Slidell Magazine, May 2021

THE OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF SLIDELL

Vol. 127 May 2021

WE KEEP IT FRESH

SAY KEEP IT POSITIVE

for

THE INFANTRY

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Editor’s Letter

Kendra Maness Editor / Publisher

theater, dance and visual arts along to me. It’s an intangible thing, and I never fully realized its value until I started Slidell Magazine.

My sister, Scarlett, is one of my biggest inspirations. She’s ten years my senior and, for the most part, she raised me.

As I grow older (and hopefully wiser), I see the ways in which she’s influenced my life more than anyone or anything else has.

Scarlett was always an excellent writer, becoming the editor of her highschool yearbook at Salmen. She’s had a passion for the arts her entire life and passed her love of literature, music,

I remember her helping me trace my hand to make paper cut-outs for Thanksgiving, and proudly showing my “art” to our family. She never tired of coloring with me, and still uses crayons to create beautiful art to this day. I also remember her drawing my face from memory with her eyes closed.

Her artwork looked like a Picasso - my nose and lips were a little off-center, but her sketch was incredibly realistic.

I tried the same with her and my drawing looked like the grimace face emoji that has “Shit Happens” written underneath. I got her passion for art, just not the talent.

Except when it came to writing.

This was never more apparent than when I was diagnosed with cancer in 2005. Scarlett, my mentor and my sister, became my nurse. She was there for the entire journey. The endless chemos, tests, surgeries, doctor’s appointments... she was my support.

My person. She still is.

This edition boasts her art on the cover and her feature story within. I dedicate this edition to you Scarlett. I thank you and I love you.

COVER: THE INFANTRY

MAGAZINE STAFF Kendra Maness Editor / Publisher Editor@slidellmag.com

We both excelled at writing. We would write poems and jingles, short stories and birthday cards and give each other friendly critiques. By the time I was in college, Scarlett was well into her career as a nurse. She would come to my house at the end of a 12-hour shift to proofread my English papers.

Her love of writing was powerful, as was her love for me.

Michael Bell Graphic Designer Graphics@slidellmag.com Krista Gregory Administrative Assistant Krista@slidellmag.com

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS John Case “The Storyteller”

Ted Lewis Slidell History

Charlotte Collins Extraordinary Slidell Neighbors

Scarlett Maness The Infantry

Mike Rich Making Cents of Your Money

Leslie Gates Crimi-Mommly Insane

Donna Bush Stories Through My Lens

Ronda M. Gabb Legal-Ease

subscriptions: only $39 / year! www.Slidellmag.com Visit our website to subscribe, view current & past editions, view advertising rates & more!

scarlett maness May 6-12 is National Nurse’s Week.

How fitting that our cover artist and feature writer this month, is a nurse of 35 years!

Scarlett Maness will tell you that she is passionate about nursing.

She is retired from St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office as a correctional nurse of 15 years. She has been recognized by the Sheriff’s Office with commendations of 3 Lifesaving Medals. Currently, she teaches Biology & Environmental Science at Salmen High School.

Scarlett doesn’t consider herself an artist, but more of a “dabbler” with a degree in design. She experiments with paint, pastels, pen & ink, social media, mixed media and computer applications. “The Infantry” represents frontline healthcare heroes working in a global pandemic. “Nurses are typically the tactical division in the fight against disease,” she relates.

Slidell Magazine is fortunate to feature Scarlett’s vintage humor as a monthly contributing writer. Check out her stories in future editions!

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Congratulations Scarlett on your first cover and Happy Nurse’s Week!

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RONNIE DUNAWAY July 23, 1955 - April 02, 2021

Heaven gained an angel when Slidell lost her biggest fan and beloved son, Ronnie Dunaway.

Ronnie was nicknamed “The Mayor of Olde Towne” and dedicated much of his life to promoting and bettering his community and his country.

I became friends with Ronnie in 2010, shortly after I moved back to Slidell and started Slidell Magazine. I’m chuckling as I write this because I’m fibbing a bit. When I first met Ronnie, he must have been in a bad mood - someone had probably written a bad check to him - because I thought he was mean and I didn’t like him at all. One of his employees was a friend of mine and she told him. Ronnie sought me out

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to change my opinion. We became fast friends and, from that point on, Ronnie would call and say, “Hi Kendra, it’s Meanie.”

There were so many different sides to Ronnie that I didn’t realize fully until after his death. He was a devout Christian who loved and supported his church. (One of his many donations was the construction of the beautiful grotto at St. Margaret Mary.) He was a mentor who would give anyone searching for a job a chance, particularly those struggling with addiction (he was a supporter and employer for many recovering addicts through his church’s ministry). He gave liberally to dozens of charities CONSTANTLY.

He was a dichotomy of personalities - an avid and outspoken supporter of the police, while being known to take matters into his own hands on quite a few occassions. He was a colorful character, a bit of the Godfather type - he could be quite the intimidator if you crossed him, while also being known as the kindest man in Slidell.

He was a neat freak and was solely responsible for beautifying many blocks in Olde Towne. He also fed, clothed and financially helped many of the homeless people in Slidell, even helping them file for disability and getting them the mental health help they needed. He was a loyal friend and a community icon. I could go on and on.

Ronnie was a contributing writer for Slidell Magazine from May 2014 until December 2015. His stories ran under the heading, “Once Upon A Time in Slidell...” and were humorous and historical recollections of our community as seen through the eyes of a young boy growing up in the 60s. He was a fantastic writer. (Most people don’t know that Ronnie’s major in college was English.)

I remember visiting with John Case, “The Storyteller,” after I published Ronnie’s first story. “Ronnie just may be your best writer,” he said.

His very first story was titled, “Dairy Dan, The Ice Cream Man” and was about Slidell’s first ice cream truck. He opened the story with this: After nearly 60 years of living in Olde Towne Slidell, there are some things I know for sure. I was born here, played here, educated here, made my living here, and I will die here. I have a lifetime of memories that, for the most part, occurred in just an eight square block area affectionally known as Olde Towne. In fact, what the great city of Slidell has become today was built from these very blocks.

In another of his stories, we get a glimpse into Ronnie’s childhood and the beginnings of his work ethic, as Ronnie reminisces about his efforts to buy a new bike, the Firestone 500 Deluxe.

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Now was the time to get a real paying job. So, I asked my daddy if I could go work with him so I could make a few bucks. Believe me, that is exactly what I got - a few bucks. After a few weeks, I wasn’t sure if I would live long enough to make enough money to get a new bike.

Dads just don’t pay good. They will work you like a mule and pay you in peanuts.

The first time I asked my daddy about my pay was my last time. He looked at me and said, “You like to eat, don’t you?” Whatever that meant went way over my head. A few weeks later, I asked him if I could get off on Sundays every now and then. Again, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “You like to eat on Sundays, don’t you?” I finally figured out exactly what he was saying. You don’t work, you don’t eat!

It was clear I was in for a long summer. But, in the long run, it sure paid off big time. Funny thing, though - today I give the same reply to my family and employees.

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I read through Ronnie’s stories again after he passed, remembering the conversations and laughs we shared when we first published them. John Case was right, Ronnie was a rare and exceptional talent.

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Anyway it did take a long time to make $20.00. But, in the meantime, I ate good.

I will miss you Meanie. Rest in peace, Kendra 7

The

Storyteller

DIGGERS EDITOR’S NOTE: This month’s Storyteller is a reprint from Slidell Magazine’s 17th Edition, published in December 2011. As I say with so many of John’s stories, it is one of my favorites.

I’ve always found the story funny and quirky; not only because of John’s brilliant writing, but also because it reminds me so much of Slidell’s own version of the shovel brothers who I grew up seeing around town. Do you remember them?

“Diggers” got even better when it was adapted into a hilarious short play by director and playwright Suzanne Stymiest. It opened as one skit in a 5-part play on the Cutting Theater stage in August 2016. The “brothers,” played by Kirk Benson and Steve Cefalu, brought the house down and had everyone rolling in the aisles. Enjoy...

No one knew where they came from. Some said from just across the state line in Louisiana. One day in the mid-1950’s, they just

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appeared and inquired about renting a shack on Grandpa’s place. At first he was reluctant to rent it, telling them that it was not “fit for white folks to live in.” I remember the place, and even the poorest black folks had long abandoned it for better shelter. Finally, an agreement was reached.

The rent would be one dollar per month, but no drinking.

They said their names were Zeke and Ralph Dickson and they were brothers. They had no trade, but hired out to do anything that needed to be done. We would find out later that they were talented at digging graves, ditches or whatever needed to be dug with a pick and shovel. We soon began to call them the shovel brothers.

Zeke was the oldest. He must have been about twenty-five years old at the time, and his brother about twenty years old. Zeke spoke and negotiated the work for the pair and, over time, they became dependable day laborers used by a number of farmers and contractors in the area.

They were both tall and lanky and wore overalls, but showed up for work each day in clean clothes and well groomed. You could tell there was something different about them. They had too much class for ditch diggers, but not enough drive and determination to do much else. They spoke good English, at least better than some of the people who hired them. It was assumed that they had come from a family with some means who had long ago given up on trying to make anything out of them.

If you have never used a shovel, there is a talent to doing it correctly. You don’t have to be strong, but the timing is all important. You have to thrust the shovel with your arms and shoulders at just the right angle to the earth. You then follow that up with the push of your leg and foot on the top of the shovel. There was an old saying that, to be a proper laborer, you had to let your tools work for you. In this case, their tools were their shovels and they were proper diggers. One thing noticeable about them was that Zeke was right-handed and left-footed and Ralph was left-handed and right-footed. This allowed them to dig side by side and not interfere with each others’ motions. They could move some dirt.

They never caused any problems; never stole, lived up to the rental agreement by not drinking, did not curse, and were always respectful of the ladies, regardless of age. They were different, however; and, as with all people who are different, townsfolk began to gossip about them. Some said they were not brothers, but homosexual lovers. Others said they must have had criminal backgrounds. But the only factual fault that anyone could point to was that they wouldn’t go to church – any church. The Methodist tried, the Baptist tried, and even the Pentecostals took a shot at them, but none had any success.

You could see the shack where they lived from my house. It was on one hill and we lived on another. One night, a friend and I camped out in our front yard. I must have been about eleven at the time. As kids do, we stayed up all night telling ghost stories and the like. It was a bright, moonlit night and, in the field across the highway, we could see movement as the two figures walked up the hill toward their house. Each had a shovel on his shoulder. As our imaginations ran wild, this confirmed to my friend and me that they much be grave robbers.

We took an extra interest in camping that summer so as to watch them more closely. Each Friday and Saturday night, they would repeat the routine - leaving about midnight, and returning home at about four in the morning.

A couple of years passed and one day, for no particular reason, I rode my bicycle up the abandoned driveway toward their house.

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It was about a quarter of a mile long and no car had rolled on that dirt in years. They certainly had no car, or much use for one either. Although they had done odd jobs for my family, we had spoken very little and we barely knew one another.

In fact, they spoke very little to anyone. As I approached the house, I could hear conversation from within and I realized they were home. This I had not expected, so I turned to ride away. From the front porch, Zeke yelled, “Johnny!”

I stopped. They motioned for me to come to the house and, reluctantly, I did.

To my surprise, they were as cordial as they could be. The house was clean and neat. It still had no running water or electricity;

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but, for what it was, they had done their best.

I suppose they needed a friend, and I found their oddness interesting. As strange as it seems, over time, we became

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For some time, a strange thing had been happening in our community. A land owner would stumble on a pit dug on a remote part of his property. This pit would be huge, but there was no possibility of backhoes or bulldozers being brought to the site. The trees around the site were not disturbed, and they were miles from the nearest road. The sheriff and the

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the digging. This happened in several places.

