49th edition - August 2014
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magazin e WE SAY KEEP IT FRESH KEEP IT POSITIVE Vol 49 August 2014 THE OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF SLIDELL SLIDELL’S NATIVE SON, RONNIE DUNAWAY, FIGHTS FOR THE WHO DAT NATION!!
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Who Owns Who Dat?
Transcript of 49th edition - August 2014
magazine
WESAY
KEEP IT FRESHKEEP IT POSITIVE
Vol 49August 2014
THE OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF SLIDELL
WHO OWNS WHO DAT?WHO OWNS WHO DAT?
SLIDELL ’S NAT IVE SON, RONNIE DUNAWAY, F IGHTS FOR TH E WHO DAT NAT ION!!
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PO Box 4147 • Slidell, LA 70459www.SlidellMag.com • 985-789-0687
Kendra Maness - Editor/[email protected]
Brian Friel - Graphic [email protected]
Contributing WritersThe Buzz, Donna Bush
Sli-Ku, Lee KreilThe Storyteller, John CaseJockularity, Corey Hogue
Pet Points, Jeff Perret, DVMSlidellicacies, John Maracich III
Crimmi-Mommly Insane, Leslie GatesOnce Upon A Time...In Slidell, Ronnie Dunaway
EFOP, Charlotte Lowry-CollinsYEA, Kim Bergeron
Lori Gomez www.LoriGomezArt.comMike Rich [email protected] Marie Sand [email protected]
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Editor’s Letter
A few months ago, I received an email:
Hi Kendra, my name is Magen and I work for State Farm. I had been meaning to do this for a while and a recent turn of events in my life made me realize I need to stop putting things off. I have been reading Slidell Magazine since it came out and I absolutely LOVE it! I’m like a kid at Christmas time the first of every month waiting for the issues to be delivered to our office. It’s amazing with all the ups and downs ‘we’ as a community have had, reading it all in the Slidell Magazine makes me feel so connected to the community like we are all one big happy family. The purpose of this email is just to encourage you and to let you know how much I appreciate the magazine and your efforts to publish it. Your hard work and your heart as well as the staff shows on every page. You TRULY are an inspiration to me! Back in October you did a Breast Cancer Awareness article on yourself and it has changed me and stuck with me ever since. One thing you said was that you aren’t a breast cancer survivor, that would mean you crawled your way out and barely made it. But no, you are a breast cancer CONQUEROR - kicking butt and taking names. I read that and was like WOW! That is awesome!! Well, recently the doctors diagnosed me with triple negative breast cancer. I’m only 28. It was the shock of my life. I was flooded with prayers, concerns and thoughts from all kind of ladies that I have never met, simply because they wanted to rally around me because we shared a similar enemy, breast cancer. All I could think about was that article. I began to encourage them – no guys, you aren’t survivors barely making it by, YOU ARE CONQUERORS! So I just wanted to tell you that. That article has helped me and stuck with me and encouraged me ever since I read it. You have no idea the impact you have. From the bottom of my heart and I believe I speak for everyone when I say, JOB WELL DONE! THANK YOU SO MUCH! WE APPRECIATE YOU!! Magen Tardo
At the time when I received the email, I was going through a stage in my life where I was questioning my career path. Not the awesomeness of Slidell Magazine – that’s a given. It was more like my ability to rise to the challenge of that awesomeness.
There was an unexpected job opening that had come available. My dream job – or at least what I had always thought would be my dream job.
Magen’s letter had impacted me greatly, and I shared it with my friends and writers. After reading it, Rose Marie Sand, being the true
metaphysical spirit that she is, said, “Go on the job interview because you need to have that experience. But, this email tells you where you really need to be.”
I didn’t answer Magen’s email. I didn’t know what to say. I was ashamed that I was even considering another job after her beautiful words of praise.
One week later, the call came in. I didn’t get the job. Believe it or not, I WAS ELATED!
I immediately began to search for Magen. I had to find her. To thank her. To let her know how much her simple gesture had meant to me and my path in life.
The following Monday, card and flowers in hand, I made a surprise visit to Magen’s office. Through watery eyes, her coworkers told me that she was in the hospital that very moment, having a bilateral mastectomy. My heart sank.
I raced to SMH and waited anxiously for her to get out of surgery. The nurse led me to Magen’s room just as she was being wheeled in. Her family hadn’t arrived yet from the waiting area and we were alone.
I walked in to see a BEAUTIFUL young girl, still drowsy from surgery. I’d never met Magen before so I quietly asked, “Magen?” She opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled.
“You came,” she said. And cried.
The next 30 minutes, I choked back tears as I talked with Magen, and watched her husband, mother, family and friends pour into the room to hug her. I made it all the way to the parking lot before I lost it. Then I sat in my car and sobbed.
In the midst of her own personal struggles, Magen took the time to make me feel better about myself. She revealed herself and her emotions, and made herself vulnerable – at a time in her life when vulnerability is dangerous. In doing so, she unwittingly changed my life. Her email about my impact on her life actually had the reverse effect. She’s become my inspiration, and my friend.
We are constantly being inspired, humbled and changed by others. And, we are doing the same for them. Your actions, even the simplest of them, have the ability to profoundly impact someone’s life in ways you could never imagine. I thank God for sending me Magen to remind me of this.
Magen’s battle is still being fought. This month, she’ll finish her final round of chemotherapy and will begin over 30 radiation treatments.
On August 16, please join me at a fundraising benefit for Magen,
hosted at Fradella’s Collision Center on Brownswitch Road, from
10am – 5pm. There will be professional car washes, hotdogs, raffles and more. You too will be
inspired by this amazing young lady! See you there!
Blessings,
6
Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People
I feel like this may be one of my more important stories. I am driven by the fact that this month’s EFOP is one of the “Greatest Generation”, a term coined to describe the generation who grew up
in the US during the deprivation of the Great Depression, and then went on to fight in World War II, or support the war efforts back home. They are known for their sense of individual responsibility, honor, work ethic and, most importantly, their monumental contributions to our freedom. The fact is that those bearing these characteristics are growing difficult to find today. I hope to convey accurately what makes them the “Greatest” for readers of my generation and younger. Of course I want this article to help us all respect our elders. But even further, I really want to spur families to take the time, ask questions, listen, write down, and record what their seniors have to tell and the changes they have witnessed. You will benefit if you take this to heart.
By now, you are probably anticipating that this month’s EFOP will tell us about all the great things he’s done. It won’t be like that, and this is precisely the difference between our generation and his. On paper, his first and middle name is Julius Francis. You probably don’t recognize him from that, though. He explains, “A childhood friend starting calling me ‘Pete’ because I reminded him of someone he had known by that name. It stuck, and people in Slidell have called me that ever since, so I guess I liked the nickname.” The first thing Pete Ouder told me was, “I am not going to speak in terms of ‘I or me’ but in terms of ‘us and we.’”
Mr. Pete was born and raised here, with over ninety-two years of Slidell’s history to share. He has had the rare opportunity to see the transitions through six generations, beginning with his grandmother who ate Sunday dinner at their house every week. He immediately recalls, “Grandmother was very strict. She
always arrived wearing a hat. She would walk all the way from Olde Towne, referred to then as ‘uptown’, down Pontchartrain Highway to ‘downtown’, and on to what we called the ‘Salmen Towne’ for my mom’s gumbo. My mom, Elma Faciane, was a good cook, especially her gumbo. My dad, John Julius Ouder, was born here too. He worked for Southern Railroad, and was a bridge foreman from what was then South Point, which no longer exists, all the way to Meridian, Mississippi. He was a hard working man who believed in helping others.” I am sure this is part of why Pete Ouder is who he is today.
“There wasn’t anything easy about their lives back then,” Mr. Pete says. The “Greatest Generation” is also known for how they honored and obeyed their parents. At this point, I had to wonder what my generation would be like if we had these same, strict influences? Would we have listened, or would we have rebelled more than we did?
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Mr. Pete is proud to have been birthed in his Olde Towne home on Fourth Street by Dr. Griffith. “In 1933, our family was the first to move outside the edge of town to Pontchartrain Drive. Later, Spence’s Restaurant would be built across the street. The restaurant eventually became the famous Bosco’s.” I have heard many funny stories about Bosco’s. It was one of the local’s favorite watering holes in the 40’s, and Slidellians flocked there for drinks and lively meals. But when Pete’s family built their home, there were no other buildings. “There were pecan trees and two dairies, Ed Kennedy’s and Willie Rousseau’s. Both cow fields were located back to back on College and Carey Streets, along Highway 11. Mr. Ray lived on the corner, and walked the cows from the dairy to the pastures. There were also wild cows that belonged to families who let them roam free.” He laughed and recalled, “Highway 11 was the only place in the US where traffic was stopped on a federal highway for dairy cows to cross twice a day.”
Mr. Pete’s childhood memories are like annals in Slidell’s developmental history. “I walked everywhere barefoot, swimming in the brick pits (now Palm Lake) and hunting and fishing in the woods and marsh that you call Eden Isles.” He laughs and shakes his head slightly, “My first job was as a car hop at the White Kitchen. They didn’t pay you, but you were allowed to work for tips. That is how things were in those lean times.”
I wonder how many of you know that he was a musician? Of course Mr. Pete says, “Oh, I don’t know that you would have called me a musician, but I was proud to have played alto sax in the Slidell High School Band. And I was also in a group we formed with Bobby Ezell, Nunzio Giordana and Buddy Ouilliber who played the trombone. Later, the Army sent me to the University of Oklahoma where I played in the Army Band there. Music was my favorite pastime, and I still love it today. Billie Mae and I listen to music almost every morning, mostly jazz. That’s how I like to start my day. ”
Now I have to reveal the things he so humbly told me. It took a lot of questioning to reveal them, things he probably would not tell to strangers. It also took tips from fellow acquaintances. I’ll start with the fact that he was recently awarded the French Legion of Honor award. This award is the highest honor that can be given by the French Consul General, Jean Claude Brunet. The presentation was awarded during the 70th anniversary of D-Day at the National World War II Museum in New Orleans. It was an elaborate occasion and the photos are priceless: Mr. Pete being kissed by the Liberty Belles (a 1940’s styled USO singing trio, much like the famous Andrews sisters), Mr. Pete receiving the award, and photos with son, Jules, and grandson, Eli, who was in uniform as a Captain in the Air Force Reserve. Mr. Pete modestly says, “I’m really surprised I was one
of the 17 selected. There were a whole lot of men who served in France and you had to have certain qualifications. In order to verify my qualifications for this medal, I had to fill out a form, and my answers to several of these questions, like the number of educational degrees and how many published articles I have, was ‘none’. I don’t have a computer, so I just wrote it by hand. I never wrote ‘I’, but used ‘us and we’ because that is how I was raised. My daughter encouraged me to send it in, so I did, never thinking I would be selected.”
When he received the award and expression of gratitude for liberating France, he was quoted in the news media as stating simply, “It means a lot, I wasn’t expecting this.” Mr. Pete admits that he didn’t know what to expect when he was drafted. “Going into combat was something different. You finally realized that somebody was shooting at you and you had to shoot back,” he said. “If you weren’t a good shooter, you better learn.” Why was Sergeant Julius Ouder, of Company E, 120th Infantry, 30th Division selected? If you know anything about World War II, you know that his participation in Normandy, France, The Battle of the Bulge in Belgium, then in Germany, the Crossing of the Roer and Rhine Rivers, was heroic. His efforts were what
we call today “boots on the ground” and his mission there was noble. His infantry division was ordered to liberate these lands from the Germans. “I don’t talk about the details or the War much. None of us do. I think humility is not the only reason, but there is a great deal of guilt over why you came home when so many did not.”
