28th Edition - November 2012 by Slidell Magazine

Slidell Magazine I was to her plight in overcoming her husband’s indiscretions, I still just couldn’t bring myself to like Hillary.

Still, the foreign policies, the domestic plans, the voting history….none of that is nearly as important to me as the answer to this question – Who will love my country like I do?

I didn’t know, and still don’t, the details of the foreign policies or tax laws passed during Clinton’s tenure as president. As a matter of fact, there’ was a heck of a lot more that I didn’t know about the eight years of the Clinton administration, than I did know.

Kendra with Governor Edwin Edwards at his book signing in Slidell.

Editor’s Letter By Kendra Maness

The first presidential election I was old enough to vote in was the Bush/Clinton race of 1992. I had registered to vote when I was 18 and was chomping at the bit from having to wait 3 years to cast my ballot for the next President of the United States. I had done a lot of talking about my candidate, Bill Clinton. After all, I knew him. He was the young, hip, good-looking fellow that I had seen playing saxophone on the Arsenio Hall Show. He had a warm handshake, as seen on TV, where he would take each person’s hand and cup it with both of his. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and wasn’t afraid to laugh – or cry – openly. He was an engaging and powerful speaker, an intelligent and quick-witted debater with a Southern drawl just discernable enough to make him one-of-us. Plus, he was Governor of Arkansas, our Confederate sister state. I didn’t know his policies or his plan for our great country. I ignored the draft-dodger stuff (which I still think is ridiculous – the man was a Rhodes Scholar, for goodness sakes), I overlooked the rumors of infidelity, and I swallowed hard to find likeable qualities about his wife. He was cool. He deserved my vote. Although I have changed political parties since that time, I have never regretted voting for Bill Clinton. There were bumps along the road. During the Whitewater and Monica Lewinsky controversies, I knew, like most of us, that he was being less than truthful. And, regardless of how hard she worked on healthcare reform, or how sympathetic

I still, and always will, vote with my heart. May God Bless America and may He guide the leader of our great nation.

But, it was the few, simple things that I did know that were so important. I knew that I had opportunities through education, and was able to attend college because of ﬁnancial help through grants and student loans. I had a job with a fair wage. And, if that job didn’t work out, I knew I had other employment opportunities waiting for me. I knew that my paychecks would be taxed, but not so much that I felt it unfair. I knew that if I took care of my ﬁnances and credit, I could become a homeowner at just 22 years old. And, I knew that my country and my home were safe and protected by the brave men and women of our civil service and armed forces.

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I didn’t know what Congressional or Presidential policies and plans got me there, but there I was – comfortable. I felt the effects, in real life and real-time, of a president who loved America and her people. Now, here I am in 2012. Older and wiser. I’m no longer politically swayed by smooth talk or good looks, and I’m much better versed on the candidates and their plans for the future of my America.

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Extraordinarily Facinating “Ordinary” Person of the Month by Nancy Richardson

Cultus Pearson November 2012

The sign on his front door proclaims “An Old Crab Lives Here.” It’s an appropriate sign for the “Crab Man of Lacombe”, 87 year-old Cultus Pearson. If anyone knows about crabs, young and old, soft and hard, blue or happy, it is Cultus. He is St. Tammany Parish’s resident crab expert, supplying our community with both soft-shell and hard-shell crabs since the first Bayou Lacombe Crab Festival in 1977. For many succeeding years, Pearson’s succulent Lake Pontchartrain blue crabs satisfied the appetites of numerous festival-goers, as well as those favored customers who stopped by his spacious home on Hwy. 190 in the heart of Lacombe to buy both boiled crabs and frozen soft-shells. Cultus has spent his entire life as a crab fisherman. However, he was not just an ordinary crabber. He has studied the habits and environment of crabs since he was a young boy growing up on Lake Pontchartrain. He’s an entrepreneur in the fishing industry, designing and building a self-contained shedding technique using container trays with circulating water, salt, and filters for soft-shelled crabs. Before his invention, it was common for fisherman to wait for crabs to ‘shed’ in their natural environment along the northshore of the Bayou Lacombe area. Cultus’ skills and knowledge helped to make the elusive soft-shell crab more accessible to all. Like most crustaceans, crabs have exoskeletons, which they must shed in order to grow. To do so, they form another, soft shell inside of their hard one (the molten stage). After the molt is completed, the back part of their shell opens up and the crab backs out of it. Then, they pump water into the soft shell, swelling it to more than 75% its size. For only 4 hours, the crabs are soft-shelled,

before they are in their ‘paper shell’ and become useless. In this extremely short window, the soft-shell crabs must be gathered and frozen in order to be the yummy treat we Louisianians love so dearly. Since the shedding can occur any time of the day or night, the process requires constant attention. And Cultus has devoted much of his life to the attention and perfection of the crabbing industry. Cultus Pearson has lived a fascinating life. He served in WWII as a Sergeant in the Army during the South Pacific invasion of the Philippine Islands, earning a Bronze Star. He’s been married to his lovely wife, Frances Davis, for 63 years, and has raised a fine family of nine children. After visiting with Cultus and enjoying the stories and adventures of his life, his daughter emailed a manuscript to me – the beginnings of an autobiography that Cultus is writing about his early life growing up in south Louisiana, near Irish Bayou. The stories are rich with fascinating characters and events. Reading it creates vivid images of a time long ago (and almost forgotten) in our Louisiana heritage. The history contained in these tales was compelling enough for Slidell Magazine to do something we’ve never done before – name Cultus Pearson our Extraordinary Fascinating ‘Ordinary’ Person two months in a row. Part of his story is printed here and the continuation will appear in next month’s magazine. We are honored to bring you this two-part story, told in Cultus’ own words and taken directly from his manuscript. This glimpse into his childhood is a fascinating portrait of the culture of the 1920’s and 1930’s Lake Pontchartrain fishing community.

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PART 1 When I was about six years old [1931], Mother, Dad, my brother Ishmel, and I moved from Caesar, MS to South Point, LA which was located at the south end of the Southern Railroad bridge across Lake Pontchartrain. The closest road was at Irish Bayou, which was about one and a half miles away, by water. In order to go to Irish Bayou, we would have to go about a quarter of a mile through the lake and then through a shallow lagoon. We would have to use a small boat because of the shallow water, and when the wind was blowing hard from the west or northwest, it wasn’t safe to travel by boat. There was a canal on the east side of the railroad track that we could use to travel by boat to Little Woods, which was six miles away. We could come and go by train, although the train schedule changed during the time we lived there. Basically, one train going south would come early in the morning, and another would come around 4:30 in the evening. Going north, one would come around 9:00 in the morning, and another would come around 9:00 in the evening. Our little village of South Point was less than ¼ of a mile long and consisted of a line of houses on the east side of the canal and another line of houses on the west side of the railroad track. On the west side of the track, there was a little strip of land about 50 feet wide, and next to that was Lake Pontchartrain. On the east side of this canal there were eight houses. Some may be considered camps, since they were not occupied full time. When we first moved there, we lived in one of these camps. All of the neighbors were commercial fishermen. Our house was on pilings about six feet above the water. A walkway in front of the house led to the railroad track and, in the back, there was a walkway over the lake. Our house had eight-foot wide porches on all four sides. Our toilet was located on the northwest corner of our porch. A Sears & Roebuck catalog was a substitute for toilet tissue, and the lake was a substitute for a septic tank. In the winter when those cold northwest winds were blowing, our visits would be very short. My mother cooked on a wood-burning stove, washed dishes in a pan, and disposed of the kitchen waste through a hole in the floor. This hole was about four inches by four inches and had a large funnel that stayed in the hole except when it was removed and the hole used as a garbage disposal. During the winter, I sometimes dropped a hand line through that hole and caught fresh water catfish. One day in the week was our clothes-washing day. My job was to build a fire under the big cast iron pot. I kept the clothes boiling and kept them punched down. The steam would rise up through the fabric. Since you are probably not familiar with this cleaning process, you would be surprised how clean it gets the clothes. Remember, we had no washing machine. The clothes were washed on a scrub board before they were boiled, and they were rinsed three times after. Ishmel’s job was to help Mother with that process. When the lake water was too cold for us to bathe in, the third rinse water was heated for Ishmel and me to bathe in. Our bathtub was a #3 galvanized tub that was put in the kitchen by the wood stove that kept us warm.