My friend and I never related to anyone about seeing Zeke and Ralph leaving and returning during the night. A few years passed, more holes. It occurred to me that it had to be them. By this time, I knew them well, and knew that I was probably the only friend they had. I decided I would ask them on the next visit, and I did. I told them that I knew they went somewhere every Friday and Saturday night with their shovels.

They looked at each other, but never answered. It was as if they never heard the question, and the rest of that afternoon’s

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back, or at least not for a while. The next afternoon, as I got

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county agent came, but no one had any idea of the reason for

in our friendship and felt it would be better if I did not come off the school bus, I heard Zeke yell as he motioned me to come to his house.

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Then they told me. They told me of the treasure that was buried long ago somewhere on the section of land on which we lived. A section is a parcel of land about one mile long and one mile wide. They would not tell me how they knew, but told me what to look for.

If it was virgin forest, look for an area of younger trees. The trees would be large, but not as large as the virgin timber. They also said to look for a lone cedar tree growing in an unusual place, like deep in a pine or oak forest, or a large tree limb that may have been scarred by a rope or chain as it lowered the heavy loot into the hole.

There had long been rumors of buried treasure all over south Mississippi and the shovel brothers were not the only ones who dug for it. Someone once dug up Grandpa’s turnip patch in search of it. Some say that the Copeland gang buried treasure near our place, but they operated over around Hattiesburg – too far to the east. Some say that it was buried by the Murril Gang who plundered the travelers on the Natchez Trace, but that was probably too far to the west. Some said Jean Lafitte sailed up the Pearl River out of Lake Pontchartrain and took smaller boats laden with treasure up the Bogue Chitto River, burying the treasure near its banks. Then there was the story of Mr. Gill who had lived just up the road. He buried his gold, money and silverware somewhere on Gill Creek to keep the Yankees from finding it.

I never told their secret and they continued to dig. I grew up and moved away from Bogue Chitto and seldom returned.

After some time, the old house was abandoned again, and later it was torn down.

Last month, I read an obituary in the Brookhaven newspaper.

It was the obituary of Zeke Dickson.

Zeke Dickson passed away last Monday at the age of 76.

He was preceded in death by his brother Ralph. He has no known survivors. Services are incomplete at this time.

Last week, I got a call from an old friend in Brookhaven who is an attorney. He said that it was important and that he needed to see me.

When we met, he said that Zeke had left a will and stated that I was the only fried he and his brother ever had. He left me $25,000 and a sealed envelope. I opened the envelope out of the presence of the attorney. On a worn sheet of paper, with writing born of decades of hard labor and calluses, it read: “WE FOUND IT.”

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2019 Second Street Olde Towne Slidell 11

MAY

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Girl Groups of the 60’s

FRI & SAT 8PM

MAY 14 - 22

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June

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WE ARE PROVIDING A CLEAN AND WELCOMING ENVIRONMENT TO KEEP OUR PATRONS SAFE ACCORDING TO ALL FEDERAL, STATE, & LOCAL ORDINANCES. WE SUGGEST WEARING A MASK.

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Ribbon Cutting ImmunoTek Bio Center Slidell > 11:30AM

Slidell High School Graduation

Slidell Library • 12 - 1PM VIRTUAL FLOOR YOGA sttammanylibrary.org

MONDAY

TUESDAY

WEDNESDAY

THURSDAY Salmen High School Graduation

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Creative Dance Recital • 18th - 22nd

Lobby Lounge Series Amanda Shaw • 7PM

Slidell Council Meeting • 6:30 - 7:30PM

Northshore Young Professionals Economic Development Series NOLA Southern Grill > 12-1 PM

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BINGO! Every Tues & Thurs • 3PM Slidell Lions Club • 356 Cleveland Ave.

Slidell Council Meeting • 6:30 - 7:30PM

PJP High School Graduation

STAR WARS DAY MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU!

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Chamber Member Happy Hour Copeland’s Restaurant Covington > 4:30 - 6:30 PM

Food for Seniors - Distribution Day Good Samaritan Ministry • 1-3 PM

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B2B Networking @ Slidell 8:30 - 9:30 AM, register @ StTammanyChamber.com

State of the Parish Breakfast Benedict’s Restaurant Mandeville > 7:30AM

Ribbon Cutting Eye Wares Covington > 11:30AM

Cinco de Mayo Party Silver Slipper Casino Bay St Louis > 5-7 PM

FREE GREENWOOD CEMETERY TOURS by “The Storyteller” JOHN CASE TUESDAYS - THURDAYS • NOON - 1PM • By Appointment • 985-707-8727

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Spring BOTANICAL Art Exhibit • Slidell City Hall Gallery

By Appointment Only • Wednesdays - Fridays / Noon - 4PM • April 9th thru May 21st

Slidell Council Meeting • 6:30 - 7:30PM

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2220 Carey St., Slidell 610 Hollycrest Blvd., Covington 985-892-3216 | StTammanyChamber.org

FRIDAY SMH FOUNDATION GOLF TOURNAMENT Pinewood Country Club

ARBOR DAY

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Olde Towne Slidell Art Market Green Oaks Apothecary • 12 - 7PM

Camellia City Farmer’s Market Every Saturday 8am-Noon

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LAST DAY OF SCHOOL

Elite Redfish: Champion Team Tour • 6AM - 4PM

Camellia City Farmer’s Market Every Saturday 8am-Noon

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MOANA JR. • Cutting Edge Theater • 8 PM

Camellia City Farmer’s Market Every Saturday 8am-Noon P.R. Lions Golf Tournament Royal Golf Club • 11:30 AM

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Camellia City Farmer’s Market Every Saturday 8am-Noon Applause Dance Recital • 14th - 15th

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MOANA JR. • Cutting Edge Theater • 8 PM

Randy Smith Golf Classic Royal Golf Club

Ribbon Cutting Jeremiah’s Italian Ice Covington > 11:45AM

Hospice House Golf Tournament Oak Harbor Golf Club • Noon St Luke’s Golf Tournament Royal Golf Club • 1 PM

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Women & Songs: Girl Groups of the 60’s • Cutting Edge Theater • 8 PM

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ONCE ON THIS ISLAND • Slidell Little Theatre • 8 PM Women & Songs: Girl Groups of the 60’s • Cutting Edge Theater • 8 PM

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Meredith Wright 985-273-3002

Is YOUR Business Getting Enough Visibility?

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MOANA JR. Cutting Edge Theater • 2 PM

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ONCE ON THIS ISLAND Slidell Little Theatre • 2 PM

Family Fun Fest Outdoor Market The Art Box • Slidell • 10AM - 4PM

ONCE ON THIS ISLAND Slidell Little Theatre • 2 PM

APRIL

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by: Mike Rich, CFP® | Pontchartrain Investment Management

Millions of Sunrises

Back in February, my family – all 14 of us – traveled to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee to spend a week in the Smoky Mountains during the Mardi Gras holiday. We rented a sixbedroom house, drove up in four cars, and enjoyed seven wonderful days of hiking, sightseeing, knife-making, eating and drinking, and enjoying each other’s company. Here is a picture of the sunrise on one of our beautiful mornings, taken from the balcony at the house.

I spent the first 13 years of my professional life as a petroleum geologist and, even though I haven’t done much geology during the past umpteen years, I still like to look at rock formations, and the Smokies are full of them. The Appalachian Mountains, of which the Smokies are a part,

are an ancient formation, dating back almost 500 million years. One can find many different types of rocks in the Appalachians, all of which were deformed and built up into a mountain range as a result of plate tectonics. In the distant past, the Appalachians were as tall and rugged as the Rocky Mountains are today, but they have been eroded by wind, rain, and other natural forces over millions and millions of years into the more gentle slopes, hills, and valleys we see in Tennessee, North Carolina, and elsewhere along the Appalachian range.

Geological processes take time, lots of it. We humans, who have an average lifespan of around 85 years, have difficulty getting our arms around geologic time, which operates over millions of years.

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Fortunately, none of us – not one – has to wait millions of years to achieve financial success.

For example, when I work with young clients, I make sure they know that the greatest gift they have as investors is time, decades and decades of it. Here’s how time can work: I recently began working with a young guy. Let’s call him George. He’s 25 years old and the son of one of my longtime clients. George has a nice job for a young guy, and he’s ready to start investing. He already has a cash emergency fund that’s adequate for his simple, single-guy lifestyle.

We agreed that a Roth IRA, in which his money will grow tax-free, would be good for him. George is contributing $50 a month to start, although he might be able to swing $100 before the year is out. His goal is to increase his contribution by 10% every year. For this example, let’s assume that George sticks with the $50 bucks per month.

Let’s also assume that we’re going to get a hypothetical, average rate of return of 7% over the next 45 years (there are no guarantees on this, but let’s just assume it for now; see my disclaimer).1 If he sticks with the plan, George will potentially have a retirement nest egg of about $1,000,000.

Inflation will take its toll a bit, but, still, it’s a lot of money. And, George started with just fifty bucks a month! Do you know a young person, maybe your daughter, son, or grandchild, who might want to do this?

The problem with getting time to work for us is that we often won’t let it. Ours is a culture of overnight delivery, instant messaging, and other I-want-it-now stuff. We’ve all read about how drones will someday deliver the goods we’ve ordered online just a few hours after we’ve clicked the Send button, and it’s already happening in a few places.

The idea of waiting 30, 40, or 50 years or more for a saving and investing plan to work doesn’t compute in that scenario.

However, there aren’t many other realistic ways I’m aware of to potentially gain and grow wealth.

The good news is that you don’t have to wait a million years to achieve financial peace of mind, but you do have to get started in order to give it a chance.

Call me today for an appointment. It will be time well-spent.

Mike Rich, CFP® Pontchartrain Investment Management 985-605-5064 1This is a hypothetical example and is not representative of any specific situation. Your results might 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.

Securities and Advisory Services are offered through LPL Financial, a Registered Investment Advisor.

Member FINRA, SIPC. 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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NEW ORLEANS

Lakefront Airport Photo courtesy of the N.O. Lakefront Airport

Environment " ns a e rl O w e N f Donna Bush, Winner of 2020 Press Club o

al Science Reporting"

Story and Photos by Donna Bush

From practically the beginning of time, Man has dreamt of flying. Greek mythology depicts Daedalus creating giant wings from tree limbs and wax for him and his son, enabling them to escape King Minos. Even Disney’s Aladdin has a magic flying carpet. Italian artist and inventor, Leonardo da Vinci, was fascinated with the possibility of human flight and detailed more than 35,000 words and 500 sketches of flying machines, the nature of air, and bird flight in his manuscripts. Then, in 1903, Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully flew the first powered flight!

From there, literally the sky was the limit! World War I saw the use of aircraft, with many advances made in aviation. After the War ended, pilots returned and became barnstormers flying all over the country selling plane rides. This progressed to Airmail, a joint partnership between the Army and U.S. Post Office, delivering mail between Washington and New York, with an interim stop in Philadelphia.

The first flight departed Belmont Park, Long Island on May 14, 1918 for Philadelphia. The next day, it arrived 16

in Washington where it was met by President Truman. It wasn’t long before air transportation for the general public eventually grew to carrying passengers, giving birth to the first commercial flights. Charles Lindbergh’s famous transatlantic non-stop flight from New York to Paris seriously captured the attention of aviation enthusiasts and investors.

In 1930, the first private New Orleans airport opened, built by James Wedell and Harry Williams, and named the Wedell-Williams Airport.