Mr. Pete does have vivid memories of his years fighting in the War and with much prodding recalls, “I do remember well how bitterly cold those Ardennes Mountains were, and we were sorely lacking in terms of cold weather clothing. We would dig holes to huddle within, and cut branches to cover ourselves. Our canteens would even freeze.” “There was a lot more to Normandy than just D-Day. D-Day was the big day, but Normandy was a vast area.” He remembered the day things came to a climax for his battalion. “In August of 1944, we were moved suddenly in the middle of the night to the highest elevation point. The Germans were trying to cut General Patton off from his supplies by water, and we had to maintain that hill. It was referred to on some maps as Hill 314 or Hill 317 on others, which indicates the elevation. Soon we had Germans shooting at us from all four sides. We were trapped for seven days, and about half of us were killed, wounded, or captured. We were without food and water ourselves for a couple of days. To show you how close we were, I remember the little French house where we would sneak to get water at night. The Germans went there by day to get water, and all the while the owners were trapped inside.”
For fourteen months, Mr. Pete and his comrades fought their way through France, Belgium, Luxemburg, Ardennes, Rhineland, and Germany. During those raids, he was hit twice by shrapnel in 1944 and again in 1945. He sadly remembers the dangers of not only the enemy, but also the losses due to friendly fire. “A lot of Americans were killed by their own. It was often just a matter of luck, with no reason why the soldier next to you was killed and you weren’t.” In my research, I learned that twice his batallion was accidently hit by friendly bombings. To punctuate the dangers,
Mr. Pete looks away for a second, then raises both arms as if feeling out to his sides and says, “I will never forget reaching out and touching a bomb crater on both sides of me with each hand. That is how close it was.”
Each location was another learning experience. “The Bocage was different because of the massive hedgerows that thwarted the progress of tanks and left them exposed as they straddled the mounds. The US Intelligence underestimated the Germans and the terrain. In France, the villages were very close to each other, but the first sign of a new village was always the church steeple. We learned quickly that the Germans were watching for us from these look-out posts. We had to
Mr. Pete receives the French Legion of Honor Award from French Consul General, Jean Claude Brunet, for his contribution to
the liberation of France during WWII
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remove the architectural spires before we could enter the village to liberate it. That realization was truly a shock. It went against your very grain. I never dreamed when I was drafted that I would be blowing up church steeples right off the bat.”
One of his more amazing stories centers on twin brothers, the Nodurfts, from Indiana. “We were doing maneuver training at Camp Carson, Colorado, and those two were always together. After we landed in France, I was in a different company than them, and on the 25th of July there was a horrific bombing by our own side. After it ended, we were resting on the side of the road when a fellow companion came by with his company. He was close enough to see me and yelled out, ‘Did you hear about the Nodurft twins?’ When I shook my head indicating no, he informed me that ‘the American bombers killed one of them, and a day later, the Germans killed the other one’. Twenty-five years later, a boy was playing basketball out back with my son, Mike. Something about him led me to ask his name. It was Timmy Nodurft. That brought me back in time, as one of the twins went by the name of Tim, and there was a similarity about them. Later, I asked the boy if he had any relatives that died in France during WWII. He said he would ask his Dad. The next day, I was at my station and a man that looked very much like Timmy drove up. I strode toward him, immediately knowing why he was there. He was the twins’ brother, who had been trying to research and find out what happened to his brothers all this time. I was glad I was able to answer some of his questions. Imagine, after 25 years, this relative was moved to Slidell, working with the Michoud Space Center.”
With a shake of his head, Sergeant Ouder was ready to talk about Pete Ouder and his hometown, where he proudly returned after the War.
“I came back to Slidell and got married to Charlotte Larson, and we moved into an
apartment owned by Mayo Canulette. In 1952, my Dad, Uncle and a laborer or two and I built the home in which we are now sitting. It was referred to as the Salmen Addition. I bought the property from the Salmen Company.
“My brother, Clifford Clay or ‘CC’ for short, and I bought a service station, which we named “Ouder’s Esso’, and later moved to a Conoco. But when Slidell was booming during the Michoud period, CC decided to go into contracting. I went back to owning a service station by myself for over forty years.”
Mr. Pete shows me the Ouder’s Esso sign, which immediately brought back memories from when I was a kid. My dad filled up our ’51 Ford Coupe and I nostalgically recalled the large, muscular man that did everything to make my view outside the windows crystal clear. (At least that was what I thought was the purpose.) He also raised the hood and did mysterious things with long sticks. I watched his every move, thinking this was what kept the car running, and the gas was just something he refilled as lagniappe. I remember him being very energetic, serious and thorough. The whole time the pump was clicking off the number of gallons, he was in constant motion, focused on our car.
Slidell is filled with people who care and get involved with their community. This quality runs strong in the Ouder family, instilled by Mr. Pete’s father, and carried on through Mr. Pete’s lifetime of volunteerism. One of the most interesting and historic civic organizations Mr. Pete was involved with was the Slidell Charter Commission. “We actually set up the charter that the city of Slidell operates under today.” Mr. Pete also served with the Slidell Ethics
Committee and as President of the Jaycees. He laughs as he recalls, “You know one summer for the Jaycee’s Follies, we brought Pete Fountain to the Slidell High School Auditorium, and we packed the house. There was no air conditioning, and yet everyone was dancing!” On Sundays, you could find Mr. Pete serving as an usher at Our Lady of Lourdes Church. Many of us also remember Mr. Pete’s 20 years as a school bus driver. He remains
very involved with the Guardians of Slidell History (GOSH) Museum, and
once served as a curator alongside Charles Fritchie. This role helped start a new chapter in Mr. Pete’s long and fascinating life. He met Ms. Billie Mae Pittman after both were widowed. “We worked at
the Museum together and one day I asked her out. She said sure. We both
loved to dance, and we were on the floor at the Senior Citizen’s Hall more than any
other dancers. We would dance to bands like Johnny Johnson’s, and if there was no band, we danced to the jukebox.”
The Ouder family legacy continues to write its history. “Today I have five children, 15 grandkids, and 24 great-grandchildren.” And, amongst his many other accomplishments, Mr. Pete is proud to be a cancer survivor, thanks to chemo and over 58 radiation treatments. When asked how he wants to be remembered, Mr. Pete shows his usual modesty, “As a decent man.”
I think he’s earned that title, as well as the title of “Sir”, which he was awarded as part of the medal he only recently received, after his years of protecting the freedom of so many countries. It is hard for my generation to fathom Paris, France being held by the Nazis. I think you can now see my dilemma - there aren’t enough words to adequately thank this hero.
And I am certain the word ‘hero’ makes him uncomfortable. So that word will remain between you and me.
Pete & Charlotte Ouder, circa 1945, after his return to Slidell from WWII
Ouder’s Service Station on Front Street, circa late 1980’s. This sketch was done by Mr. Pete’s daughter-in-law, Sandra Ouder.
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The Storyteller
Bill Butler
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I don’t suppose that anyone deserves to be murdered, but if anyone did it was Bill Butler. He was an unlikable sort. Really nothing good could be said for him. Or at least I never heard anything good.
Bill had a store beside Highway 51 which, prior to interstates, was the main route from Chicago to New Orleans. Before travel guides were published, word of mouth warned that it was a bad place for a stranger to stop.
Bill did not like anyone that was a stranger. He may not have liked anyone at all. He hated Blacks, rich people, people that wore a coat and tie, Jews, Italians, Gypsies... and God forbid a Middle Easterner stopping in.
His small store sold a few necessities that were needed by people in a country community. Items that were sold were things like: Kerosene, bread, milk, crackers, Vienna sausage, and yellow country cheese in a wooden, round container. Cigarettes were twenty-five cents a pack back then but he would
sell them individually for three pennies each. This would more than double his profits and it fit the budget of a large segment of his customers.
He sold gas also. He carried only two grades of gasoline, regular and premium (which was called ethyl in those days). Actually, he had both pumps hooked to the same tank, so no
matter what you bought, you got regular. But if it was pumped out of the ethyl dispenser, you paid more money.
Gas was twenty-five cents a gallon then. If some unfortunate from up North (“North” would be anywhere above Memphis) had to stop, they were at his mercy. There was no other gas station within ten miles, so sometimes a visit to Butler’s was unavoidable. Since they had been warned about Bill through word of mouth, they would sometimes ask for just a nickel’s worth.
Selling a nickel of gasoline really irritated Bill. On most occasions he would demand the nickel first, then remove the hose from the pump and tell the unsuspecting traveler to smell the nozzle. He would then put the nozzle back on the hook and retreat inside the store, leaving the customer bewildered.
He had a similar act when it came to selling cheese. A small slice of cheese cost three cents, but he did not like to sell that small amount. A favorite lunchtime special for
The second in a series from “The Goat Tree Odyssey”
13
the laborers that worked nearby was a nickel sleeve of soda crackers, a slice of cheese or Vienna sausage and a soft drink. An order for three cents of cheese would send him into a cursing tirade and he would use the ‘smell the knife’ approach on them.
There was stereotyping in those days too. All races in the rural community liked a lunch of cheese and crackers, Vienna sausage and a soft drink. Black people preferred Royal Crown Cola known as RC Cola, and white people preferred either Coke or Pepsi.
The entire religious community coveted converting Bill to Christianity and making him a God-fearing man. The Baptist had been recruiting him for years, but the Methodist and Pentecostals had taken their aim also. Once, even the Presbyterians from town came down and brought him a Bible. That was surprising because they were the rich folks and, if he had showed up at church, they probably would not have let him in. Saving Bill’s soul would be like winning a gold medal at the Olympics.
It did not happen. He got killed first. They found him behind the counter late on a Saturday afternoon. He had been stabbed. The sheriff reported that there was little evidence, but he thought it was a Black person. When asked why he thought that, he said that left on the counter was some cheese, crackers and an RC Cola.
Anyone could have killed Bill Butler and, even in those days, most people thought that the sheriff
was applying hasty generalizations. The sheriff dismissed the rebuke and said it was his job to catch the perpetrator, and the courts place to find him guilty and send him to the gas chamber.
There was another angle to the murder. Bill did not use a bank. He did not believe in them. He kept his money, if he had any, somewhere - but no one knew where. Could the murder have been an attempt to rob him?
It would be years before the murder was correctly solved; but in the meantime, Bill had to be buried. Most all cemeteries were either family owned, church owned, or you had to have money for a plot. No family, not even Bill’s cousins, wanted him buried at Butler’s Rest. It did not appear that he could afford to buy a plot, so that left one of the churches that gave away free spaces to make a decision.
The funeral home was in charge of trying to negotiate with any church that would take him. They were rebuffed. There was a potter’s field that was owned by the county, but Bill never paid his taxes; so they felt letting him take advantage of them all those years and giving him a free burial was just not what the public would want.
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I guess the funeral home held onto old Bill for about two weeks. Then someone remembered that Bill had driven a school bus for several years. He had been fired from that because he refused to pick up the children from families he did not like. Of course, that was most of them. He still had the school bus however.
It was becoming fashionable for churches to have buses to transport their members. Often youth groups used them or they would be used for fellowship trips. Only the larger urban churches could afford them.
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As things would have it, the funeral home contacted the small Baptist Church in the community where Bill lived and negotiated a swap; a bus for a grave plot. It immediately gave Bill a place to be buried and moved the church into a higher position of importance as they now had their own church bus. All was well, and Bill was buried in an unmarked grave in the Baptist Cemetery.
The church removed the “Pubic School” lettering and put their own name on the side of the bus. In a few weeks, it was ready for its inaugural trip. The trip would take a youth group to Percy Quinn State Park for a picnic. All of the children, driver and chaperons were on the bus. As the driver started the engine, it
backfired and the engine compartment burst into flames. Everyone was safely evacuated through the rear emergency door, but the front of the bus was totally destroyed. Bill Butler had defied anything religious, even after death. He had a free grave and they had a worthless bus.
