57th edition - April 2015

THE OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF SLIDELL

Vol 57 April 2015

Autism Awareness Month

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HISTORICAL ANTIQUE ASSOCIATION’S 34TH ANNUAL SPRING STREET FAIR

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Editor’s Letter As Kenny watched convicted rapists, murderers, and child molesters set free after serving as little as 6 years, he became a Trustee and began participating in large art mural projects at the prison. The visual beauty of his art soothed the prisoners and proved beneficial in violence control.

Artists Kenny Bridges and Adam Sambola at 2015 Arts Evening On March 23, 2015, the city of Slidell lost one of her true community servants, artist Kenny Bridges. No, thank God, Kenny did not pass away. We lost Kenny to the bureaucracy of big government.

Kenny Bridges is an artist, a philanthropist, a devout Christian, an active community volunteer... and a convicted felon. For the past four years, Kenny has been an inmate at Slidell’s City Jail. He has five months of an 18 year sentence left to serve.

Kenny was a 24 year old “stupid little punk,” as he describes himself, when he was convicted of a second offense drug charge for selling prescription pills. He was sentenced to 18 years without the possibility of parole. It was an outrageously strict sentence made by a judge who was just having a bad day.

Kenny was a model prisoner who was determined to rehabilitate himself. He discovered his artistic talent in jail and devoted his life to being a student, as well as a mentor, in the teachings of Christ and art.

PO Box 4147 • Slidell, LA 70459

www.SlidellMag.com • 985-789-0687 Kendra Maness - Editor/Publisher Editor@SlidellMag.com

Brian Friel - Graphic Designer Graphics@SlidellMag.com Illustrations by: Zac McGovern www.HalMundane.com Contributing Writers Donna Bush EFOP, Charlotte Lowry Collins The Storyteller, John Case Jockularity, Corey Hogue Pet Points, Jeff Perret, DVM Crimmi-Mommly Insane, Leslie Gates Nauti People, John Felsher www.JohnNFelsher.com Once Upon A Time...In Slidell, Ronnie Dunaway Ronnie@WhoDatShoppe.org Tempting the Palette, Lori Gomez www.LoriGomezArt.com Making Cents of Your Money, Mike Rich MikeRich@mypontchartrain.com Go Beyond, Rose Marie Sand Rose@RoseMarieSand.com

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As other prison wardens heard of the success of this program, they began requesting Kenny’s transfer to their prisons. Kenny was asked to help beautify not only the prisons, but the communities, completeing city-wide art murals in each city. Meanwhile, he maintained his mandatory work within the prisons (usually in the laundry service) and his journey of self betterment.

The city of Slidell is one of the communities that has enjoyed the artwork of Kenny Bridges.

In the past four years, he has completed the murals within the Train Depot, the HUGE murals on the Public Operations buildings (on Bayou Lane leading to Heritage Park), the Pumpkin Fest portable billboard, refurbishment of the historic street lamps of Olde Towne, and 13 of the treasured Pelicans that adorn our city (more than any other artist). He has completed dozens of canvas paintings, and donated hundreds of prints, to festivals and auctions that benefit the charities of our area - using his own money to purchase his painting supplies and printing.

In 2011, after serving 14 years in prison, and after a two year investigation and review, Kenny was recommended for immediate release by the LA State Pardon Board. Not once - TWICE. Two separate boards, 12 separate people, 12 unanimous votes. One member of the board publicly apologized to the Bridges family that Kenny was still incarcerated.

Kenny’s pardon review included support letters from numerous senators, representatives, mayors, wardens, sheriffs, police chiefs, and public officials. But it takes a governor to sign a pardon. Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal has approved less than 8% of the pardons recommended to him by the board that he appointed. (Kathleen Blanco was a more typical governor, granting 40%.)

Kenny Bridges was transferred out of our community because someone complained to

the Dept. of Corrections when they saw him at Arts Evening last month. Nevermind that he was guarded by a police officer. Nevermind that he was displaying the art he had created for so many charities, and he was at the office of Councilman Bill Borchert and his wife, Laura.

That night, Kenny gave me over $200 of artwork to auction and raise money for disabled children.

Betcha the complaint letter didn’t mention any of this. The State DOC found no wrong doing, but transferred him anyway.

On his last visitation day, over a dozen of our Slidell public officials and community leaders visited Kenny to say goodbye and thank you.

I was one of his visitors. He asked if I would publish a letter he had written to our city. An angry diatribe against the system? A rant about injustice? No, that’s just not Kenny. While the rest of us are appalled at the failure in our system, Kenny is grateful and humble.

I would just like to thank the leaders and the community of Slidell for welcoming me and having me. It has been an overwhelming experience feeling the love and support from everyone. Slidell will always be my home – I have embraced the city that has embraced me.

It has been an honor to meet and work with so many members of the art community here. I have truly found my calling; and I look forward to returning to Slidell, where there is such a deep appreciation for, and support of, the amazing talent we have here.

I would like to take this opportunity to give special thanks to Mayor Freddy Drennan and Police Chief Randy Smith, who gave me the opportunity to come here and help beautify the city we all love so much. For the past four years, I have been blessed to work under the tutelage and guidance of Chief Smith, a man of integrity and a true believer in rehabilitation. He truly cares for the people of St. Tammany, even an inmate such as myself. He has been a mentor in my life, and an admirable leader of the Police Department and the community.

Thank you, thank you all. God Bless.

Kenny Bridges 12:01 On behalf of the people of Slidell whose lives you’ve touched and improved....

Our thanks to YOU Kenny.

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Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People Sponsored by

ALBERT CLAUDE

by Charlotte Lowry Collins

We’ve journeyed through many extraordinary lives, thanks to our EFOPs. This month I will take you back in time to what you know as Olde Towne Slidell, which was the entire city ‘back in the day’. We will follow early Slidell businesses and community changes through the varied occupations and daily activities of one of our few living centenarians.

Mr. Albert Claude, Sr. turned 100 years old on December 3, 2014. He still has the Happy 100th Birthday poster displayed on his wall with some of his memorabilia from that momentous day. So sit down and join me while Mr. Albert, also known as Uncle Pee Wee, paints a picture of the heart of our city when it was the size of Olde Towne.

Mr. Albert opened up as soon as we sat on the couch, starting right at the beginning of his earliest memories. Now that his eyes are failing from Macular Degeneration, his canvas is enlivened from the memories he holds in his mind’s eye. He looked straight ahead and described his family tree with punctuations of his hand.

“First let me explain that my Grandfather was 100% French, and my Grandmother was 100% Indian. I never knew what type of Indian or tribe she was from. But my daddy was Abner Claude, and there were ten of us children. He had three kids by his first wife, Odile Pinder who died, and then seven, including me, from his second wife, Anna Archenaux Claude. My mom later died in childbirth. I was the oldest by his second wife, and I married Lorenza

Moody. My sister, Agnes Claude Davillier, married Ulysses, who was a French Creole.

I remember how mad I used to get ‘cause I couldn’t understand what he was saying if he switched to French.” He adds, “Which of course Ulysses did whenever the topic was something I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

As a point of reference, the term Creole originally referred to the children of Europeans that were born in the New World. Later this term broadened to include those with European ancestry mixed with local heritage, and were born here.

Albert began to paint a mental layout of the city. “We owned our own home where Griffith Park is now, but some time later, the city bought out all those houses. I went to church over on Brakefield Street at what was then Mount Zion Methodist Church.”