At the time, Huey P. Long was Louisiana Governor and had set his sights on the 1936 presidential race. He saw a need to build an airport in New Orleans, hoping to anchor the city as a transportation hub and to prove to the country his ability to lead out of the Depression. During this time period, Abe Shushan, president of the Orleans Levee Board, had entered into a project developing and beautifying the New Orleans lakefront area, which included flood protection. Long wanted to avoid interference from his opposition by building the airport on

state-owned land. Under Louisiana law, the State owns the bottom of navigable waterways, including Lake Pontchartrain. Shushan had the idea to build a ten-thousand-foot retaining wall out into Lake Pontchartrain and pump landfill from the middle of the Lake to create the state-owned land for the airport. Six million cubic yards of fill was pumped in, leaving a hole that still exists today.

Long appointed Shushan to oversee construction of the airport, which was designed by Weiss, Dreyfous and Seiferth, who also designed the Louisiana State Capitol, Charity Hospital and the old Governor’s Mansion. The airport was initially named Shushan Airport after Abe Shushan. Construction began in 1931 on 300 acres of reclaimed lake land. It was a first in many ways: the first public airport in New Orleans; the first major airport in the region; the first combined land and sea air terminal; and the first Art Deco airport to open in the United States. Only two other working Art Deco airports still remain, Houston Hobby and Washington National.

Murals within the New Orleans Lakefront Airport terminal: (Left to Right) “Bali”, “New York”, and “South Pole”. Photos by Donna Bush.

No expense was spared in building the beautiful Art Deco terminal, which cost $4.5 million. Shushan emblazoned his name everywhere he could. On places not large enough to sport his entire name, the letter “S” could be found. It was said that evidence could be found on the walls, the roof, the floor, outdoor pavement, the pattern of the gardens, and even doorknobs and plumbing fixtures. Much of the construction was done by Works Progress Administration (WPA) workers under President Roosevelt’s New Deal.

Construction also included a massive art program. The exterior created by Enrique Alferez depicts aviation and mythological motifs in the façade elements. One of the most prominent is the Spirit of Aviation over the main entrance door. There were also natural aluminum canopies and window/door mullions. The control tower was located at the top of the building. Today it is a glass enclosed observation tower.

The interior included five types of Spanish marble, multi-colored inlaid terrazzo, an inlaid brass compass

in the main lobby floor, travertine stair treads, fine walnut paneling in the dining room, tongue and groove cypress flooring, Art Deco aluminum railings, painted tile in coffered ceilings and custom light fixtures with molded glass lenses.

The second floor housed a series of eight murals circling the mezzanine balcony painted by Spanish artist Xavier Gonzalez. Each mural depicted a different historic flight in aviation history from around the world. Each corresponded to a different direction on the large compass rose inlaid in the first-floor terrazzo flooring at the center of the Terminal’s atrium.

THE MURALS: • “Paris” highlights Lindberg’s first solo flight from New York City to Paris in 1927.

• “Egypt” features a biplane flying over the Colossi of Memnon next to the Nile River.

• “Rio” depicts the Italian seaplane “Santa Maria” flying over Rio de Janeiro Brazil.

• “South Pole” highlights Admiral

Byrd’s first expedition to the Antarctic involving two ships and three airplanes on their famous 1929 flight to and from the South Pole.

• “Mayas” showcases a Sikorsky plane flying over an ancient Mayan pyramid.

• “Bali” depicts a passenger service Fokker airplane flying above Balinese women bathing in a lush tropical garden.

• “Mount Everest” features one of two specially built Westland airplanes launched from the Nepal border for the June 1933 Houston-Mount Everest expedition.

• “New York” displays an Akron soaring over Manhattan’s skyline before continuing to the Panama Canal.

The amenities were completely state of the art for that time period, including a fully functional hospital with a surgery suite, a post office, formal dining room and café with a commercial kitchen, and a hotel housing private sleeping quarters with private baths. There were also offices for the Departments of Agriculture, Commerce and Customs / Immigration. As if that was not enough, tennis courts and a swimming pool were included.

Murals within the New Orleans Lakefront Airport terminal: (Left to Right) “Rio”, “Mayas”, and “Egypt”. Photos by Donna Bush.

17

Photo by R.C.L.

In addition to the beautiful Art Deco Terminal, two oversized aircraft hangars were constructed on either side of the Terminal. Each was large enough to house three DC-3 aircraft and were named after the father of Naval Aviation, Admiral William Moffett and trans-Atlantic air pioneer, Charles Lindbergh. In 1938, the Lindbergh Hangar was renamed the Harry P. Williams Hangar after Lindbergh’s controversial acceptance of the German Service Cross from Nazi Germany’s Commander in Chief of their Air Force.

The hangars were also built in the Art Deco style with metal gabled ends bearing an image of an airplane.

The airstrip was operational while the terminal and hangars were under construction. The formal dedication and official grand opening took place in conjunction with Mardi Gras and included hosting the Pan American Air Races February 9-13, 1934. An estimated 10,000 people attended the event. At the time, it was the largest and most modern air terminal in the United States.

In 1935, Abe Shushan was indicted for income tax evasion, but later acquitted.

That same year, he resigned from the Levee Board. In 1939, he was indicted for mail fraud. After being convicted, the Orleans Levee Board recommended changing the name of the Airport from Shushan to New 18

Photo by Donna Bush

Orleans Lakefront Airport. It was no easy or inexpensive task to remove Shushan’s label from the building and grounds. Supposedly, Abe had boasted that it would take $50,000 to $100,000 to remove his name. Allegedly, a Levee Board member joked that they should leave all of the “S” décor and find a historical figure with a good reputation who’s last named started with an “S.” The Orleans Levee Board and WPA funded the creation of the art masterpiece, Fountain of the Four Winds, by world-renowned sculptor Enrique Alferez in 1936. The ninefoot tall statue depicts one male and 3 females, each representing one of the four wind directions: north, south, east and west.

In the early 1950’s, commercial air service moved to Moisant Airport (now known as Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport).

Lakefront Airport, designated as a general aviation airport, continued to serve private, corporate and military aircraft. Runways and taxiways were added and lengthened to serve larger airplanes.

In 1964, after the Cuban missile crisis, Lakefront Airport Terminal was converted to a nuclear fallout shelter.

The architectural firm, Cimini and Meric and Associates, was chosen to design the renovations which included bricking in all but 3 of the 144 windows,

covering the building exterior with thick concrete panels held in place by a steel grid, and constructing a false floor to enclose the balcony over the lobby for second floor office space. Thankfully, T. Sellers Meric went to great lengths to preserve as much of the original artwork as possible. The murals were carefully covered with rice paper. The building was diligently encased in metal studs and stucco. This thoughtfulness and art preservation tactics allowed the magnificent work of an earlier generation to be preserved for future enjoyment. It was through his attention to detail that allowed the beautiful works of art to be appreciated today.

Fast forward to August 29, 2005 when Hurricane Katrina roared ashore, depositing eight feet of water on the airfield and four feet in the interior of the Terminal building. Like much of New Orleans, the damage to the Terminal building was catastrophic. This brought the opportunity to restore the airport to its original Art Deco beauty from the Golden Age of Aviation.

After Katrina, over $78 million in federal, state, local and private dollars was spent to restore the New Orleans Lakefront Airport facilities to its pre1964 condition, along with some infrastructure improvements. Who knew that FEMA had a division dedicated to historic building preservation?

Once introduced to the grandeur of

the original Terminal, the team of inspectors concluded that it and the hangars were candidates for FEMA funding for restoration. The buildings would have to be restored to their original 1934 design to be eligible for the funding. RCL Architecture oversaw the project, with restoration completed in 2013. Restoration of the Terminal exterior work included removing the 1964 concrete encasement and ramps to reveal the original stucco walls, restoration of the observation tower, two porticos, all exterior walls and replacement of 140 windows. Entrance canopies were reconstructed along with restoration work to the exterior wall sculptures. Infrastructure safety upgrades included additional exterior staircases, extensive fire alarm and sprinkler system with elevated water storage tanks, and installation of generator power to keep critical facility systems running during future storms and power outages.

Restoration of the Terminal interior involved removal of office spaces which covered the original two-story lobby space and hid the historic murals; restoration of the terrazzo floors, aluminum railings, recreation of light fixtures; and recreation of the original walnut paneling, marble wainscoting, coffered ceilings and neon lighting in the Walnut Room.

During the 1964 renovation, three of

Gonzalez’s murals were left visible – Paris, Egypt and Mayas; three were encased behind sheetrock – New York, South Pole, and Mount Everest; and two murals - Rio and Bali - were removed. The Louisiana State Museum returned Rio to take its place with the others. Sadly, Bali was never located.

However, it was recreated by Chief Conservator and founder of Grenier Conservation, Elise Grenier.

Prior to the beginning of the post-Katrina restoration, each mural was encased and protected with its own HVAC system to protect from harmful mold and asbestos. The mural restoration had to be performed in slow, careful phases. The rice paper from the 1964 renovation had mold growing on it, but it served its purpose and protected the murals from mold. The rice paper was painstakingly removed, followed by rounds and rounds of testing, repairs and cleaning. The final touch was an application of conservation-approved archival varnish for protection.

On September 28, 2013 New Orleans Lakefront Airport hosted its grand reopening of the terminal.

Age and the effects of Mother Nature had taken a toll on the Fountain of the Four Winds. Katrina added to this.

United Restoration and Preservation, Inc and Conservator Elise Grenier were commissioned to restore the fountain to its original splendor in

early 2019. Restoration costs were covered by FEMA but did not include replacement of the pumps, filtration, piping and lighting or damage to the concrete basin. Today the fountain is surrounded by a chain link fence.

The New Orleans Lakefront Airport Friends, Inc will seek sponsorships to fund this along with landscaping and security.

For a truly unique dining experience check out Messina’s Runway Café for lunch Tuesday – Friday or Saturday/ Sunday brunch! You never know who might be dining at the table next to yours.

Local celebrities, numerous state and federal politicians and famous movie stars have frequented the restaurant.

If you haven’t been to New Orleans Lakefront Airport, I invite you to visit; to take a step back in time; to walk through those double doors and listen to the music of the 50’s, such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Ella Fitzgerald; close your eyes and imagine patrons dancing and swaying to the music as planes land and take off just beyond the doors.

If you would like to schedule a historic tour of Lakefront Airport contact Chris Henderson, Lakefront Airport Manager at 504-243-4010. I highly recommend scheduling your tour on a Tuesday thru Sunday and enjoying lunch or brunch at Messina’s Runway Café.

The New Orleans Lakefront Airport was the first Art Deco Airport in the U.S. Art Deco is a style of decorative art and architecture that was created in France and was popular in Europe during the 1920’s and in the United States in the 1930’s. The intent was to create a sleek, non-traditional elegance, symbolizing wealth and sophistication. “Art Deco works are symmetrical, geometric, streamlined, often simple, and pleasing to the eye.”

Photo by R.C.L.

Photo by R.C.L.

Photo by R.C.L. 19

THE INFANTRY The face of nursing has changed - it’s behind a mask.

what they know to treat, and relay hope and courage to their patients. If all a patient can see is their nurse’s eyes, they should see hope and courage.

At the start of the Corona virus pandemic, a taxed infantry was sent into battle with limited resources. Nurses found themselves fighting an invisible warrior and ammunition was sparse, or worse - undeveloped. It quickly became obvious that the already challenging job nurses face was going to become more vital than ever; and that “fight or flight” mentality nurses possess would have to keep its momentum for more than a year and counting.

