and active, and very disciplined. I remember them well. I miss them both. I don’t see either Miss Cookie or Mr. Dick much anymore so it was good to watch him yesterday as he limped into the store - he showed age, arthritis, and a broken heart.

August 12, 2007

I’ve spent much of the last week and most of this weekend reading legal documents. For a guy once known as Mr. Excitement – this is equivalent to Paris Hilton entering the convent.

I’m doing expert witness work. It’s so boring and time consuming and frustrating and tedious. That’s the bad news. The good news is that it pays well and it needs to be done. About 9 years ago an attorney approached me about a case. I explained that “I didn’t like the legal system and I didn’t want to get involved.”

The case involved a national leader in the agency system (to use a legal term) “screwing up” big time. I knew the guy but he wasn’t a friend. He was very smart and successful but also possessed by the evil twin of smart and successful – arrogant.

Tim reminded me about my criticism of the legal and medical communities and their “old boys club” protection of their own. He then challenged me – “Are you going to do for the agency system what you accuse the doctors and lawyers of doing for themselves?” He was persuasive and a good litigator. I took the case – our side prevailed.

Not because of my work but because of Tim’s skills of cross examination. He took the defendant to task on the witness stand and finally created a crack in his smart and arrogance. Eventually this crack caused the whole persona to crumble. When Rick the defendant finally was “rattled” on the stand the judge intervened by telling the defense lawyers – “You boys take these men across the street and buy them a beer. Don’t be in my courtroom tomorrow.” They settled.

I see the current case much the same way. Smart people “screwed up” and their egos won’t let them say “oops.” What triggered this discussion was my visit with Momma late yesterday afternoon. She’s leaving the rehab center today after being in the hospital since July 5. She’s probably spent more time in the hospital this one visit than she has in her entire previous life – including giving birth to 3 children.

She’s looking better than she did the day she entered and through the miracle of chemistry is feeling better as well. That makes me happy. What makes me said is that she is not who she was only a few months ago and I know will never be again. Momma once possessed a confidence and calm equivalent to the veneer of Rick and his arrogance. With Momma – aging has created a crack in the façade. She no longer possesses all of her faculties.

She talked of “going outside” (she hasn’t), hiring Lynda to take care of her (Lynda’s in worst shape than she is), and going up her steps at home (no way). Momma was never arrogant but she was always strong – stronger than me. I’m watching her crumble. I’m afraid the verdict will not be good in the long term. She may need to be sentenced to a nursing home and I’m not ready to be the judge and jury.

August 13, 2007

Maybe there is something to this global warming stuff. It is so hot outside. Yesterday Sheila and Slade went to Wal-Mart and the temperature in the car when they got in was 110.

Even since I spent Easter Sunday of 1971 picking up cigarette butts on the parking lot of the PX at Ft. Polk Louisiana I’ve been against littering. Living in Baton Rouge for 30+ years, I’m not a fan of pollution. I am however something of a skeptic when it come to the Global Warming Religion.

Understand – please, I don’t believe we should harm the earth. I do believe we should find alternatives to oil more because it isolates us from the politics of the Middle East (not terrorism) and it reduces my Chevron bill several hundred dollars a month. All of this would be good.

I’m just not certain that we the “little folks” have as much control over this planet as we think we might. I remember some of the other “crises” pending in our future – the Population Bomb, the next ice age, etc. I believe that some folks are “environmental wackos” and others just need something to worry about.

I do believe there is a segment of the population that wants and needs “Uncle Sugar” to take care of every aspect of our lives. I’m just not one of them. I personally believe that if someone would “package” socialism with a new name and brand it would be embraced by the majority of our country – it wouldn’t work but it would be embraced.

What I really find amusing is the way the “TV Evangelists” of the Church of global warming and Green are just as hypocritical as are many of the TV Evangelist were in their own condemnation of “sinners.” Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart both condemned sinners while giving “sin” a bad name themselves.

Now Al Gore and Madonna and others tell us how to live right while they live in big house, fly private jets, and go to the confessional of Carbon Offset Credits for absolution – such hypocrites.

I digress and I apologize – the last thing we need in this world is more hot air. I just get worked up. Yesterday it was so hot, I went to Baskin and Robbins and there were two options – you could get a free plastic bib with your ice cream cone or they would give you the raw ingredients for the ice cream and you could make your own once you got home in the air conditioning.

I heard a farmer say that it was so hot that his cows had frozen to death. It appears that the cows were grazing in the corn field when the corn started popping on the cobs. The cows thought it was snow and froze to death. Now that is hot. I hope you can eat your ice cream before it melts and your corn before it pops. Stay cool.

August 14, 2007

“Will the real ___________, please stand up.” If you’re my age or reasonably close you’ll recognize that line from a game show in the 50s – “I’ve got a secret!” It was on my top ten list of programs to watch. Of course anyone with a TV in those days (and that was not everyone) knows that there were only about 10 shows.

The premise of this show was that panel of celebrities would ask questions of three contestants trying to determine who was the “real” ______________ (fill in a unique character or job). At the end of the questions the panelist would vote for who they thought the genuine ____________ was and then the Emcee (I think it was George Goble) would state – “Will the real ___________, please stand up!” Mr. or Miss, or Mrs. ____________ would stand and we’d celebrate. Life was simpler then!

I think I’ve mentioned before Buster the recovering personality. Buster was wild – a more judgmental person might even suggest he was out of control as a teenager and young adult. Around 25 years old he changed – I think children, a wife he could duplicate if he had to, and his observations of the world around him mad the difference. Today he’s a great guy but anything but wild and out of control.

One of the other “change artists” close to my heart is Buster’s brother-in-law John (long ago and far away his name was Johnny, Captain Johnny, the Injun, Sewer Man, and others). John has never spent much time in the center of the bell curve we call traditional society but he has lived nearly equal parts of his time on the two extremes. Like Buster as a young man and young adult he lived in the fast lane and was wild and free. Today he’s hit the brakes on his wildness or at least at his dear wife’s suggestion hit them to become what father’s hope their daughters’ marry versus having been I suspect a candidate for the worst nightmare.