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This church was later torn down and the Mt. Olive Church down the road was moved from First Street next to its current location.

Mr. Albert straightened and recounted his tales from his youth. “Some of my earliest memories were of walking over to play with the kids at May’s Quarter. That used to be over where the fire station is now. [Third Street] “There were quarters with rental homes for every company, like Salmen Quarters and Shipyard Quarters. And back then, there were fireflies everywhere.” Here, he waved his arm across his viewing area, so I could picture the little lights everywhere.

“We didn’t need streetlights because those bugs lit the streets as we walked by at night.

We swam in the bayous, pits and canals, but we didn’t ever worry about gators. They ran from us.” He looked up at me as he noted, “Now they are hungry and attacking little kids.” He continued his scenario, “We never had to buy seafood, and would have thrown back the little fish they eat today.

I used a cane pole, a cork and a weight, and dug up worms for my bait. I caught so many I couldn’t carry them all home. The worst part was the snakes everywhere. I had to hit them over the head with sticks,” he gesticulated, “because they would try to get your fish right off the pole in the water.”

He chuckled with the memory. “We had a little scoop net for crabs, and the big boys had a cast net for shrimp.”

“We made up games, even made our own kites to fly. I made mine from a piece of cypress, newspaper, and flour and water for glue. Now, you just buy them at the store.

We shot marbles and played stick-‘em-up with sticks. You would take a broom handle, sharpen it, and throw it hard so it would stick up in the ground. The next boy would throw his and try to knock the other fellow’s stick over.” This brought a wide smile to his face, as he shook his head and explained, “Back then, they wouldn’t let you play in the house.

If they saw us, the grownups would holler, ‘get outside!’” He grinned and looked over at me explaining, “That kept me from learning all the stories about my people.”

The day of our interview was one of those wonderful, sunny days in early February that you long for all winter. Mr. Claude looked up at the sunlit window and motioned across the frame. “I remember looking out my window before school at icicles hanging all across the roof many a morning, and all the ditches would be iced over. I would walk from where Griffith Park is now, to school at the St. Tammany Parish Training School.

Now it is St. Tammany Jr. High. But then it was a big, two-story building. I was a young

man, working out on a boat, when I heard it had burned down.” He gave a sly grin. “You know what I said? ‘Good’, because it was a raggedy old building and was going to fall down anyway and hurt somebody. It was propped up with big old pieces of timber.”

Then he grew serious and noted with his hand in the air, “But Mr. Rosenwald helped us get that school and it was a great thing for the community when it was new. I remember they had a big framed photo of him hanging in the hallway. The boys were trained for construction and farming, and the girls were taught how to cook and housekeep. The girls had to stay on one side and the boys on the other. I just couldn’t understand that.

I asked, ‘I play ball with them, why can’t I go over and talk to them?’” He laughed, “I still don’t know why they did such a crazy thing.”

He grew more animated as he pictured the next scene. “You couldn’t get away with anything back then. One day Chief Saxon and Mayor Fritchie saw me fighting some bigger boys. I said I wouldn’t be fighting if they didn’t jump on me. So they let me go, because they knew my family and figured I was telling the truth. But those were good days. You would have a few fights, somebody might cut somebody else, but hardly ever did we have any murders or big crimes like today.”

“I also remember the lady, I think it was Miss Bea Sollberger, who was the cashier at the Salmen Store. She sat way up in a booth looking out over the lower floor and all the people. We were down there with the clerks who actually waited on you. Then they sent the money and the bill up on that pulley up there to her,” his hand traced quickly, “and she would send the change back.” He smiled a broad smile and looked up at me.

“You never knew what you could find there, even a coffin!”

Then he paused, stiffened, and drew in a breath. “I do remember my scariest experience in Slidell. When I was about 18 or 19, I was walking home, and saw a bunch of men all dressed up in KKK outfits coming the other way.” He gave a hearty laugh, sat straight up and shook his head, “I sure was scared. I just focused on the fact that I was almost home and didn’t look up at them.

One of them waved and called out casually, ‘Hey Albert!’ They knew me, but one thing I didn’t want to know was who he was, or who any of them were. I just looked toward my house and kept walking. They usually weren’t in Slidell, so I have no idea what they were doing, and didn’t want to either.

I was right in front of Ms. Taylor’s boarding house by then.” “ At this time, we lived right across from old Mr. Dubuisson’s house and store. You could buy all kinds of candy that he and two ladies made right there in that store. I would go over whenever I had a nickel and buy some of their candy.” He grinned, “Now you would need a dollar or two. We used to bring our own basket for shopping, fill it, and bring everything back home in it. You know, somebody moved that store down to Lincoln Park, and a family still lives in it today.”

Now Mr. Albert looked away for a second and summarized, “You could obtain anything you wanted by walking four blocks in Slidell back then. So, we walked everywhere, and in those days, cows and horses walked up and down Slidell. They weren’t too many cars ‘cept on weekends. Then, the cars lined up headed to New Orleans.” He smiled, “I don’t know what in the world they were all going for. Then the city proclaimed it would be illegal for cattle, horses, chickens, hogs, sheep, or goats to remain loose. It seemed like it was all part of Mr. Salmen’s farm when I was a boy, or it was marsh. Mr. Fritz 7

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Salmen used to come and go in a buggy with a horse or a mule.”

shocked me. My mom rented half of the downstairs for her business, Pomeroy Lowry Interiors, when Mr. Pierce, Miss Martha’s brother-in-law, owned the store after her death. He always gave me a candy bar after school and I remember the smell of that wooden store vividly. After he passed away, my mom bought the building, and I taught art and made batiks on the old massive wooden potato bin on the side that was his store. We still have the sign for this early establishment that was once near the corner of Fremaux and Front. The phone number was 139!

Mr. Claude adjusted himself on the couch, then continued, “My Daddy had a restaurant called Claude’s Corner on Second and Brakefield Street and our house was on the side of the store. That home and our business burned down when Old Mr. Brazier’s two-story building caught fire, and burned everything on that block. We didn’t even have a fire engine back then.”

He slapped his knee and quipped, “Right after this, I decided I needed to get a job.

This was during the Depression, so it was hard to get a job then. I remember at 16 years old, telling my Daddy, ‘I’m going to find a job.’ He looked at me and said, ‘Son, you ain’t going to find anything. Nobody’s hiring these days.’ My answer was, ‘Well, then, they can’t tell me anything but yes or no’. So, off I went to Mr. E. S. Jemison at the Slidell Drug Company, and he asked me if I could deliver medicine from his bicycle.”

Albert pointed toward the right. “This was over where the Bank of Slidell used to be on Front Street. I said ‘sure’, and he hired me.

Simple as that. I stayed there three or four years riding for him, until it closed down.”

His son, Albert Jr., explained to me that his dad, aka “Pee Wee”, was known around Slidell for riding his bike. He rode his bicycle up until this past July, while he was still 99 years old.

Without pausing over the gravity of his job situation, Mr. Albert added, “Mr. Jemison assured me not to worry, because he already had another job for me with Mr. Claude Schneider and his brothers at Slidell Brick on Front Street.” He looked up at the ceiling and smiled mischievously. “There was a long line of men there waiting to get a job, but I got called up first. There were a lot of good people here that looked out for me. I didn’t have to be in the hottest section [the ovens used to fire the clay into bricks]. That was thanks to Mr. Reggie, who looked out for me and always gave me the good jobs.”