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I had an opportunity to watch the crabs as they approached the nets. Since I was watching them from my porch in clear water, I could observe them as they approached the bait that was tied in the middle of the net. Some of them would walk up to the rim of the net and slowly walk around the net and finally walk away. Others would see the bait and come running. This led me to believe that when they were hungry, they would throw caution to the wind (I mean water).

The Pearson family home in South Point, on Lake Pontchartrain Mr. Andrew Spiehler lived next door to me. He was a commercial fisherman who fished crabs and shed soft shell crabs. Drop nets were used at that time, and Mr. Andrew would fish for crabs that would make soft shells in the Irish Bayou Lagoon. They would bite early in the morning, and when the sun would warm the water in the shallow lagoon, they would stop biting (I know this because several years later for one summer, I did the same thing Mr. Andrew did). He would then come home and set out his nets along the shoreline. Every so often he would pole his pirogue with his push pole and catch hard shell crabs. He would nip his shedding crabs and

put his busters (the ones that would shed in three days and would no longer eat) in one live box. The other green crabs would be put in a different live box. Mr. Andrew would class through the green crabs every two or three days and put the ones that had advanced to the buster stage into the buster box. He showed me how to tell a buster from a green crab, and I watched him do everything. I would walk along the shore and, when I would catch a soft crab, I would sell it to Mr. Andrew. I would catch hard head catfish and use them for crab bait. I would knock down dirt daubers’ nests and get the larva for bait to catch the fish.

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One day when I was about nine or ten years old, Ishmel and I were at the spot where the railroad track meets the shore at South Point. I don’t know how we came into possession of three crab nets and some type of pirogue. The nets were those double-ring nets that recreational fishermen use. As fast as we could paddle from one net to the next, we would catch one, two, or three crabs in each net. This gave Dad an idea. Dad was a bridge tender at the south drawbridge. His working hours were from 8am until 4pm, seven days a week. His job was to open the drawbridge for boats to go through. He had lots of free time, so he decided to make some commercialtype crab nets for Ishmel and me. He got us an old wooden skiff, a pair of oars, and a pole with a fork on the end; and Ishmel and I were in the crabbing business. Ishmel would row the boat, and I would stand in the bow and lift up the nets with the forked pole and dump the crabs out of the nets. At that time, there was no nylon or monofilament. Cotton was the twine for knitting nets, and cold tar was the preservative. Even with that, the nets and lines would not last long. Since my feet were close together in the bow of the boat, I would go overboard when a line would break. I would gig sting rays along the lake shore and cut them up for crab bait. Ishmel and I would share the work and the profit. I can remember selling our hard crabs for twenty cents a dozen. We would sell our soft crabs for one dollar a dozen. The very first year we crabbed, my equal share for the summer was $10. With my share, I bought a $10 Postal Savings Bond. I think it paid an interest rate of 1.5%. When I cashed it in, some fifty years later, they sent it to Dallas, Texas because the local post office didn’t know how to handle it. I have wished many times that I would have kept it and framed it.

boys a cypress pirogue, which was destroyed shortly after by a tug boat and barge jamming it against the wharf as it passed through the canal.] He hired Mr. Charlie Spiehler, who was a bridge tender at the north drawbridge, to build a twenty-foot launch. It was made of heart cypress boards and was powered by a one-cylinder gasoline Red Wing engine. It had no neutral or reverse. It was the most dependable engine I had ever seen.

Cultus with his brother, Ishmel As we grew older, and our interest in crabbing increased, Dad stepped up to the plate again. [Cultus’ father, always supportive of his sons’ business entrepreneurship, had previously built the

By this time we had become more experienced, much larger, and older. Again, Dad came through. He made about one hundred nets for us to use. They were larger in diameter, the rims were made of heavier wire, and the lines were longer because we would be fishing in deeper water.

We had a market for our crabs and a supply of tripe for crab bait. There was a black man everyone called Dipper. He lived in New Orleans and docked his boat, similar to ours, at the Bungalow in Irish Bayou. He would buy our hard crabs for one dollar a bushel and our soft crabs for one dollar per dozen. We would put five dozen plus five extra crabs in a bushel basket. We would then finish filling the hamper with what we called alligator grass. Then we would cover the top of the basket with burlap sack and tie it securely with a strong string. We would keep our soft shell crabs in an ice box (I don’t mean refrigerator) where we would stack them on a tray with their faces turned up and not in contact with the ice. I don’t know of a better way to keep them alive to this day. They would be delivered to Dipper where he would count them and stack them the same way on his tray. Dipper was as nice and fair as any person I had met. Stay tuned for next month’s edition of Slidell Magazine, where we will bring you Part 2 of the childhood tales of our Extraordinary Fascinating ‘Ordinary’Person, Cultus Pearson.

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Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving is the strangest of holidays. I knew the meaning of Christmas probably before I knew there was a Santa Claus. I suppose that was because I was raised in a Christian family and knew that Christmas was the celebration of Christ’s birth. But what was the meaning of Thanksgiving? Some could say it was just a trial run for testing out the Christmas dinner. In farming communities, such as ours, only four holidays were celebrated. Those were Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. Farmers did not celebrate Veterans Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day or any of the other holidays that we celebrate now because there was no time to take off from work during the week. In the South, some did not even celebrate the Fourth of July, as that was the day that Vicksburg fell. By November, the crops were in and the results of their year’s labor were known. If the rain had been adequate and the insects were few, they were thankful. If those things were not

favorable, it was still a time to be thankful. Thankful that there would be next year. If they could just hold on to the farm, they would have another chance. I did not learn about the Pilgrims, the Indians, and the maize they grew until I was in the third or fourth grade. In our class we painted a mural on the wall and each child had to paint some Thanksgiving ﬁgure. I painted an Indian. To be politically correct, I painted a Native American. At that time, the Indians I envisioned were a benevolent group of poorly clothed creatures that saved the Pilgrims from certain starvation with their gifts of corn and wild game. I am not sure this is the way it actually was, but that is how I remember thinking it was. What a nice gesture from these kind people. Looking back, it would only be a couple of years before the inﬂuence of western movies would change the image I had of the Indians. The movies would transform them from

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Estus John Nations, John’s uncle for whom he was named, with his dog, Jack, when he won the national ﬁeld trials. Note that men wore suits to such an event then. Used with the permission of Carroll Case

benevolent beings to rampaging savages. John Wayne was much more real than our class mural and, unfortunately, I lost the honorable view of our Native American ancestors, as most of my age group did.

In my family, Thanksgiving was always a bigger holiday than Christmas. Bigger because more people could attend, as they spent Christmas Day with their speciďŹ c families. It was also a time that the men ventured into the woods for some sort of hunting activity that was a Thanksgiving ritual. Before I was old enough to tag along, my uncles and my Dad would quail hunt in the morning. My uncle had a champion bird dog named Jack and I looked forward to their return, as I could spend the afternoon playing with the dog. The festivities were always at my maternal grandparentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house and, being from the old school, my grandmother definitely knew how to cook. She cooked comfort food (as we would call it today) and there was plenty of it. She might have cooked the quail that was harvested, but most likely she would cook as many as eight hens that she had carefully selected weeks before. She would put them in a coop and fed them grain. This purged them of impurities, such as the droppings they ate off the ground. It also put a little more fat on them. Even though it was Thanksgiving, she did not serve turkey, as chicken was considered the more tender delicacy. Some of the other foods were what the Pilgrims could have only hoped for: dressing with cranberry sauce, butter beans, English peas, deviled eggs, Crowder peas, sweet potato pone, green beans, turnip greens, usually at least one other meat beside the chicken, and two kinds of cornbread were always on the table. The desserts were always an assortment of apple, pecan, egg custard and sweet potato pie. The drinks were either ice water or sweet iced tea. Occasionally a relative would bring a mincemeat pie. This puzzled me, as I could not imagine what kind of animal a mince was or why we did not hunt one. Did it look something like a mink? I knew I did not like mincemeat. As years passed, I was included in the hunting trips. By this time, due to age, some of the older uncles were dropping out. We were a new generation of hunters. We searched the woods for squirrels and rabbits rather than quail. The art of training a good bird dog had been lost. We mostly hunted after the noon meal, rather than before, probably because our younger group enjoyed the late morning sleep. One Thanksgiving for some reason, no one was coming to hunt either in the morning or in the afternoon. Football was now on TV and age, combined with loss of interest, contributed to the change. For whatever reason, there was no one to go with me. I must have been about eleven or twelve years old and I was very proďŹ cient with a single shot shotgun. I decided, and no one objected, that I would go by myself. I went to the same forest where I had gone the last couple of years with my uncles and brother, but it was not the forest that I was most familiar with. 13

I left about seven o’clock in the morning and walked into the woods directly behind my grandparent’s home. Then I ventured deeper into the forest. The independence I felt at this time, being my ﬁrst solo hunt, promised to make this a most exciting day. I had intended to be gone two or three hours and would be back well before Thanksgiving dinner.