What got me thinking of the reconfiguration of the human animal was watching my oldest son, Slade care for his grandmother. As a young boy and a teenager Slade was much more like Buster and Johnny than he was like Florence Nightingale. Today he was cleaning up after an accident of indignity that often happens to the aged. He’s been at Momma’s side since she came home – as a cook, physical therapist, counselor and walking stick. It’s amazing.

As I reflected on Slade and his change I couldn’t help to see the transformation of Seth as well. Seth was every parents’ dream as a child. He was cute, loving, shy, obedient, and most important of all ZERO trouble to raise. This may sound sell servicing and presumptuous but I saw a lot of myself in Seth. I remember the first time Seth went out with friends one Friday night – he broke curfew. Sheila and I celebrated this violation we didn’t get upset. He was getting out there.

Today Seth – against all odds – has built his own business. He’s developed a strong will, a sense of himself, confidence, and opinions. He won’t go along to get along. We may not always agree with him but we love the New Seth as much as the old one.

August 15, 2007

For a moment this morning I woke up in terror. It was August the 15 th and any young man from the 1960s and after - who was even remotely connected to High School Football always dreaded August 15 th. It was the start of Football Practice – no more correctly it was the start of POW Camp. This was a time when the coaches would take a rag tag bunch of boys and begin the process of turning them into men.

In today’s politically correct world – these August practices would be fodder for lawsuits, the basis for criminal charges being brought against coaches, and the reason we would be back to playing 6 man football – you could no longer find 11 guys who would endure this stuff. It was hot, humid, hard – horrific.

I played ball until the second day of practice my Junior year, when I quit. I’m not saying I wasn’t a great athlete or even a bundle of potential but when I “drug up” the coaches thanked me. One even told me I should have done this a lot sooner. I was unique because I may have been the only quitter that was allowed to hang around as an equipment manager – a role I was better suited for.

This August 15 th I woke with enthusiasm. I knew today would be interesting and entertaining. I was scheduled to have lunch with Stormy and some friends. We were going to discuss the world of Health Care and Health Care Financing and the inevitable reforms that must occur.

Stormy is the former head of the American Medical Association, the World Medical Association, and a “player” with the Heritage Foundation. In his own words he’s a “jake leg radiologist from Metairie, Louisiana.” I met Stormy nearly 20 years ago. A friend and another force in Health Care – Doug, the owner of Lucky Dogs introduced us. Doug is an impact player in Health Care because his product has made many folks search at some point in time for a cardiologist or internist.

Today joining us at the table for our “Meet the Depressed” was Forest –the “father” of Big C consumerism in Health Care, John a marketing guy, David a consultant and advocate for the uninsured and Eric a broker and the next generation of distribution of Health Care Financing products.

The gathering place for this meeting was Carmines on Veterans in Metairie. We’ve met there dozens of times in the past 20 years. The guests ordered, the waitress already knows what Stormy wants, and the introductions were completed. Then I wound up Stormy and we listened to his monologue on the future as it should be. To his credit and my amazement he hasn’t left message in 20 years. Today we were blessed by Forest whose passion and expertise in the financing / consumer end of HC rivals Stormy’s knowledge on the care delivery end.

HC and its financing must and will be reshaped drastically. Today I was there with two of the folks that will lead the process. I’m always impressed by them.

August 16, 2007

It was the first day of school. I could tell because Sheila had been smiling for weeks because she didn’t have to go this year. As I watched this morning – she’s smiling as she snores. When the Back to school ads came on the TV she’d get giddy – like a teenage girl at her first dance. She doesn’t have to go back - ever again. That’s the good news – for her. For many children that’s the bad news – the really bad news.

Sheila was a fabulous teacher. I don’t say that just because she’s my wife or because she sleeps with me. I say that because it’s a fact. If you don’t believe me ask her students – those that are now Mommas and Daddies and I suspect even a few that now might be Grandparents. Sheila taught for about 35 years – third grade, kindergarten, and first grade. She taught with passion and I believe passion works – passion sells.

To this day she’ll be stopped by some adult who says you’re Miss Manes you taught me at Chamberlin or Mercy. In New Iberia she’ll see some of the students or their parents that she’s touched at Pesson here and they’ll hug, thank, or celebrate her. Sheila was a great teacher not because of the knowledge she possessed – her greatness was in how she made it fun. Fun and passion sell. This is so important because Kindergarten and first grade or the first impression kids get of education and you only get one chance to make a good first impression. Thanks Sheila.

As I read today’s Advertiser there was an expose on the number of teachers leaving the system. The high risk group is those that have been in the system less than 5 years. If a “mind is a terrible thing to waste” a teacher is ever more of a loss – this is a mind that has been prepared, trained, and devoted.

I could have written that article and I believe even better than the reporter did. That’s not false pride – it’s that I watched a great one burn out. I saw the potential lost – not Sheila’s but the students that she knew could be great but that could not be reached because of paperwork, bureaucracy, the chaos of the classroom and the other “distractors” that exist today.

As I approached the corner of Weeks and Hacker Streets I saw a young boy – probably a first time student waiting for the bus. His Momma was watching from her car – he was tentative but hopeful. She appeared tentative but hopeful. He was that way because he didn’t know what to expect and she was that way because she did. I wondered – will this be a success story or a failure? I walked on pondering.

On Main Street an older man in a truck flagged me down. He handed me a letter and asked if I knew this address. We were in New Iberia – the address was from Lafayette. He couldn’t read. He knew it – I knew it. He appeared to have made it in spite of this handicap. He had worked hard – in yesterday’s world you can make it on hard work alone. Tomorrow is going to be a cruel master to the uneducated. I flashed back to the young boy – hopeful, so hopeful. I hope he makes it.

August 17, 2007

Scott Bulloch is the preacher – I think they call them pastors at the First United Methodist Church in New Iberia. Sheila and I met him at the Church months ago when we took Lela for her monthly shot of religion. She’ll go to the Catholic Church with us but she’s real uncomfortable with the service and upset because she can’t take communion. The Methodist Church is home to her and I guess as you get older we are all more comfortable at home.

Scott’s a real nice guy, a good preacher, and a great speaker – that is a unique combination in many churches and almost unheard of in the Catholic Church. Most preachers and priest can claim two of these three skills but only a few possess all three. I’ve also shared the podium with Scott at my Alma Mater. This is the nature of progressive religions.