I don’t know how many of my readers are aware of the long history of brick making, dating back to the native Indian population, continuing to the first European Creoles, and finally, continued by the Schneider family today. St. Tammany bricks are still in the streets of New Orleans and the St. Louis Cathedral. You may also not be aware of how well known Slidell’s own St. Joe Bricks are across the nation. If you need to match antique bricks for older buildings, this would still be your “go-to” company.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Albert made a connection with my family. He remembered my great grandfather who was the overseer for the American Creosote Plant. “I remember Mr. Brick Pomeroy Dunham offered me a job at the Creosote Plant. See, I had two brothers-in-law working there, and it was hard work. I walked to work with them, and saw men walking right up to the boilers to put the cart back on track, so I didn’t think that would be for Pee Wee. So I told him, “If you want a water boy, now that’s me.”

He looked up and laughed. “Unfortunately, they didn’t need that at the time. But later, one of my brothers-in-law, Abraham Moody, died there at that plant after he got knocked off the cart by a crane.”

“Instead, I got a job with Lonestar Cement Company. Captain Sollberger got me that job. I worked on a tugboat that ran from New Orleans as the ‘mess boy’ in the kitchen.

But actually, I cleaned up all the messes, all over the boat, everything,” he smirked. “The worst part of that job was that I couldn’t get a day off. So I stayed about a year, and one day I simply decided I got to go home.” He chuckled a deep, rolling sound.

“After that, I found a job with the Jacobs Candy Company on Carondelet. I chauffeured the salesman through cotton fields to Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, everywhere. They didn’t have anything but gravel and dirt paths. You drove in the middle until you saw another car coming, and then you’d pull over. The bridges were one lane ‘cause they were built for horses. There were more horses than cars back then.” He laughed. “I would take the candy out of their boxes, and help set them out in the hotels to showcase and advertise them. I always stayed at someone’s home because I wasn’t allowed to stay in the hotels back then. Then, a few days later, I put them all back in those boxes and we brought them somewhere else.”

“Next I worked at Martha’s Grocery in Slidell for Miss Martha.” This family connection

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Mr. Albert got a dreamy look as he reminded me, “I got married to the love of my life, Lorenza, while I was working at Martha’s Grocery. Miss Martha hired me to deliver groceries by bike. It had a little wheel on the front and a great big basket on the front too. Then she bought a car so I could fit more groceries. Finally, she got a truck.”

He smiled sheepishly, “One day I was late, because I got the truck stuck in the mud.

Miss Martha got mad and fired me.” Luckily, Miss Martha came to Albert’s home and hired him back the next day. “I delivered groceries to everybody back then, including Mr. Fritz Salmen.” He recounted delivering to my great-grandmother, Miss Lucy Dunham, and my great uncle, Mr. Russell Dunham on First Street. When I expressed surprise that he would remember them, he explained, “Everybody knew each other back then.”

“We didn’t get a lot of strangers. You know, to get to the South Shore, you had to take two ferries - one to get across the Rigolets, and another on that little island on the Chef Menteur. Mr. Hursey from Pearlington owned both of them. Then they built the WatsonWilliams Bridge. I remember when they built the Highway 11 bridge. I knew three fellows that died building that bridge.”

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“Next they built the train station for the Great Northern and Southern Railroad. My Daddy worked there, and would take me to work with him. Much later, I worked at the Post Office, and was the second black postman.

At that time, the Post Office was located in part of Neuhauser’s Store. I would meet the train, get the mail, and deliver it to the post office. One day the man on the train said, ‘Albert, I won’t be seeing you any more.’

That caught me off guard and I asked if he was quitting. Then he explained that they were pulling the mail deliveries off the trains.

I thought, ‘Oh Lord, that’s my job!’ In the thirty-one years I worked there, I missed only one day.” He showed me the framed Purple Heart Proclamation he received.

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“During that career, I had to take a two and a half year leave because I was drafted and went in the Navy. I worked in the Ammunition Depot in McAlester, Oklahoma. I actually made the ammo. I always had to remind the guys - if you make one mistake, you kill yourself and everybody else with you.

One day, while I was off duty, ten men were killed. When eight tons of ammo blows, there isn’t much left. They didn’t find much left to identify them.”

“When I came back to Slidell there were a lot of changes. The farms were gone.

I worked for Mr. Fenley Emory and his wife at Emory’s Store on Front Street. They were real nice people to work for. Later, I traded at the Jitney Jungle. Mr. Jimmy Carollo had a store by then too, and Mr. Charley Carolla sold household machines. When I came back from the service, my wife had bought a pasteboard icebox, and I said, ‘What is this?’ I knew that wouldn’t do, so I went over to Mr. Carollo’s and he showed me a real refrigerator for the first time. Again, all I could say was, ‘What is this?’ I didn’t know about all those things,” he laughed.

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When I asked how he met his wife, Mr. Albert’s smile widened. “I bumped into her

1996, within a mile of that same spot in the lake. Now I check with my sons every time they go fishing, and remind them, ‘It ain’t no good to anyone if you sit on your life preserver. You have to actually put it on.’”

“We raised seven children and helped rear our niece. My kids were born in this order: Evelyn, Albert Jr., Alphonse, Debra, Patricia, Carl, Gregory, and niece Sandra. We are a close-knit family and go to each others’ homes all the time for gatherings. I love seeing my people.”

on the street, not looking where I was going.

I said, ‘Excuse me’, and we talked a while. I asked if I could see her again, and she said she would think about it.”

We stopped and looked at old family photos of his grandparents, parents, and siblings. I couldn’t help but comment on how handsome they all were. Mr. Albert looked up and announced, “You know I’m the only-est one left out of all of them. I lost my brother in the 1980’s, and my family members Booby Norvell Sr., and his son, Norvell Jr., when they drowned while fishing in Lake Pontchartrain.

I lost my two brothers, Emile and Tom in

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“I’ve seen us go from walking, to horse and buggy, to automobiles everywhere, and finally planes. I had a good life, and went a lot of places, but only by bike, car or bus.”

As if to conclude the interview, Mr. Claude summed his life up, “Now my grandchildren’s children got children. I never thought I would live that long to be 100 years old.”

“ I will just be here as long as the Lord lets me.”

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Chamber one • 8AM group 1 - Speckled T’s group 2 - Summerfield

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Street Fair

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going to the Chapel • Cutting edge Theater • 8pm

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Storyteller Oil and Water The body was found at 7:30 on Saturday morning. C.G. Miles, the owner of Miles Haberdashery, noticed the door of Dieter’s Jewelry partially ajar when he went to open his own business located next door.

The police arrived in less than five minutes.

manual cash register had not changed.

It even had the same chandeliers but they had been converted from gas to electricity.

His wife June, over twenty years younger than he, felt that a change was needed. He was content on the resources it provided, but she wanted more. She encouraged him to blend in merchandise that local people could afford. For years he resisted.

Otto Dieter III lay in a pool of blood behind a display counter.

Dieter’s Fine Jewelry had been a fixture in the town for more than one hundred years. It was not your typical jewelry store. It catered to wealthy people desiring high end products. Their slogan had always been Fine Jewelry at Fair Prices.

His clients came in small numbers from many places. Almost no one local traded there, they could not afford to. The store had always done well however, as customers from New Orleans, Memphis, Atlanta, Dallas and Houston knew the reputation. Only a few transactions a month provided a reasonable living. His merchandise was very upscale.