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At some point, I decided to return home, having only minimal success. I thought I was retracing my route but soon I came to a substantial fence. I knew I had not crossed such a fence. I realized then that I was lost. Not just turned around - I was lost.

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In my panic, it never occurred to me that this patch of woods was too small for me to be hopelessly lost. Someone would find me. But, at the time, I did not reason that way. Finally, exhausted, I sat down almost in tears. In fact, I was in tears. I could see my mother crying when I never returned and she would always wonder what happened to me. I was more concerned about how she was going to take my death than my own fear of dying. Let me assure you, I was frightened of dying also because I knew I would most likely starve to death. And I was already hungry. I had started my hunt with only six 16-gauge shotgun shells. I had expended two on the game I had killed. This left me with four. I knew that three shots ﬁred in succession were a hunter’s form of SOS. I ﬁred three rounds, leaving me with only one remaining. I waited. I was panicked and impatient. After only about ten minutes, I decided that no one was coming for me.

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Finally, digging deep into my Christian background, I prayed and I prayed. I don’t know how long I was in this state of meditation, but suddenly, I heard something - a motorcycle way in the distance. It did not have a muffler. It had to be on a road, somewhere. I started walking in the direction of the sound. After about a half hour, I came to a road. I soon recognized where I was and realized that in

road miles, I was about six miles from home. Through the woods, it was only about three miles. A six mile walk after the exhausting experience seemed almost impossible, but I realized I had to do it as I was not about to try to go back through the forest and possibly get lost again.

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Soon I heard the motorcycle again. I flagged it down. It was an older kid I knew who we called Spud Tater Leggett. He gave me a ride to within a half mile of my grandmother’s house. I knew if the grownups had known I was on a motorcycle, I would have been in more trouble than I would have if I had not come home at all. I did not tell them about my experience and, about an hour later, Thanksgiving dinner was served. My grandfather thanked Jesus for everything that had happened during the entire year. The prayer probably lasted ten minutes and, when he said ‘Amen’, I kept my head bowed. I kept my head bowed because I had a special thanks to give. I was thankful for a motorcycle without a muffler. I have never spent a Thanksgiving without remembering that I have something to really be thankful for, some fifty three years ago. Then I realize...I have had many things to be thankful for since - and now.

Happy Thanksgiving

John Case November 2012

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Making ₵ents

of your money by Mike Rich

Don’t give your retirement money to a nursing home! Protect your assets now! November is Long Term Care Awareness Month.

boomers to plan for their long term care. Gleckman points to a statistic that keeps showing up in everything I read about long term care: there is a very good chance that many of the 78,000,000 baby boomers in this country are going to need it. In fact, seven out of ten seniors are going to need some

In a Forbes magazine article1 this past summer, author Howard Gleckman wrote about the important need for baby

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type of special care before they die. I don’t know about you, but a number like that spells “coming crisis” to us here at Pontchartrain Investment Management, and it ought to scare the daylights out of everyone. Much of what Gleckman described in his article –when you should purchase a policy and how much coverage you might need – is spot-on, but a couple of his comments deserve some further explanation. First, Gleckman wrote that long term care insurance policies are “expensive.” The big question that pops into my mind when I read this is, “Expensive compared to what?” Now, if we’re comparing premiums to the cost of a week’s worth of coffees at your favorite convenience store, then, yes, I’ll agree that long term care insurance is expensive. But, when a reasonably healthy, 50 year old couple can purchase a pretty decent policy for around $100 per month, I’m not sure I’d say that’s expensive. Heck, my family spends more than that every month on Cheez Wiz and potato chips. And, if you start looking at the big picture and think about the hundred thousand bucks you might spend for a couple of years in a nursing home, well then, that insurance premium suddenly looks cheap at just about any price. The Forbes author also wrote that long term care insurance is “complicated.” If he means that policies have a lot of moving parts, then he’s right. However, in our view here, those moving parts – elimination periods, daily or monthly beneﬁts, inﬂation riders, payment terms,

and more – all make long term care insurance policies highly customizable and, by careful policy design, easily affordable for most people. Long term care – also called custodial care – is needed when a person needs substantial assistance with at least two of the six Activities of Daily Living: eating, dressing, bathing, toileting, transferring, and continence, or suffers from debilitating dementia. Although many people associate LTC with confinement to a nursing home, much care is delivered at assisted living facilities and adult day care programs, and, more and more these days, in one’s home. However, no matter where it happens, the costs can be staggering: we have real-life clients who are spending upwards of $6,000 a month for nursing home care, $3,000 a month for assisted living, and hundreds of dollars a week for in-home care (the cost to care for my mom before she passed was $80 a day, seven days a week). It’s not too difficult to see how expenses like those can quickly destroy retirement savings if one needs months or years of care. Unfortunately, and something Gleckman did not mention in his article, is that only about 14% of the senior population has purchased insurance to cover these costs, which means that a lot of people will either 1) go without care, 2) depend on spouses or family members, or 3) give their retirement money to a nursing home or other facility. November is Long Term Care Awareness Month, and here at Pontchartrain Investment Management, we’re on a mission to make sure our clients and the people they care about know that they don’t have to see their hard-earned financial resources go down the long term care drain. If you’d like to learn how to avoid this mess, and spend your money on the fun stuff instead, call Andy, Chris, Steve, or me for a complimentary appointment.

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Frankly “God Save The Fruitcake!”

By Frank Davis

An Historical Culinary Epic

No Slidell resident dating as far back as the dawn of time has ever been without one, particularly at Christmastime (even though not a soul really knows why that is). On one of his late-night holiday shows even Johnny Carson once broached the subject, noting that there really was only one ever known to be in existence and for centuries people kept it circulating by “regifting” it as an inexpensive (and mostly unappreciated) present for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Chanukah, and Kwanza. Down through the eons, highly respected historians maintained the argument that the classic, baked “fruit-and-nut-laden loaf” reportedly was found atop the sarcophaguses of Tutankhamun and other notable pharaohs to hold them over till they reached “the land of milk and honey”—no wait, that’s another historical and Biblical destination! Never mind! I can also venture to say without much fear of contradiction that for centuries the much misaligned dessert was served year-round as community food drive donations. . .lethal catapult ammunition during The Crusades. . .of course those ever-popular proverbial doorstops. . .that rock-solid and impenetrable rampart from behind which Andrew Jackson and his volunteer Southern army fought and defeated the British at the Battle of Chalmette (although there are rumors that the Kentuckian soldiers did nibble away at the “snack wall” whenever the action slowed). . . the original material used by the Corps of Engineers to make up 97 percent of Louisiana original levee construction along the Mississippi

Panettone. But there is also a dense, chewy Tuscan variety called PanForte de Sienna that dates back to the 13th century. Genoa’s offering, even denser than Panforte, was dubbed Pandolce.

River boundaries from, say, Baton Rouge down through Plaquemines Parish. . . But, actually, I’m just now scratching the surface here—look what else is known about both the light and dark, and both the homemade and store-bought fruitcake varieties:

1) Every culture and nationality has always had a version of their own—the early Romans’ had one that was composed of pomegranate seeds, pine nuts, raisins, honey, spices, and preserved fruits mixed into a barley mash.

2) The northern Germans in Saxony created

a cake they named the “Stollen—it contained yeast, milk, zest, raisins, almonds, and butter to keep it light and make it rich. Stollen was always crowned with powdered sugar icing.