When I was going up I could have gone to hell for visiting with Scott and now he’s a guest speaker at the Catholic School. We’ve come a long way baby! It was so needed as well. I suspect God is feeling better about his people. There able to play better with each other than they did in the old days.

Scott asked me to facilitate a planning session he had scheduled for Friday and Saturday. I quickly agreed. I don’t put as much as I should in the plate each Sunday so when I can I throw in some extra hours. Most agree time is money.

Earlier in the week Scott had a couple of articles delivered to me. These had some great ideas for organizations and strategic plans. As Momma used to say – “virtue is its own reward.” I agreed to do this program at a discount (I offered to do it for free but Scott insisted) and now I benefited by getting some material for my next gig. Maybe soon I’ll be a regular on the Methodist Circuit.

About 5 years ago I facilitated a whole day retreat at Highland Park First United Methodist Church in Dallas. I didn’t know it at the time but to Methodist this is there Mecca or their Vatican. I enjoyed that program and I enjoyed this one. I don’t know how I’d play to Catholics in New Iberia – but the Methodist accepted this “prophet” in his own town.

Our session lasted for about 2 ½ hours. It was productive. At the end we even sparred about the absurdity of some of our beliefs in the past. Catholics thought that all Methodist were going to burn in hell and Methodists felt that Catholics probably should for being so arrogant. I’m convinced that God don’t care.

It was refreshing to see such a small group of people – there were probably only 12 – 15 folks at the meeting representing such a small congregation – maybe 400 people including women in a family way - achieving so much in this here and abroad. They know each other and even appear to like each other. As Zig Ziglar used to say – “Don’t stay away from Church because of the hypocrites – one more won’t matter.”

August 18, 2007

I had made the turn on my daily walk and was headed back to the house. I was approaching Victors and deciding whether or not I’d stop for coffee. It’s Saturday and so Coffee at Mary’s was only a shower and a short drive away. My cell phone rang and I grabbed it. The caller ID indicated John was on the phone – I answered it. For the record sometimes on Saturday – I’ll screen my calls.

I’ll always take John’s call. He’s a very good friend. He and Deidre were our neighbors twice in Baton Rouge, our closest friends in the “city,” and the Godparents to Seth. More importantly than that John is the shoulder I seek out when I need one to cry on. He got more work when my children were younger. I remember back then my needs for counseling, encouragement, or merely a safe ear to hear was much greater.

His words spoke of business as usual – his voice betrayed him. There was tension something was wrong. I listened politely to the small talk but I knew this was merely foreplay. Finally he got to the point. He said, “I’ve been having some problems and they’ve been running tests. The good news is that my kidney, liver, and other parts are OK but there’s a shadow on my lungs.

A Karate kick to the solar plexus. I think I said “ouch.” I say that sometimes when all other words fail me. It means to me what it means to everybody. That hurt. It hurt me to know that John was scared – he didn’t say it but I know he’s feeling it. It hurt me to realize that we’re all getting older and these golden years may have more tarnish than we’d like. It hurt me because – this time it’s personal. John (in my mind) is more invincible than me.

Then my mind races to the comfort of procrastination and denial. Procrastination in that it will be a week before we know for sure – “no news is good news.” And denial because at this moment I’m not ready to even consider the worst case scenario. John and I continue the banter of nothingness that guys use to shield their fears. I remember closing with the standard line – “call me if you need something” and “you’re in my prayers.”

I walk into Victors and have coffee with Johnny, Floyd, and the mayor. I visit but I’m not there. I’m back in Voorhies Dorm with John in the adjoining room, I’m at the apartment complex on Alaska Street, where John, David, Johnny and Donald all lived while I was fighting the war. In fact it was at that apartment in 1971 on a Saturday morning when Momma called to tell me that I had a letter from the Selective Service Department.

From there my mind raced to S. Potwin as newlyweds and John and Deidre as our across the street neighbors with the wisdom and experience of about 4 years of marriage. I made many more trips down memory lane and convinced myself it would be OK. I headed home to break the news to Sheila. Please God…

August 19, 2007

As a little boy in the early days of TV we’d have to head to the street corners to commence what would become our life long addiction to this media by standing on Friday night’s in front of the plate glass window of Pecot’s Appliance Store at Center and Hacker Streets or Patout Burns Firestone Store on Main Street and watch the snow and rolling screens that were early television.

Two of the early adopters of this new technology in New Iberia were Uncle Claude (my great uncle) and Mamam (my grandmother). On many Wednesday and Friday nights I’d go to Uncle Claude and Nan Nan’s house to watch the “fights.” I remember they were sponsored by Gillette. Mamam’s TV was used for The Three Stooges and the Little Rascals on Sunday mornings and the NFL on Sunday’s after dinner. Dinner was often at Mamam’s on Sunday and it was always Fried Chicken. As an aside Sunday breakfast was always at Mamam’s and it included donuts, hard rolls, coffee, and juice. The donuts and rolls were from Jud’s or Danna’s.

What triggered this trip down memory lane was not the TV or the food or even my beloved Grandmother. It was the “fights.” I remember the lessons that Uncle Claude taught me about boxing – the art and the science. I remember he always talk about “leading with the left,” and “protecting yourself in the clutches.” We’d watch the heavyweight fighters but the fun was in watching the fly and light weight guys because they were about heart, soul, and technique – not just bulk.

The above 3 paragraphs are to be the introduction to the fact that might delightful dog – actually Seth’s dog originally and now Momma’s dog by choice is bi-polar. Pepper is a little, ¾ blind mixed breed dog. He’s the best trained and best behaved dog we’ve ever had. Seth deserves the credit on this one since Sheila and I raised several out of control animals.

Pepper is afraid of his shadow. When we take Pepper out on a blustery day he can be scared to death by a blowing leaf. I’m not talking about a leaf blower – I’m talking about a blowing leaf. A vacuum cleaner leaves him shaking in fear. You can lean a broom against the door and we won’t go near it. In the late evening or first thing in the morning when I take him out for his first bathroom run – he’ll freeze in fear at the sight of the rake leaning against the store room.

While in the hospital Sheila bought Momma a little stuffed dog that looks like Pepper. T his is now proudly displayed next to her chair and the picture of Pepper including the title FAVORITE GRANDCHILD. He’s a gentle, loving dog or at least was until today – when he almost ate the Postman. Sheila had to stop him from running head long into a can of mace – Pepper the killer, attack dog.