Dieter was once quoted in a newspaper article celebrating the store’s 100th anniversary that, if

it was not worth $5,000, it was not worth the space on his shelf. He meant it too. It was a business that catered to the wealthy, catered to people who knew quality, and people who had the ability and desire to buy the best.

The philosophy of the business had not changed since his grandfather founded it on arriving from Germany. That was in 1885. Even the air in the building smelled antique. Since the day it opened, the display cases, the hardwood floors and the

Finally, Otto agreed. He respected her knowledge of the business and told her that she could pursue her idea, but not in the same location.

There was a vacancy across the street and she could locate her own business there. She could even use the famous name. She had left the day before to go to New Orleans to a gigantic jewelry show at the New Orleans Convention Center.

A long time veteran of the police force, Willard Davis had only been the police chief for six months. He had joined the force as one of three officers under Chief Brandon Smith. There were

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now fourteen officers and Chief Smith had retired at 78 years old.

Chief Davis knew the weaknesses of his force. He knew that the few homicides they had investigated had not been handled well.

There was just not enough training and not enough homicide to warrant the training. When Brandon Smith was chief, he refused to ask for outside help. Chief Davis would not be that way. After determining that Otto was dead, he cordoned off the premises and called the State Police. It would be two hours before they would arrive.

Going to the Chapel

In the meantime, Otto’s widow had been located by cell phone and she was en route back home from New Orleans.

At ten o’clock that same morning, the police received another phone call. It was from a panic stricken father, Orville Robertson, the pastor at the First Methodist Church. His daughter, Rebecca, had not returned home from a date with Eddie Strong the night before. Her curfew was midnight.

April 3 - 18

Under normal circumstances, a seventeen year old kid and his sixteen year old girlfriend who did not come home would not have caused immediate concern. In this case, Chief Davis knew Orville, and he knew Rebecca. She would not have done something like that. He also knew Eddie. Eddie could be cause for concern, as he was capable of more than just missing his girlfriend’s curfew.

The department was stressed with what looked like the murder of Otto, but he sent an officer to the Robertson house to at least console the parents.

April 24 thru May 9

Most of Rebecca’s friends were shocked that she was even interested in Eddie. She was your all American girl, and was a textbook preacher’s daughter.

Eddie, on the other hand, was different. He was not a delinquent, but at seventeen he drank more than the average high school junior. He had dropped out of sports where he had shown promise in football and he attended class only often enough to keep from being suspended. He had been ticketed five times in the last year for speeding and reckless driving and he tended to be developing a more violent demeanor. In the past week, he had been involved in two fights at the Dairy Queen, both of which he had started.

They were definitely at opposite ends of the spectrum, just like oil and water; but sometimes opposites attract. Maybe a young girl raised by a strict father, always expected to set the example, just gets the desire to rebel. They had been seeing each other for about three months.

Reverend Robertson knew about their relationship and discouraged it; but he had counseled enough parents and teenagers to know that you can no longer forbid a sixteen year old to do anything.

If you do, they will do that very thing. He hoped and felt sure that whatever attraction she held for Eddie would pass.

Just last weekend, Rebecca had not come home until 12:30am, thirty minutes past her curfew. She had an excuse, which her father doubted, but he did not press the issue. So far, there had been no real conflict between the two and he knew that his best means of influence was to avoid conflict. He had warned her to be more punctual and, if there was a legitimate reason to be late, to call him from her cell phone. She said she would.

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The two pushed the door open a few more inches and entered the store. No lights were on, but there was enough illumination from the blinking neon across the street to be able to move about and see to some degree.

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Next to that was a case that held bracelets. Several different racks where all of the bracelets were displayed with the same honor as the rings. Somehow the light from the neon shown brighter on this case than the others. Rebecca was fascinated. It occurred to her how strange it was that growing up in this small town, she had never been in this store.

On the opposite side of the room were two cases that held watches.

Otto prided himself, saying that a Rolex was the cheapest watch he sold. Just last week he had sold a Patek Philippe watch to a Houston Oil Man for $214,000. He had complained to June that he only made $21,000 on the sale, not the $40,000 he could have gotten a few years back. Maybe this had contributed to him consenting to her idea of a cheaper line of jewelry.

In the center was the cash register with four small cases, two on each side. In these cases he kept earrings (nice ones, of course), pendants, broaches, and one case contained antique estate jewelry.

Beside the cash register was a stack of velvet jewelry bags with a gold colored draw string.

Rebecca was glued to the bracelet display. Eddie pitched her one of the bags and told her to grab a bracelet. She would never do that, but it would fun to pretend. She touched the latch on the display door and it slid open. Not reaching for any one in particular, she reached in and picked one up. As she slid it on her arm, the price tag, which is usually hidden from the customer’s view, became visible. $35,000.

Rebecca put it in the bag. That was easy. She then placed another in the bag. Then she went to the ring display. She hastily raked three rings into the bag, as if she was a pro at heisting. Eddie also had a bag and had randomly chosen a couple of watches.

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On the right of the store was a display case that held the rings.

Not a large case, but each ring was displayed in the case with enough space to show that it was special. Otto would not crowd such fine jewelry in a case like the lower priced stores did.

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It was time to go. That is when he looked at the cash register.

Jokingly, he said, “Sorry there is no one here to pay, so we will just go.”

That is when they saw the dark liquid substance oozing from behind the cash register and under the display case. He walked to see what it was and looked over the cash register. There laid Otto.

Tough boy that he was, this is not what Eddie was expecting in his first burglary experience; and something that he did not want any part of. Rebecca then saw the body. She screamed and started for the door and he followed.

Before she reached the door, she pitched the bag of the articles she had stolen back behind the counter in the area where she had taken them. Eddie did the same.

Tough Eddie lost his cool. He started asking Rebecca what they should do. She was hoping to depend on him for an answer.

Suddenly, both realized they were involved in something far more sinister than either desired.

In a crisis, most sixteen or seventeen year olds are not too smart.

They were not: they ran. They left town. Eddie had $21 in his pocket and she had $5.

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Before the State Police allowed the body to be removed they knew the following: Otto had been shot in the right temple.

A pistol was found, some three feet away and under a display case.

There had been no forced entry.

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Two purple velvet bags containing jewelry had been found.

They could not be sure if there had been a burglary, but empty spaces in the display case pointed to that being a probability. They would not know until June arrived and conducted an inventory.

There appeared to be some type of footwear print in the blood and it had been tracked here and there around the store. Even behind the display cases.

Sally Thompson was nineteen years old. She was the opposite of Rebecca. Not really pretty, but sexy - cheap sexy. She was not educated. In fact, she was an eighth grade drop out. She was also known to the police: drugs, burglary, disturbing the peace. But she had not been seen in town lately and that was a relief to the police.

Her boyfriend, whom she had known only about six months, was 22 year old Daniel Weathersby. He had a significant record, spending six of his 22 years incarcerated. First, in juvenile, for setting fire to the high school, and then in the state penitentiary for home burglary. He had done more, but that was the official record.

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If Rebecca and Eddie were oil and water, then Sally and Daniel were gasoline and matches. They pushed each other; and the more they did, the more thrill there was. If she suggested it, he could not wait to carry it out, and the same with her.

Rebecca and Eddie were not the only ones to have noticed an open door on a jewelry store. Sally and Daniel just seemed to have an eye for opportunity. They too helped themselves to a few items from the display cases. The glitter and the gold meant nothing to them, except it could be turned into money. And they never had enough of that.