3) In Canada fruitcakes have always been referred to as “The Christmas Cake” because it was made only for a brief time during the Christmas season. 4) In France the French simply called it

“The Cake.” What it was made of depended upon which Frenchman’s recipe was used in what part of France. I didn’t make that up!

5) Italy’s creation—which I have to admit is my all-time favorite—is the famed

6) Romania has its Cozonac. . .in Switzerland you’ll probably be given a dense, heavy, slice of birnenbrot. . .the folks in Trinidad and Tobago love their “black cake,” which is made mostly of raisins and rum. . .and the United Kingdom relishes its vast assortment of fruitcakes, the most notable of which is the Christmas cake covered with marzipan, topped with Royal Icing, and decorated with snow scenes, holly leaves, berries, and tiny snowmen. And in Scotland the Scots have dubbed theirs the Dundee Cake. The most recognizable and time honored fruitcake, however, is and always has been, the traditional American fruitcake! Aside from the vast varieties which have always been homemade and fabricated in virtually every one of the united “states” from “grandmaw’s” coveted recipe (and mandatorily drenched in hooch!), several well known American bakeries have made and offered them as mailorder gifts from as far back as 1913. The two most acclaimed American bakeries producing tons of fruitcakes every year are the Collins Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas, and the Claxton Bakery in Claxton, Georgia. If I can admit to liking the occasional slice of holiday fruitcake, it would deﬁnitely be formulated at either of these bakeries. Oh, yeah. . .and since almost every commercial fruitcake—even the ones baked by the monks and the cloistered nuns—is delivered alcohol-free, I (like many of my drinkin’ buddies) feel it our obligation to slosh ’em periodically with whiskey, brandy, cognac, wine, vodka, or any variety of ﬂavored liqueurs. Marie

Rudisill, the notorious “Fruitcake Lady” of The Tonight Show fame, told me that the mandatory slosh of hooch, along with a covering with a booze-soaked linen, will keep the cakes moist and prevent mold from showing up. Hey! Who am I to dispute the professional, scientiﬁc expertise of “The Fruitcake Lady?” And I certainly don’t want a moldy fruitcake! By the way, it’s no deep, dark secret that in addition to its popularity as an age-old dessert (I’m sorry but I can’t document that statement!), a functional doorstop, a substitute for a sandbag in the event of rising water from a hurricane, and a long-lasting target for a kid with a new BB gun, it’s true that fruitcakes have been “tossed” (the record belongs to a group of Boeing engineers who allegedly catapulted one 1,420 feet by compressed air back in January 2007). You know what else? I’ve heard that the circular, ringed ones from time to time have been said to double as an “emergency hemorrhoidal whoopie cushion.” I didn’t make that up either! So right about now, I sense that you’re waiting for me to give you a great, tasty, easy-to-make recipe for fruitcake. Right? Then okay! Since I, like multiple hoards of others, really do hate fruitcakes, I ask that you try something my wife makes for me every holiday season. These, I promise, you’re gonna love! Mrs. Frank’s Famed Holiday Fruitcake Cookies

1 box of raisins (15-ounce size) ½ lb. candied red cherries, chopped ½ lb. candied green cherries, chopped ½ cup Puerto Rican rum (or more if desired) ¾ cup butter, softened ½ cup light brown sugar, firmly packed 2 whole eggs, beaten 1-1/2 cups all purpose flour ½ tsp. baking soda 1 tsp. ground nutmeg 2 tsp. cinnamon 1/8 tsp. salt ½ lb. chopped walnuts and/or pecans Start by taking a bowl large enough to hold all these ingredients and adding to it the raisins and both color cherries. Then over the mixture splash on the rum and fold everything together well, making sure the liquor kisses all the ingredients. Next, in a separate bowl (or in an electric mixer), cream together the butter, brown sugar, and eggs until the mix is fluffy. Then sift the baking soda and the flour together and whisk into it the nutmeg, the cinnamon, and the salt. When the cookie base is ready, take a spatula and fold in the candied fruit and the chopped nuts until smooth. Don’t shortcut this procedure—the dough needs to be well mixed. When you’re ready to bake, drop the dough by heaping tablespoons onto a cookie pan lined with a sheet of parchment paper and bake them for about 15 minutes in a pre-heated 350 degree oven until golden brown. Hint: As soon as they come from the oven, remove them from the sheet pan and place them on a wire rack to cool. This recipe makes about 3 dozen cookies. Hummmm. . I’m just thinking! You might want to double the recipe! I’m jus’ saying…

l a v i t s e F Picture this… Twinkling holiday lights…snow-topped garland…quaint shops and galleries decked to the halls with Christmas decorations hanging in every window…an elf-sized train ﬁlled with children hooting its whistle as it winds through the Depot… hand-made pottery, ornaments and gifts from local artisans and crafters lining the streets…children in mittens and scarves giggling as they hold tight to their parents hand while circling round a snow-white ice skating rink…

Yep, it’s Christmastime and you’re in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi!

Avenue in the historic Depot District of Old Town Bay St. Louis.

The Snowﬂakes and Sugarplums Festival has big plans to transform the Gulf Coast town of Bay St. Louis into a fabulous winter wonderland.

In developing the idea for the Snowﬂakes and Sugarplums Festival, BWMSA President, Ginger Felder-Cook, says the board of directors worked to create an event that would be a local people-pleaser, as well as attract new visitors from across the Gulf South to Bay St. Louis.

This first-time festival, brought to you by the Bay-Waveland Main Street Association (BWMSA) will take place on Saturday, December 15th, from 11am – 8pm on Depot Way and Blaize

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“One-time visitors to Bay St. Louis tend to become faithful fans,” said Felder-Cook. “And this festival will showcase all the Old Town charms that people fall in love with year-round – our wide range of fun shops and galleries, fantastic restaurants, and our hometown feel that makes everyone feel welcome.” The BWMSA’s mission is to enhance the culture and unique quality of life in Bay St. Louis and Waveland through planned revitalization, preserving historic integrity of landmarks, and sustaining and enhancing the arts and cultural resources. In addition, BWMSA supports existing businesses and invites new businesses in the Bay/Waveland area in an effort to forge positive, lasting relationships between the city governments, businesses and the community. The festival spotlight will shine from the beautiful and fully-restored historic district of Bay St. Louis. “We are proud of what the Depot District has to offer and feel it’s the perfect location for a

huge holiday celebration,” says Felder-Cook. “There will be many festival attractions, but the biggest will be our 50’ x 40’ artificial ice skating rink sponsored by Hollywood Casino and the holiday-themed live entertainment sponsored by Silver Slipper Casino.” The all-day festival offers delicious food from a variety of vendors (including Christmas sweet treats and chocolatey yum-yums), 100% hand-made art, pottery and crafts for your Christmas shopping list, and a show-stopping grand finale concert performance from New Orleans entertainment legend Vince Vance and the Valiants, who will perform their classic hit, “All I Want for Christmas is You” and a fun-filled variety of all of our favorite holiday songs. “There is such a buzz in the community about this event!” says BWMSA Promotions Chairperson, Victoria Langlinais. “The holidays are about creating memories with loved ones and I think this event is the perfect opportunity to create those memories. There is going to be something for everyone at this festival – shopping, ice skating, train rides, delicious food and exciting entertainment.” You can join in the holiday festivities now! Follow Snowflakes and Sugarplums on facebook or visit the BWMSA website at

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Junior Auxiliary of Slidell Community Vitality! By Alex Carollo

n October 20, 1965, some 47 years ago, a group of fifteen women gathered together to discuss what they could do to help underprivileged children in the Slidell area. From this informal meeting, the seeds of Junior Auxiliary of Slidell were sown. “Junior Auxiliary in Slidell originally started to address the inclusion of special education into the school system,” said Laurie Jugan, the 2012-2013 President of Junior Auxiliary of Slidell. The group, originally called the Slidell Service League, had their first official meeting on November 30, 1965. Fortysix women, both Slidell natives and the wives of NASA executives with the common interest of wanting to help those less fortunate, attended to talk about ways they could assist the special education

class in Slidell. The women were able to volunteer their time, money and resources. Each week, members of the League would go into the classroom to teach arts, crafts and music to the kids. This project made a world of difference in many children’s lives. The Slidell Service League was incorporated into the National Association of Junior Auxiliaries in 1968. Today, Junior Auxiliary of Slidell remains an all female, all volunteer, not-for-proﬁt organization. They have over ﬁfty members that serve the Slidell, Pearl River and Lacombe areas of St. Tammany Parish. “We have a lot of projects each year that support at-risk children in our community,” says Jugan. “At-risk children are the kids who need a little more help and encouragement. For example, many schools have a Title 1 reading program,

but we have a program called Literacy Liaison that gives those students who are struggling a little extra one-on-one time that helps give them the boost they need.” “And on the high school level, it’s the kids who are doing really well in school but may not have the ﬁnancial means to go to college,” explains Jugan. “We try to help them register, study, and prepare for the ACT, and sometimes we pay for them to take the test if they don’t qualify for free testing through the school system.” Junior Auxiliary’s College Bound Scholarships program awards monies to deserving students so that they can pursue higher education. “I worked with a young lady who won a $20,000 scholarship to college. It changed her life,” said Jugan. “She was in an abusive situation. She left her home, and