The bus was towed to a remote corner of the church property and there it sat for several years. Finally, it was decided to remove the rear differential and axle, as these could be sold to fit
on many of the pulp wood trucks that were prevalent at the time.
While disassembling the rear end of the bus, a metal box was found welded underneath. When it was opened, there was Bill’s money; over twenty-thousand dollars in cash. Bill became the largest donor that church has ever had - even until this day. Today there is a large monument on his grave and a stained glass window in the front of the church dedicated to his memory.
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It’s summer time, and the living is easy! Summer conjures up so many images and associations, most of them positive, I’d venture to say. School’s out, of course, although parents and children probably regard this aspect of summer with opposite emotions. Snoballs! Vacations! Summer reading lists! Well, maybe not so much. For me, summer time as a kid always meant swimming. In the pool or at the swimming hole, I couldn’t wait for the days to get longer and hotter so we could get into the water. Nowadays, I’m often asked by pet owners what I think about letting their dogs swim. Not many questions about cats swimming, as you might have guessed.
In general, I think it’s a great idea. Swimming is a fantastic form of exercise for dogs, just as it is for their owners. Dog-paddling for 1 minute is the equivalent of about 4 minutes of land-based exercise, according to canine exercise research. The water offers extra resistance to the movement of muscles, requiring more effort than running on land. For dogs suffering from certain bone or joint conditions, swimming can provide range-of-motion benefits without the weight-bearing, and resulting concussive forces, associated with running and jumping. Of course, if you jump into the water with Rover and get some high-quality exercise
yourself, everybody wins! And on top of the health benefits, swimming is plain old F-U-N, for both of you!
As long as common sense prevails, there shouldn’t be too many risks associated with dogs enjoying occasional or even regular swimming. Frigid water isn’t much of a concern in Louisiana; if it’s warm enough for you, it should be fine for Fido. Paw and pad issues can arise, especially when swimming along rocky or stump-ridden shorelines, or areas where broken glass could be present. You can actually get Spot some rubberized protective booties in various sizes for all four feet, if you want to be pro-active. While I can’t say I’ve treated any skin diseases that I know for sure were the result of pool or natural water exposure, I think it’s a good idea to give your dog’s coat a quick rinse, or even a bath after swimming, if possible. On a similar note, while water in the ear canal isn’t considered a primary cause of ear infections, dogs who are prone to ear problems due to allergies or other underlying causes (and there are MANY such dogs) will be more likely to have problems if water is allowed to accumulate in the ears. Ask your veterinarian to recommend an appropriate cleaning / flushing/ drying solution if you think your water-loving pooch needs it.
Of course, the ultimate risk - drowning - bears mentioning. Adult supervision, by someone who can swim, is ideal. Older or debilitated dogs are particularly vulnerable to falling into a swimming pool and then being unable to get out. If you have a pool, teach your dog where the steps and ladder are, and be sure he can make his way to dry land every time without fail, before considering giving him access to
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the water without supervision. If a dog is found struggling to get out of a pool, or in a near-drowning situation, get her to a veterinarian immediately. Even if she appears healthy, water aspirated into the lungs could cause serious problems or even death after the fact. Drinking / swallowing pool water, whether on purpose, or accidentally while swimming, is probably not going to cause any problems beyond an upset stomach, in all but the most extreme cases. This is true for both salt water and chlorinated pools. Sea water, however, can have salt levels 100 times higher than pool water, and may be more likely to lead to GI problems if swallowed in significant amounts. Bayous, rivers and other fresh-water swimming holes are best left
un-drunk. I can tell you from personal experience that drinking from a stream or river, even if the water
appears crystal-clear, as one might do on a carefree overnight canoe trip, for instance, can result in
some major cramps, vomiting and diarrhea.
Here in Slidell, we’re blessed with many natural options for a cool dip, in case you don’t have a pool of your own. Probably the best is Northshore Beach, on Lake Pontchartrain along Carr Drive. It’s a public beach with a gradual sandy slope, and typically has calm water. Last I checked, there were no signs prohibiting
dogs, although you should obey existing leash laws. The dog park planned for Fritchie
Park will have a fountain – not “natural”, but open to all - to cool off canine visitors after a
frolic on the lawn, at least according to the plans I’ve seen.
And now, a bit of a digression. Since we’re on the subject of keeping cool in the Louisiana heat, here’s some clarification on a topic that made the rounds on social media recently, and is probably still out there. The issue: ice water or ice chips for dogs. The bottom line: despite dire warnings from anonymous experts on Facebook and other internet sources, there’s no evidence that ice is dangerous for dogs to eat, nor is ice-cold water dangerous to drink. Specifically, there’s no increased risk of canine bloat from drinking ice water or eating ice chips. While bloat is a devastating, often fatal condition (more on that in a future column), the idea that it can be caused by ingesting ice or cold water is just an internet myth. If I wanted to err on the side of caution, I guess it would be prudent to say that a dog could potentially choke on a piece of ice, just as he could choke on any other solid object. But please don’t lose any sleep worrying that you’ve been risking your dog’s life if you give him an occasional ice cube to munch. And if you bring some along to cool off as part of your next swimming outing, so much the better.
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18
Story and Art by Lori Gomez
TEMPTING THEPalette
1337 gause Blvd #102, SlidellLocated behind Copeland’s
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Now Serving Cupcakesfacebook.com/CreoleBagelry
I t’s hard to believe that summer is coming to an end and the beginning of the new school year is here. This year, my daughter Kaitlin is
beginning her second year of college and my son Glynn is beginning his senior year of high school. Like a lot of parents at this stage of parenthood, I find myself wondering where did the time go? How is it possible that my husband Mike and I are the parents of two young adults? It seems like it wasn’t that long ago we were getting ready for their first day of kindergarten. Of course, no matter how old they are, they will always be my babies. It’s just that now my son is about a foot taller than me. Back when they were little, I could never
have imagined that my daughter would be studying Criminal Forensics and that this summer she would intern at the Slidell Police Station. She even went on a ride-along! My son spent the summer working fulltime with my husband. I am very blessed to have two really good kids.
But now Mike and I find ourselves in new territory. For the past 20 years of our 25 year marriage, our lives have been all about our kids. Of course, we will never stop worrying about them no matter how old they are. But now we have to trust that we have given them the tools they will need in life to make good decisions. And with the economy beginning what it is, it’s doubtful we will be empty nesters
anytime soon - which is fine with me! But we do find that we are spending more time by ourselves. We are definitely not the same people we were 25 years ago. Life’s experiences have remolded us. Now it’s time to figure out who we are, besides Kaitlin and Glynn’s parents. It’s the beginning of a new chapter in our lives and time to get reacquainted with one another.
One thing that will never change is our mutual love for the Saints. It’s not only the beginning of the school year, but also preseason football and time to start preparing for football weekends. (How’s that for a segway?) It’s time to break out our Saints wardrobe. I love the Fridays before a big game, when the majority of
19
Saints fans wear black and gold. It’s great when you’re out and about and everyone is showing their love and support of our team. I also love entertaining for the games. But I don’t like having the same kind of food every weekend. A person can only have so many hamburgers and hotdogs. I like to change things up and offer my guests something different each week. For big gatherings, we generally do potluck. I usually provide the main dish and a couple of snacks. Then my guests bring whatever is their specialty. It’s okay to think outside the box of traditional football foods.
At this time we find ourselves with plenty of vegetables from the garden. This month, I thought I would share one of my favorite soups that will utilize them.
Roasted Tomato Soup
8 cups of seeded tomatoes (Use a variety of tomatoes)½ cup diced onion¼ cup diced celery2 jalapeno peppers seeded and chopped (optional)4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped2 or 3 tbsp. of olive oil2 tsp. Kosher salt1 tsp. cracked black pepper1 ½ sticks butter½ cup flour1 tbsp. ground cumin2 cups heavy cream4 cups chicken stock
1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees
2. Place tomatoes, onion, celery, jalapenos and garlic on a rimmed baking sheet and drizzle olive oil over them. Season with 1 tsp. of salt and ½ tsp. of pepper.
3. Roast in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes, and then set aside.
4. In a pot on the stove, melt the butter over medium high heat.
5. Add the flour and cook about 5 minutes until light brown.
6. Immediately add the vegetables and pan juices. Mix together well.
7. Season with cumin and remaining salt and pepper.
8. Add chicken stock, lower heat and cover. Simmer for 30 minutes.
9. At this point, I put the mixture in a blender and puree till smooth.
10. Return to the pot and add cream. Mix till blended.
11. Keep warm until ready to serve. It freezes well.
This soup is great served with garlic bread or garlic cheese bread.
Garlic Bread
1 loaf of French bread 1 stick of butter½ tsp. Kosher salt2 tbsp. olive oil (this will make the bread crunchy)
1 or 2 cloves of minced garlic
1. Instead of slicing bread lengthwise, I like to make ¼ - ½ inch horizontal slices.
2. Melt butter in small pot, just till slightly brown.
3. Add olive oil, salt and garlic. Cook about one minute till garlic is fragrant. Do not brown the garlic or it will taste bitter.
4. Baste bread and bake in a preheated 400 degree oven for 8-10 minutes.
If you want to kick it up a notch, you can add cheese before baking. If I were serving this with the Roasted Tomato Soup, I would add Mozzarella cheese, then sprinkle a little Parmesan on top, then bake.
Talk about comfort food! It’s outstanding on a rainy day. It’s also great with Brie Cheese.
The last recipe is also great to serve when you’re having people over for the game.
French Bread with Spinach Topping
1 pack frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained1 loaf of French bread, sliced in ¼ - ½ inch rounds1 plum tomato, seeded and chopped¼ cup onion, chopped1 clove garlic, minced½ cup feta cheese¼ cup mayonnaise¼ cup sour cream½ tsp. dill weed
¼ tsp. salt
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Lay bread slices out on a baking pan.
3. Mix all remaining ingredients together.
4. Spread 1 tbsp. of mixture on each slice of bread.
5. Bake 12-15 minutes. Enjoy!
I welcome your feedback! If you have a favorite recipe that is great for football season that you would like to share or if there is a recipe that you would like to see,
email me at: [email protected]
You can enjoy more of Lori’s art on facebook:
www.facebook.com/LoriGomezArtor by visiting:
www.LoriGomezArt.com
Keep a look out for the Roasted Tomato Soup at Creole Bagelry. They will feature the soup and garlic bread bagel sticks for their weekly soup special!
This beautiful acrylic on wood painting is a rendition of a New Orleans Saints-themed streetcar and is
currently for sale in the Main Street Marketplace.
Go check it out!
Lori & Mike Gomez celebrating their 20th anniversary!
20
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Look at the end of this article and you’ll see a picture of my granddaughters, Grace and Allison, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, up in the mountains of North Carolina. Mary, our daughter Betsy, and the girls made a week-long trip up there during Mardi Gras this year. Snowfall in the Blue Ridge mountains varies quite a bit from year to year. Sometimes they get a lot, sometimes they don’t. This year was one of the biggies, however, and the four girls were lucky enough to get about five inches of snow during their visit. As southern gals, Grace and Allison had never seen snow, so they got a real treat. They are still talking about it and how good those snowflakes tasted when they caught them on their tongues.
When I look at that picture (and I look at it a lot because those girls are SO CUTE), I think about how lucky I am. I have a wonderful family, good health, a to-die-for wife, faithful friends, clients who trust me, and a vocation I love to wake up for every day. Those are the things money can’t buy. I’ll tell you something, though. I wouldn’t feel nearly as good if I hadn’t been true to my financial responsibilities for the past 40-odd
years and provided some security for Mary and me. We’re certainly not wealthy, but, in the great scheme of things, we’re doing OK.
However, our financial situation didn’t happen by accident. It took a lot of work.