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Since Rebecca and Eddie did not have enough money for a motel, they slept in Eddie’s car in a Walmart parking lot in the next town. That is where the policeman found them, knocking on the window to wake them up. Rebecca panicked. To the officer’s surprise, she began to confess all without even being asked. She was briefly detained but not arrested. A call was made to her father and they would meet at the police station.

While this was taking place, Daniel went to the truck stop. He had fenced items there before. He approached a driver that he thought may be interested in jewelry. He was a young, clean cut guy that wore a wedding ring. He showed him the bracelet and in a few minutes a $10,000 bracelet was sold for $100.

Daniel made a mistake. This guy knew jewelry and realized the value. It was too good to be true. He noted Daniel’s license plate number and then called 911.

By noon, four potential suspects were in custody and it had all been done by the local police. The State Police were still processing the scene.

Possibly due to who she was, Rebecca was released. The police

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had not ruled her and Eddie out, but they knew she would not go anywhere. They took pictures of Eddie’s shoes, told him not to leave town and let him go.

When Daniel and Sally arrived, they were not given the same privileges; also probably due to who they were. Within a few minutes, the State Police would ask Daniel if they could examine his boots. Within the hour, both he and Sally were arrested.

Some evidence was circumstantial; but the facts that they had some of the stolen jewelry on them, they had sold some of the jewelry at the truck stop, and the fact that Daniel’s boot matched the prints found at the scene were convincing as to what had happened. Their defense was weak, as they had a public defender. His best argument was to put them on the stand and have them testify they had not even seen the body, let alone killed Otto. They were convicted, sentenced and confined for life.

Morris Peters could be best described as a nerd.

Brilliant, but a nerd. He bought his first computer in 1977 when he was 20 years old. It was a TSR80, manufactured and sold by Radio Shack. His first job was teaching classes on how to use and program one. Programs and data were stored on a cassette recorder.

Since then his interest in computers had not waned. Outside of that interest, he had been very successful. He just had not found a way to turn his computer knowledge into a reliable income.

Almost every day, he would search the city dump for discarded computers. Some he would rehabilitate and resell, but his primary interest was searching the data on the hard drive. He was an expert at reconstructing deleted files. He had a dozen or more computers in storage whose hard drives he planned to search when he had time.

One day, about three years after the Otto Dieter murder, Morris removed the hard drive from a junked computer. In about an hour, he learned that the computer belonged to June Dieter. There were a number of files in Microsoft Word that he reconstructed rather quickly. Some were interesting.

June kept her diary on her computer. I am sure she was secure in knowing that the content was safe, as her husband had no idea how to operate it. I am sure that she felt a deleted file was a file deleted forever. But, of course, it is not.

Morris learned that there was another man in June’s life for at least five years. This was the stuff Morris liked to find. Then he found a file named “D- Day”. Wondering what June’s interest in WWII was, he was intent to reconstruct the document as soon as possible. What he found would change a number of lives.

I am not happy. The devils inside me tell me that I will never be happy. I don’t love anyone and no one loves me. It is best that I leave this world at my own hands. I don’t want to wait for God’s.

Otto Morris knew the significance of this. He had known Otto Dieter all his life and knew that he would have been the last person to kill himself.

He would have been the last person to use a computer to write the suicide note also. Morris went to meet with Chief Davis.

Chief Davis listened to what Morris told him and he too knew that Otto would never have written such a letter, and certainly not on a computer. He told Morris not to mention what he had found to anyone and Morris agreed.

Chief Davis would not call the State Police with this information. They would have little interest in working on a case that was three years old and had been solved, with two people serving life sentences for the crime. After all, he had more experience now, and had done a lot of continuing education in his profession. He requested the case file from the records room.

Chief Davis created a timeline: The body was found at 7:30 in the morning.

Police did not arrive until 7:34am. It was at least 8am before the police went to Otto’s home to inform his wife. She was not there. A neighbor told them she was in New Orleans and gave them her cell phone number. By this time, it was at least 8:10. She arrived at the crime scene at 9:50am. Chief Davis wrote the timeline on a piece of paper. He realized it did not fit. It would be impossible to travel that far in that length of time, even if her car was packed and ready to go. He had to talk to June.

June was at the store when he arrived. She was in the original store but it hardly resembled the one her husband had operated. The floors had carpet, the display cases were modern and less expensive merchandise filled them. No longer were there any Patek Phillippe watches and only a few Rolex watches.

She was not surprised to see Chief Davis, as he would stop by from time to time like he did with all the store owners. She was surprised, however, when he told her he was reopening the case. He asked her to come to police headquarters at lunch.

She agreed without asking questions.

The fact that she did not ask why spoke volumes to Chief Davis. He did not think it would take long to break her down. It didn’t. All he had to do was to show her the suicide note and the timeline that he had written on paper.

She confessed to killing Otto and leaving town.

She did not go to New Orleans, but to a motel just a few miles away. She confessed she met someone there. The Chief knew who it was. That was also on her hard drive. He knew the man personally, and knew he was married. There was no reason to involve him as June convinced him that her lover had no idea what had happened, and the affair had ended shortly afterwards.

June had killed Otto in the store just after closing.

She left the door open, hoping someone would come in and be blamed for it, just like it happened.

If that plan failed, she was going to produce the suicide note. She wasn’t sure, but she thought there was more life insurance money if he had been murdered than if he had died by suicide.

Within a year, June was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years. Daniel and Sally were not released until after her conviction. Courts don’t like to admit their mistakes. A pretty white woman kills her husband and gets twenty-five years. A young delinquent couple kills a man and they get life. The public questioned that, but again the courts don’t like to be questioned.

 It has been eight years since the murder. Eddie and Rebecca are both married now, but not to each other. Rebecca has a baby daughter and lives in another state. Eddie never had another run in with the police. He still lives nearby.

Sally got her GED while in prison. She has never married and, from a drug standpoint, she is clean. She struggles to make a living but has no additional criminal record.

Daniel is back in prison.

Morris was put on retainer by the State Police to do forensic computer analysis. He also has contracts with 32 police departments to do forensic analysis in three states. They say he is one of the best.

Dieter’s is closed.

 John Case April 2015

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May 16, 2015 11am-9pm

L

NUA 2ND AN

Northshore Harbor Center

with 2015 Honorary Chairs Lt. General Russel L. Honoré, US Army (Ret), and Lt. Colonel Joe Way, US Army (Ret) Veterans $5General Admission $812 and under Free 

Veterans Tribute Ceremony 2:00-3:00 pm with Special Guest Speaker

Lt. General Russel L. Honoré STAND.DOWN Onsite Veterans ServicesCar & Truck Exhibition 9:00 am-5:00 pm Arts & CraftsFabulous CuisineChildren’s Activities East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity’s Inaugural Children’s Build

Live EntertainmentWitness 12:00-1:00 pmBag of Donuts 4:00-5:30 pm The TopCats 5:45-7:15 pmThe Molly Ringwalds 7:30-9:00 pmand many more surprises! 

Thanks to our 2015 Sponsors

Veterans Tent Sponsors

Medal of Honor Sponsors

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All proceeds benet the East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity Veterans Build program.

985.639.0656 www.LaVeteransFestival.com

LAVeteransFestival 17

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Slidell

Jazz and Blues Festival

Supporting Local Music Education

SATURDAY, MAY 23, 2015 12PM - 10PM In Louisiana, toe tapping and finger snapping are second nature to us. The music is within our souls and we can’t escape it. It’s this natural affinity for all things rhythms and blues that inspired Leadership Northshore’s Team Jazz & Blues to select a music festival for their team project. The aptly named Slidell Jazz & Blues Festival is a project that has been quickly embraced by the entire community.