The COVID pandemic has tested us all. Until the development, distribution and administration of vaccines, nurses had too few effective tools to fight the spread of COVID. Decreased staff and the lack of lifesaving equipment and infection prevention resources have forced nurses to be creative in an exhaustive attempt to save lives. Every day, healthcare workers risk their own personal health and safety, and that of their families, to insure the safety of strangers. Nursing is the job description that ends with “and other duties as needed.” This past year, the “other duties” were the forefront of nursing.

No one becomes a hero in a simple situation and the COVID crisis has proven to be a formidable adversary, affecting the physical, mental, and economic health of the world. No amount of training can fully prepare frontline workers for the unknowns of a pandemic virus. Nursing roles have always included educating the public about health concerns.

But “facts” in the infancy of a pandemic seem to change daily and “once believed” has become the vernacular of the day. The nurse’s role is to sort through the facts and use 20

by Scarlett Maness

What makes a hero? Some would argue that nurses aren’t heroes because saving lives is their job, and the point is valid. But hero is defined as a person who, in the face of danger, combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage or strength. If working a 12- to 16-hour shift against an unseen enemy, with a lack of sufficient help, supplies and information, to save lives isn’t heroism, I don’t know what is!

Save one life, you’re a HERO. Save hundreds, you’re a NURSE! Nurses are usually present in the most important times in peoples’ lives - at births, at deaths, in times of medical crisis and medical triumphs. Nurses will experience a gamut of

when the patient is alone. They have hope when the sick feel defeated. Nurses are cheerleaders during the fight, counselors when the foe is winning, and criers when the fight is lost. All of this may cycle through any day, or every day, at work. Doing this again, and again, and again is what makes nurses heroes. emotions and outcomes in their careers. Experiences will bring joy and sorrow, learning and personal growth. Nurses will become resilient through adversity. Through all these trials and tribulations, patients will benefit from the nurse’s experience.

Currently, there are approximately 4 million Registered Nurses and 1 million Licensed Practical Nurses working in the United States. That seems like a huge number; but, sadly, it’s approximately 30% fewer nurses than are needed for current nursing positions. Nurses over 50 years of age comprise almost half of working nurses. Do the math.

Attrition, due to retirement, is responsible, in large part, for the nursing shortage. What can be done to change this course? I think: 1. Nursing administrators should consider ways to keep seasoned nurses working by offering shorter shifts, job sharing, and incentives to delay retirement. Keeping seasoned nurses on the job longer provides the public with confidence in their care.

2. Nursing as a profession needs to attract more young people. The resolution of COVID related illness should surely allay some of the hesitations of those that are considering entering nursing and medical schools.

3.The public needs to assume more responsibility for their own health, relieving some of the burden on health professionals, especially important during a global pandemic.

Good healthcare always begins at home. This is the real take-away COVID has taught us.

Of course, healthcare is a team effort and nurses could not function without the other players. The roles of doctors, nursing assistants, clerks, lab workers, radiographers, techs, dietary workers, housekeepers, clergy, maintenance and administrators cannot be overstated. Continuing education is essential. Quality control and human resource workers assure that work standards are high and personnel are qualified. EMS, firefighters and police are the frontline outside of traditional healthcare settings. Nursing takes a village. And the patient is an integral part of the village.

Not everyone will be a nurse, but everyone will be a patient at some point.

Consumers are cynical. Patients are medical consumers.

Trust is the most important part of any relationship and this is certainly true of nursing. Nurses are altruistic. They have strength when patients do not. They share their team

As a nurse, we have the opportunity to heal the heart, mind, soul and body of our patients, their families and ourselves. They may not remember your name but they will never forget the way you made them feel.

– Maya Angelou May 6-12 is National Nurse’s Week. Reach out to a nurse you know and let them know they are appreciated for their sacrifice and dedication. You have no idea how much this means to a nurse!

Our story continues, with 2 remarkable nurses in Slidell who are serving our community with a commitment to excellence. 

“Lady With The Lamp” Florence Nightingale May 12, 1820 – August 13, 1910 When Florence Nightingale was a teenager, she believed she received a calling from God to help the poor and the sick. The Crimean War found the British unprepared to deal with the number of sick and injured soldiers. The Secretary of War asked Florence Nightingale to manage a group of women that would treat the wounded.

In 1854, Florence and a group of 38 women arrived in the overcrowded, unsanitary, and infection-ridden British camp, outside of Constantinople, to provide care. Doctors were less than welcoming of the women, but soon realized that the overwhelming numbers of injured soldiers required more help. Nurses provided supplies, nutritious food, cleanliness and sanitation to the military hospital. They also provided personal care and support to the soldiers. Florence was known to carry a lamp while caring for soldiers after dark, hence the nickname, “The Lady With The Lamp.”

Within 6 months, Nightingale and her team transformed the hospital. The death rate decreased from 40% to 2% because of their efforts. Florence was responsible for the first nursing school in 1860. In her lifetime, she wrote more than 150 books, pamphlets and reports on health-related issues. She is also credited with creating one of the first versions of the pie chart. She is best known, however, for making hospitals cleaner and safer, affecting the lives of countless patients for all time.

National Nurse’s Week is celebrated the week of May 12, Florence Nightingale’s birthday, to recognize the millions of dedicated nurses that have continued her legacy saving lives.

21

Kay Sabadie, RN Ochsner Medical Center

around with purple teeth if we had a sore throat. Gentian violet was her treatment of choice. And I’ll never forget our monthly colon cleanse with Milk of Magnesia. It worked, none of us have any GI issues to this day! I admired Aunt Freda for her dedication and expertise.”

Graduating from LSU in 1978 with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing, Kay continued her education and received her Med-Surg certification in 2012. Kay prides herself on being calm, compassionate, resilient, and a team player.

“Teamwork is the key to success. The body is so complex that it takes an entire team of professionals to achieve successful outcomes,” Kay acknowledges. “Our mission is to serve, heal, lead, educate and innovate. It takes a team to do it.”

I

t’s almost unbelievable that a nurse of 43 years has as much energy as Kay Sabadie. Her continued passion for nursing earned her the prestigious 2020 RN Nightingale Award for Clinical Practice. Kay, affectionately known as “Kay Kay,” has a lot of letters behind her name - BSN, RN, CMSRN. Whew! I’d like to add H-E-R-O to the mix.

While others with her years of experience are retired, Kay is working at Ochsner Medical Center as the Operation Coordinator, a supervisory role, for Medical-Surgical units.

Her role promotes safety, quality, performance improvement and a culture of accountability. Kay shares, “I was thinking about retiring last year. But when COVID came along, I just couldn’t leave the team, or the patients. I remember the pain and heartache of being a new nurse during the AIDS epidemic. We were all so scared and uncertain. I tell nurses today that they will look back on this time with mixed feelings – sadness for all who did not survive, joy because they made a difference in the lives of so many and gratefulness for the opportunity to do so. They will remember the courage it took to care for so many and that courage is there whenever they need it.”

Kay felt the “calling” many nurses speak of. “ I always knew that I would be in the health care industry. I am the eldest of seven and had plenty of opportunities to take care of my siblings. I loved it. The nursing profession has allowed me to live my dream while raising my own large family.” Speaking of family, Kay comes from a long line of nurses. She says her Aunt Freda was a standout, though.

“She was the personal nurse for a local primary care doc that made house calls in the 40s, and 50s. They delivered care to the poor that were unable to get it at a hospital or office. If we were sick, we just visited her down the street.

Many a day my brothers, sisters and myself would walk 22

Kay tells a heartwarming story of a young man in his 20’s that came to her unit from the ICU. “By all medical tests, he was brain dead from an infection - encephalitis. His parents could not make the decision to proceed with organ donation, but did not want to continue extraordinary measures. Life support measures were discontinued. When he came to our unit, he was unresponsive but still breathing. Over the next day, his condition began to change. His primary nurse said she knew he supposedly had no brain activity, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw something. His EEG was repeated and, miraculously, he had brain activity. He was transferred to a rehab unit to continue his care. The next year, he sent the unit a “Thank You” postcard from Australia. I still get goose bumps when I tell this story. It always reminds me that we are only an instrument in the true hands of God.” With regards to the COVID pandemic, Kay expresses to patients that we have come a long way in the fight against this deadly virus. “We still have patients who do not survive, but the majority do get well and return home. Believe in yourself to get better and in those who are providing your care.

Please consider the vaccine when your doctor approves it.”

Kay recognizes that technology has changed nursing exponentially. “Currently, AI (artificial intelligence) proponents are working on the possibility of robots at the bedside.

What will be lacking, though, is the humanity of it all - the gesture, the touch, the empathetic word. Nurses are human beings taking care of human beings and that will never change. Nurses will always be at the center of patient care as caregivers, educators and advocates.”

Of the end of her career, Kay says she is proud to pass the baton to the next generation of nurses. “I have tried to be a good example and teacher, and not without a selfish motive.

The next generation of nurses will be my future caregivers.

I am confident that I will be well cared for.”

What does the near future look like for Kay? She and husband Chuck would like to spend more time with their four children and nine grandchildren. Kay enjoys fishing, gardening and baking - not surprisingly, activities that require patience and care. This nurse surely deserves a relaxing retirement, but our community will miss her nursing TLC.



Taylor Feigel, RN Slidell Memorial Hospital

very disheartening. This field does not have forefathers; we have foremothers.”

Taylor notes that the public may not realize exactly what nurses do and are responsible for on a daily basis. “Real life healthcare is nothing like what is seen on TV, and I do wish more people realized this. I think nursing is a tough job.

It takes a lot of guts.” With regards to the future of nursing and the nursing shortage, Taylor shares, “I fear burnout is going to become an increasing issue in nursing, especially with newer nurses. I hope to see hospitals and healthcare systems intervene to make nursing a more revered and attractive career choice for young people.”

W

hen others are at their worst, Taylor Feigel is at his best. Such is the life of an emergency room nurse. Dramatic events call for calm and professionalism. The patient is often anxious, unsure, and in pain. Every decision made on their behalf could have a critical positive, or negative, outcome. Timing is essential.

Confidence is expected and trust must be earned. Emotions are often elevated and potential danger must be considered for the patient and caregivers alike. Add a pandemic to the mix and chaos could ensue.

It’s Taylor’s job to triage, assess and reassure patients to prevent chaos. There is no such thing as “down time” in the ER. Patient events start as mysteries, evolve quickly, and have uncertain outcomes. Multi-tasking requires focus and fortitude. The nurse is at once a detective, a mother or father, a friend, a confidante and a potential savior. Taylor is dedicated and empathetic to the needs of his patients and Slidell is realizing the benefits of his experienced care.

Taylor graduated from Chamberlain University in Chicago with a BS degree in Nursing. He has been a Registered Nurse for nine years, serving at Slidell Memorial Hospital for the past 15 months. Taylor says, “I chose nursing because of the diversity. I love the fact that I can change my entire job description by simply changing departments. Nursing also supports my love of travel. I have been able to work in several states with a lot of great people.”

Male RNs (Registered Nurses) comprise only 9.6% of nurses practicing in the U.S. Taylor states that he has never experienced any discrimination because of being in a female dominant profession. “In fact, I have felt quite the opposite. In my experience, I feel male nurses are treated with more respect than their female colleagues, which I find

COVID has given Taylor a higher level of appreciation for infection control and those who work in that field. He expresses the same fears most of us have. “The scariest thought throughout the entire pandemic is the idea of bringing the virus home to a family member. This has made it challenging to truly enjoy my time with loved ones. I have seen the fear in my patients and their families, many of who were brought to tears with a positive diagnosis of someone they love. I try to be both honest and supportive with COVID patients and their families. It’s a terrifying situation for them.