Problem is, a lot of people don’t want to put in the work (or the money) needed to build financial security. For as long as I’ve been paying attention to the financial scene, it’s become increasingly apparent to me that many people still think there’s a magic wand that will be waved over them some day that will erase years of financial irresponsibility. They seem to think that, despite their lack of savings, poor (or no) planning, religious adherence to instant gratification, and other dumb moves, it will all work out in the end. Well, I’ve got some bad news for them. There is no magic wand and it’s not likely to work out in the end. How can it? Is money going to fall from the sky like those snowflakes my granddaughters caught on their tongues? The answer is “no, it’s not,” and, unless they catch a lucky break, those folks are not going to have enough money for a decent life. It’s all very sad. In fact, it’s even sadder because, for a lot of people, that dismal situation can be avoided if they take five basic financial steps. In fact, they can start right now. Here’s what I’d be doing:
1. I’d live within my means. It’s been said that if you try to keep up with the Joneses, there will always be another Jones around the corner with more stuff. Why would anyone want to get involved in that losing game? Earlier this summer, I read a book by Martin Lindstrom called “Buyology – Truth and Lies About Why We Buy”. The book describes the incredible lengths to which advertisers go to manipulate our brains into buying their products, and the staggering amounts of money they spend on research to figure out how to do it better. I’ll leave out the gory details, but Lindstrom says that, because of the way our brains work, if you have a pulse, you are pretty much putty in the retailer’s hand. Now, I can’t alter your brain waves when you are compelled to buy the newest smart phone (even though the one you have works perfectly fine), but I can show you how to build a responsible spending plan that could help you strike a good balance between spending and saving. Call me.
2. I’d save and invest money. Speaking of saving, I’d start as soon as possible, even if I’m saving only a little bit each month. Despite having done the calculations hundreds
Catching snowflakes on your tongue (and what it means for your money).
21
of times for clients, I’m still blown away at the awesome power of compounding and the effect that a long period of time can have on how money can grow. If you are in your late 20s or early 30s, you have a tremendous gift: time. You have 35 to 45 years or more to save money for the future, and that is a powerfully long time. I can’t guarantee success, but consider the following example. You are 27 years old. You start an investment plan with $100 a month. Every year, you increase that amount by 10%. You get an average rate of return of 9% (not unreasonable for the broad stock market over a long stretch). You put your money in a well-diversified portfolio, and you stick with the plan. You do not waver. In 40 years, you could have about $1,800,000!1 That’s almost two million dollars, and you did it pretty much out of habit. IF YOU ARE A YOUNG PERSON AND ARE NOT TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THIS, YOU ARE MISSING OUT BIG-TIME. The same thing goes for everyone else. Call me to get started.
3. I’d buy life insurance early. I’d get the biggest term policy the insurance company would sell me, and I’d buy as much permanent life insurance as I could afford. Term life insurance is cheap for a lot of people, and, if you are a breadwinner in your family, you cannot afford to be without it. Permanent life insurance is another asset class because it builds cash value that can be used for all sorts of things long before you die.2 If you want to learn more, call me for an appointment.
4. I’d hire a financial advisor. I did a dumb thing when I was a young guy: I tried to figure out my money situation by myself, when I could have worked with a financial advisor friend who actually knew what he was doing. I eventually came to my senses and signed up with an advisor. However, when I think about the stupid mistakes I made with my money before that, it makes me sick. I could give you a list of about 15 reasons why you should work with a financial advisor (namely, me), but they’d all boil down to one thing: helping people figure out how to make their money work for them is my business. It’s probably not yours. Call me today for an appointment.
5. I’d make sure I have my legal affairs in order. The last thing you want to do is leave your loved ones with a legal mess when you die, become disabled, or can’t make medical decisions for yourself. Everyone needs a will, power of attorney, and living will. Call an attorney to get it done, then call me.
It’s not a perfect analogy, but money can be like a snowflake. If you don’t capture it somehow, it will be there one minute and gone the next. I’m not saying that you can’t enjoy life without being financially secure, but doing the five things I described above sure makes life a lot easier. My goal for all of my clients is to make sure they can experience every good thing life has to offer – like watching one’s grandchildren catching snowflakes on their tongues – without the nagging fear of financial insecurity dragging everything down. I can’t guarantee success, because it takes work, time, and commitment, but it’s well within the grasp of normal, everyday people. The key is to get started, which, sadly, most people won’t do. DON’T BE ONE OF THEM. Call me today.
Securities and Advisory Services offered through LPL Financial, a Registered Investment Advisor, Member FINRA/SIPC1This is a hypothetical example and is not representative of any specific situation. Your results will vary. The hypothetical rate of return used does not reflect the deduction of fees and charges inherent to investing. Investing involves risk, including loss of principal.2Guarantees are based on the claims paying ability of the issuing company.
The opinions voiced in this material are for general information only and are not intended to provide specific advice or recommendations for any individual.
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As Louisiana sports fans, we all have certain things we can rely on. The Saints turning out an interesting season, regardless of wins versus losses. The Pelicans bringing their A-game on the court night after night. Even the Zephyrs having Friday night fireworks and great sideline acts through every inning. One of the things we can rely on as Louisiana sports fans, above all, is our ability and the spirit we summon and emit in uttering those all-knowing phrases in support of our players, in support of our city. Phrases that bring people together, phrases we see everywhere we look, phrases that show who we are and where we stand, phrases that have whole articles written about them! We proudly say it in the most deafening volume when it pertains to our Saints, but it’s something we all proclaim
when athletes of all ages and any sport come to greatness in our great state. You all know what I’m talking about.
“Who Dat” has come to reflect something even more than a catch phrase, especially in the face of the relentless devastation we have all witnessed; it has become our battle cry to the odds against us. For one of our local Slidellians, this phrase is his battle cry AND his war. A war he is hell bent on winning. Ronnie Dunaway, local owner of “The Who Dat Shoppe!,” on Robert Street, has put upon himself a burden for all of the fans, all of us Louisianians, who claim ownership to this phrase. Ronnie, one of our own writers with Slidell Magazine, is legally fighting against Who Dat? Inc., a company that claims to own
the copyright for the phrase “Who Dat?”, for the freedom of the use of “Who Dat” for all fans and die-hards, a battle he has taken upon himself simply because he feels it is right and it is real, and it is worth fighting for. As we all know, the roots of “Who Dat?” are as planted in Louisiana culture as gumbo, jambalaya, and Mardi Gras, yeah. No one owns these ideas; they simply exist. They are in the public domain. Who Dat? Inc. has chosen this new battle to add to the list of its several
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THE ONLY ONE IN SLIDELL
Who ownsby Corey Hogue, author of “Jockularity”
23
skirmishes, from fronts as big as the NFL to smaller venues, such as beloved Ronnie’s Who Dat Shoppe!. They have had varying successes in their suits, but they have yet to come up against a fan, a landmark, a man like Ronnie Dunaway. Ronnie feels more than a responsibility to himself for this case. He feels like he is fighting for the fans, for the Louisiana proud, to use the phrase freely. While in most copyright cases this would seem like a “David vs. Goliath” sort of fight, Ronnie has strong, sound arguments to the claim for his store name, which Who Dat? Inc. is trying to take away citing their ownership of the phrase itself. Ronnie’s chances and his outlook are great, an encouraging fact when you consider a legal battle. Who Dat belongs to the fans. And Ronnie is going to make sure of that.
If you’re a Jockularity follower, you know that I wrote about the origins of “Who Dat” in the October 2013 edition of Slidell Magazine. I found that the true historical origin of the phrase is too vague to know for sure, but many say the term arose during the 1960’s and early 1970’s, starting with fans of Southern University’s Jaguar football team. Fans would say “who dat talkin’ ‘bout beatin’ dem Jags”. However, St. Augustine High School and Patterson High School have both also claimed origin of the phrase. Regardless of where exactly it came from, football was, and still is, the catalyst and main motivator behind the phrase “Who Dat!?” and its adoption into Louisiana sports. It is an attitude and an emotion that is readily available and adaptable by many generations of Louisiana athletes and sports fans.
Its adoption and the obsession that it has become, then, by the fans of the Saints, and the “Who Dat Nation”, was nothing short of inevitable. After the Aaron Neville remake of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” which included “Who Dat”, the phrase, which was already a staple on Louisiana football fields, the mantra became even more ingrained in Saints fandom. Since that song, you can’t attend a Saints game, either in person or in spirit, without at least a faint uttering of the famous phrase (and when I say at the least, I obviously mean the VERY LEAST). The phrase is an extension of the fans’ ownership and rally behind the Saints football team. Because we feel so strongly about our Saints, we chant this phrase to remind others of our dedication to be the best, and our determination to prove our nation proud. In this way, the chant has become such a
part of our culture, our heritage, that it now is synonymous with football in Louisiana. It’s practically in our blood.
That brings us to the major point of contention. If no one really knows where the phrase came from, who can really claim to own such a public phrase? How can one truly say that a company can claim a phrase that is chanted every week during football season, is plastered across signs and shirts, and is incorporated into countless other parts of our lives? Sounds like a tough thing to lay claim to. It’s like trying to say you own blades of grass or the clouds above your house. How can you own something that is a part of people?
One company claims, at least, to own this right. Who Dat? Inc., a company based out of San Antonio, makes most of its money based on the royalties associated with anything sold using the “Who Dat?” phrase. Their claim to the phrase goes back to 1983 when Steve and Sal Monistere, after producing Aaron Neville’s “Who Dat?” song, trademarked the phrase. After a few weeks, and through the use of “Flash Cards”, bumper stickers, and t-shirts, they claim to have propelled the phrase “into the public consciousness forever.” They are the first to market the phrase and use it to sell merchandise. After trademarking the phrase in 1983, the company started to produce and sell the phrase for commercial use.
To that end, they have been known to send “cease and desist” letters, as well as require compensation for use of the phrase “Who Dat?”, to various businesses, mainly those that sell merchandise adorned with the iconic phrase. In 2010, when there was question as to the legal owner of “Who Dat?”, Who Dat? Inc., the NFL, and the New Orleans Saints all had various arguments over who had the legal commercial rights to the phrase. After much backlash by the public and media outlets, the NFL settled with Who Dat? Inc. over the rights to the phrase. Since then, many shops have had to pay royalties to sell anything with “Who Dat?” plastered on it or risk litigation. The main result is that many of these stores
pull their Who Dat merchandise, citing that it is easier and
more cost effective to pull merchandise
than fight over a trademark in court. As a result of these instances, no one has actually stood in the courtroom
and determined who actually owns
“Who Dat?” No one has been bold enough or felt it
important enough to stand up
to the big bad business and fight for the right of the Dat.
Enter Ronnie Dunaway. Ronnie opened the Who Dat Shoppe! in 2007 almost by accident. He started to sell some Saints merchandise in his shop, which became so popular that he decided to switch completely over to Saints apparel. He thought of the name, thinking it would be the perfect name for his new store, and applied with the state of Louisiana in 2007 for the rights to the name of the shop. Since then he has included LSU, New Orleans Pelicans, and New Orleans Voodoo apparel into his stock. What we may not know as Louisianians is that not many other states actually have these specialized types of stores. It is hard to find merchandise for NFL teams in other states unless it is in a major store like Walmart or at the team’s stadium. An
interesting concept when you consider that Louisiana and even Mississippi stores are overflowing with sports-supportive items. Louisiana is unique in that these types of sports apparel stores thrive and are in high demand. Many of these stores succeed because of the extreme dedication of the fans. These fans play a huge roll in community shops, and Ronnie Dunaway sees and appreciates that. It was possibly due to Ronnie’s success and the success of the Saints that in recent years, Ronnie started to get communication from Who Dat? Inc.