This is the reason for my flashbacks to the “fights.” Michael Vick has been in the News along with the dark world of dog fights. Pepper watches a lot of TV – I wonder if he’s scared of losing or inspired to fight? He’d be a fly weight. “Sic em.”

August 20, 2007

Momma’s been in decline since the 4 th of July. That was the day Sheila and I had to take care of her every need and the same day we realized that we weren’t able to. Fortunately for us and unfortunately for Momma on the 5 th the Home Care nurse said she needed to be hospitalized. The folks from Acadian Ambulance were at the house a few moments later and within the hour she was in the ER at Dauterive Hospital.

After a week under the watchful eyes of the staff at the hospital she was reassigned to Iberia General Medical Center and its LTAC (Long Term Acute Care Unit). She remained in rehab there until the 13 th. Upon discharge she was sent to her home where a near 6 foot, 200+ pound, bearded, long haired Florence Nightingale took over her care.

Slade is our oldest son. He’s a free spirit. As a young man he was a challenging soul – today he’s a loving one. People often comment that “everything happens for a reason” or “God works in mysterious ways.” Momma’s illness / declining condition speaks volumes to these truths. When her needs became great – Slade appeared. Thank God!

Momma doesn’t want to go to the Nursing Home and I certainly don’t want to send her there but it is fast becoming her only option. Slade is physically and emotionally able to manage her. He’ll be here till late September. At that time I’ll have to make the “call” that I so desperately want to avoid. Life – hers and mine are fast becoming a race of choices / contingencies. In a best case for her – she’ll exit this world soon to go to a better place. In a worst case for me – she’ll continue to linger in this current state and I’ll be forced to put her in a Nursing Home that she hates and fears.

I’ve always procrastinated and in most cases always will. This is one time I’m starting to plan ahead. Partly because Sheila is “aggressively encouraging me” (a.k.a. – nagging) as she does so well and partly because I know when the next transition occurs I won’t be thinking or feeling too well and both Momma and I will be better served if I’ve made plans / decisions in advance of the turmoil.

I went with Sheila and Slade to take Momma to the doctor. I met him as he came out of the examination room. Before he saw me I saw him shake his head in disbelief at the deterioration in her health since he had last seen her. He saw me, composed himself, and said – “she’s really going down fast.”

Chris, Gretchen, and Sarah have come in to see Momma. Slade’s been with her. I’m going to call Seth today and suggest he “drop by” for a visit. Claire, Johnny and I have made some decisions and agreed on many more. Yesterday I visited the Funeral Home to discuss arrangements. My final thoughts are written.

Last night late Slade called Sheila – he knew I’d be asleep at that time. Sheila and I went to see her. I held her hand and said Momma – “when you’re ready, let go.” She whispered to me – “It’s not time.” I’m beginning the crying process. I’ve said my prayers for her peace. I don’t want her to suffer or me to have to call the Nursing Home.

August 21, 2007

Today was Mother’s Day – sort of.

Momma made it through last night and the scare she gave us. Today she looked much better. In the morning she received a flower arrangement from Mr. Paul’s Flower Shop. In included a card for Momma and her care giver, Slade – but the benefactor could not be determined – the card was signed simply Secret Admirers.

The good news is that this gave Momma time between her naps, TV and eating to speculate on the giver. As each of us entered the room we’d comments on the pretty flowers, hear the story of the anonymous donor and say – “I wonder?” Lead candidate at for the local philanthropist appears to be “Mr. Paul” himself. There are many other potential givers since Momma touched many.

When I came in from Baton Rouge yesterday p.m., I stopped by her house to drop off some envelopes and tape that Slade needed. Then I headed to the Super 1 for dried basil – Slade’s needed secret ingredient for the meatloaf he was cooking. I was pleased to see how alert Momma was. She looked fresh and full of life. This was 180 degrees from her condition on Monday.

Monday night’s scare had motivated me to e-mail Momma’s 5 nephews (children of Aunt Mazie and Uncle Booz) – Martin in Atlanta, Patrick in Hartford, Jimmy in Coteau, Paul in New Iberia, and Joseph in Houston. All of these “kids” are a very important part of Momma’s life and all are very devoted to her. I encouraged each of them that now was a good time to contact Momma if they wanted to do so since life is short and at 88 that can even be translated to real short.

Patrick had called me earlier in the day to ask about Momma and determine the best time to phone. We agreed he’d call early Wednesday since the mornings are better. After seeing Momma I called Patrick on my way back from the store and encouraged him to call her this evening since she was so alert and verbal.

When I arrived with the basil and paper plates Chris and Gretchen my niece and nephew and their daddy were there. Momma was happy. Her grandkids were home and they and Slade were having a good old time. Slade was meticulously making bread crumbs by shredding two slices of bread by hand. This is the same child that as a teenager could just as easily shred a vehicle – not by hand but using another vehicle or a ditch.

Patrick called and spoke to everyone in order of his request. Times like this are good in that it brings families together and difficult because it makes all of us realize that as we age we all move apart, each to our own family, community, world and interests.

Sheila and Mimi (Lela) returned from a Doctor visit with Mimi’s doctor du jour. He encouraged her to gain weight – the only member of our family with a weight loss problem. On doctor’s orders we headed home to eat. We did. Bon Appetite.

August 22, 2007

I’m running behind on my reporting. My work schedule in Baton Rouge, operating an assisted living center (with two locations) in New Iberia, and beginning to rebuild my consulting practice after the completion of my Baton Rouge project has kept me buried.

So I’m going to merely use some leftovers to create a few “jambalayas” of updates to get back on schedule. These will not be the coherent, single, focused documents that you have demand and have become accustomed to. These next few days may jump around. For some this will satisfy the ADHD gene in their DNA. For others this will be a break from the consistency and single purpose readings they want – such is life.

Walking the other day I passed in front of a Frame Shop on Main Street. I window shop here often and on occasion spend some money on the inside. I noticed for the first time the sign at the top of the window. It said “Karen’s Fine.” I realized that Karen’s much above average in looks and equally blessed in body style but I did think the sign was a little pretentious. Then I focused again and realized the sign said “Karen’s Fine Framing.” This is certainly more appropriate but less intriguing.