I’m as compassionate and empathetic as I can be. I always educate with the most up-to-date data I have available.”

While ER nursing is often dramatic, many days have positive outcomes. “Small victories are often the most rewarding.

A good day would be patients with improved symptoms, or a good patient experience. A great day would include a successful code (lifesaving measures including CPR).”

Nothing is more satisfying than saving lives.

Challenging days can be emotionally taxing for an ER nurse. “The worst days as a nurse are the days we lose patients unexpectedly. While losing any patient is always difficult, I find it worse when the patient is closer to my own age or younger.” These outcomes broaden the role of ER nurses that may have established a rapport with a patient’s family. Words must express what a hug used to provide in the days before COVID. In the ER setting, care is provided by a plethora of people.

They must work together in stressful situations, in tight spaces and with focus and precision. If a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, the chain in the ER on Taylor’s team is strong. “I have a wonderful support team at work.

We have teamwork down to an art and it is really my favorite aspect of the job.”

Story continues on next page  23

Slidell

M VIE NIGHTS

Heritage Park • Free Admission Movies Start at 8:30 pm ACTION! ROMANCE! DRAMA! SLIDELL MOVIE NIGHTS HAS IT ALL!

Bring your lawnchairs and blankets and join us on Saturday evenings this summer on MAY 29, JUNE 12 & 26 and JULY 10 & 24 at 8:30 pm for movies in Heritage Park.

Admission is free. Food vendors will be selling drinks and concessions for a nominal charge.

Licensing restrictions prevent us from advertising the titles of the movies, but you can visit the City of Slidell’s website MYSLIDELL.COM or the SLIDELL MOVIE NIGHTS FACEBOOK PAGE to see the list of movies that we will be showing.

Sponsored by the City of Slidell and the 2021 Cultural Season Sponsors: Renaissance • $5,000 Sponsors:

Baroque • $2,500 Sponsors: Silver Slipper Casino • In Memory of Ronnie Kole Neoclassical • $1,000 Sponsors: Councilman Bill & Laura Borchert Lori’s Art Depot • Purple Armadillo Again Lowry-Dunham, Case & Vivien Insurance Agency

Impressionism • $500 Sponsors: Chateau Bleu • CiCi’s Pizza • Mayor Greg Cromer Flatliners Entertainment • Old School Eats Food Truck Roberta’s Cleaners • Slidell Historic Antique Association 24

Nurses who work in the ER should surely be considered adventure seekers and this perfectly describes Taylor.

He enjoys adventure sports like snow skiing with family and friends, a favorite way to decompress. Of course, this doesn’t happen in Louisiana, but involves the travel that he loves so much. He says that watching movies on the couch with loved ones is just as satisfying.

Taylor acknowledges two special women who have influenced him as a nurse. “Denise was my first preceptor out of nursing school. She taught me more about compassion and being a caring nurse than nursing school ever could have. I learned so much from her, about both the art and science of nursing, and I can’t thank her enough.” Another nurse, Sarah, started at SMH the same day as Taylor. “I had years of ER experience, and she was new to the chaos. I feel she looked up to me and I’ve done my best to teach her the ways of the ER world. Watching how strong and independent she has become makes me so proud, and I look forward to working with her for a long time.” This perfectly illustrates how nurses pay it forward. The mantra is, “See one. Do one. Teach one.”

Wherever his nursing inspiration came from, we are lucky to have him taking care of us in our most vulnerable moments.

Thank you Taylor for your compassion and expertise.

To all of the nurses serving our community and our world...

Happy Nurse’s Week!

“Your Estate Matters”

By Ronda M. Gabb, NP, JD, RFC

Affidavit of Small Succession Many people, including some lawyers and other professionals, are unaware that a “Judicial” Succession is not always necessary to pass title to the heirs. In certain cases, a Succession may be accomplished through an easy procedure called an “Affidavit of Small Succession.” This simplified procedure may now be used to pass title to a deceased person’s assets, including real estate, without needing the assistance of an attorney or the Court, if certain conditions are met. Without this simplified process, it would be necessary to do a “Judicial” Succession which must go through the Courts and, of course, need the assistance of an attorney at a much greater cost. In either case, nothing needs to be filed with, or paid to, the Louisiana Department of Revenue.

For most cases, the following provisions are applicable: 1) There must NOT be a Last Will and Testament (the decedent must have died “intestate”); 2) The total gross value (do not subtract debts and mortgages) of the estate must be $125,000 or less.

If any of the assets are community property, then you would only include one-half of the fair market value in the calculation of assets of the first spouse to die, OR the deceased died twenty (20) years ago or more, regardless of asset value; and 3) The surviving heirs must be a very close family relation, e.g. spouse, children, grandchildren, parents, siblings, nephews and nieces. Sorry cousins, you have to go to Court!

There is also an exception if a decedent resided out-ofstate but had a Will that was already probated in his/her state of domicile, and left assets in Louisiana valued at $125,000 or less. In this case, we still can use the Affidavit of Small Succession to pass the asset according to that Will’s terms. This is very common when we deal with Time Shares in New Orleans owned by out-of-state residents.

The Affidavit of Small Succession is quick, easy and inexpensive, as compared to a full Judicial Succession.

It can even be accomplished by using the services of a qualified Notary Public in lieu of an attorney. However, we attorneys are happy to help you with this process, as well!

Legal-ease 21 Keys to a Happy Life

•

Compliment three people every day.

• Watch a sunrise.

• Be the first to say “hello.”

• Live beneath your means.

• Treat everyone as you want to be treated.

• Never give up on anybody, miracles happen.

• Forget the Joneses.

• Remember someone’s name.

• Pray not for things, but for wisdom and courage.

• Be tough minded, but tender hearted.

• Be kinder than you have to be.

• Don’t forget that a person’s greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.

• •

Keep your promises.

•

Remember that overnight success usually takes 15 years.

• •

Leave everything better than you found it.

•

When you arrive at your job in the morning, let the first thing you say brighten everyone’s day.

• •

Don’t rain on other people’s parades.

•

Keep some things to yourself and don’t promote havoc by backstabbing people you love.

Learn to show cheerfulness even when you don’t feel it.

Remember that winners do what losers don’t want to do.

Don’t waste an opportunity to tell someone you love them.

See other articles and issues of interest!

Ronda M. Gabb is a Board Certified Estate Planning and Administration Specialist certified by the Louisiana Board of Legal Specialization. She is a member of the American Academy of Estate Planning Attorneys, National Academy of Elder Law Attorneys and the Governor’s Elder Law Task Force. Ronda grew up in New Orleans East and first moved to Slidell in 1988, and now resides in Clipper Estates.

40 Louis Prima Drive (off Hwy 190, behind Copeland’s) • Covington, Louisiana • (985) 892-0942 • RondaMGabb.com

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Slidell: Our History Story by Ted Lewis

Memorial Day Slidell Sons of the Vietnam War In Washington, they appear as names on the Vietnam Wall Memorial, nine of the 58,318 American killed in the Vietnam War. In Slidell, they are names, plus faces, on the restaurant’s wall as you enter the Southside Café on Pontchartrain Drive.

They are the Vietnam soldiers from our area who didn’t make it home.

The framed Vietnam display is the most prominent of 200+ pictures of veterans of all American conflicts since World War II. Southside owners Dan DeBlanc and Chris Legrand have been adding photos and memorabilia since the café opened in 1991.

Along with names and pictures, the exhibit also features rubbings from the Wall. The beautiful display was created in 2012 by former Slidell resident Terry Edwards to help preserve the memories of these local sons. As the inscription on the bottom reads, “All Gave Some; Some Gave All.” “I see those pictures every day and they always have an emotional impact on me,” said DeBlanc, who was a Marine helicopter pilot during Vietnam. “Rubbings of three of my buddies who died in the war are right next to them.”

“I didn’t know any of the guys from Slidell (DeBlanc grew up in New Orleans), but there’s a special kinship all of us who were over there share.”

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Seven people are featured in Edwards’ display – Michael Gene Isely, Jack Eaton, Louis Alfred Pichon, Jr., James David Ciruti, John Alfred Lassiter, James Curtis Brannon and Philip George Knieper.

There are two others who should be there – Joseph Michael Schmolke and Herman Edward Pichon. Schmolke was from Pearl River, which Edwards did not include in his research, and Pichon was listed from New Orleans where he was born although Slidell was his true hometown, a fact that came to light after a newspaper story about the project. Plans are to add pictures of them close by.

Edwards, who has since moved to Lufkin, Texas, came up with the idea of the display to honor his “other” older brother and Vietnam casualty, Clifford Haley of Beaumont.

“Since I wasn’t in Beaumont anymore, I decided to remember the men from where I was,” said Edwards, whose own effort to join the military during Vietnam was thwarted by an eye condition. “They’re all equally deserving of being remembered.”

While it’s uncertain that any of the nine men knew each other either in Slidell or in the service, they share remarkably common backgrounds.

None were officers, although three were career enlisted men. Of the others, four were drafted and two enlisted in the Marines.

None came from privilege and only two finished as much as a year of college, which was worth a deferment from the draft.

Six are buried in Slidell - five at Forest Lawn and one in the Dubission Cemetery.

Three are buried in other states.

James Brannan and Louis Pichon were 40 and 39 respectively, and six were 21 or younger, a statistic shared by 61 percent of Americans killed in the war.

It’s thinking about those lives unlived, the families left behind and which they never had that bothers DeBlanc.

“I wouldn’t say I have survivor’s guilt, but sometimes I wonder why I came back and friends I had 50 years ago didn’t,” he said. “They didn’t get to enjoy life I like I did, and that’s just so sad.”

“They didn’t ask to go over there, but they did. They just didn’t get to come back. That’s why these guys deserve to be remembered.”

Therefore, in honor of Memorial Day, May 31, let the stories of our local servicemen who fought and died in the Vietnam War be told:

“They didn’t want to tell my dad everything, and he was getting pretty hot,” John Ciruti said. “He told them they had to tell him what was going on before he would take them to Margie.”

“He finally went with them and I just sat on the bed hugging my mom. It was hard on everybody for awhile, but luckily we had a lot of people to lean on.”

James David Ciruti James David Ciruti was, in the words of his older brother John, “a little character and just sort of cocky,” always looking for fun mixed with the inevitable juvenilelevel trouble.

That included hiding in garbage cans. In those pre-plastic container days, it meant he often came home smelling pretty bad.

James and John, who was a year older, also liked playing Army.

It wasn’t surprising that, after dropping out of school in the 10th grade, James was drafted in October of 1966. He went through both basic and “tiger training” at Fort Polk and arrived in Vietnam as a member of the 1st Division (“The Big Red One”) on April 8, 1967, just in time for Operation Manhattan.

Twenty days later, he was dead, a victim of a multi-casualty mine explosion. James David Ciruti was 19.

“He was here right before he shipped out, but we didn’t talk much about what might happen,” John Ciruti said. “I don’t know if he knew much about what was going on over there or he just didn’t want everybody to worry about him. Mom and Dad were worried a lot anyway, but they didn’t talk about it too much either. I don’t think they wanted the rest of us to worry.”

Just prior to entering the Army, James married. When the Army personnel came to the Ciruti door off Short Cut Road that morning in 1967, they were actually trying to find Margie, his bride of less than a year.

John and James were 2/3 of the “middle set” of nine children. In the months after James’ death, their father, Frank, would ask John questions about James because, with so many children, he didn’t feel like he knew him well enough.