Wow! There’s power in numbers! JA co-sponsored the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce Cultural Arts Luncheon in 2011 22

4 Shows Only! November 16 • 8 pm November 17 • 2pm & 8 pm November 18 • 2 pm

Adults 16.50 Students 12.50 A JA Sister helps students’ reading skills, as a Literary Liason she was working three jobs just to make it through high school. She never dreamed that she would be able to go to college. That scholarship changed her life. To know that we helped that young lady achieve her dreams, you can’t beat a feeling like that.” Junior Auxiliary’s other notable projects include Cooking with Care, where member of Junior Auxiliary cook a meal once a month for citizens in need at Mt. Olive Feeding Ministry; Junior Auxiliary Women’s Build, where members volunteer a day to help build a home for East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity; and the Juniors in Service project that teaches leadership and communication skills to high school juniors.

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Junior Auxiliary of Slidell raises money for all of these programs, and more, to help the community by coordinating several different charitable projects throughout the year. “The goal is to identify emerging community needs, create the projects that address these issues, and then turn the projects over to an appropriate organization,” explains Jugan. “One of our most famous projects is the ‘Booze, Cruise, You Lose’ high school program. We started it with the Slidell Police Department and they eventually took that project over.”

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Volunteering for the Habitat for Humanity Women’s Build Pictured (Left to Right): Karen Leland, Cheryl Backes, Kay DeLuca, Leigh Baggetta, Linda DeLaughter, Sharon Hewitt, Lynn Peters, and Maggie Varnado

One of Junior Auxiliary of Slidell’s biggest fundraisers is the annual Tour of Homes. This ninth annual holiday event will feature beautifully designed homes decked out with holiday decorations. Guests are invited to tour each home, enjoy live entertainment and holiday refreshments and bid on several themed gift baskets. It’s a great way to spend time with family and friends and support your community. “We want people to be inspired and to get ideas on how to decorate their own homes,” says Jugan. “And of course we want to show off some of the beautiful homes we have here in Slidell.” This year, the Tour of Homes will take place on Sunday, December 9. Tickets are $20 in advance and $25 on the day of the event. You can purchase tickets from any Junior Auxiliary of Slidell member. Tickets are also available at Accent and Things, the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce, Izabella’s Villa, Simply Devine and Three Divas and a Sugar Daddy. Junior Auxiliary of Slidell is also preparing for their big spring fundraiser, the popular “Dinner for Two” raffle, where local restaurants such as Palmettos and La Provence, to name only a few, donate gift certificates. “We pull the name at the East St. Tammany Chamber of Commerce’s Business Expo and one lucky winner will take home twelve gift certificates, essentially one dinner a month for a year,” says Jugan. “Last year, we had so many 24

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restaurants that donated to us, that we were able to give away seven additional gift certiﬁcates to other restaurants. We now have restaurants that come to us all the time and say that they want to be featured next year.” For more information about Junior Auxiliary of Slidell, please visit their website at www.jaslidell.org. If you or your business would like to be a corporate sponsor, contact Wendy Harpster: mikenwendy4ever@hotmail.com.

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Thanksgiving Traditions... or not!

Thanksgiving is the only holiday set aside just for men. Yep, just for us. This may account for why it’s widely ignored by merchants, entertainers and even greeting card companies (who constantly invent special occasions to sell more cards).

met - even people they don’t like. Children devour the candy, get sick and rip open their presents in seconds. Then, they break the gifts in minutes, leaving a huge mess. Afterwards, the kids and dads spend the rest of the day playing with the boxes.

When was the last time you heard any Thanksgiving carols? Who can forget these old favorites… “Hark the Stuffed Turkey Bastes,” “Dinner Bells Are a Ringing,” “It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like Indigestion,” “We Three Pigs Who Watch the Game,” “Oh, Gluttony, Oh Gluttony,” or that all time favorite, “Messy Night, Leftover Night?” In the 500 or so holidays and commemorative days each year, only one truly honors men. Sure, men have Father’s Day, but who cares? Mother’s Day is always one of the most revered days of the year, not to mention the busiest telephone day of the year. Father’s Day is only known for generating the most collect calls, mainly by children asking for money, for help to fix something or to get out of trouble! Women enjoy anniversaries - even silly, made-up ones like, “Honey, it has been exactly 14.78 weeks since we first saw

By John N. Felsher

Thanksgiving is sandwiched (a rather appropriate word) between Halloween and Christmas. It really bothers me when stores start setting up their Christmas displays around Labor Day. As important as it is, I think the Christmas season should wait at least until the games end on Thanksgiving Day. Well, at least Thanksgiving is the best F-ing holiday for men. that movie together for the second time.” Every woman makes a big deal about Valentine’s Day, a day that only appeals to the men who eat the chocolates they remember to buy their best girl at midnight the previous evening when they stop at a convenience store for gasoline and beverages. Then there’s the incredibly important religious significance of Easter and Christmas. But look how we celebrate them! Men go bankrupt while women scrounge gifts for everyone they’ve ever

“Watch your language! This is a family article!” admonishes my wife. “Wait, Sweetums, let me explain. Thanksgiving traditions are based upon the three F’s - Food, Football and Fun. I guess you can throw Family in there too. As an added bonus, it falls during prime hunting season. Men get up early to go hunting and then return for lunch. Gluttony is not only sanctioned, it’s encouraged…and women do most of the work! After that, men sleep through football games. It’s a total package. Now, let me explain the real history of Thanksgiving to you ...”

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Thanksgiving actually started when Columbus landed in the New World on Oct. 12, 1492, a day that he immediately named after himself. Since it was a federal holiday, the Native Americans weren’t working that day. Contrary to popular belief, Columbus did not discover Ohio. That honor fell to the unnamed seaman who first yelled, “Land ho!” But does he get credit, a holiday, or even a greeting card? No! Columbus found a culture where none of the men had jobs, but they all ate really well. They was no government and the only things men did were hunt and fish all day, blissfully unaware of disease, “honey-do’s” or taxes. They lived half-naked in an idyllic paradise with no worries…and the women did all the work. See where this fine Thanksgiving tradition started? When Columbus saw the natives enjoying this lifestyle, he said, “I’m from the government. I’m here to help make your lives better.” Then, he introduced jobs, slavery, taxes and disease. Occasionally, some warriors fought battles with other unemployed warriors. Since they didn’t own any smart arrows, machine gun spears, or other weapons of mass destruction, their battles more closely resembled football games rather than wars. That was a lot of fun. Thus, another Thanksgiving tradition emerged as passed down through the centuries. Fast-forward 130 years to the time of the Pilgrims. One of the Pilgrim leaders came to a realization one day. He said, “Hey, everyone. We’re Pilgrims! ‘Pilgrim’ means ‘traveler.’ Everybody hurry up and get on the boat. We’ve got to go 3,000 miles to have dinner with some half-naked guys wearing feathers!” When the Pilgrims parked their Plymouth in Massachusetts, they found out that all the stores were closed for the Christmas holidays. That brings up another “F-ing” tradition - hunting.