Karen is the shopkeeper / owner and the creative genius behind the framing or Johnny’s most hopeful fantasy. I’m 99% certain that I reported on this earlier in the year. To help you remember – it started with a life sized framed portrait of Johnny Cash and worked through Johnny’s offer of a full size nude of himself and ended with the presentation of a very well designed 1 ½” X 4 ½” frame for “members” only.

Karen’s is where I bought the Motivational Wall Hanging mentioned earlier and where I had the testimonial to Steve framed at the time of his death. I’m a picture junkie. I like stuff on the walls of my home and office and the wall’s of other folks places as well. What I like most of Karen’s shop is the diversity that is displayed – I know nothing of art but I do like colors, ideas in pictures, and faces – visit Karen when you have some time.

Next door to Karen’s is the Snake Bayou Tattoo Parlor. I’m not ready for a tattoo but I’m still intrigued by the process, product, and consumer of this body art. I think tattoos have a value – these are one way for people who need attention to get it without screaming “look at me I’m different” when they are in a crowded room.

My concern is what do we do when all these young folks get old and may I say it FAT (or I guess more correctly, morbidly obese) and their skin stretches and sags until the once beautiful tattoos become offensive even to the most red of rednecks. We’re worrying about regulating billboards as eyesores – let’s start an anti-tattoo lobby TODAY.

Another few steps towards the street corner and you’re standing in front of Lagniappe’s Too Café. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this place on several occasions. If I was a restaurant critic I could capture the essence of this place simply as – Great Food, Poor Service, and Dynamic Waitresses. You never know whether they are going to be happy or unhappy. Elaine’s the cook / owner and Al is the owner / greeter / entertainer. Try it someday.

August 23, 2007

The deluge of rumors, facts, and feeling regarding the possible indictment of our Parish Council President for malfeasance had barely drained away following his guilty plea when he was once again the topic of conversation about town. We now know Will was guilty – he admitted it. We now know that he had “judge shopped” in the name of good legal and sentence management and had successfully negotiated out of jail time instead settling for house arrest.

What’s causing this next wave of taxpayer disgust for the good government types who are offended by Will’s admitted behavior and what has put us at the opposite ends of the political pole of “good guy” types that can forgive any behavior if we like you or you’ve helped us is the flexibility in Will’s house arrest and community service sentence.

Here’s the bottom line most of us do not enjoy the freedom that Will has in him movement about the parish and state while’s he’s under house arrest. He’s been seen fishing, crabbing, in the parish, out of the parish, with his kids, watching the public official who’s supervising part of his community service direct traffic while he sits in the air conditioned car, etc.

The good news is that people have become so offended that the judge is taking political heat on this and now Will will have to be inconvenienced in his house arrest – start to wear an ankle bracelet, limit his outside of the home activities and begin to live life like others serving identical terms.

From sinners – let’s move to Saints. Today Brenda and selected members of her prayer group visited with Momma. They came to say the rosary. For you non-Catholics these are the “beads” you see us carry. The rosary was a way for us to be reinforced in our prayers. We repeated the Hail Mary prayer 53 times, the “I believe in God” Once and a few Glory Be’s added in for good measure. Die a Catholic and you’ll have the rosary said at the Wake. Live a Catholic and you’ll say it yourself when times are really good or real bad. It’s an anchor in our faith and a good idea even for heathens.

Brenda’s group has met for years – I think on Monday’s. It’s a coffee club that substitutes the Rosary as spiritual caffeine in lieu of the traditional dark roast. On Friday about 3:00 – Brenda, Donna, Mary Ellen, and Cathy appeared with beads in hand to offer their prayers with and for Momma.

Linda the lady that has lived with Momma for the past year or so and is now back again at Momma’s house after being hospitalized for more health conditions than her 60 years warrant joined in. Linda is a very faithful person and has struggled through life’s challenges that might leave others less believing. Sheila and Lela sat in as well.

I came in right as the praying ended and the remembering began. Momma had taught all of the folks at Mt. Carmel and both sides were visiting the classrooms of their mind as they saw my once invincible Momma now reduced to the focus of prayer. Amen

August 24, 2007

I love my sons. They are my world. They are also very different. Slade has gotten more “press” in this observational and he is oblivious to it. Seth has gotten less cover and that’s the way he likes it.

Today I’m going to struggle with words - not to find them but rather how to present them. Seth is my home grown son. He is me - not as I am today but as I was then - the then of my childhood, adolescence, teenage and young adult years.

I was shy, very shy - attention is the last thing I wanted. I didn’t want anyone probing, analyzing or reporting on my life. I wanted to live life my way but I didn’t want a reporter traveling that way with me. I believe Seth was and is the same way. My turning point was the Draft, military training, and a year in Fort Polk and one in Heidelberg, Germany. Seth is changing as well. His change experience is the reality of the business owner, entrepreneur - the guy on the tightrope without a net.

Five years from now this would be easy - today I need to respect the way Seth is and was in his most recent past. Seth was a surprise - a delightful and welcomed surprise. I remember watching Seth’s birth, the labor room, the attempt at natural child birth, the forceps, and finally the Caesarian. I remember nearly fainting and hours later knocking proudly on John and Deidre’s door early on the morning of April 2, 1981 to announce that Seth Leonard Manes was here.

Seth as a child was easy and cute. A parent’s dream but that’s not the way most teenagers and young adults want to be remembered. He was gifted with my incredible good looks and brains but unfortunately he also got my athletic ability. School was easy for him; sports that he loved were not as natural. My favorite memory of his athletic career was the day he was playing basketball with the “big dogs” and the center was feeding rebounds to him and he was shooting to the delight of the crowd that was yelling, “Seth, Seth, Seth!” What a game!

I tried not to “baby” my sons - to let them learn life’s lessons and grow from the experience. The reality however is that attendance in the school of hard knocks is hard for a parent to observe. Seth was a late bloomer. Seth’s greatest challenge was growth. Seth was a late developer - at 7 he could pass for 5, at 10 he looked like he was 8, at 15 he appeared to be 12 and it wasn’t until his 20s that his appearance matched his age.