Up until the Saints won the Super Bowl, Ronnie had no issues, no complaints, for the
The Who Dat Shoppe, owned by Ronnie Dunaway, on Robert Street in Olde Towne
24
use of this name for his shop, nor for the merchandise he sold. However, after the Super Bowl, he was contacted by Who Dat? Inc., who now decided to claim that they owned the phrase and were due compensation. But Who Dat? Inc.’s ownership of the name had lapsed in 2008, based on their inability to file a required annual report from 2005 - 2007, and it was not reinstated until 2009. Because of this mistake, Who Dat Shoppe! was allowed its name and began its business in 2007. Ronnie says the demands and correspondence started out nice but then, with their persistence for more and more of “their share”, Ronnie started to feel threatened by their methods. Finally, Who Dat? Inc. began to demand compensation annually for use of the Who Dat? name on his shop. When he wouldn’t comply, they sued in December of 2013.
Ronnie, the epitome of a Saints fan, would not be intimidated by threats. He found Mark Andrews, an attorney already familiar with Who Dat? Inc. and their trademark threats, and countersued. He is the first, and only, person to fight the trademark. He wants to protect his name, his business, and everything that he built into it. He has never sued anyone before, and has never been sued. He isn’t wired that way. But, he feels that Who Dat? Inc. and their methods went over the line. Someone was finally willing to stand up and fight for fair and for dignity in the Who Dat nation.
Ronnie and his lawyer are very optimistic. Besides his own optimism, many fans, from Slidell and outward, have all pledged their support to his cause. Which is exactly the reason for his desire to fight. As has been stated in many articles, in many different forms of media, “Who Dat?” belongs to the fans. It was started by fans, and the owners of the phrase are the fans themselves. Ronnie is a staunch supporter of this fact. So much so that he is staking much personal cost and time into making this phrase available for more than just his own shop.
He believes that businesses should be free to include the phrase in their name, “as long as they don’t use the name ‘Who Dat Shoppe!’”. It would be no big endeavour to change his name, take out his Who Dat? merchandise, and forget this whole thing happened. In fact, he would have little trouble sustaining his business if he did decide to change the name. However, Ronnie believes so fiercely that this name cannot be trademarked or owned by a single entity. His fight is our fight; his battle is the battle for the fans. There is more at stake than some apparel and a business name. Ronnie’s success would mean a win for the fans. Part of his argument is that something that is such a part of the community, such a public statement, which was created in the public domain BY the public, cannot be trademarked.
Make no mistake, the history of the Monistere’s involvement in the production of the “Who Dat?” song, sung by Aaron Neville, was one reason why the phrase has become popular. The popularity of the phrase, though, spans before and beyond their production. The phrase may be a supportive chant for the New Orleans Saints. There is no argument of that. But to claim the phrase “Who Dat?” as if it were some product is laughable. We chant it in restaurants, grocery stores, and in line at the DMV. We wear it more than just on our shirts. We wear it on our faces, on our Facebooks and Twitters, and,
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most importantly, on our hearts. It’s a rallying cry, not a ticket stand. The phrase is a social phenomenon, not a manufactured product. To say anything to the contrary is an insult to the creative collective of the people of the state of Louisiana.
The origins of “Who Dat?” go back, arguably, almost 50 years now. Since then it has become the state attitude. It is Louisiana through and through. There is no answer to the question, it is rhetorical because nothing and no one will beat us down. Who Dat? Inc., which does not claim to have created or started the phrase, nevertheless claims to own the rights to the phrase. They have influenced many businesses into giving up their claims, their merchandise, and their desire to fight. However, they seem to have finally found the wrong person to fight against. Ronnie Dunaway is a hero of the
people. Yeah, that sounds a little dramatic, but this case is a case for the fans. He is an ardent supporter of the phrase and its ownership by the fans. His business is important to him and he will fight to keep the name on the front of his building. But, more importantly, he wants to fight for every Saints fan to do the same. Because, he believes, as we all do, that the phrase is for anyone and everyone to publicly declare, proclaim, and proudly wear. In the end, it would be very easy if this all was about selling shirts. But, this goes beyond merchandise, beyond a business name, and beyond the original production of any song. This is about the rights of the public. The rights of the fans of Louisiana to use the phrase as their own. After January 2015, when the case will take place, we will know for sure who owns the rights to the phrase.
But in the meantime, Ronnie Dunaway will use his personal resources and his personal fire to fight for his beliefs, something that not many of us could probably say we would do. So to this man and for this fight, I say, Thank You. Thank You for taking it upon yourself to support your business and the culture of who we are as a people and for how far we have come. Thank You for realizing that this is a fight worth fighting and that sometimes, the big guy isn’t always right, just because he likes to think he is. Slidell has won a lot of victories in its day, many in the last several years. Hopefully, next year, this will be another fight we can add to the win column. Who Dat, Ronnie!
“WHO DAT!” IS NOT JUST A T-SHIRT.
IT’S A WAY OF LIFE.
26
What’s the buzz about? It’s about honeybees and their not-so-recent decline. Or is there a decline? There have been ups and downs with the number of honeybees with local beekeepers – both commercial and hobbyists.
Of course we get honey and beeswax from honeybees. But, we need them for so much more than tea sweetener and candles. We are dependent on honeybees as pollinators of many of our food sources, over 110 crops in North America. As much as 1/3 of the food on the average home’s table is dependent on honeybees. Some of the crops that would disappear are almonds, apples, blueberries, watermelons, cherries, peaches, rapeseed (canola oil), avocados, cucumbers, cranberries, onions, blackberries, grapefruit, oranges, raspberries, cantaloupe, pumpkins, pears, plums and many more. Imagine a summer without fresh fruit, a Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie or cranberry sauce? Holy Moly! No guacamole? What would Cajun cooking be without onions? Impossible!
The loss wouldn’t just be gastronomically, but also economically. According to the National Resources Defense Council (NRDC), bees in the United States alone pollinate more than $15 billion worth of crops yearly. Another way to look at this is one out of every three bites of food is dependent on a pollinator visiting the plant.
For example, approximately 80% of the world’s almond supply is grown in California and requires almost half of the United States’ honeybee population for pollination each year. The National Agricultural Statistics Service values the nations blueberry crop, which mostly comes from Maine, at more than $593 million, with 90% of the crop pollinated by honeybees. About 80% of the annual $600 million peach crop is pollinated by honeybees. Ninety percent of the avocados grown in the United States are dependent on honeybees.
Cotton fields are also dependent on these tiny buzzing creatures. Bees also pollinate many plants, flowers and trees that decorate our landscape. Beef and dairy farmers depend on bees to pollinate alfalfa and clover fields for feed. Even our coffee and ice cream could be affected. Starbucks depends on bees to pollinate coffee and Haagen-Dazs rely on bees to pollinate over half the ingredients in their ice cream.
Honeybees and humans share many similarities: we both socialize, dance, eat honey, touch, feel, mimic one another, sleep, enjoy nicotine and caffeine, get sick, and vote. Honeybees are social insects congregating in colonies, requiring a high degree of coordination and organization, governed by one queen and many female workers.
Complex communication allows the colony to quickly react to changing environmental conditions. An elaborate dance is performed to relay information about newly discovered food sources.
How do bees vote? When a hive becomes too crowded, it will split into two hives and one group must find a new home. Usually the original queen and part of the colony will leave the original hive, known as swarming. They will huddle together somewhere nearby while scout bees go out and look for a suitable location for the new hive. An ideal location would be a tree cavity located high above the ground with a small opening facing south and lots of room for storage of honey and expanding the colony. As the scouts find possible locations they return to the swarm and perform a “waggle dance” to indicate how excited they are by the new home site. The dance includes directions to a new location. As soon as at least 15 bees show up at one of the potential new hives, they return to the swarm with the declared decision and all relocate to their new home.
What about nicotine and caffeine for bees? Yes, the nectar in some flowers, such as citrus flowers, contains small quantities of caffeine and tobacco trees have nicotine. This could be what keeps the bees coming back and keeps the plants pollinated and surviving.
A bee colony consists of one queen bee, many worker bees, which are all female, and numerous drones, the male bees.
story and photos by Donna Bush
TheBuzz
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The queen’s purpose is reproduction. She will mate with several male bees before she is 20 days old, store a lifetime supply of sperm, and lay up to 1,500 eggs per day and possibly a million in her lifetime. The queen can live 3-5 years, where the males or drones die immediately after mating. Worker bees are masters of multi-tasking, performing up to 20 tasks in their short lifespan of less than 60 days to 6 months. They make up the majority of bees in the colony and are responsible for cleaning the hive, feeding the brood (young), taking care of the queen, removing debris, handling incoming nectar, constructing beeswax combs, guarding the hive entrance, and providing ventilation of the hive. When they are older they will forage for nectar, pollen, water and propolis (plant sap). When the queen dies or becomes unproductive, other bees select young larvae and feed it royal jelly to create a new queen. All young larvae are fed royal jelly for the first 2 days of their lives. Queens only eat royal jelly. Royal jelly is chewed pollen mixed with a chemical secreted from a gland on the nurse bee’s head.
Honeybees are experts at maintaining temperature of their hive. Fanning bees hover just outside the hive beating their wings at 24,500 beats per minute to keep the colony cool and to remove carbon dioxide. If the temperature exceeds 95 degrees, forager bees bring in water and pass it to receiver bees, which place it on the developing eggs and honeycomb. Nurse bees flap their wings to create an evaporative cooling system. In the winter when the temperature drops, the honeybees will huddle together inside the hive surrounding the queen to keep her warm by vibrating and beating their wings. Bees on the outer edge of the colony will rotate in to get warm as the bees on the inside take their turn on the outer layer.
Forager bees make up 25% of the colony and average 10-15 trips per day, but can make as many 150, visiting up to 1000 flowers of the same species in the same day. Forager bees drink the nectar, store it in their crop, which is used strictly for storage, and then return to the hive where they give the nectar to processor bees. The forager bees will fly off in search of more nectar while the processor bees store the nectar in a hexagonal wax cell in the honeycomb. An enzyme, known as invertase, is added along with the nectar. Honey is ripe when all of the moisture is removed from the nectar. One of the methods used to do this is by fanning the wings to create airflow around the honeycomb. Once the honey is ripe, a processor bee will cap the cell with an airtight wax seal, aka bees wax.
Extraction of the honey takes place once all the cells in the frames are capped. The cappings are scraped off with a hot knife to reveal the golden colored honey. Several frames are placed in an extractor that spins the honey from the frames, through a filter and into a bucket. The honey is filtered three more times before bottling. The cappings are drained and then melted to get the wax for making beeswax candles. The frames are placed outside near the hive area where the bees will come and completely clean every little bit of honey from the frame. It will not even be sticky when they are done.
The queen bee emits up to 18 hormones, known as pheromones, to govern her colony. Other honeybees in the hierarchy also emit pheromones, which are used as part of their complex communication system. Pheromones are used to mark food sources, guide lost bees and to alert others to an intruder or threat. Before entering a beehive, the beekeeper will use smoke to dilute the pheromones.
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Art and Margaret Prell are local beekeepers of 22 years and longtime members of the local beekeeping club, Beekeepers of Tangi-Tamington. I was able to visit with them, suit up and explore the hives. Margaret is on the Board of Directors for the Louisiana State Beekeepers Association and her mission is to promote beekeeping and Louisiana honey. Per Art and Margaret, Louisiana ranks 15th in production of honey in the United States. The color and flavor of honey is dependent on the flowers from which the bee gathers the nectar. Per the Prells, “Louisiana honey is a pure, natural, wholesome food product and we encourage people to support their local beekeepers by purchasing Louisiana honey. The health benefits of honey are profound.”
So, what is happening to the bees? Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD) was first observed in France in 1994, shortly after the release of a new type of pesticide, from Bayer, called Gaucho. The bees had collected pollen from sunflowers treated with Gaucho and began exhibiting confused and nervous behavior leading them to abandon their hives and their queen. The first observation in the United States was in 2006 by a local beekeeper,
David Hackenberg, who later testified before Congress about the widespread problem that had become known as CCD.