John might have told him how close he and his brother were – so close that they swapped girlfriends (who were also sisters) at one point. Irma Lizana Parker, whose sister, Shirley, married John, recalls James fondly.

“He would carry my books for me even though it made him late for class,” she said. “James had such a sweet soul.”

John is also sure that if his brother had survived Vietnam, they would have stayed close, taking trips to the beach together with their children.

As an older brother, John admits to survivor’s guilt. “I didn’t get called up and he did,” John said. “I never understood why that was. And he was younger than me, so I had to have his back a lot. He shouldn’t have died first, and he sure shouldn’t have died in Vietnam. It all seems so senseless.”

John did seek some closure a few years ago when he visited the Vietnam Memorial Wall.

“You see all of those names and you hear others who were there talk about their experiences,” he said. “Then I saw James’ name and it just hit me like a rock.”

James David Ciruti is buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery between his parents. John Ciruti visits there often.

“I was mad about this for a long time,” John said. “Even though he was over there, I never expected him to be killed.

I just wish we could have been together more. He was my best friend.”

Herman Edward Pichon Herman Edward Pichon dreamed of being drafted - into baseball, not Vietnam.

Pichon was a baseball standout at St. Tammany High, graduating in 1968, after captaining his team and leading it in every batting category.

“He could have made it to the majors,” said his brother, Larry Pichon. “He wasn’t a big guy and he played second base. But he hit cleanup. He reminded me of Hank Aaron.”

But after a year spent playing at Grambling, Pichon lost his college deferment while in the process of transferring to Southern University and found himself in the Army’s Third Infantry, Americal Division.

On March 24, 1971, just a few weeks before his service would have ended, Pichon was killed in action at Firebase Mary Ann in Quang Tin Provence near the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

Pichon, who was 20, was the ninth and final Slidell-area serviceman killed in the war.

He also was the only African-American.

Larry Pichon is uncertain about the details of his brother’s death. But four days later, the division was attacked by the Viet Cong in its final major engagement of the war.

What Larry Pichon does remember vividly is learning about his brother’s death and the days that followed.

“My parents prayed about Herman every day, and when some men came to the 29

house that morning, they knew what had happened,” he recalled. “I just ran out of the house before I broke down.”

but moved to Louisiana when his mother married Lloyd Mann of Slidell, led a complicated life.

Later, though, it fell to Larry, two years younger than Herman, to make a positive identification; which he did by a tattooed letter “H” on Herman’s arm.

According to Judy, her mom and dad met in Germany in 1955. Her mother had fled communist Czechoslovakia and was already pregnant with Judy. The father was Jack’s staff sergeant, but that relationship was over.

The funeral, held at Our Lady of Lourdes, was one of the largest ever in Slidell. The Pichons are a Creole family with roots in the community going back to the 19th century and Herman was the third youngest of eight children.

“It was really hard on everybody,” Larry Pichon said. “Herman didn’t want to be over there, and he was ready to get out and come home. He just wanted to get back to playing baseball, because that’s what he really loved. He just didn’t get the chance.”

Larry Pichon could see another career path for Herman as well. “I think he could have gotten into politics,” he said. “Herman was just a leader that everybody looked up to and wanted to follow. I didn’t have any choice about looking up to him. If I hadn’t, he probably would have beaten my butt!”

Jimmy Herd, who served in the same platoon as Herman, recalls, “The singing and fun times we would have when we would get out of the bush,” adding, poignantly, “We were all just kids.”

Herman Pichon would now be 70, and Larry said he still runs into people from the old neighborhood around Sgt. Alfred Dr. who will bring up Herman and talk about what a good baseball player and person he was.

“He was definitely my hero,” Larry said.

“I think about him every day.”

Herman Pichon is buried along with other members of his family in Dubuisson Cemetery, Slidell’s oldest cemetery.

“Herman was a giving person,” Larry said. “Anything you needed, he would help you. He wasn’t happy about going into the Army, but he saw it as something he had to do. He just didn’t get the chance to come home.”

“Daddy fell in love with Mama and married her,” Judy said. “I was born and she had Jack Jr. a year later. “He might not have been my biological father, but he was my Daddy, and I took his name.”

Jack Eaton More than a half-century later, Judy Eaton recalls the events of her 12th birthday with heartbreaking emotional clarity.

A sixth-grader at Boyet Middle School that day in March of 1967, Eaton heard the principal’s voice asking that she be sent to his office.

“It was my birthday, so I thought that might have something to do with it,” Eaton said.

“I didn’t think it could be anything bad.”

At the office, Eaton was told she needed to be taken home, along with her younger brother, Jack, who was in the fifth grade.

As they approached their home on Dixie Ranch Road, Eaton saw several cars parked along either side of the street. But even then, “I knew my mama hadn’t done this for me, but I thought maybe it was just a mix up or something or maybe my daddy had come home.”

It wasn’t that.

Judy and Jack’s father, Sgt. Jack Eaton, had been killed two days earlier in the firefight which became known as the Battle of Suoi Tre. Jack Eaton, who had spent 13 years in the Army, was 33.

“When we walked in, everybody was crying and stuff,” Judy Eaton said. “I couldn’t handle what was going on. Everybody wanted to wrap their arms around me, but I just wanted them to leave me be. I’m not over it yet; you’re never really over it.”

Jack Eaton, who grew up in Arkansas

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Back in America, the Eatons were stationed at Fort Bragg, N.C. and Fort Sill, O.K. before coming back to Slidell in the summer of 1966, shortly before Jack was sent to Vietnam.

A cannon crewmember of the 77th Armored Division, Eaton was stationed at Firebase Gold in Tay Ninh Provence.

A member of Eaton’s company, Patrick Brown, wrote of him, “I see you sitting on your heels, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other and a joke on your lips.”

Judy wrote faithfully to her father, saying things like, “This your daughter, Judith, sending you love and telling you I think about you all the time,” and “I hope nobody’s shooting at you.”

Unfortunately, on the morning of March 21, somebody was shooting at him. The Viet Cong launched a coordinated ground assault against the base. Eaton was one of 31 Americans killed that day repelling the attack in which there were a reported 635 VC dead. Body counts were a big thing in those days.

Eaton was buried at Forest Lawn. Eventually, his wife, who died only three years later, his mother, his sister and Jack Jr.. who died several years ago were interred there too.

Judy Eaton puts flowers on her father’s grave, but not as often as she used to.

“My daddy wasn’t perfect, but he made me feel safe,” she said. “I don’t know if my life would have better if he’d hadn’t been killed.

“All I know is my daddy didn’t come home.”

Brannan also liked being a little different.

He ended his name with an “an” instead of spelling it “Brannon,” which was the way the rest of the family in Louisiana did.

a good father, but a pretty stern one, too.”

“Who knows? I would have loved to have found out.”

In Slidell, where Brannan would make infrequent visits after leaving home to join the Army as teenager, he was known as jovial “Uncle J.C.” to his niece, Lisa Brannan Troxclair.

“He was our hero,” said Troxclair, whose father, Houston, was J.C.’s older brother.

“First, he was a handsome young man who looked like a movie star. He was always a sweet gentleman around us, too. And then, he was willing to fight for his country.”

James Curtis Brannan James Curtis Brannan called his baby daughter “Gail,” even though that was her middle name.

At least that’s what he called her in letters home from Vietnam because he never got to actually see her and hold her in his arms.

On March 31, 1969 in Quang Tri Provence near the Demilitarized Zone, Brannan, a career Sergeant serving in the 5th Infantry, was killed in a mortar attack. At 40, he was the oldest of the nine servicemen from the Slidell area to die in the war.

He left behind his wife, Loretta, and fivemonth-old daughter, Lisa Gail. She was his only child.

“He couldn’t wait to get home,” said Lisa Brannan, now 52 and still living in Louisville, KY, where she was born and raised. “He was going to retire, get one of those Airstream trailers and we’d travel all over so he could show us the country. He wanted to teach me how to fish.”

That was the soft side of a man Lisa’s mother told her never made it to Master Sergeant because, “He had a bunch of beer-drinking buddies, and he got into a lot of bar fights. He never backed down from a fight.”

At the same time, Lisa related through her mother who died in 2018, that toughmindedness made J.C. a good Sergeant because he felt that being hard on his men might help save their lives in Vietnam.

The Brannon family lived in the Hickory area. J.C. was the youngest of four children and when his mother died when he was 8, his older siblings, particularly sister Ophelia, pretty much raised him.

On one of his visits to Louisiana, J.C. brought his wife, Loretta, whom he’d met while stationed at Fort Knox, KY, and married when he was 32. It was the only time they would see her before going to Louisville for the funeral.

Brannan originally arrived in Vietnam in July 1968, but was back at Fort Knox a couple of months later to recuperate after suffering a broken ankle in a skirmish.

Brannan supposedly told his father during a phone conversation, “I’m going back to get those sons-of-bitches who hurt me.”

But Lisa said J.C. also told his motherin-law, “I’m not coming back this time.

I just know it.”

Brannan’s prediction turned out to be accurate. He’s buried in Zachary Taylor National Cemetery in Louisville.

Brannan wasn’t forgotten back home either. The now-inactive VFW post in Pearl River was renamed in his honor.

Loretta Brannan never remarried and had little contact with her husband’s family after his death.

But Lisa Brannan still honors the father she never met by writing him cards every birthday and Father’s Day and frequently visiting his grave.

“He was a tough guy who drank a lot and smoked a lot,” she said, “I think he’d been

Louis Pichon Gunnery Sergeant Louis Pichon of Slidell was one tough Marine.

How tough? Tough enough to join the Merchant Marines in 1943 at age 15. He then altered his birth certificate so he could enlist in the Marines in 1945 because the action was in the Pacific.

Tough enough, according to his nephew, Terry Nunez, that, “When he walked into a room, it got quiet. ‘Uncle Junior,’ as Terry called him, also “kicked the hell out of three guys” when he got into a fight during a dance at St. Genevieve while home on furlough.

Tough enough that he was busted from gunny to private for being too hard on recruits. He then worked himself back up to sergeant.

And tough enough that he died in a hand grenade duel when the platoon he was leading on a search and destroy mission near Cam Lo was ambushed by North Vietnamese army units on March 24, 1967. Pichon was 39, an age when gunnery sergeants would usually stay in the base rather than leading a patrol, meaning he 31

mostly likely volunteered for the mission.

What is known was that Pichon was on a two-month extension of his tour in Vietnam taken in lieu of remaining in the corps for six months before a planned retirement.

For his heroism that day, Pichon was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross, the Marine’s second-highest decoration.

He was one of 40 members of the 3rd Marines to receive the honor and one of 6,869 members of the division to die in the conflict.

“Uncle Junior never ran from a fight,” said Nunez, himself a Vietnam vet. “Nobody wants to die, but I don’t think he was afraid that day.”

F.W. Milling, a lieutenant in Pichon’s Lima Company, was another admirer.

launch a determined assault, destroying the enemy positions and resulting in the successful accomplishment of his unit’s mission.”

The result was one of the worst debacles of the war – 26 Americans killed.

Nunez, then in the Army, was given leave to attend Uncle Junior’s funeral. Although Pichon had married a woman from Idaho and had a son plus three stepchildren, he was buried in Forest Lawn where most of his Louisiana family is also interred.

Jacques, who disobeyed orders plus the urging of his squad leaders to pull back, also died in the firefight.

“It was pitiful,” Nunez said. “They had to have a closed casket, so you couldn’t see him.”

“He was just loved by everybody. He was always my hero.”