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“Wait. How in the world is hunting an ‘F-ing’ tradition?” Sweetums asks. “Sweetums, obviously you’ve never sat in a humid swamp being devoured alive by mosquitoes while waiting for a FREAKING turkey to stick his head out from the underbrush. Or shivered in a duck blind where the only things flying were the FREAKING gnats.” As I was saying, the Pilgrims landed and immediately told the Native Americans that they were trespassing on their land, but the dispute could wait until after lunch. All in attendance ate until they almost burst. Then to settle the land dispute, the Pilgrims challenged the Native Americans to a football game. The winner would get to keep North America. Since they had no footballs, one of the Pilgrims tried to pick up a spare fruitcake, but he couldn’t lift it. Instead, he grabbed a long, pointed loaf of bread and tossed it to another Pilgrim. Thus, the people who attended the first Thanksgiving also played the first football game in North America. Due to Bungling “Butterfingers” Buffalo grabbing the wrong side of the bread and fumbling it at the goal line, the Patriots beat the Chiefs, 28-21, gaining Manifest Destiny over North America. Sure, the Native Americans disputed that decision for the next 400 years, but finally put down their weapons, hired lawyers and settled for running casinos. Most of the spectators didn’t even remember the game because they slept through it while the women did all the work and cleaned up. “Some things sure haven’t changed, I see,” Sweetums says. “The women are still doing all the work.” “This year, Honey, I promise to help,” I say. “What do you want me to do?” “Help? Ha! The best way you can help me is to stay out of the way.” “It’s a deal!” I say, as I gather the kids. “Boys, we need to help your mother with Thanksgiving dinner - stay out of the kitchen, turn on the TV, and bring me a pillow. When I wake up after the game, we just might go hunting.”

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On September 18th, 2012, NFL Films President Steve Sabol lost an 18 month battle with brain cancer at the age of 69. Writing about Steve is not only a great honor, but it is also a daunting endeavor because Steve was such a legend. He was a figure in history that changed the field he worked in and his work is front and center for all the world to see. For most people, Steve’s name and NFL Films are synonymous. It was through his career with this pioneering company, created by his father, that he did more than produce mini-movies for fans to enjoy. His work changed professional football and sports – for the fans, players, and coaches - forever. This is a man who turned a spiraling football into a suspense-and nostalgia-filled event set to the symphonic stirrings of a full orchestra. His genius, in part, was taking something simple, such as a quarterback calling a play, and making it into a powerful, emotionally evoking experience. He implemented the blooper reel, a classic NFL Films creation that showed how, even with all of the work these players put into being “professional”, there is still a certain amount of hilarity that comes with the game of football. Perhaps the best way to paint the picture of this man isn’t to focus on his entire life. Perhaps, instead, the best way to remember Steve is to tell the stories of the

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people he touched and inﬂuenced as he documented the history of America’s Game.

The Man Who Made Lombardi Cry Vince Lombardi was one of the greatest coaches in the NFL. He was tough as nails, never took garbage from anyone. He would grind out a win somehow in one of the coldest, harshest stadiums in the country. He even has the Super Bowl Championship Trophy in his name. This legend was no match for the magical work of Steve Sabol. David Maraniss authored a book about Lombardi and says this about Sabol’s effect: “After the championship ‘67 season, when Steve went to Green Bay to show Vince and a few of the players the ﬁlm of their season, they ran it on the projector in Vince’s rec

room in his house. They showed the film with that great NFL Films flair to it and, at the end of it, all you heard in the room was the film flapping over and over because Lombardi didn’t turn off the projector. He was crying.” (I can almost hear the dulcet baritone of John Facenda, the iconic voice of NFL Films, saying the phrase that helped to make him, and NFL Films, famous… “the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field”... as super slow-mo images of grid-iron Packers players exhale thick, frosty smoke from behind their face guards.) Such was the work of Steve that, even amongst the hardest men, he was able to find humanity.

The Autumn Wind Steve wrote a poem called “The Autumn Wind” about the ‘74 Oakland Raiders, which was a fantastic football team. Posting an impressive 12-2 record, they were a John Madden coached team, led by the famous quarterback Kenny Stabler and running back Clarence Davis, and managed by the late Al Davis when he was at his prime. However, when you think of great football teams, you don’t usually compare them to an autumn wind, which is so unassuming that it does not match up to something as tough and devious as a raider. Only an artist

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like Steve would be able to relate a great football team to such a contradictory idea. Now, you can’t go to a Raider’s game without hearing this threatening battle hymn blaring through the stadium speakers:

The Autumn Wind is a Pirate Blustering in from sea With a rollicking song he sweeps along Swaggering boisterously. His face is weatherbeaten He wears a hooded sash With a silver hat about his head And a bristling black mustache He growls as he storms the country A villain big and bold And the trees all shake and quiver and quake As he robs them of their gold. The Autumn wind is a Raider Pillaging just for fun He’ll knock you ‘round and upside down And laugh when he’s conquered and won.

Humanizing and Revering Jim Marshall “Jim Marshall is a defensive lineman for the Minnesota Vikings. He lives to ﬁght an anonymous and brutal battle in what pros call, ‘The Pit.’ There is no glory, there are no heroes in ‘The Pit.’ Finesse and style have no place here.’’ This is another famous football player that Steve convinced to wear a mic and record. The show was called Big Game America and its purpose was to show the human side of football players. Jim Marshall says this: “When you watched what Steve did, it was different than anything we’d ever seen in football. He made it seem every time you stepped on the football ﬁeld that you were stepping into a movie. He made me come to life so much as a human being that after ‘Big Game America’ was shown to the public, people would come up to me and instead of talking just football, they’d start discussing what was going on in my life.” Such was the power Steve wielded. He was also respectful of Jim as a player. In 1964, Jim Marshall ran the wrong way for a touchdown, something he is known for along with all of his accolades. While Steve could have let Jim’s embarrassing mistake be America’s last impression by expounding on it, Steve was respectful because he understood the nature of the game. Says Jim, “I also appreciated the fact that whenever my wrong-way touchdown was discussed, Steve made it clear that in that same game, I forced the fumble that Carl Eller returned for a touchdown [that won the game]. That was very meaningful to me, because football’s a chaotic game, and sometimes you get turned around and get hit and don’t really know which way to go when the ball pops loose like that. All you do is look for the end zone. What Steve did was important, because I didn’t want to go down as a buffoon.”

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The Innovator One of the most underappreciated aspects of Steve’s work is how much he influenced the way football is presented today. He created Monday Night Matchup, a show that, Steve felt, football fans wanted. It was a new kind of sport show that dissected NFL football, down to x’s and o’s. It is impossible to have a football show now that doesn’t dissect each game like this. He also stuck so many cameras and microphones on the field that you could see and hear everything. At first the players and coaches bristled at the microphones but now players are excited to be the “mic’ed” ones. His use of orchestra music and the blooper reel are already well known but the super slow motion effect was his real bread and butter. He was always trying to look for a way to show the fans that the people on the field weren’t just players, they were humans. One of his greatest and favorite accomplishments was the show Hard Knocks, an annual documentary that takes viewers into one of the hardest and most dramatic times of the year for an NFL team - training camp. It is during this week that teams are formed and teammates take the time to break in rookies and form bonds with new free agents. One of the most impressive things about this man is not what he recorded about professional football, but how he presented it to the public. He respected the fans, he respected the players, and he respected the game. Once, he interviewed a coach and called him back to ask for a reshoot because they caught opponents’ playbooks in the background. Such is the kind of man Steve was. He had his critics, but for the most part, there was not a person in the National Football League Steve didn’t touch or inspire. He nicknamed himself “Sudden Death” and was known for promoting himself when he was in college, using newspapers, buttons, brochures, postcards, and pencils, to persuade his college coach to let him play. He also described himself as the “Prince of Pigskin Pageantry at the Pinnacle of His Power.” (You can’t possibly know how jealous I am that he thought of that first.) One of my favorite stories is that he was offered the job of NFL Commissioner because of his passion and dedication to the league. He turned it down, saying that he loved his job at NFL Films more. He was a big personality and he was ambitious but above all, he loved the game and he loved everyone involved with football. May he rest in peace, leaving us all with the memory of an extraordinary man who changed the NFL without ever playing or coaching a down. He will be missed.

Corey Hogue November 2012 Jockularity@SlidellMag.com

Music notes

by Kendra Maness

Band of Brothers “We love each other. We’re friends and brothers ﬁrst,” Dale says. “I can’t relate to band members that just play together, who aren’t close. It can be done that way, sure. But it’s better when you’re like family. And we really are family. We know each other’s strong points and weaknesses. And we can emphasize and exploit our strong points so that everything meshes together to create a beautiful sound.”