There are many theories about the causes of Colony Collapse Disorder. Per Zack Lemann, Animal and Visitor Programs Manager of the Audubon Butterfly Garden Insectarium, CCD seems to be a “Perfect Storm,” a combination of the varroa mites, possibly a virus, and any weakening of the immune system. Often bees are transported in large trucks across the country to pollinate crops. This alone is a stressor for the bees. Add in a varroa mite or a virus, lack of cleanliness or any other weakening of the immune system and we have the “Perfect Storm.”
But there is some good news on the horizon. Losses of managed honeybee colonies for 2013-2014 winter were 23.2 % nationwide, according to the annual survey conducted by the Bee Informed Partnership and the U. S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). This is 7.3 % lower than the previous winter and lower than the 8-year average loss of 29.6 percent.
There is more promising news from USDA-Agricultural Research Service (ARS) in Baton Rouge, LA. Tom Rinderer, Research Leader at the Honey Bee Breeding, Genetics and Physiology Research Unit, has seen promising results with breeding of a mite resistant honeybee. Russian honeybees that survived the mite-infested Primorski region of Russia have developed a resistance to the mites. The Russian honeybee is the same species as our domesticated honeybee. Through a cooperative research initiative, Russian honeybee queens have been distributed to eleven locations with highly successful evaluations.
What can we has individuals do to help the honeybee? You can become a backyard beekeeper. If interested, join a local club such as the Beekeepers of Tangi-Tamington at LAbeekeepers.org. If donning a beekeeper suit is not for you, consider making your yard more bee friendly by planting pesticide free, nectar and pollen rich plants. Large groups of similar flowers help attract more bees. Keep a section of your yard wild, as bees prefer natural to manicured and keep it pesticide free.
Bee happy!
29
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At the young age of eight, Hardy Jackson became an entrepreneur. His great uncle,
Henry Griffin III, whom his family called “Uncle Doc,” owned an antique evaporative cooling unit, which was cooled via running water. The inquisitive young lad studied the process and suggested that its efficiency might be improved by adding ice to the water to increase its chill factor. Impressed by the suggestion, and realizing that it was sound advice that would actually work, Uncle Doc agreed to pay Hardy $10 a day to keep the unit iced all summer long.
Hardy says he learned a great deal from that experience, the most notable of which was that if one observes the needs of others, and works to find solutions to meet those needs, jobs can be created as a result.
However, it didn’t take long for the young entrepreneur to realize that the time he was devoting to his new job was cutting into his
treasured Atari time. So what was his solution? He hired his friends to haul the ice and paid them a fraction of what his uncle was paying him, pocketing the profits. In doing so, he graduated from the role of sole proprietor to that of boss.
Little did he know at the time that his experience was laying the foundation for his future business endeavors. He now serves as Director of Programs for Textron Systems, and is one fourth of the Leadership Northshore team that is working to bring the Young Entrepreneurs Academy (YEA) to the community.
Joining Hardy on Team YEA are Bruce Anzalone, Director of Slidell Memorial Physicians Network; Ann Bowser, Executive Assistant at the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce; and Gina Guillory, who provides IT Support for the City of Slidell. The team hopes to transform young lives by empowering students with a comprehensive array of business skills that pave the way to success.
The YEA program was developed in 2004 at the University of Rochester, and launched with support from the Kauffman Foundation. The program founders have since partnered with the U.S. Chamber of Commerce and the Campaign for Free Enterprise to bring the program to youth throughout the U.S. In keeping with that partnership tradition, the Leadership Northshore team will pair up with the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce to present this program locally.
The after-school program is designed to provide the students hands-on business experience. It utilizes comprehensive curricula developed by the national YEA organization and presented by local community business leaders. Each of the participating students will create a business concept, conduct market research,
by Kim BergeronLEADERSHIP NORTHSHORE PROJECT TO GUIDE YOUNG ENTREPRENEURS
Oh, YEA !
30
write a business plan and pitch to a panel of real investors in a “Shark Tank” style finale, with the ultimate goal of launching a businesses. The entire experience will provide students with experiences and skills that will last a lifetime.
Ann says this project grabbed her attention not only because of its benefits to the community, but also due to its connection with the Chambers of Commerce. The program provides an opportunity for the Chamber to generate additional revenue that can be added to its existing scholarship program. The organization currently offers three $1,000 college scholarships to local students, presented at its annual Education Luncheon in June.
She’s also excited about the big finale, the Shark Tank style competition. “I envision it to be a big community event where our young people are the focus of attention,” says Ann. “I would love to see one of our YEA students win the national contest, which is held each year, bringing that young entrepreneur tremendous publicity for his or her business as well as college scholarship funds. In the future, I would love to see businesses in Slidell that were incubated in our Young Entrepreneurs Academy. Imagine five or six years from now, having our former students return to the area after graduating from college, to run successful businesses.”
Bruce says that the team’s selection of this project was easy, as each of the team members wanted a project that would benefit local youths.
“What excites me is that I’m a product of a New Orleans public high school that offered DECA (Distributive Education Clubs of America,) which allowed me to go to school half days then to work, to kick start my career,” he says. “YEA gives me the opportunity to pay it forward.”
Much like Hardy, Bruce enjoyed an entrepreneurial spirit even before his DECA days. At the age of 14, he handled the newspaper route for his neighborhood, a job he says he secured by “begging the newspaper dealer who made those decisions until eventually wearing him down.” He says he learned the art of customer service at an early age. Rather than fulfilling his deliveries via bicycle, which seemed to be the preferred method, Bruce opted to walk the paper route and place each of the newspapers precisely where his customers preferred them. It was a decision that paid off handsomely via very generous tips when he collected the subscription fees from his customers.
He supplemented that income with lawn mowing services, first approaching neighbors and then establishing a reputation for quality work and building trust levels, both of which led to referrals. Bruce says he capped the number of yards he maintained at a dozen, because he mowed only on weekends and didn’t want to spread
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himself too thin and sacrifice customer service. He also kept a business profile for each customer, noting their individual nuances and special requests. What resulted were additional word-of-mouth referrals that helped him grow his business.
The ladies of Team YEA also enjoyed early starts as young entrepreneurs. For Ann, it was babysitting on a regular basis during the summer, taking care of a neighbor’s children while their mother took care of running the household and tending to various errands. The job offered a steady work schedule and taught the then-12-year-old a strong work ethic and money management skills.
Keeping the candy counter stocked in her grandfather’s drug store was 8-year-old Gina’s first job. During the summer, she worked with her grandmother and father in the grocery store that the latter of the two owned, and by the age of 12, she added “cashier” to her virtual resume. By the time she reached high school, she enjoyed set after-school work hours and the paycheck that accompanied them. She says that the greatest lessons she learned from those experiences were the importance of loyalty, reliability and overall good work ethics.
While it would seem that each of the four were born with entrepreneurial skills and business intuition, enhanced by on-the-job training, not all of today’s youth experience similar instincts and opportunities.
That’s why the team finds the YEA program so exciting. Each of the team members is passionate in their beliefs that this program will open windows of opportunity for students who are ready to become young entrepreneurs.
Of the four team members, only Hardy has a child who is young enough to participate in the program. His 11 year old child, who is entering 6th grade in the upcoming school year, will be a YEA applicant next year.
“He has a love for inventing gadgets that run off alternative sources of energy,” says Hardy. “It will be exciting to watch him transform that passion into a bona fide business via YEA.”
While entering the program with specific business ideas is an option, it is not a requirement. The program includes 30 comprehensive lessons that will commence in the fall and run through the spring. Lesson plans include such topics as social
entrepreneurship, business opportunity evaluations, vetting ideas, how to create a business plan, SWOT analysis, market research, and business plan basics. Students will learn an array of financial skills, including how to calculate unit costs, supply costs and operating expenses, plus income projections and investment financing strategies. After mastering those skills, students will explore legal structures for businesses, accounting principles, marketing and communications, how to pitch their businesses to investors, insurance and risk
Gina Guillory Bruce Anzalone
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For more information about the YEA program, as well as mentor, guest speaker and sponsorship opportunities, contact Ann Bowser at the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce, 985-643-5678 and follow “YEA East St. Tammany” on Facebook. To learn more about the national YEA organization, visit www.YEAUSA.org
management, website development skills, and the art of the elevator pitch. Rounding out their skills will be lessons in recordkeeping, sales taxes and business taxes and how to secure EIN Numbers.
The program is open to self-motivated and creative students throughout St. Tammany Parish, whether currently in public or private school or home schooled. The Academy has secured approval of the School Board, local principals and school-to-work coordinators. The team is also working to coordinate additional, informative presentations to various school PTAs and at the Chamber’s office.
YEA applications are available on the East St. Tammany Chamber’s website at www.estchamber.com and also will be available at schools throughout the eastern side of the Parish. Completed applications should be submitted by September, with classes anticipated to begin in October. The selection process is competitive. Potential students will be required to supply copies of their school transcripts and letters of recommendation. This will be followed up with an interview process for the final student selections. Team YEA hopes to recruit 15 to 20 students for its first year, with a long term goal of increasing that number to 24 in the future. Tuition for the program is $295 per student.
One need look only at the impressive YEA statistics to see that the program is time and money well spent. The organization reports that a full 100% of Academy graduates complete high school and 99% enroll in college. Approximately 50% of YEA students continue running their businesses for more than one year. From a demographic standpoint, 49% of YEA students are female and 56% are underrepresented minorities.
Since the inception of the program, YEA students have been awarded over a half million dollars in scholarships through their involvement in the Young Entrepreneurs Academy. To date, over 1,300 students have graduated from the YEA program, and over 1,000 businesses have been launched.
Each of the Leadership Northshore YEA team members has committed to serving the program for a minimum of three years, with the long term goal of rolling it over to the East St. Tammany Chamber’s programming. The estimated startup costs of $30,000 will cover procurement of 20 to 25 laptop computers with appropriate software and sufficient data and memory specifications, to be used by incoming and future students. The team is working to secure grant funding and sponsorships to cover these costs and move the program forward. To date, the team has secured $9,000 in sponsorships. Mayor Freddy Drennan
and Police Chief Randy Smith each have committed to providing a student scholarship, and many other businesses have pledged support. Sponsorships can range from the cost of an individual student scholarship to broader overall program support. The team is hopeful that more sponsors will share their passion for the cause.
“What we want most is to provide an avenue for potential entrepreneurs who might otherwise miss out on such opportunities due to lack of information or direction,” says Gina. “We want to help each of these students recognize and successfully embrace their callings. What’s really exciting is that they’ll enter the program as students, and exit as CEOs.”
Hardy’s long term goals for the program are a bit more specific—and lofty.
“I’d like to envision a young kid from Slidell crafting his skills and ideas through the YEA program and then creating a program that replaces Facebook,” he says.
Given that the popular social media network’s co-founder Mark Zuckerberg now boasts a net worth in excess of $25 billion, Hardy’s vision could prove quite fruitful to the young entrepreneur who achieves it. And when that happens, hopefully that YEA graduate will also choose to pay it forward with more programs that empower youth.
• 100% of Academy Graduates graduate High School on time
• 99% of Academy Graduates enroll in college
• 19% of YEA! students start second businesses
• 50% of YEA! students continue business for more than 1 year
• 49% of YEA! students are female
• 56% of YEA! students are underrepresented minorities
• YEA! students have been awarded over a half million dollars in scholarships as a result of their involvement in YEA!
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If you haven’t been to the “Carey Street Crawl” make sure you check it out. It’s the fi rst Friday of every month. Basically a street party sponsored by all the businesses on the street, one can check out the shops and restaurants as well as several street vendors and activities for the kids. It’s a nice way to spend a Friday evening.