During these “developmentally challenging years” he was subject to indignities, teasing, and frustrations. These hurt him but I believe hurt me more. I didn’t know when to step in or when to stay out. I just deleted a sentence because it was revealing more of this time than Seth would want me to share. I do remember the first time Seth was out past curfew, Sheila and I celebrated - his “rebellion.”

I see Seth and recall me. I remember the boy and admire the man! Love you, Son!

August 25, 2007

Mike had called me earlier in the week and asked if I’d meet with his girlfriend. I agreed. I figure at my age it’s easier for me to be seen with attractive young women by meeting with other people’s girlfriends than trying to find one on my own. Less I confuse you the readers, get in trouble with my wife, or upset someone – Mike wanted me to visit with his girlfriend to discuss her plans about opening her own business.

When I taught at LSU students would often ask me to visit with them on their ideas. I never declined such an invite. If – even on a long shot – one of these young folks is the next Bill Gates, I want to have been nice to them. Mike was a former student. He was more than a student he was the Grandson of Miss Mickey and Mr. Louie, the son of Pat, and the nephew of one of my dearest of friends – Paul. Paul was killed 36 years ago. I remain close to his family and even closer to my memories of him.

We agreed to meet at Ziggy’s for lunch on Friday. I arrived and selected a table where I could see and hear. The aging process is ugly and now furniture arrangement and positioning in a facility is important to me in order to communicate. I’m half deaf, half blind, and not half bad. After getting comfortable and waiting – I looked over two tables and there was Mike waiting on me. Did I mention Dumb and Dumber in a recent update?

A few minutes later Chastity appeared on the scene. I took one look at her and one look at Mike and said – “I’m not the only blind one at this table.” Let’s put this in politically correct terms – when you compare the two folks in their relationship on an objective scorecard Chastity would score higher than Mike on the looks criteria. Mike would score higher than Chastity in maybe the shoe size category or some equally important measure.

After the small talk I asked Chastity about her past and her hopes for the future. She is impressive. She put herself through school – a couple of different times. She was a respiratory therapist and is now a CPA. I thought that was a practical combination since often when I get my tax bill – I can’t breathe. She also has run offices and has experience in Human Resources. She must of started working at 12 years old. She’s still young.

Like so many bright young folks she loves the concept of “working for herself” but has fear about “making it” without a salary. I once worried about such things. I’ve been on this tightrope so long now I don’t even worry about it anymore. I’ve learned that I will always make it so long as I just keep looking at the goal and don’t look down.

We had a great visit. I think or at least I hope I got her to ponder a future – maybe “bigger and broader” than she might do on her own. I love to do that with young folks – stretch them, overwhelm them, and force them to let go of the safe ideas that bring them comfort and dream of the big opportunities that will ultimately make their heart beat fast.

I think she ended up with ideas far beyond her initial plans of a simple CPA firm. Maybe she starts to see the potential I know she has. She’ll succeed. Mike will as well. My only advice – “Mike, don’t let her get glasses.” Good luck to both of y’all. Dream Big!

August 26, 2007

Saturday night Sheila and I joined Brenda and Bobby for a night out. We met at LeRosier on Main Street. This is directly across the street from the Shadows on the Teche – New Iberia’s most famous tourist destination and a home you’ve probably seen in travel brochures, magazines, or on the Travel Channel. From the porch in the evening the view is beautiful. The Shadows is lit up and given a few drinks you can get lit up as well. The next time you see a picture of the Shadows – visualize yourself on that upstairs balcony and you’ll be staring at us.

I wanted to dress up for the evening but Sheila, Brenda, and Bobby insisted that we go casual. They are so “common” when it comes to appearance. They’re lucky that they were all blessed with good looks so they can slide by. Seriously – casual is the way we live here – except for weddings, funerals, and the Krewe of Andalusia Ball.

We ordered drinks the moment we arrived – usually we order ahead but tonight we decided to “rough it.” Then Christi brought us an appetizer tray. This was simple a seafood platter for four – shrimp, crawfish, and catfish. We consumed that faster than 4 buzzards on road kill. Next came the menus. We studied these for about 3 minutes and ordered steaks – asparagus, mash potatoes, and creamed spinach.

Exhausted from placing the order we requested another round of drinks. Le Rosier is my favorite fine dining restaurant in New Iberia. We have lunch there often but cheap and early bedtimes prevent us from dinner out most evenings. The last time we were there – Sheila, Brenda, George, and I had dinner. Bobby was in Saudi Arabia and Carol was in Texas visiting with their son. Both the company, the conversation, and the food were consistent – they were excellent both times.

We joked, exaggerated, and told stories about our children – we lived life the way it is supposed to be lived. After getting as full as ticks on a hound, we decided to be conservative for dessert. We ordered only one serving of a Chocolate Mousse dish that Christi prepares. The best that I can do in describing this delight is delicious – if Eve had a cup of this in the Garden it wouldn’t have been so difficult to tempt Adam.

George and Christi the owners spent some time outside visiting with us. They shared the good new that business is good and getting better. New Iberia is a “fickle” market and it is difficult for fine dining restaurants to survive. I feel that Le Rosier has moved off the endangered species list and is getting itself established as a permanent fixture on Main Street. I hope it can be here as long as the Shadows is and was.

We have a final toast – tell a few more stories and then head home for the night. It goes unsaid but I’m sure all of us at the table were wondering “what the poor people were doing tonight?” Life is good.

At 7:30 on Sunday morning the phone rings – Brenda wants to go walking. I guess to burn off some of the calories from last night. We walk but we can’t walk THAT far!

August 27, 2007

Yesterday was hectic but fun. I needed to be at my home office “catching up” but instead I chose to run to Lafayette with David to meet with the Dean of the Business School at ULL. I was impressed. Correctly titled this is the B. I. Moody III College of Business Administration at University of Louisiana, Lafayette.

That’s a mouthful and speaking of mouthfuls that’s how Mr. Moody paid for this place – one mouthful of food at a time. He was a CPA but that’s about counting other folks money. His big money came in the restaurant business and other investments. The most recognizable name is Burger King. He was a major franchisee. Before you roll your eyes remember that the E. J. Ourso College of Business at LSU was funded by dead chickens, funeral homes, and burial insurance. I wonder what Mr. or Mrs. Wharton did?