The mission of the festival is to promote and support jazz and blues music in Southeastern Louisiana and the cultural, musical, and artistic enrichment of the Northshore community. The group hopes that the event will bring joy and fulfillment to the citizens of Slidell, the greater Northshore community and beyond. The festival will offer high schools students and local jazz and blues talents an opportunity to showcase their passion for the genre and their talents. The event will take place on Saturday, May 23 from noon - 10pm in Heritage Park. Admission is $10 for ages 13 and up, children 12 and under are free.

Team Jazz & Blues includes Robin Marquez, Project Coordinator, E.C.O. Builders, Inc.; Karen Carroll, Development Coordinator, STARC; Michael Tassin, Attorney and Manager, All American Title Agency; Brad Rummell, Senior Security Specialist, Fed Ex Security; Marie Dupre, Assistant to Deputy Chief of Administration, St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office and Don Thanars, a Personal Account Manager with State Farm by day and jazz musician by night. The idea for the festival was born out of Thanars’ passion for music, and he was delighted that the team embraced the festival idea so wholeheartedly.

As the mother of high school students, Marquez recommended that the festival serve as a fundraiser for school music programs, noting that many parents and students cannot afford the cost of new instruments or academic band camps. As such, the team created a new program, “Notes for Education Northshore,” to support local music education programs with possible music scholarships or grants for our youth.

HERITAGE PARK “Notes for Education Northshore” has already begun to bring the music back to the classrooms. In March, the group held an Instrument Drive, collecting used instruments from the public. After being refurbished, the instruments will support music education in areas of the city where few or no programs exist.

“One thing that we have learned over the last year is that school music programs do not have the funding they need to thrive,” says Marquez. “Despite the fact that numerous studies indicate that children who participate in music programs have improved academics, work better in teams, enhance their critical thinking skills and stay in school longer, funding for music programs is constantly in danger of being cut from shrinking school budgets. It is our hope that the monies raised by this festival will help ensure that the music lives on.”

In addition to sponsorship opportunities, the team has partnered with Creole Bagelry for a “Bluesberry” funding kickoff.

During the entire month of April, portions of

SPONSORED BY: Ron & Patricia Duhe 18 57th Edition.indd 18

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The City of Slidell and the Commission on the Arts presents the sales of the “Bluesberry” bagel will be donated to the mission of the Slidell Jazz & Blues Festival and support the program Notes for Education Northshore.

The Slidell Jazz & Blues Festival lineup will feature an eclectic array of local talented musicians, including several small jazz ensembles from Salmen and Slidell High Schools, plus internationally acclaimed pianist Ronnie Kole, Michael “Soulman” Baptiste, Third Coast, Ambiance, The Manzella Sound, Audio Beach, Swingaroux and One Love Brass Band.

with the

Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra

The team is excited to be working with Slidell’s very own Adam Sambola for the festival’s inaugural poster.

Sambola’s paintings are inspired by Jazz and blues as well as his background in religious paintings and his love for southern seafood. The artist’s work has quickly become a festival favorite all over Southern Louisiana.

This Leadership Northshore project is proudly offering a strong and meaningful partnership opportunity to be a part of this inaugural event for companies who want to fulfill their philanthropic goal to make our community a better place to live. As a festival sponsor your community involvement may include financial support and/or manpower. Sponsorships range from $100 to $2,500 and include an array of advertising opportunities.

Sunday, May 3, 2015 • Slidell’s Heritage Park

Concert begins: 6 PM • Art Walk: 4-6 PM Free Admission • (985) 646-4375 • www.myslidell.com In the event of rain, the concert will move to the Slidell Municipal Auditorium, located at 2056 Second Street in Olde Towne Slidell.

Applications for culinary vendors and community service organizations are available on a first come, first served basis. Only 7 culinary vendors and 10 service organization spots are available for a fee of $125 each.

For more information, including sponsorship and vendor opportunities:

(985) 710-3691 SidellJazzandBlues.com SlidellJazzandBlues slidelljazzfest

Thanks to the City of Slidell’s 2014-2015 Cultural Season Sponsors for making this event possible:

Renaissance $5,000:

Baroque $2,500: CLECO • NOLA.com|The Times-Picayune • Winn-Dixie Expressionist $1,500: Jazz on the Bayou Jonathan Johnson Agency, Blue Cross Blue Shield of LA Neoclassical $1,000: Lori Gomez Art Lowry-Dunham, Case & Vivien Insurance Agency Purple Armadillo...Again, LLC • The Slidell Independent Impressionism $500: Blue Bell Creameries • Councilman Bill & Laura Borchert CiCi’s Pizza • Dr. Nathan Brown, Northlake Oral & Facial Surgery Chateau Bleu • State Rep. Greg Cromer • In Memory of Wayne Dunne Honey Island BBQ and Catering • LA Public Service Commissioner Eric Skrmetta Northshore Harbor Center • Northshore Plus / Postal Plus Olde Towne Slidell Main Street • Pontchartrain Investment Management Roberta’s Cleaners • Silver Slipper Casino • Slidell Historical Antique Association Terry Lynn’s Café & Creative Catering • Vicky Magas Insurance Agency Supported by a grant from the Louisiana Division of the Arts as administered by the St. Tammany Commission on Cultural Affairs.

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3/25/2015 10:19:01 AM

TEMPTING THE

Palette Story and Art

by Lori Gomez

Sponsored by

Christopher’s

on Carey-Contemporary Creole Cuisine While we are just coming off of Easter, I thought this month I would focus my attention on Mother’s Day. For me, being a mom is the most important thing I will ever do. If asked what was my favorite Mother’s Day gift I have ever received, I would have to say it wouldn’t be a material item. I don’t think in terms of material things.

I would say time with my kids playing games or doing something as a family. I think most moms like the idea of a day to be celebrated, but the truth is Mother’s Day is every day.

From the moment you get pregnant until

forever. You never stop being a mom. No matter how big my kids get - even when they move out and start their own journey in life - they will remain the most important part of my life and will always be my babies.

There are so many experiences of motherhood.

The fact alone that these little human beings grew inside of me still seems unbelievable.

Mike and I were married for 5 years before we had our daughter, Kaitlin. Two years later we had Glynn. We couldn’t wait to have kids. Both of my children were born 2 weeks early and were both in ICU for about

a week before we could bring them home. It was a very scary time with each one. Even still, I remember the feeling when we were leaving the hospital with Kaitlin that I couldn’t believe they were letting us leave with her.

Then came the reality that she was now our fulltime responsibility. Every little noise she made throughout the night, I would check to see if she was alright. That is, until exhaustion set in! It’s hard to believe how we are able to function on so little sleep! And just when you think you will not survive, something new happens and they sleep through the

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night. What a glorious thing, parenthood.

The whole process is ever changing. Their needs are always different. How exciting when they can hold their bottle and suddenly that little extra time gives you a chance to get other things done. The excitement of every “first” - the first time they crawl or walk - their first birthday and Christmas - the first day of school. How hard it was for me to entrust strangers with the well being of this most precious gift! But, like every new experience, you accept each stage and move on to the next. It was when both Kaitlin and Glynn were in school fulltime that I found myself wondering what to do with myself all day.

Having two small children in the house is a nonstop job. It’s never been in my nature to sit still for very long. So that’s when I started my art business.