Semper Fi, Uncle Junior.

He was one of nine children in a family with deep roots in St. Tammany Parish.

Pichon left home at an early age to serve in the Pacific, Korea, China, Europe and Japan before Vietnam. However, he enjoyed nothing more than coming back to Slidell whenever he could.

“When his patrol was attacked with small arms and mortar fire, Pichon advanced towards the enemy bunkers,” the citation reads. “He silenced one position and was advancing on another when he became engaged in the hand grenade duel before being fatally wounded by machine gun fire. His aggressive fighting spirit and gallant actions inspired his comrades to 32

They were buried in a mass grave at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery in St. Louis, not far from a Marine monument to all of the nearly 1,000 Americans who died in the siege.

“I’m sure they would rather have been able to bury Johnny in Slidell,” said Jackie Lassiter, the widow of John’s younger brother Steve. “But they probably understood, too. They kept his picture and medals on their living room wall. But I never heard them talk about him much.”

There was another side to Pichon though.

Not surprisingly, his Navy Cross citation shows Pichon led from the front.

Making things worse – it was more than a month before the bodies of what became known as “The Ghost Patrol” could be retrieved. By then, eight of them, including Lassiter, could not be positively identified.

Lassiter’s parents were there when their son’s body was received for interment.

“He was a man I admired – a warrior,” Milling wrote on the Wall of Faces tribute page. “He inspired all of those in Lima Company. The best compliment for a Marine is to say that, ‘He was a good Marine.’

Gunny Pichon was a good Marine.”

“He loved to have fun,” Nunez, whose mother, Louise, was one of Louis’ seven sisters. “He was a good-looking guy, too, who always got along with the ladies. It was some of their boyfriends he didn’t get along too well with.” This is what reportedly ignited the scuffle at St. Genevieve.

Among them was 19-year-old PFC John Alfred Lassiter of Slidell.

Jackie Lassiter never knew her brother-inlaw. She met her late-husband, who died in 2001 at 48, after John’s death.

But, from what she heard, John, the oldest of six, liked nothing more than hunting and fishing, especially with Steve and their father, John Sr.

John Alfred Lassiter On the night of Feb. 24, 1968, Marine Lieutenant Donald Jacques wrote in his journal, “We are just sitting here, waiting for all hell to break loose.”

Little did Jacques, at 20 the youngest Marine lieutenant since the Korean War, know just how right he was – or how it would be his final entry.

The next morning, Jacques would lead a 54-man patrol outside the perimeter of the besieged American base at Khe Sanh and straight into a North Vietnamese ambush.

John also took Steve to the Purple Pickle and Dew Drop Inn to dance and listen to

country music, even though Steve was obviously underage.

the tone of which changed over time after Schmolke arrived in Vietnam as an antitank assaultman with 1st Marine Division in September of 1968.

But it was the outdoors they enjoyed most.

“Johnny and Steve were true outdoorsmen,” Jackie said. “Any free time they had, they were out hunting, especially during rabbit season.”

“At first, he was OK,” said Runyan, whose final letters to Vietnam were returned because they arrived after Joey’s death.

“But in the last one I got, he said he just wanted to live for one more day so he could come back and see his friends in Pearl River.”

The Lassiters had only lived in Slidell for three years before Johnny’s death, having moved from Dothan, AL, where he was born, to Panama City, FL, to New Orleans and then to Slidell.

The family was of modest means and Johnny worked after school and on Saturdays in the West Brothers department store in the Tammany Mall to help out.

“Johnny was the oldest, so he felt like he was responsible for helping to take care of his family,” Jackie said. “If he’d lived, I’m sure he would have kept on doing it.”

But he didn’t.

After graduating from Slidell High in 1967, he enlisted in the Marines. After basic training plus combat training at Parris Island, Lassiter left for Vietnam on Jan. 7, 1968, the day before his 19th birthday.

He was assigned to the 2nd platoon Bravo company of the 3rd Marine division as an antitank assaultman.

Lassiter was at Khe Sanh, where 7,000 Marines were besieged by more than 20,000 North Vietnamese forces from December of 1967 until the following July, for only seven weeks before he was killed on his father’s birthday.

“I’m sure Johnny was a good Marine,” Jackie Lassiter said. “And if he was anything like my Steve, he would have been a caring, giving person who would do anything for anybody and never question why.”

“It’s just a shame how he and so many guys like him had to die over there.”

“I lost it in Katrina, but I’ve never forgotten it.”

Joey Schmolke Before the world heard of the Fonz, Pearl River had its own version.

At least that’s the way Joey Schmolke is remembered by those who knew him.

“Joey was so cool,” said Nelda Decker Runyan, a friend who attended Pearl River High with Schmolke, or at least until he dropped out at age 16 in a Fonzie-like move. “He was a good-looking guy, so all the girls loved him. But guys did too.”

And, according to Daniel Schmolke, whose late father Jimmy was Joey’s younger brother by three years, “Dad said Uncle Joey always had a lot of lady friends.

Guys liked him and respected him. But he didn’t take any crap from anybody either.”

Maybe that’s why it hit everyone so hard when word came that Joey Schmolke, who’d joined the Marines shortly after his 18th birthday, had been killed in Vietnam on Jan. 25, 1969, the day before he would have turned 19. That made him the youngest of the nine Slidell-area servicemen killed during the war.

“The chief of police in Pearl River came out to the school with the news,” Runyan said. “They didn’t make an announcement or anything, but all of a sudden it was like everybody knew.”

“It was just so sad because it was like he knew he was going to die over there.”

Runyan’s awareness of that came from the letters she received him her friend,

According to Daniel Schmolke, his uncle led a fairly-normal childhood and youth.

He, his brother, and their friends would fish, go tubing in the Pearl River and hang out in the gravel pit.

But there was also a difficult family situation, including an absent father and a mother who had medical issues. These are the reasons Joey dropped out of school to work in the Canulette Shipyard for two years before he was old enough to join the Marines.

Despite his youth, Joey was, by all counts, a good Marine. In his book, We Few, We Chosin Few, author James Jeep Canada credits Schmolke with saving his life from a sniper.

By the time Joey enlisted, his mother and Jimmy had moved from Pearl River to New Orleans. It was there that they got the word about Joey’s death.

“Dad told me he remembered seeing the car drive up,” Daniel related. “That was bad enough, but the worst was seeing him in the casket before his interment at Lakelawn-Metairie.”

“He had stepped on some kind of explosive device; and, where his hands should have been in his dress white gloves, it was just sort of flat like there was nothing there.

Dad didn’t like to talk about that much.

Subconsciously, I think he just blocked a lot of it out because he was very resentful that his brother had to die.”

Despite losing Joey in the war, Jimmy Schmolke enlisted in the Marines himself at 18, according to Daniel, for the same 33

reasons Joey did, but did not see combat.

He would later name one of his sons Joseph after his brother.

The loss of his father three years ago has had Daniel thinking more about what things might have been like had his uncle lived through the war.

“I would imagine Uncle Joey would have been hard-working like my dad was,” he said. “He would have had a family of his own, and we’d have all enjoyed fishing and hunting and hanging out on the river.”

“He probably would have spoiled us.”

But obviously, Joey Schmolke didn’t get that opportunity.

Another friend from school, Debbie Darby, captured the sense of loss best in a message to Joey on the Wall’s website, “While others were trying not to go to Vietnam, he went,” she wrote. “He was everything a man should be, but he died only a boy.”

On Nov. 18, 1966, the Army Chinook 47-A helicopter on which Isely was the crew chief, crashed somewhere in South Vietnam, killing all six men aboard.

It was reported by the Army that the crash was caused by the loss of the bolt to the swash plate assembly, without which the control arm of the rotor cannot operate.

However, the exact location was not revealed, as were any other circumstances other than there was no hostile fire involved.

Since the 1st Airborne Cavalry Division, of which Isely was a member, was engaged in the Battle of Pleiku at the time, he could well have been aboard an ambulance helicopter being used to evacuate the dead and wounded.

Southside Café owner Dan DeBlanc, who was a Marine helicopter pilot, said that the choppers from all branches of the service were known for their reliability.

“If it happened like the report says, the ‘copter became uncontrollable,” DeBlanc said. “It just sounds like a mechanical mishap, and those things happen. Most of the time, you felt secure in the air. Crews chiefs were generally top notch.”

No matter. Slidell had its first casualty of the war, the growing scope of which was coming into focus by late 1966 during which American troop levels grew from 184,000 to 385,000, the largest increase of the entire conflict.

Isely’s death was front-page news in Slidell.

He was described as a 1963 graduate of Slidell High whose family had moved from Seattle two years before that, mostly likely connected to the Boeing operations at Michoud, and was still there.

Michael Gene Isely Of the nine servicemen from the Slidell area killed in the Vietnam War, Michael Gene Isely spent the least amount of his life in Louisiana.

He also was the first to die and the only one not killed in direct combat.

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After high school, Isely attended Southeastern for one year before returning to Washington where he attended Green

River Community College and worked at a school for boys before enlisting in the Army in January of 1966.

Isely went through basic training at Fort Ord, C.A. and helicopter training at Fort Eustis, V.A. He arrived in Vietnam on Sept. 19, two months before his death.

Isely was buried in the veterans section of Evergreen-Washelli Memorial Park in Seattle following a military funeral there. A memorial service was held later in Slidell at Bethany Lutheran Church.

Although he was at Slidell High for only a couple of years, he was remembered as “salt of the earth” and perpetually smiling.

In his senior year, he played the lead in the school production of “The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis.”

Isely had a younger sister, Susie, whose friends desribe him as outgoing and nice to everyone.

One of those friends, Cindy Snyder, wrote on the Memorial’s tribute page about how Michael would drive her and Susie to the movies at the Tammany Mall.

She also wrote, “I remember very well when he joined the Army. His parents were VERY proud! They bragged about him A LOT! I am sorry they lost their only son.”

Snyder added in the message, written in 2001, that she was soon traveling to Washington, D.C., where she planned to visit the Wall for the first time and a take a picture of Mike’s name.

Michael Gene Isely’s name can be found on Panel 12E, Line 84, alongside those of the rest of his helicopter crew. He is listed as being from Slidell, even if he no longer called it home.

married just before entering the Army and who had remarried after his death.

assistant. They had been on a couple of missions before the fatal one.

They visited Philip’s grave at Forest Lawn and then shared stories.

“You’ve got to depend on your ammo guy, and Philip was a good one,” Vogel said.

“We really didn’t talk a lot because you didn’t always want to know that much about guys because of what might happen.

But Philip was really happy when he got letters from his wife.”

“They were so incredibly nice to us,” Vogel said. “We hugged and cried the whole time.”

The feeling was mutual. “To finally meet someone from Philip’s platoon who was with him when he died was unbelievable,” Mike Knieper said. “We’d never quite understood what happened. But we all let Eddie know it wasn’t his fault.”

Philip George Knieper Jr. For years, Eddie Vogel sought closure.

And even after he thought he might have had it, he hasn’t.

Closure for that night in March of 1970, when a North Vietnamese attack killed his assistant machine gunner, Philip George Knieper Jr. of Slidell. Vogel was left with injuries so insignificant, he never wore his Purple Heart.

“We’d set up for the night on our perimeter,” Vogel said. “All of a sudden, they open up with machine guns and RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades).

“Philip was killed with the first blast.

It happened so quickly; I don’t know if he even felt it. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

That’s why, in 2014, Vogel, who still lives in the Baltimore neighborhood in which he grew up, took advantage of an opportunity to come to New Orleans to see his beloved Ravens play the Saints and pay his respects to his late comrade.