As we were running around deciding where to eat, I walked past Christopher’s on Carey and noticed their gate was wide open. A sign directed us to the “Wine Garden” in the back. Wine Garden? We defi nitely had to check it out.
Christopher Case, who was already running a successful catering business, opened his restaurant on Carey Street (formerly the Victorian Tea Room, next to Pontchartrain Investment Management) in 2010. The restaurant qualifi es as one of the best of a number of fi ner dining establishments that have recently opened in Slidell.
Lunch and dinner menus consist of some fresh interpretations of traditional creole dishes. My favorite is their Cochon de Lait - a mashup of Cajun / Creole slow roasted pork on a Memphis style sandwich with cole slaw and pineapple jelly. If those
combinations scare you, just try it anyway. I promise you’ll love it.
Wine GardenI didn’t know what to expect when we entered the back yard. Perhaps because of the sometimes uncomfortable summer heat, there aren’t many outdoor eating experiences in Slidell. Christopher’s has taken measures to extend a nice level of comfort outside with shade treatments draped above the lawn.
Their garden menu is “tapas style,” consisting of a variety of interesting appetizers, ranging in price from $6 - $11.
The Wild Mushroom Tart is a good start: roasted mushrooms, a tomato fennel jam and cheese.
I shared the Bruschetta Sampler with some friends. Before long, we had ordered a total of 3 servings amongst us. Delicious!
Potato chip lovers will enjoy the house cut chips with truffl e oil.
Wine fl ows freely at Christopher’s. Their wine list has 20 whites and 26 reds - some of which are interestingly obscure. The beer selection, unfortuntately, isn’t as ambitious - consisting of only 3 beers. We were assured by Greg, the restaurant manager, that special requests for alcohol
selections will happily be fi lled by any regular clients.
If you’re getting together with friends, meeting at Christopher’s on Carey Wine Garden is a good choice.
Christopher’s on Carey
34
in Slidellby: Ronnie Dunaway
O nce upon a time, many years before Slidell was established, there was a bayou that ran gently through what
would one day become the heart of Slidell. If you’re not from Olde Towne, you would probably call this waterway Bayou Pattasat, since that is its correct name. It was named after the small perch that once filled its waters. For us locals, we simply call it “the canal”. In the 1960’s the water was healthy and vibrant. It was abundant with a large variety of fresh water wildlife: greenback turtles, snapping turtles, box turtles, loggerheads, giant frogs, snakes, perch, mullets, minnows, gars, alligators, nutrias, beavers and much more.
I’m sure you’ve heard of today’s popular TV reality shows: Swamp People, The Gator Boys, Duck Dynasty, and Call of the Wild Man. Well let me introduce you to The Canal Boyz from Olde Towne Slidell. They are brothers Tracey, Joe, Robert, Terry, and Dave Brown. At least that’s how their names appeared on their birth certificates. However, if you are from Olde Towne, you would know them by their canal names: Tab, Milk Weed, Swamp, MooMoo and Coon. They are five of Elizabeth and William Brown’s 18 children (9 boys and 9 girls). No, that is not a typo - 18 children.
Make no mistake about it, the Swamp People don’t have anything on the Canal Boyz. You remember the stories about prohibition, when the Mafia families controlled certain areas of Chicago. In Olde Towne Slidell, back in the day, the Canal Boyz controlled the canal from St. Tammany Jr. High to Bernard Lumber Company, which is about a mile-long stretch of prime hunting and fishing.
Before I get into the Canal Boyz adventures of the 60’s, I need to give you a little family history - which, in itself, is quite a story...
From our family to yours
over 100 years of protection • service • integrity • community
In loving memory of Tracey “TAB” Brown
The Legendary CanaL Boyz
There are a lot of good things to be said about this little north shore settlement that grew into a village, then a town, and now a flourishing city. I love Slidell and I can tell stories about it for the rest of my life. However, there is much more to Slidell than its historical buildings and streets. From the time Slidell came into being, in the 1880’s, we have had some interesting people make this city their home. So I thought it would be fun to write about a few of them. I may be exaggerating a bit, but when I first met this family in the early 60’s, they constituted about one-tenth of Olde Towne’s population. They are the Brown Family. They are wonderful people and they have contributed a lot to Olde Towne’s history.
Prelude:
35
The Brown family have deep roots in Slidell. Where do you think Brownsvillage Road got its name? Their family owned most of the property behind County Market. I assume, since the family was so large, they qualified as a village themselves; hence Browns Village. Like most of the families in Olde Towne, the Canal Boyz came from humble beginnings. They started in Browns Village (north Slidell), but a job change for Mr. Brown caused the family to move to New Orleans. There, they spent several years in the Florida Avenue Housing Projects, third floor, Apt. E. As faith would have it, Hurricane Betsy sent them back to Slidell. The last house on William Tell Street adjacent to the canal would become the family home. Sadly, a few years after moving back to Slidell, Mr. Brown died. Mrs. Brown was left to raise a family the size of a small village. Make no mistake about it, Mrs. Brown was a strong woman and immediately rose to the task. She had her hands full and, with help from daughter Cindy, she raised the most remarkable family I’ve ever known. Little did any of them know that, out of that one home, would come over 165 grandkids and great grandkids... not to mention enough memories to last an eternity.
A typical breakfast consisted of two boxes of grits, three dozen eggs, forty slices of toast, two gallons of milk, a thirty-six cup pot of coffee, and four pounds of bacon. (To me, that sounded more like Shoney’s buffet than a family kitchen!) But, before you even thought about eating breakfast, your bed needed to be made and your room needed to be cleaned. Mrs. Brown certainly had her hands full but there wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She raised all her kids with the understanding that she would not tolerate foolishness - and she didn’t.
I personally know all eighteen of the Brown children but the Canal Boyz were closer to my age and we became friends. Everything the Boyz learned about life came from that home via their mom and dad. Everything they learned about fishing and hunting came from that canal. Everything in between, they learned through each others’ love. It wasn’t very long after their father’s death that the Boyz realized that the canal would be a way of life, and perhaps their salvation. That is the way it was back in 60’s. You created your own entertainment. You had hobbies - and it wasn’t watching TV or playing video games. Staying inside all day was not even an option; outdoors was mandatory. The Boyz wouldn’t have it any other way. They truly made a life around that canal.
Reminiscing recently with Dave and Robert (Coon and Swamp) Brown, I got a glimpse into the life of the Boyz that few people outside of their family ever saw. Because of my own childhood experiences, I often wondered what kind of punishment Mrs. Brown
imposed on the Boyz when they got out of line. I was told that they were trained early about misbehaving (and the consequences), so there weren’t too many whippings. Swamp, on the other hand, must have missed the training sessions. When Mrs. Brown started calling him by everyone else’s name, he knew he was in trouble. Unlike my mom, Mrs. Brown didn’t chase him down. Nope... she had too many kids to worry with that. Instead, she would wait for him to fall asleep, then make a sneak attack.
Over all, Mrs. Brown was very happy with her Boyz because she knew exactly where they were at all times; and that would be somewhere on the canal between St. Tammany Jr. High and Bernard Lumber Co.
Sometime in early Spring, when willow trees began to bloom, the Boyz knew it was time to hunt.
The turtles were on the move and so were the Boyz. They had a variety of methods for catching turtles. Most of the small greenbacks were caught using a long handled scoop net.If it wasn’t long enough, they would simply walk up to their necks in the canal. Once the Boyz laid eyes on their prey, they were as good as caught. For the larger turtles, they used a homemade floating device consisting of a large board with a lot of hooks attached to it. They baited the hooks and would often catch several big ones at one time. Tracey, being the oldest, was leader of the pack. He was an expert at using a Zebco 202 Sling Shot rod and reel. He could snag a turtle thirty feet away on the first throw. Tracey took time to teach the younger
Boyz how to hunt on the canal and what dangers to avoid. He always had one eye on a turtle and one eye on his brothers, because none of them knew how to swim. Because of this, most of the hunting was done along the banks. Later, they got their hands on an old wooden pirogue, and sometimes their brother-in-law, Larry, would loan them a motorized boat.
What did the Boyz do with all the turtles and other canal critters they hauled in on a daily basis? I wish I’d never asked. Let me make one thing clear - I am definitely NOT one of the Canal Boyz. If it didn’t come from my dad’s market with a USDA stamp on it or come from a grocery shelf, this boy wasn’t touching it, let alone eating it.
The canal produced some of the largest frogs you could ever imagine. Mrs. Brown would fry them up nice and crispy, just as fast as the Boyz brought them through the door. Other delicacies were stewed or baked coon with rice and gravy, and baked nutria with potatoes and carrots. How about some turtle with spaghetti and red gravy?
Another favorite was fried gar and french fries. Sometimes, when the weather conditions were right, they managed to catch a sack of crawfish and boiled them.
However, the Canal Boyz didn’t eat all of their catch. They had their own money making business going on. It was common in the 60’s for kids to bring items to school to sell; things like marbles, trading cards, and even candy. Needless to say, the Canal Boyz sold turtles and flying squirrels. Robert would fill both pockets with baby greenback turtles. Can you imagine going to school today with pockets full of turtles? He sold them for 25 cents each. If he sold out, he would sneak across the forbidden bridge that connected the school yard to his yard and, within minutes, he would return with a pocket load of fresh turtles. That was hard to do because that bridge was monitored by teachers like it was the border bridge that connected the US to Mexico. But desperate times required desperate measures. He knew if he ever got caught he would have
been crucified by Mr. Plauche. Lucky for him, that never happened.
The Brown boyz were well known not just in Olde Towne, but throughout Slidell. They had regular customers that would come by their house every Saturday looking to buy snapping turtles and other wildlife. They would buy them live, or the boyz would prepare them on the spot.
They would also sell their little turtles to the local pet shop. Not only did they have excellent hunting and business skills, they also had some scientific skills as well. They would paint some of the turtles shells and put them back in the canal so they could study their traveling habits.
From our family to yours
over 100 years of protection • service • integrity • community
36
Nearly every fence post on the canal side of their yard had either a coon or squirrel head nailed to it. I can assure that whenever there weren’t clothes on the clothesline, you would find coon skins, rabbit skins, rabbit feet, and turtle shells hanging everywhere.
Now this is the part of the story that caused me to lose my appetite for the better part of a day and, trust me, if you have a weak stomach, you might want to read this later. Robert gave me the step-by-step, grizzly details on how to prepare a nutria for dinner (not that I ever would). First, they chopped off its head. Second, off come the feet. Third, the tail has got to go. Fourth, you skin it. Ouch! One day while they were preparing a nutria for dinner, they got a little surprise. Just as they were about to gut it, something began to move inside. It was pregnant. The boyz went from gutting it to doing an emergency C-section right there on the kitchen table. Sure enough - the headless, footless, tail-less, and skinless mom gave birth to a little boy. While Robert performed post natal care for the baby, the other boyz went ahead and prepared mom for the oven.
The boyz named the baby “Willie the Rat” and raised it to adulthood. Willie became the family pet. Willie would follow the boyz everywhere, including up and down the canal. Robert swears Willie would follow him to school and often be waiting for him in the yard when he came home. He loved to sit on the porch with the family and, since he was also housebroken, he would crawl up in the bed and sleep with anyone who would let him. Sometimes Willie would like to go out late at night and hunt by himself. When he would come home, he expected someone to open the door and let him in. If the family ignored him, he simply started eating the door (literally). One way or another, he was coming in. As poor Willie got older, he began wearing out his welcome. So the boyz took him to Bayou Paquet and set him free. Free Willie!!! I suppose Willie should be thankful he wasn’t laid to rest next to the carrots and potatoes like his mom.