I remember in the beginning of the school years, saving every little thing they made.

Each so special, created by my precious babies. Until it all began to take over the house. That’s when the lessons of learning to let things go really began. It was a very long time before I ever let my kids spend the night at someone else’s house or go anywhere without me.

Then comes the time when they develop thier own opinions, the little stinkers. Kaitlin was, and still is, very opinionated. (Love you Kaitlin) One time when she was about 4 or 5, we were fussing about something when she told me she didn’t want to live at home anymore. She wanted to live with my neighbors across the street who had 2 little girls. So I decided to call her bluff. I called my neighbor and told her what was going on and she told me to bring her over.

“Are you sure you want to go?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she answered emphatically, looking up at me from the floor, where she stood dressed in only her t-shirt and undies.

“Let’s go,” I told her.

She jumped up and started to run to her room.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To get my clothes and toys,” she replied.

“Ohhh no...we need those for the new little girl that we’re going to get,” I told her.

“What little girl?”

“The one your dad is going to call and have delivered.”

Ok, I’ve told you before, I like messing with my kids. I was hoping this would change her mind, but it didn’t. She was ready to go.

We got to my neighbor’s house and Kaitlin went in the room with their kids. I visited with them for a bit, then told Kaitlin I was

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leaving, thinking that surely she would then change her mind.

But no. She called my bluff (a sure sign of things to come). Finally, I had to let my neighbors get back to their home life and make Kaitlin leave with me. Walking back across the street, I thought, this little stinker wasn’t fazed at all.

Then she asks, “Mom, do you think the new little girl is already there?” I had forgotten about that.

“Oh...umm, yeh...I don’t know. She might be.”

What a night that was.

Since I told you a Kaitlin story, I have to share a Glynn story. There are the “Terrible Twos”.

I never experienced those. With Glynn, I experienced the terrible 4’s. I’m not sure how we survived those. From the time he turned 4, for the entire year, he drove me CRAZY. He required 100% of my attention all the time. One day, when Kaitlin was at school, I made the mistake of thinking he had had a full morning and was tired; so I thought I could occupy him with a movie while I did some cleaning. He was out of my sight for 10 minutes. I learned that day that 10 minutes is an ETERNITY for a 4 year old boy.

I was putting something away when I noticed paint on the floor leading to the bathroom. Not a good sign. I found Glynn in the bathroom covered in paint. With him in hand, I followed the trail of paint into my garage where I had my studio. What I saw still makes me shake my head. In that ten minutes, he managed to open up about 20 or 30 bottles of paint and paint the inside of my garage refrigerator.

He also had opened several boxes of juice and added them to the mixture.

So, I fussed at him. It was time for me to pick Kaitlin up from school so I didn’t have time to clean it up right then. The fussing continued on the way to the school and on the way back home. I made him hold the door to the refrigerator while I cleaned the mess, still fussing at him. Then I sent him to his room. About 5 minutes later, Kaitlin comes to me.

I could go on and on telling stories about my experiences being a mom. Actually I’m sure I will continue to share them with you.

If you are looking for ways to celebrate your mom for Mother’s Day, I would suggest doing something from the heart. Think about all the things your mom has done for you through the years. Things she did from her heart - not out of obligation, but unconditional love. Give her your time. Maybe find a favorite picture of the two of you and frame it for her. Take a new picture with her. As our parents get older, these precious times together become fewer and fewer. Perhaps you can take time to ask her what was it like when she first became a mom? Cherish your mothers because they cherish you.

Crinkly Lemon Cookies 1 (super moist) lemon cake mix 2 eggs 1/3 cup vegetable oil 2 tbsp lemon zest 2 tbsp lemon juice 1 tsp lemon extract white sugar for coating confectioners’ sugar for coating 1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. 2. Pour cake mix into a large bowl. Stir in eggs, oil, and lemon extract until well blended. Drop scoops of dough into a bowl of regular white sugar (this will help the confectioners’ sugar stick). Toss the sugar over the ball of dough until coated. Move the ball into the bowl of confectioners’ sugar, toss around more.

Once sugared, put them on a non-stick (or lined with parchment) cookie sheet.

3. Bake for 6 - 9 minutes in the preheated oven or until the edges are lightly browned.

“He’s at it again,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I asked “He’s in your bedroom and opened all of your hand lotion and is mixing it into your carpet.”

I called Mike at work and suggested he get home or he would have only one child.

That year, Mike received several of these phone calls from me. One was when Glynn poured quick set into my washing machine.

Thank goodness that phase passed.

You can enjoy more of Lori’s art on facebook: www.facebook.com/LoriGomezArt or by visiting: www.LoriGomezArt.com

21

3/25/2015 10:19:03 AM

Of Your Money

By Mike Rich Pontchartrain Investment Management

Fighting financial mediocrity, Part 2 Three years ago in these Slidell Magazine pages, I wrote that a lot of people live by default, rather than by design, just letting circumstances dictate how things affect them. Whereas this “muddling through”, as I call it, can sometimes work for us, it rarely works well, especially when it comes to money. Muddling leads to mediocrity, and financial mediocrity leads to financial distress. It amazes me that people could know more about Justin Bieber’s arrest record than how their 401(k)s work, but that’s often the case. This is financial mediocrity at its worst, and I am as determined to fight it now as I was back in 2012. If you’d like to join the battle for yourself, here are some things you can do:

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1. get organized: If you are like a lot of people (including me), you already have a bunch of financial advisors. Don’t think so? Let’s count ‘em. If you have homeowner’s insurance, you have a financial advisor. If you have a checking account, you’ve got another advisor at your bank. Do you have a mortgage on your house? Well, the person who helped you get it is your advisor. Does a CPA do your taxes, or has an attorney written a will for you? Chalk up two more. In fact, most people have four or five financial advisors, and that doesn’t even count the person who might be helping with investments and retirement planning.

The problem is that your many advisors are not likely to know what the others are up to, so it’s rare that any coordination takes place. Ask yourself this question: “When was the last time my advisors got together in a room and helped me plan my year to make my family’s financial life as good as it can be?” If the answer is “Never,” it’s time to get organized, and I can help. My job is to help my clients sort through everything and coordinate with your other advisors to make sure the moving parts of your financial life are moving in the right direction.

2. Accept that the true cost of living is bigger than you think: Here’s something you probably know from experience: many of the things we buy today cost more than they did last year. Inflation is invisible and insidious. It’s the hidden tax we all pay, and it’s not likely to go away. It contributes to the cost of living.

So do taxes, and they’re certainly here to stay. But, we often forget about new technology and lifestyle upgrades that have become commonplace. They contribute to what I call the “true cost of living.” I remember when my wife and I purchased our first microwave oven. It cost about as much as our house note

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of e ’t e a g at n d o a t, al nt h g. s e n n: ot n e s d s e e e

s g e: st s n o g. e w at y of I It e

and took up half of our kitchen counter.

When I saw Mary boil a cup of water in it for tea, I wondered what I had been thinking when we bought that monster.

Well, I found out ten years later, when we were in a panic one Thanksgiving Day when our (now upgraded) microwave broke. Thanksgiving in an American kitchen without a microwave oven?

Unthinkable! What’s my point? That one-time luxury is now a necessity and it – along with all the other things we can’t seem to live without – has forever increased our cost of living. Think smart phones, high-speed Internet, and Netflix, to name a few. Does that sound like your house? It’s the true cost of living, folks, and it’s growing as new technology and “must haves” enter our lives.