For you professional types that might think “how common” recognize that your kids and grandkids or church or favorite charity really don’t care how you made the money you give them. I think we should have a National Entrepreneurs Day to celebrate the guys and gals that go out every morning (all 365 of them) and make something happen.

I spent 6 of the happiest years of my life at USL (now ULL) pursuing a 4 year degree. I started that experience in September of 1965 and finished in December of 1970. I spent my graduation day completing the physical fitness test for Basic Training at Ft. Polk Louisiana. During that period of time I attempted about 160 hours of credit and passed about 132. I successfully (As and Bs) passed about half of those hours – the rest were accomplished with a minimum of effort and less results.

Come to think of it all hours were achieved with a minimum of effort – just some courses were more natural for me. I graduated with 12 classes attempted in foreign language (French, German, and Latin) and 4 courses passed. I finally made it. I also snuck through the system without a speech course – a personal commitment to myself – I WAS TERRIFIED OF SPEECHES. My Latin 202 text is memorialized in Cypress Lake.

To put some perspective on this accomplishment – in the Vietnam era the smart students stayed in school – the graduates went to war. I beat the draft all those years only to slip up at the end and get drafted anyway. Fortunately I only saw combat in the Burgundy Lounge at Fort Polk and Zepple’s in Heidelberg, Germany. War is hell. Also as I reminded a 4.0 student near graduation when he criticized my academic performance – “look at your diploma and mine – Do you see any difference?” Such is life.

Today was a trip back to my misspent you and a brighter future as well. The campus has grown but has not changed that much. Cypress Lake is now clean and includes many more alligators. Obviously the old gators of my youth did more than just lay in the mud at night. Parking is sill a problem. The kids are more diverse, smarter with greater opportunities. We’re no longer Bulldogs – Now we’re the Ragin Cajuns! Geaux.

August 28, 2007

This evening I went to Brenda and Bobby’s house for a drink and a visit. I needed a break from management of my chain of Assisted Living Centers.

By now I believe anyone who has read all of these updates knows that Lela (Sheila’s Mother) has been living with us since last year and she is fairly high maintenance. My mother lived with us for about 5 or 6 weeks in May, June and July and then had a 30 day hospital stay on her way to recovery at my Harriet Street facility. Momma is not as high maintenance as Lela but the work that needs to be done is more intense. Lela “goes” places (4 doctor visits this week) while Momma merely eats, sleeps, and lives in her recliner. Her only outing is an occasional wheel chair ride to the bathroom

Sheila is the manager of my Weeks Street facility and the driver for all the patients. Slade is the chief cook, bottle washer, care giver, janitor, and nurse’s aide at the Harriet Street location. His meals also provide sustenance for the patient and staff from the Weeks Street home. He’s been a Godsend. He’s Momma safety net from life in an Nursing Home – a place she doesn’t want to be.

I’m merely the spokes person for the venture, the Chairman of the Board, and the – to quote President Bush – “decider.” If or when that time comes I’ll have to make the call to Consolata Nursing Home. (I’d rather have a root canal without Novocain.) It’s lonesome at the top – very, very, lonesome.

For an hour at 9 Carmel Bend, life was easy. I was with friends. No problems, no challenges, just wine, calm, and laughter. We made small talk and took care of some business. I’ve been asked to make a brief presentation at a retirement party and go back to work party on October 6 in Jackson Tennessee. Jim is retiring as CEO of the West Tennessee Hospital System and his wife Peggy who has enjoyed the good life for many years will now have to start working. Not at a paying job but enduring Jimmy underfoot everyday. This would not be an easy task for anyone.

Since my life is in flux – tonight’s visit also included contingency planning. If the demands on me as Chairman of Hazy Memories Assisted Living Centers is such that Sheila and I can’t make it to Jackson Bobby has been designated as my “stand in.” He’ll have the honor of telling the truth about Jim – “the good the bad and the ugly.” He’ll have to stand there with a straight face and tell the hyperbole I’ve written.

In the past few weeks I’ve captured the essence of Jimmy’s life in about 8 minutes of notes. It tears off the mask that he has used to hide the truth from his Board, employees, and the taxpayers of Jackson. I read the remarks to Bobby and Brenda – they laughed (real hard). Brenda – the ever sensitive one – worried that my comments might be too harsh. After her second Bourbon however – she began to understand the truth of what I said. Jim’s a great guy with a better sense of humor. This will protect me from physical violence and legal action. He’ll laugh, Peggy will cry, and the audience will love it. Tonight I needed to laugh to. I’ll tell you more on the 6 th of October. Stay tuned!

August 29, 2007

Two years ago today, Sheila spent her first Hurricane within “striking distance” of the “eye of the storm.” She moved to New Iberia in August 2004 and I joined her in October. We were living in a two story garage apartment that used was natural vented – there was no insulation in the walls so the wind blew through without hesitation.

We decided to join Momma at her home to comfort her and since I feared a better than 50 / 50 chance our place might blow away. Momma’s house had endured Hurricanes Audrey, Andrew, Hilda, Betsy, Lily and many more. 145 mile an hour winds are not a threat. I felt safe there. Sheila did not. I slept through the most of the storm as did Momma – Sheila paced the floors, reluctantly peeked through the blinds, and occasionally would give weather reports.

Typically these would start with “Oh my God” or “Please Jesus” or “Hail Mary” and then she’d comment about the wind or the rain or the tree bending to touch the ground. We’d grunt back to let her know we were alive and then return to sleep. We never lost power. This is always a good sign in a storm. As the wind subsided I walked down to check on the apartment and our home under construction. The Apartment lost to sheets of tin off the roof and had leaked a little water on our mattress. We set the mattress on end to better allow for drying and then checked out the construction site – no damage there.

We returned to Momma’s to watch the reports from New Orleans. I was never worried about New Iberia. We were on the storm’s west side (the place to be) and about125 miles from the eye as it was predicted to hit early on. The fact was the storm was headed for New Orleans and it was a monster. If it had continued North instead of moving about 30 miles to the East at the last moments, there would be no New Orleans today. The clean slabs that are Biloxi, Gulfport and St. Bernard Parish would be New Orleans.

The trauma we all watched in the weeks that followed would not have occurred. Our new trauma would have been thousands of body bags used to transport the drowning victims out of the parish. The Lake would have been dumped inside the city’s levees and the water would drowned quickly all the people we all watched fighting to live.