“Where you’re from…how you’re raised… your roots will never steer you wrong,” Dale Galatas says when asked about what inspires him musically. Founding member, lead singer and guitarist for Band of Brothers, Dale knows of which he speaks. Growing up listening to the sounds of home, Dale was inspired from a young age. “I didn’t have an instrument when I was little, but I grew up in the Ninth Ward and there was music everywhere around me. I was a kid trying to sleep and I’d be lying in bed, listening to the sounds coming through my window. I realize now how distinct that sound is – the Ninth Ward New Orleans sound.” Dale and the Band of Brothers have been offering that distinct sound to music lovers across the state and country since they originally formed 12 years ago. A chance meeting between Dale and band co-founder and drummer, Anthony LaGuardia, was just the start of forming not only a band, but a brotherhood of musicians that shared a common bond – their love and dedication to the art of music.

Joined by Rocky Seal on vocals and bass guitar, Butch Gomes on sax, and Rod Duncan on the ‘superbone’ (an instrument that has the big slide like a trombone but also has valves like a trumpet to produce fuller, richer tones), the Band of Brothers believes it is their connection to music, their home, and particularly, each other, that makes their sound so unique.

Every gig from Band of Brothers promises something different. Playing across southern Louisiana bars, clubs, festivals, and private parties, they have developed a faithful following, and the Band of brothers strive to keep their fans surprised while still laying out their soul in the classics we all love. “We play Classic Rock, Blues, Southern Rock, and New Orleans classics from the Legendary performers the city has given that inﬂuenced Rock and Roll through the years,” says Dale. “I don’t care what’s ‘in’ or ‘out’ in music. Everybody can do top 40 things. But few bands can do the kind of music that comes from their heart, not just their instruments. That’s what we do.”

The heart and soul behind their music is apparent within the ﬁrst few notes of their rendition of the John Mayer hit, “Waiting on the World to Change”. Another favorite of mine (and a favorite of anyone who’s ever heard them perform, I’d bet) is “Tupelo Honey”. Even with a strong New Orleans accent, Dale’s lead vocals on this classic hit bear an uncanny resemblance to the soft-gravel tones of Van Morrison in his prime.

Slidell Music Where & When

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Bike Night! Free Food! Featuring Dana Abbott................................... Landlubbers

3 Sigma ......................................................... O’Aces The Rafters .................................................... Landlubbers Fuzzy Dice ..................................................... Landing Bar & Grill Harvey Jesus & Fire ...................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Troy w/Dead Stop .......................................... O’Aces LSU vs Alabama TV Party! Free Food! ......... Landlubbers Harvey Jesus & Fire ...................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Eli Seals............................................................Landing Bar & Grill

Ladies Night Open Jam Session Staring Redline’s “Shades of Blue” Band ...... Landlubbers

Bike Night! Free Food! Featureing Jumbo Shrimp, Formerly Belle & LA Lightning ....................... Landlubbers Harvey Jesus & Fire ...................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Burger N Fries ............................................... O’Aces A Salute to Rotary Clubs Featuring Big Al & The Heavyweights ........... Landlubbers Vanity Roux ................................................... Landing Bar & Grill Foret Tradition ............................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Group Therapy .............................................. O’Aces The Peter Novelli Band.................................. Landlubbers Foret Tradition ............................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Redline .............................................................Landing Bar & Grill

Ladies Night Open Jam Session Staring Redline’s “Shades of Blue” Band ...... Landlubbers

Karaoke Night Bike Night! Free Food!......................................Landlubbers

Contra Flow ................................................... O’Aces Blues Power Band ......................................... Landlubbers Redline .......................................................... Landing Bar & Grill Jason Baglio’s Elvis Experience .................... Silver Slipper Casino

After the Fact ................................................. O’Aces LSU vs Ole Miss TV Party! Free Food! The Castaways-No Cover ............................. Landlubbers Jason Baglio’s Elvis Experience .................... Silver Slipper Casino

59-South ...........................................................Landing Bar & Grill

You can catch Band of Brothers in and around the Slidell area:

Ladies Night Open Jam Session Staring Redline’s “Shades of Blue” Band ...... Landlubbers

Nov. 10 Camellia City Kiwanis Race John Slidell Park – 9-11:30am

After the Fact ................................................. O’Aces “Thanks to 1st Responders” Night Band TBA ...................................................... Landlubbers Band of Brothers............................................ Landing Bar & Grill Al “Lil’ Fats” Jackson ..................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Nov. 10 Homegrown Music Fest Mardi Gras World, Algiers – 6-7pm

Meanies ......................................................... O’Aces Redline .......................................................... Landlubbers David St. Romain, Country Night................... Landing Bar & Grill Al “Lil’ Fats” Jackson ..................................... Silver Slipper Casino

Burger N Fries ..................................................Landing Bar & Grill

Ladies Night Open Jam Session Staring Redline’s “Shades of Blue” Band ...... Landlubbers

Bike Night! Free Food! Saints vs Falcons TV Party! .......................... Landlubbers

Backﬂow ........................................................ O’Aces 30 x 90 Blues Women ................................... Landlubbers Tricks ............................................................. Landing Bar & Grill The Cheyenne Band...................................... Silver Slipper Casino

The Cheyenne Band.........................................Silver Slipper Casino

Redline .............................................................Landing Bar & Grill

The chemistry between The Brothers is palpable. “Every song we do is felt - by all of us. And boy, when it feels so good, you never know what’s going to happen. It’s different for us every time. You never know what comes out of your feelings. You can’t get that if you play the exact measure, exact riff every time. Some things get lost when it’s all the same,” Dale says. These feelings were even stronger when Dale and Anthony traveled to California to play after Hurricane Katrina. Picking up a bass player once they arrived, Dale and Anthony rocked the Golden State with good ole New Orleans sound. “When we traveled in California, they could tell exactly where we were from, just by listening to us. Down here, in New Orleans, we’re spoiled because we have so many great musicians. You take the music on the road and people are very appreciative of it – it’s so different for them.” The band of Brothers also enjoys composing and playing originals. Their first original song, ‘Gone Fishin’ has a bluesy, stick-in-yourhead sound and was inspired by the boys other favorite pastime. “We all love to fish. We were jamming and started a beat and a lick, and the lyrics just came out. It talks about going down south to Shell Beach.” The song received considerable radio air time when it was picked up as the theme song for a local fishing talk show. Their latest original, ‘Funky Fever’ is a personal tribute to Dale’s childhood. “It reflects memories of the music in my life. The music I used to hear when I was young, laying in bed at night - those hot, New Orleans summer nights - and how I could almost feel the funky beats in my chest.” Inspired by their Louisiana heritage to perform original songs and breathing new life into beloved classics, the Band of Brothers plans to keep us all rocking far into the future. Dale sums it up simply. “We’re here to keep the old stuff around and to keep the New Orleans sound going. That’s what we live for.”

Nov. 23 The Landing, Slidell – 9pm Dec. 16 The Landing, Slidell – 6-10pm

Saint Kateri By Tom Aicklen

n celebration of Thanksgiving, Slidell Magazine is proud to bring you the story of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the ﬁrst Native American to be canonized by the Roman Catholic Church. Contributing writer, Tom Aicklen, a Lacombe historian and preservationist, brings us this story to celebrate his own Cherokee Indian ancestry and to remind us all of the true history and meaning behind our November feast day. Saint Kateri Tekakwitha was canonized by Pope Benedict XVI at Saint Peter’s Basilica on October 21, 2012. Known as “Lily of the Mohawks”, Kateri (the French deriviative of Catherine) was born in 1656 in a Mohawk village near present-day Auriesville, New York. An Epidemic In the 1500’s and 1600’s, the Spanish conquerors, English colonists and French explorers coming to America brought many diseases that were, before that time, unknown to the Native Americans, reducing native populations by 80-90%. In 1661, the Mohawk Indians of Kateri’s village were exposed to smallpox. For two years, her community battled the epidemic, which claimed the lives of Kateri’s brother and parents. She was just four years old when she contracted the disease. Whether it was faith or fate, while