A lot of things have changed since the Boyz worked that canal back in the 60’s. Even though the family home is still there, it just isn’t the same. Everyone has grown up and moved on. Just like with any family, time has taken its toll. Mr. and Mrs. Brown are gone. A few years ago, the oldest sister Joyce died and a short time ago, Tracey died as well. No one hunts the canal anymore because today it is nothing more than a drainage canal. No more little turtles or perch. No more forbidden bridge. Very little wildlife. I promise you, no one is selling turtles at Brock Elementary School. Hunting and fishing on the canal have long been replaced by indoor video games and computers. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is 50 years later.
The Canal Boyz left a legacy that will be shared over and over for many years to come. From what I am told, there is a new generation of Canal Boyz arriving every year. Who knows, maybe one day the canal will flourish again with all sorts of wildlife. Just maybe some of these new generation Canal Boyz will fish and hunt on the canal. If so, I’m sure their Uncle Tracey will be watching over them, just like he did for his little brothers. Yes, a lot of things have changed on the canal since the 60’s. But one thing for sure will never change. Once a Canal Boy, always a Canal Boy.
Rest in peace Tracey. We miss you.
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A beautiful field, covered in shoulder high grass, random paths cutting through it. A big cloudy sky surrounds you with the silhouette of a mysterious tree far off in the background. The wind blows gently through you, bringing a very familiar scent with it. You start down one of the paths, cautiously, then once you feel safe, you take off, running! You run with a childlike innocence, stretching your arms out to the side, brushing the grass with your fingertips. You feel so FREE and HAPPY, that you want to just keep running!
When you finally slow down to look around, you realize you are lost. It’s scary, but you find a strength within to face it. You are led to an opening in the grass surrounded by more paths. The mysterious tree, now even closer.
You don’t know which path to take because they all seem unfamiliar now; so you wake up, avoiding the decision all together, yet left wondering - what if .
This is the dream I’ve had for the last ten years or so.
It starts getting annoying after awhile because I just want to stay and choose a damn path! But I never do. I get scared and run away like a sissy, out of my dream and back to the world I know.
Weird.
Anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching the past couple of years. Maybe it’s my age, I don’t know, but it is getting kind of tiring trying to “find myself” while raising a family.
At times I want to scream, “LEAVE ME ALOOOOOONE PEOPLE!” then throw a fit on the ground like a big baby. This
option is probably getting a little too close for comfort, so I did what most Moms at this stage in life probably DON’T do…
I took a trip. An unexpected journey.
With much help from my family and friends, I got the opportunity to go with my husband, Brian, on his 3 day business trip to Washington State. Figured it would be a good time to re-energize before finishing out the rest of summer. I fit in his bag perfectly! He never even knew.
Kidding. It was a tight fit.
I knew this trip would be very meaningful, because strangely enough, we both lived in Washington at different times in our lives.
I was stationed at Ft. Lewis from the age of 18 - 21. It was a HUGE part of
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my life, both rewarding AND emotionally difficult for various reasons. It was the place where I literally “grew up”.
I made many life-long friends, and lots of awesome, unforgettable memories there.
It’s where I was taught how to make MRE (meals ready to eat) bombs, throwing them behind the port ‘o johns, then running like hell. Where I learned how to change a 500 pound tire, sleep comfortably and warm on the hood of a military truck, and not to pee outside at night, in the open, while others are doing night vision training.
The place where I realized how much my family really does love me, my friends have my back, and the Army does not pay overtime.
Where I lost God, then found Him again.
Where I discovered I can eat cold food from a plastic bag with a stick, bathe in jet fuel, and run until I puke, loving every minute of it.
Where I got to spend lots of long-awaited time with my Father.
Where I got married.
Got divorced.
Got deployed.
Got dumb.
Got smart.
…And did it all in a pair of combat boots.
I knew going back to Washington would spark lots of emotions for me, both wonderful and painful, and provide the opportunity to share that part of my life with Brian. To show him who I was before I met him. Before I became “Mommy”. It’s a side of me he had never seen, never knew. One that I was excited to share with him.
From the moment we arrived, memories started flooding back, for both of us. We got to swap stories, some of his being at the same places as mine.
Everywhere we went, I was looking for answers to many unanswered questions in my mind. It was total therapy to re-live my time there. I missed it. I missed that part of me. I felt stronger back then. Although I definitely gained a new side of myself, having children. A different kind of strength. But while I was in Washington, I felt at times like I was grieving the loss of that other me. Remembering the times where I really felt in control of myself, making a difference, standing tall, feeling proud. FEARLESS.
I wanted my children to share the experience badly, but at the same time I think I needed to be away from the constant demands and responsibilities, to just reconnect with myself and my husband. Every parent needs that.
On the last day we went for a drive through an old neighborhood we both happened to live in.
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At the end, there was an open area. I stopped in the middle of it.
The wind blew again, and the same smell followed it. A mixture between flowers and hay is the best way to describe it. I felt scared, yet strong.
Surrounding the open area were 5 different paths through the tall grass. Above me, the cloudy Washington sky, and in the distance, a mysterious tree.
I dropped to my knees. I couldn’t believe it.
I yelled for Brian, hoping he wouldn’t think I was crazy, but knowing I HAD to share this with him. Tears filled my eyes as I told him about my recurring dream.
We just sat there, waiting for me to remember something. Anything.
I closed my eyes so I could just FEEL.
Then, I saw her.
A young lady, long blonde hair, walking through the path, fingertips brushing the grass. A lot on her mind. Alone.
She sits, hiding in the middle, where no one can see her.
How could I have forgotten?
It’s the place I used to go, out of site from the world, where I told myself to stay strong and carry on. Where I would gather my thoughts, my fears, and talk to God about them.
I thought back to my dream once more, feeling as if I needed to choose a path again. It seemed silly, but necessary.
I stood up, feeling stronger than I had felt in a long time.
Grabbing Brian’s hand, I looked around one last time, then chose path in front of me. The one that led back to the car, back to the airport, back to my family. And holding my other hand, the girl I left there long ago.
I went to Washington searching for something I thought I left there 15 years ago, and I was right. After all this time, it was still there. And now, as I carry on with my life here, I will be much stronger and my spirit filled. Because what I found was a very important part of myself, still there, waiting for me to take her back home. She’s tough, she’s a fighter, and she’s got me through A LOT. I’ve missed her strength.
It’s good to know that in the story of my life, I am the hero. That means I have gained love for myself and let the BS go. I am humbled by the power of God. He led me on this short, yet fulfilling journey, and now I can share it with others. It reminds me to never be a victim of my circumstances. Rise above it, then cut it and let it go! Once you allow yourself to do that, you can run through the different paths of life as a much stronger person.
It’s YOUR story, so write it well.
Next to my apartment, was a big beautiful park. I remembered it. It was very important to me. I used to go there A LOT to reflect and find strength, running for miles around the lake, up through the woodsy trails, to the top of the hill where tall trees lined a narrow dirt road. It was my escape back then.
I had many conversations with myself there. It’s where I would recharge for the days ahead. I had forgotten how much I missed it. What it meant to me.
As Brian and I walked through the park, I shared many feelings with him. Ones that I had not thought about in a long time.
As the sun started to set, we headed back to the parking lot, but I wasn’t quite ready to go.
He went on to the car, letting me reminisce a little longer before it was completely dark outside.
As I walked on, I came to an opening next to the path around the lake. It was a little trail, off to my left. I turned towards it for a second and paused. The wind blew slightly, bringing with it a familiar smell. I felt drawn to the path.
Walking a little further, I found myself surrounded by tall grass.
My heart dropped.
I walked faster, following the path.
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Until next time… Lee Kreil
S l i - K u
I love all month longAugust - a great month to beSail fish and travel
The eighth month of the year was renamed August to honor Augustus, the founder and first Emperor of the Roman Empire. Due to the “august” ego of this “First Citizen” (as he liked to refer to himself), the month has 31 days; because having ONE less day than July, which was named after his great uncle Julius Caesar, was not an option (sorry February, the day had to come from somewhere). This sets the stage for what has become a rather selfish month. There is no “I” in August but the actual month itself is ripe for the picking. Let’s take a tongue-in-cheek look at this month and conquer the hot mess that is August.
Exhibitor Appreciation Week kicks off the first full week this month. Basically, it’s a trade show where trade show organizers recognize trade show organizers and what they do for the trade show profession. Wow…really?
National Hobo Week is August 8-11. Official “Hobo Code” came into existence in 1889 to distinguish themselves apart from the likes of tramps and bums. As per this code, “We are migratory workers; itinerants. Tramps travel around like us but only work when they have to and bums basically don’t travel OR work at all.”
Hobos just want to be left alone to live like gypsies and paid no mind. So how do they accomplish this? By holding a huge convention in Iowa where they stand out on purpose and then complain about the attention.
There is a holiday or observance for just about everything, but August just seems to be a magnet for the attention hounds. One observance just isn’t enough for these groups, with multiple official observances for basically the same thing. August hosts S’mores Day on the 10th as well as the same ingredients used to make S’mores on National Toasted Marshmallow Day August 30. The first day of the month is India Pale Ale Day, and on the SAME day is International Beer Day featuring “pale ales” which are all inspired from the original India Pale Ales first brewed in England. This group is full of themselves as they themselves get full!
Maybe I’m being a bit of a hypocrit because there can be some positive “look at me” for instances. August if FULL of animal and dog observances. Since our furry friends cannot speak for themselves, technically these observances don’t count as “me me me” examples. Check the Chip Day on the
15th reminds all pet owners to make sure their pet’s microchips are working properly. Dog Adoption Month, Pet Rescue Awareness Month, and International Cat Day on August 8 serve as examples of positive attention. (I will admit there is an “I” in podium and I just stepped away from mine!)
August 13 is International Lefthanders Day. How do you know that someone is left handed? THEY TELL EVERYONE THEY ARE! Lefties compare being left handed to that of a lifelong pang associated with child birth. Quick to point out how much smarter, creative, and athletic they are compared to us righties. But equally as quick to cite how disadvantaged they are when comparing earnings, opportunities, and navigating everyday life. There may have been a smidgeon of truth to those arguments back in the day: The coin slots on pay phones are on the right side; scissors are hard to use; spiral notebooks make it hard to write in. Boo hoo. Pay phones are practically extinct, I generally need scissors once or twice a year, and electronic devices have replaced about 80% of the tools or equipment lefties complained about decades ago. Am I right?
OUT TAKESSponsored By:
49th EditionSlidell Mag
Kendra with an amazing friend and
fellow Cancer Conqueror, Magen Tardo,
at her July fundraising benefit, hosted
by Ron Newson of State Farm.
GO MAGEN! YOU GOT THIS!!
John Case, “The Storyteller” tells a story to members of G.O.S.H. (Guardians of Slidell History) as fellow Slidell Magazine writer, Ronnie Dunaway (“Once Upon A Time in Slidell”), looks on.
Chamber Chairman of the Board,
Joe DiGiovanni, explores his inner
artist (and popsicle stick) at
the “Cups & Coversation” Pottery
Painting Party at the
Main Street Marketplace
Editor & Publisher Kendra Maness and Senator A.G. Crowe present Governor Bobby Jindal with the tribute to Frank Davis edition of Slidell Magazine
CONGRATULATIONS AMBER & BRIAN FRIEL!
Slidell Magazine’s graphic artist with
his beautiful bride at their wacky and
wonderful wedding reception
Kendra arrives at the Governor’s
Mansion for the formal signing of the
bill to rename the Twin Spans the
“Frank Davis ‘Naturally N’Awlins’
Memorial Bridge”
WOW! The beautiful Hooters girls helping at the Rotary beer booth for the July 4
Heritage Fest. RECORD BREAKING beer sales!
The 2014-2015 Slidell Women’s Civic Club Board of Directors with their tools
for success!
Slidell Magazine writer, Rose Marie Sand
(“Go Beyond”), on the latest adventure for
her upcoming story - airboating in Slidell!
Thanks Mike Fradella for a great ride!
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