Early reports were great – there had been minor damage to New Orleans – the French Quarter, the CBT, the Garden District, etc. There was damage – bad damage to the East and in Mississippi but the City was saved. THEN new reports indicated that there were problems with the levees. Little did we know or understand how bad. This proved to be equivalent as the “spot” on your X-ray being Pancreatic Cancer. It was bad – really bad.

I don’t need to remind you of what you saw. I will only say that maybe it exposed what needed to be exposed. The Big Easy was really hard. It was the Mardi Gras masks of joy and sorrow. It was the illusion of happiness in a world of despair. The levees failed but worse than that our government failed both in terms of what they did following the storms and what they had done as precursors to the storms. Political leaders, a failed education systems, and a well intended Great Society were exposes as failures.

August 30, 2007

On May 15, 2006 I drove to the Bank on Sherwood Forest. It was my first trip back in about 13 years. Ed had engaged my services to help reorganize the Agency. During the previous few years there had been substantial turmoil and turnover. Fast forward 15 ½ months – I arrive today to enjoy less stress, smiling faces, and the aroma of success.

We’re having a moving party, victory party, “attagirl” party and here’s to tomorrow party. It’s definitely party time. Now that the future has arrived there’s no need to dwell in the past. Suffice it to say that in 15 ½ months substantial progress has been made. We’re not yet where we ultimately need to be but we’re getting close – very close.

I was asked if I managed the agency during these turbulent times. The answer is no. I was more like Red Adair. For those of you not familiar with the Oil Industry – he was the guy called in when a well blew. His job was to put out the fire and cap the well until the new tool pusher and crew could be brought back safely. The fire’s now out.

Today Judy – the roustabout from our Plaquemine site rode with me. She has been with the agency 28 years and has seen feast and famine. She’s been steady all those years. Plaquemine was once the headquarters of the agency – now it’s an outpost. She was once one of nine in that office – today she’s the sole occupant of that branch’s office.

As we arrive in Baton Rouge – we see the “spoils” of war being unloaded. Today’s party is about food. It’s 10:00 a.m. at our conservative little bank and so “drinking” will not accompany today’s party. We’re already drunk on enthusiasm – success. There are brisket, rolls, salads – green, potato, and chicken - beans, salad, appetizers, cakes, fruit pizza (a scientific experiment that successfully makes a fruit dessert bad for your health but great for your taste buds), pudding, etc. There is enough food to feed the agency and bank personnel and visitors from a 3 mile radius of the bank. It’s a great day.

Jeannette is the other holdover from the original agency. She’s ridden the Roller Coaster called the Baton Rouge office for many years. Jeannette is high energy and the tedium of the ride made her more than once consider getting off for something simpler, safer or easier. She stuck it out. Today she is proud of what’s been done. She should be.

Joining us are Pat and Brenda and the newest hire Joe. Pat was the Ace I pulled out of the deck. She’s been in the business for 50 years and since she’s only about 60 that’s quite an accomplishment. She had the experience, expertise, patience, and valium needed to survive the heat when she stepped into the fire with us. She extinguished the flames.

Brenda joined shortly after Pat. Her routine is simple. Stack the work on one side of the desk and at the end of her shift the finished product will be on the other side. Brenda is like the BR group in terms of work ethic – she’s more like Judy in terms of being organized. Pat, Jeannette, and I share the “disorganized” gene. Finally the “new kid on the block” is Joe – the new manager. He’s here to celebrate success and commit to its perpetuation. Life is good. We did it – no more correctly - thanks ladies – y’all did it.!

August 31, 2007

Sheila is a care taker at heart. She takes in strays. She’s probably had over 20 dogs in her lifetime (not including me). She took me in about 34 ½ years ago. She had me tagged, dipped, got my shots about 2 years later. She had even planned to have 13 children. Slade and Seth broke her of that fantasy.

Since we moved home to New Iberia – she’s had Pepper, our shared dog and dozens of goldfish. Momma has sort of taken Pepper over as a Foster Parent. Sheila was never a Cat Lady. In fact she used to rail against all the strays in our neighborhood. Once she called the SPCA to come and get them. Another time she counseled our elderly neighbors about not feeding them so that they might quit hanging around here.

About 2 or 3 months ago her heart got in the way of her brain. She needed someone to comfort, care for, and cuddle. I think she’s given up on me. She looked at the Cat Herd and picked out the neatest cat – the only one in a Tux. She named her Cat. About 1 month ago she “fell in love” with another one – now called OC (other cat). Sheila is loving but she does discriminate with her affection. I’ve learned this the hard way.

She – depending upon the day - hates, ignores, threatens, sprays with water, or throws rocks at the Tom Cats in the yard. I’ve tried to explain that these are probably relatives of her beloved Cat and OC. She doesn’t care. There, you know - “men!”

As I ventured on the porch yesterday morning I discovered two more little cats – a white fur ball and a yellow one. Evidently our homeless shelter is also now a home for unwed mothers and their progeny. Obviously one of her darlings – OC - is “promiscuous” (I think both are but Sheila hasn’t come to grips with this yet). Mommas can be blind to the foibles of their children. Sheila is no exception.

When I get back from Baton Rouge, I ask about our two new children. I discover that OC has been on fertility drugs – there are four not two children. I smile – more responsibility. There’s the 4 Fs – food, fleas, fecal material, and fur that I’ll now have to endure. The good news is that these “kids” grow up and leave home a lot sooner than the two legged ones and no one expects you to send your “kittens” to private schools or your cats to college. Also these progeny don’t get married so there’s no wedding to pay for.

Three times yesterday – Sheila drags me to the porch to celebrate with her the litter. She’s prepared a safe haven for them on the porch. Food and water are perfectly positioned for the comfort of OC. The area around their “crib” is barricaded to keep away dogs, Tom Cats, and owls. She’s commandeered Slade from my Momma’s side so they can bathe these “little darlings” and dip them for fleas. She talked to the Vet about the appropriate process. Finally we sleep with the blinds open so she can check on them during the night. I’m surprised I don’t have to do guard duty.

How immature – how can an educated and mature adult be so enamored with Cats? At 7:00 I take leave from the Nursery for adult activities – the LSU game. Geaux Tigers!