others died, Kateri Tekakwitha survived. She was left scarred and partially blind (her Iroquois name means “she who bumps into things”) and was adopted by her maternal uncle, a chief of the Turtle Clan. Kateri grew up in a period of constant change as the Mohawk villages interacted with, traded with, and fought with the French and Dutch colonists. After an attack and defeat by French forces in 1666, the Mohawks were forced into a peace treaty that required them to accept Jesuit missionaries in their villages. While there, the Jesuits studied Mohawk and other native languages in order to reach the people. They spoke of Christianity in terms with which the Mohawk could identify. An Awakening At age eighteen, Kateri met the Jesuit Father Jacques de Lamberville and started studying the catechism with him. Her uncle was against any contact with the Jesuits because he did not want Kateri to convert to Christianity, having already bid farewell to one of his older daughters when she left the tribe for a Catholic mission village near Montreal. Kateri resisted the pressure from her uncle and devoted herself to the teachings of the missionary priest. She found God in Nature and saw the sweet beauty of creation in the works of the Great Spirit. She was baptized at the age of 20, on Easter Sunday, April 18, 1676. Some of the anti-Christian members of the village strongly opposed her conversion and, because of her refusal to renounce her faith, Kateri was forced to flee just six months after her baptism. Her trek through the wilderness—a two month journey of 200 miles—led her to a Jesuit mission near Montreal, Canada where other native converts had gathered. Kateri joined them in 1677. A Homecoming She formed close friendships in her new home. The sweet, shy Kateri was known and admired for her total devotion to her faith and her love for Nature, which she saw as God’s beauty. Tekakwitha’s dedication led to a practice called “ritual mortification”, in which she would purify herself through extreme fasting and self-

inﬂicted torture (the most devoted, particularly women, believed that these practices rid their bodies, and those of their fellow man, of sin and impurities). The rituals became more intense and consuming over the remainder of her life and her health declined. On April 17, 1680, at just 24 years of age, Kateri died, surrounded by her Christian family. Her short life was arduous but she lived it full of beauty and love. Her last words were, “Jesus, Mary, I love you.” Tekakwitha’s grave stone reads: Kateri Tekakwitha Ownkeonweke Katsitsiio Teonsitsianekaron The fairest ﬂower that ever bloomed among red men.

Miracles Just moments after dying, her face, scarred by smallpox for almost her entire life, miraculously cleared and was made beautiful. A Jesuit priest, present at the time of this miracle, later wrote, “This face, so marked and swarthy, suddenly changed about a quarter of an hour after her death, and became in a moment so beautiful and so white that I observed it immediately.” This was the first of several m i r a c l e s involving Kateri Te k a k w i t h a , which the Catholic Church requires for sainthood. After her death, the Jesuits had a chapel built near her gravesite.

By 1684, pilgrimages had begun to honor her there. The Jesuits had cremated Kateri and set her ashes out to symbolize her presence on earth. These ashes were sometimes used as relics for healing. As others heard of the healing powers of the chapel, some collected earth from her gravesite and wore it in bags as a relic. The last known miracle occurred in 2006 when a seven-year old Lummi Indian boy contracted a flesh-eating bacterium. After sixteen operations, it was declared incurable by the medical profession. His family and friends prayed through Kateri Tekakwitha. A Catholic nun visited the boy’s bedside and placed a relic of Tekakwitha, a bone fragment, against his body and prayed together with his parents. The next day, the infection stopped its progression. Local Blessings This past October 20, a beautiful acrylic and silver painting of Kateri was donated to the Lacombe Heritage Center by noted Mayan artist Luz-Maria Lopez. The painting was blessed and then carried in a candlelit procession by parishioners down Main Street to Bayou Lacombe, where the 27-acre parish park was blessed to honor Saint Kateri, Father Adrien Rouquette and his ancestor, Francois Cousin. Father Adrien Rouquette, the poet priest of St. Tammany, devoted his life in service to the Choctaw. He had a priestly devotion to Kateri because of their shared affinity for the solitude of the forest and the closeness to God they felt in the natural world. Like her, Adrien’s relevance came through love of God, Nature, and service to fellow human beings. At the ceremony, the descendants of Cousin and Rouquette released a wreath representing the Circle of Life, enclosing the Indian Cross and the Cross of Christ to symbolize the unity of God, Nature, and Man. The exquisite painting of our first American Indian saint will be given a permanent place of honor in Sacred Heart church, the parish founded by Father Rouquette in Lacombe. Lily of the Mohawks A prayer to St. Kateri is inscribed on the scroll she holds in her left hand; in her right hand she cradles a haloed white dove symbolizing the Holy Spirit. Roses and white lilies decorate her tunic representing her name, LILY OF THE MOHAWKS.

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Cranberry Relish | 899/QT Oh Indian maiden most pure Help us that we may all hear and see The Great Spirit that dwells in bay and bayou, In ﬁeld and forest, In rain and sky and tree; In Thee and me. Help make us more aware, Dear Saint Kateri So that all may care For our God-given ecology.

S p e c t at o rs, nu n s and priests donned colorful garbs and feathered headdresses as Catholics around the world celebrate the canonization of Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Native American saint

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This Month In History November 6 Inventor of the game of basketball, James Naismith (1861-1939) was born in Almonte, Ontario, Canada

November 17, 1800 The U.S. Congress met for the ﬁrst time in the new capitol at Washington, D.C. President John Adams then became the ﬁrst occupant of the Executive Mansion, later renamed the White House

November 8, 1895 X-rays (electromagnetic rays) were discovered by Wilhelm Roentgen at the University of Wuerzburg in Germany

November 5

November 6, 1860

Remembered as Guy Fawkes Day in Britain, for the anniversary of the failed “Gunpowder Plot” to blow up the Houses of Parliament and King James I in 1605

Abraham Lincoln was elected as the 16th U.S. President and the ﬁrst Republican. He received 180 of 303 possible electoral votes and 40 percent of the popular vote

1968

November 2, 1955

The party just got started! Yale University goes Co-ed.

Jim Henson’s “Kermit the Frog”, the ﬁrst Muppet, was copyright registered

November 7, 1874 Cartoonist Thomas Nast depicts the Republican party as an elephant in a cartoon in Harper’s Weekly

Hey, Hey, Hey…..Winter is on the Way! By: Carol Ruiz – Blue Star Pest Control As I write to you good folks, Slidell and the surrounding area is experiencing a “cold front”. This weak front will only last the weekend, but it’s a welcome treat. In anticipation of winter, the hubby had an entire cord of firewood delivered yesterday. The site of the seasoned oak logs being stacked in the garage was all it took to put me in the mood for a roaring fire. I stood there looking at our woody delivery, imagining the cozy fires with the family and friends this winter. I was in a nice dreamy place…that is, until a little squirrel crept up to the garage, sniffing the firewood. That sure snapped me back to reality. I immediately began the, “Oh no he didn’t!” checklist. To be honest, I should have handled this area in summer but it was overlooked and now needed some attention.

I used the broom to sweep down the walls catching the spider webs too. Next, I hit the shelves and quickly rearranged items, tossing toys into one bin on the ﬂoor and trash into the can. Rodents and squirrels use many of our stored things when they are making their nests so whenever possible, toss out cardboard boxes and replace them with tightly sealed plastic bins. This was not a pull-everything-out-the-garage kind of event, just a good once over. After, I turned my attention to the garage lift gate and the door, making sure they closed properly with no visible gaps that would allow my little furry friend easy access. Then I swept out the entire space and called our son over from his daily neighborhood football game to put away his box of toys. I took a lovely stroll around the outside of our garage, using my trusty broom to check for holes, gaps and leaks. There were a few small branches that were hanging over the edge of the roof and

the broom helped this 5’ 2” mom take those down. I took a quick look at the gutters and ridge line while I was out there. Done. It was not perfect by any means, but much better than before and it gave me a great sense of accomplishment. I went inside, made a few bags of popcorn and brought it out to the patio. I pulled up a chair and watched hungry kiddos devour their salty snack and run back to the yard to continue the game. Sitting and scanning the popcorn-covered patio, I thought, what a great start to the weekend … cool front, rodent prooﬁng my garage, kids playing in the backyard and popcorn on the patio. All is right with the world. Oh wait, rodents eat popcorn, got to grab the broom and clean that up, too!

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