Vogel was able to contact the family through Honaker Funeral Home and, with wife Margaret, met with the Kniepers - mother Josephine, bother Mike, sister Jo Ruth and the former Shirley Harryman, whom Philip had

Vogel and Knieper were both just shy of their 21st birthdays and draftees who were assigned to the famous 101st Airborne.

Vogel, who is from Baltimore, had arrived about a month ahead of Knieper.

In early 1970, the 101st was engaged in a series of search-and-destroy missions out of Firebase Ripcord in the A Shau Valley.

Units would helicopter out of the base and try to secure nearby areas.

Knieper had been in country for a few days when he volunteered to be Vogel’s

Philip was close with his siblings, mechanically minded, and likely would have followed his father in the pilings business. He was married only a few weeks before he began basic training at Fort Polk.

“Philip didn’t care much for school, but he was a hard worker, and I imagine he and Shirley would have had a good life,” Mike Knieper said. “He shouldn’t have been drafted because he’d torn up his knee in a motorcycle accident. But I guess the Army was taking anybody by then. He did want to go and serve his country though.”

Fogel said he was proud to serve his country too; but, after Knieper’s death, one of 11 in his company, he declined to stay in Vietnam for an additional 30 days in exchange for being discharged six months later.

“I’d seen enough death,” he said. “I wasn’t going to stay one more day than I had to.”

And Fogel said he still sees death recurring nightmares about the night Knieper was killed - nightmares so vivid, “It’s just like a live video. I wake up with my heart racing. It never leaves you.”

But neither have Vogel’s memories of Knieper, even if he knew him for only a short time.

“Philip was a great husband, a great son, a great brother and a great soldier,” he said. “He was one of those young heroes for his country.

He fought for it.”

“Philip gave his life for his flag and his country. You can’t do more than that.”

35

Leslie Story by

Gates

“Wonderland” was a creative haven that came to life in 2012 and lasted a year. I don’t remember the details of this story too much, but it went something like this: Two 33-year-old moms escaped the school days (and many evenings) into a repurposed greenhouse. It was behind one of their houses on the street they lived on. A place where they could find their imaginations again, not even realizing their imaginations had been forgotten underneath the demands of motherhood. They created everything from the floor to the ceiling.

Everywhere you looked, there was a story; from an old

“IMAGINATION” chair found on the side of the road and painted with clouds, to “Emerald City” spelled out from broken green glass and connected to the wall at the end of a painted yellow brick road. Everything was a canvas and, with each creation, they felt more alive inside.

At one point during this year-long adventure, the two moms were on a time machine kick. Not an actual time machine with functional parts, but one created from their own unique imaginations. They drew up blueprints a couple times, laughing at the outcomes.

Sadly, they never built it before the home and greenhouse were sold.

Wonderland had reached its end. Saying goodbye to it felt like

saying goodbye to the little girl version of themselves that had been locked up inside for two decades, finally able to come out and play for that year.

After the one friend moved away, the house was vacant for a few months, before the “SOLD” sign went up.

That night, when all was dark, the other friend snuck back over to the abandoned Wonderland and took down everything she could gather before the sun came up and the new family moved in. From the parts that were gathered, she built the time machine and gave it to her friend. Not only for a way to travel back in time and remember the good times, but as a reminder of the re-birth of two imaginations...

Growing up in the 80’s was the best.

With all the technological inventions since then, you’d think someone would have created a time machine so we could disappear back to

36

screen that sat 6 inches in front of our faces. No worries. No disturbances.

I can’t think of anything that was too stressful, other than getting perfectly teased bangs along with a sticky forehead from a full can of Aqua Net. What I would’ve given back then to be a dude with a simple rat tail.

the 80’s until America gets their shit together.

In the early 80’s, we had Cabbage Patch Dolls, G.I. Joes, and Transformers.

After school, we would take our small allowance and ride our bikes up to the gas station to buy Bazooka Bubble Gum, Fun Dip, Gobstoppers, and Lemon Heads, then wash them all down with a Slush Puppy.

There were Popples, Gem Dolls, Sweet Secrets, and Care Bears. Parachute pants, Jordan’s, Keds, Girbaud jeans and Z Cavariccis were our jam. Along with hyper colored shirts and anything with the brand “Guess” on it.

We thought about things that would never happen in the future, like flying cameras that could take candid pictures of your sleepovers and phones that connected to the TV so you could talk to your friends and see them at the same time. And, of course, time machines. MAN, I could really use one of those right now.

On the weekends, we would crumple up a teeny tiny piece of paper and insert it into the top of a cassette tape so we could record songs from B-97. We’d write down all the words to songs and sing them to ourselves in the mirror while practicing the creative application of blue eye shadow.

Or make up a dance to perform in the living room for whoever was willing to watch. If we weren’t home, we were at the Movies 8. Or the Northshore Square Mall.

Then there were the TV shows we could never get enough of - Growing Pains, the A-Team, Different Strokes, Who’s the Boss?, Fraggle Rock, and the REAL MTV. We would lay on the floor and stare at the TV for hours at a time, imagining we were part of the fantasy world displayed on the

The most disturbing thing I can think of from the 80’s was the Garbage Pail Kids. But I was a kid myself, and oblivious to the adult world.

As kids, we lived in our imaginations every single day. Waking up to new adventures that were made inside the vast landscapes of our innocent minds.

Nothing was impossible. Our fears were as simple as a bee chasing us or our mom’s reaction when we didn’t finish everything on our dinner plate.

And our dreams...our dreams were an endless playland of opportunities and imaginative worlds.

It was a Wonderland.

When I initially began to write this, I had used a suggestion from a friend to write about 80’s cartoons. I was going to compare these simple shows to life as an adult. Somehow. That’s where my mind started, at least.

Some of the cartoons that came up were Chip ‘n Dales Rescue Rangers, Heathcliff, The Smurfs, He-Man, and Duck Tales. To do this though, I would have to watch an episode from each of them and take what I could from it, comparing it to adult life. I went for it.

really getting in the moment as little Leslie; but, ya know, low-carb diet. I let out one of my dramatic sighs then refocused on Huey, Louie and Dewey.

I forced a laugh during one part because someone else was laughing.

To be honest, I wasn’t even looking.

I was trying to do the splits. Like old times. And guess what? I couldn’t.

I sighed again, but my self-pity was cut short by a robocall from the school about a positive COVID test. By this time, the show was half over and all I could remember was the theme song and something about a magic carpet.

For the second half, I grabbed a Miller Lite (low-carb) to see if that would do the trick. To slow my mind enough to feel like a kid again. A kid with a beer.

I took a sip and set the can on the floor. But then I couldn’t stop looking at the floor. Ya know why? Because I had JUST swept it and there was already dirt and pine straw. “I JUST SWEPT PEOPLE!” I yelled out. No one was listening.

“FORGET IT. This isn’t working.”

I got up, went outside, and sat alone in the cold night air, wondering where that amazing, easy-to-come-by childhood imagination went. Where it got lost in time. (Obviously not in a time machine.) This whole event only made me melancholy... staring up at the stars...longing for that little girl... and,

It began with a full episode of the Rescue Rangers. When the theme song started, I immediately began singing and dancing, just like it was 1984. The fun, bubbly characters filled me with such nostalgia and I just KNEW I would be transported back via my mental time machine and feel all those warm and fuzzy childhood feelings again. At least a calm within.

About five minutes into it, I was already looking around the room, unable to concentrate. The laundry pile on the couch next to me seemed to be growing and moving closer, so I slid down the couch and planted my butt on the floor. Like old times.

I thought about popping popcorn and 37

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again, wondering why she was holding a low-carb beer.

Bro. That’s a tough moment.

When you realize you no longer know how to build a fort in the yard with a friend, then crawl inside with your stick gun and guard the sacred shelter until your Sergeant returns to base with food, camo, and the exact coordinates of the enemy. When you switch positions, him guarding while you go out to battle, then fake tripping on a land mine, losing your leg. He covers you, using his own special, nature-made gun, aiming it outside of the branch-formed window. He shoots an enemy as you duck and cover behind the nearest pine tree. You carefully peak around the tree and grab the pinecone grenade to blow up the bad guy’s bunker. As you dramatically return to base, hopping on one leg, you are attacked by a rabid kangaroo horse with wings and a machete, losing the other leg. Your buddy comes to save you as he drags you through the war zone, then uses the trusty leaf wrap to bandage your legs (that aren’t there).

I’m one step closer to finding little Leslie’s imagination again. It’s my 2021 goal for self-growth. Escaping reality in a healthy way and allowing it to lead me into more creative spaces.

ONLY $39 FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR!!

985.789.0687 OR slidellmag.com SLIDELL MUSEUM

2020 FIRST STREET OLDE TOWNE

Our imagination can literally save us. God gave it to us. It’s a free gift that can give us a break from our responsibilities, obligations, and ever-racing minds, whenever we need it. God also imagined. And then, He created.

To take back your wonderful, authentic creativity, you have to awaken that childlike imagination. He-Man won’t do it for you, he’s too busy trying to kill Skeletor. The Care Bear Stare won’t work either.

It may take time, practice, and telling people “no” so you can spend time with the little you. And it may not come as easy as Wonderland did, but the time spent looking for it is well worth it.

Unfortunately, as you know, you can’t take the time machine in order to get there quicker.

My friend has it.

Reclaim Your Childhood Imagination: Have you ever wondered how Slidell got its name?

Or why we drive on streets named Fremaux, Erlanger, and Bouscaren?

The answers are waiting to be discovered at the Slidell Museum.

Slidell Antique 985.265.4551 • slidellantiques.com MEMBERS: Antiques Association & Art on First St.•• Jeanie’s Southern Traditions Antiques on First St. Let the Good Times Roll Antiques on First St. • French Bee Antiques on First St. FIRST STREET: Antiques & Art on First • Terry Lynn’s Café • Slidell Museum • Southern Lady Antiques Annette’s House of Décor Antiques on First St. Let the Good Times Roll Antiques • Carolynn’s Wonderland • Nanny’s Totes & Things Magnolia House Antique Mall on Erlanger St. • Joe Stumbo Antiques on Erlanger St. Annette’s House of Décor Antique Mall • Jeanie’s Southern Traditions Antiques Slidell Magazine • Terry Lynn’s Café on First St. • Carolynn’s Wonderland on First St. ERLANGER Magnolia Mallon Robert St. Slidell Museum on FirstSTREET: St. • The WhoHouse DatAntique Shoppe Slidell Magazine • Embroidery N’ Things • The Who Dat Shoppe on Robert St. 38

1) Look at things from another angle or perspective. Or look at different objects until you see a face 2) Try to make up a story 3) Explore a new place and think about what it looked like in the past or what it will look like in the future 4) Try a new hobby or reconnect with an old one 5) Experiment with your art, be it writing or another pursuit

6) Invent a new language, even if it’s just a few words 7) Give yourself time to daydream 8) Go to a museum 9) Play with bubbles or something else from childhood 10) Pretend you’re someone else for a day 11) Do something crazy, wild, strange, or weird 12) Create your own “Wonderland!”

For more info, call 985.781.3650 or go to harborcenter.org

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CREATIVE DANCE REHEARSAL AND MAY RECITAL 18-22 Our steps to keep you well when you return:

• Providing hand sanitizer stations

• We recommend guests maintain social distance

• In accordance with state & parish mandate, masks are mandatory at all times while inside

• New floorplans that provide social distancing

• Sanitizing frequent touch points hourly during events

• Conducting wellness checks of staff

• Sanitizing the facility & equipment after each event 39

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