3. let go of financial myths: There’s an entire laundry list of financial myths that people have been led to believe by the popular media, friends and family, next-door neighbors, and other so-called “experts.” I don’t have enough room to consider them all, so let’s look at a couple. A client recently lamented to me that “Almost all of my money is tied up in retirement accounts.” Unwittingly, he was Heritageone LOANS 1 1/29/15 describing ofSMag the 012915.pdf biggest financial

myths out there: “Deferring income taxes on my money is the only way to save for retirement.” Now, there is nothing wrong with tax deferral and, if you have a 401(k) with an employer match, by all means, I want you to get that match. But keep in mind that you will eventually have to pay income taxes on all of that deferred money and its earnings. If your tax rate in retirement is the same as or less than it is today, it’s less of a problem. But, what if it’s higher? What if it’s a lot higher? If so, it might make sense to pay your taxes sooner, rather than later. Which brings up another financial myth: “I’ll be in a lower tax bracket in retirement.” That one always makes me smile because it begs a couple of questions. Number one, “Why would you want to be?”

And, number two, “How do you know?”

Here’s a research project for you. Get on the Internet and type “income tax rate history” into your browser. Click on one of the links (the Tax Foundation is one), and then find the tax tables going back through history. You’ll find that there is a lot of precedent for higher income tax rates in our country. There is no guarantee that we’ll keep enjoying the low rates we have today. After all, who’s going to pay 4:24 PM

for Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, veteran’s benefits, health care, national defense, interstate highways, and all the other things we Americans have come to expect from our government?

Here is a sad fact. Fully 79% of workers who responded to the Employee Benefits Research Institute’s 2014 Retirement Confidence Survey reported that they have less than $100,000 in savings and investments for retirement, 60% had less than $25,000, and 36% had less than $1,000.1 The next EBRI survey is due out soon, and who knows what it might show. Can one year make that much of a difference?

It’s pretty clear that financial mediocrity is an epidemic in our country. However, it doesn’t have to affect you. Call me for a free, no-obligation meeting, and I’ll show you how to live your financial life by design, not by default.

Mike Rich

Pontchartrain Investment Management

(985) 605-5066 1

The 2014 Retirement Confidence Survey: Confidence Rebounds – For Those With Retirement Plans: Employee Benefit Research Institute, March, 2014.

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Heritage Bank of St. Tammany Roots as deep as your own.

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3/25/2015 10:19:05 AM

AUTISM AWARENESS

MONTH I was in Goodwill a few weeks ago, looking for a cheap sweater jacket. When I went to check out, there was a lady in line behind me with her grandson, no older than three. He was deeply engaged with a “Cars” toy that he had picked out as she strolled past the toy aisle. He held it tight as he studied every inch of it, not saying a word, not making a sound.

“He loves anything to do with the movie Cars,” she willingly told me. Continuing on with desperation in her eyes, she says, “He has never spoken a word. He just grunts and points.

He has Autism.”

My heart went out to her, I wanted to help her, and I knew I needed to.

Studies show that 1 out of 68 children are diagnosed with Autism.

I don’t know why. Nobody does. They all have theories, possible reasons why this happens, but who knows what to believe.

Here are some of the theories: Vaccinations A problem with gut bacteria Genetics Environmental factors Harmful substances ingested during pregnancy Older parents Lack of parenting skills

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Or simply just believing, it’s not real.

Well, I can tell you one thing I know, Autism IS real. It DOES exist. And families struggle everyday trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together… blaming themselves, investing time and money into therapies, behavioral interventions, medicines… the list goes on.

Parents and caregivers get dirty looks when a child with this confusing diagnosis acts out, making them want to hide out in their homes to avoid the feelings of guilt, thinking that they have done something wrong, and to avoid the hurt of judgmental people.

Have you ever had sensory overload? You stub your toe then curse at the object that “jumped” in your way? Or hear a loud noise and come out of your skin as your heart pounds?

Had too many people talking to you at once and just want to scream, “One at a time!!”? Had one of those days where it is one piece of bad new after the next so that you can’t emotionally take anymore and want to cra wl up in a ball in your closet and cry your eyes out? (or is that just me?)

It happens. We are human. We have senses, and they get overloaded. Well, I like to think kids with Autism are “overly human”, they feel things much deeper, smell things much stronger, see things not so much differently than us, but instead, with so much passion that they overly obsess with it.

They are like an exaggerated version of us. Because of this, they act out. It just becomes too much for them. It cripples them at times. We can understand that on a smaller scale.

There is a wide range of symptoms for a person with Autism.

It’s a broad spectrum; so what works for one, may not work for another. But here is a bit of advice on where to start, getting an Autistic child out of “defense mode,” taken from Aspergerexperts.com, two guys that have LIVED it: “I can only imagine how rough these terrif ying and often confusing public displays of sensory overstimulation must be for you, the parent. You must be frustrated, concerned, and exhausted, and that’s completely normal. I know my mother certainly was. No parent is born prepared for this type of thing, so don’t expect yourself to know exactly what to do at first. Trust in yourself and your ability to provide love, support, and care for your child. That brings me to the actual advice part of this piece. To help your child out of “Defense Mode,” you must create a loving, nurturing, safe environment for them so they can “unload” all the weight (constantly feeling threatened by sensory overstimulation) that is pressing down on them every waking second. I know you love your child. I really do. You wouldn’t be reading this if you didn’t. But if they aren’t receiving your love and realize how safe they are with you, they will stay neck deep in Defense Mode. You may be asking, “How do I go about doing this?” I’m going to recommend

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three simple yet extremely effective secrets to ensure that you foster a loving, safe, and empathetic environment for your child. They are as follows: 1. Allow Daily Decompression Time. This is absolutely essential. After a long, difficult day at school, many people with Autism are just done. They’ll climb into the car, eyes glazed and mouth slightly agape, and want nothing to do with anyone. Instead of bombarding them with a thousand, “How was your day?” questions, let them decompress, relax, and process all of the stimuli the y’ve taken in over the course of the day. When they get home, give them an hour to do the same thing. Just let them be (WITHOUT ANY ELECTRONICS), and you’ll be amazed at how quickly things will improve. 2. Establish Love and Trust in Your Relationship with Them. You love your child, but they may not be receiving that love. As a result, they feel unsafe, and Defense Mode continues to wreak havoc on their psyche.

One way you can remedy this is to question, analyze, and possibly adjust your motives when you are interacting with them daily. Instead of coming at them with ways they can do what you want them to do, come to them from a place of love and support and let them know with your words, tone, and body language that they are safe and cared for. All too often, we see parents, grandparents, or other caregivers trying to exercise control (mostly unconsciously) over their child/grandchild/etc., not knowing how damaging it is. Also, don’t try to “get” your child to do anything. I know that there are numerous things that do need to get done, and I’m not suggesting you abandon your priorities. I’m merely proposing that you change your approach from one rooted in control to one rooted in love and support. You may think it’s what’s best for them, but all it does is put them under the impression that you want to control them. So, let go of your need to control them, show them how much you love them, engage with them, and watch as the y soar. 3. Give Them Control in Inconsequential Areas. This is big. REALLY big. Trying to assert control is one of the biggest trust killers, especially when both parent and child want control in the same areas.

The main step you want to take here involves handing over control to your child in inconsequential areas. For example, say you are planning dinner for the week. Example: Let them choose what the family is eating for dinner one day a week, and be sure to let them pick from two or three choices to avoid further overwhelm. Another example would be letting them choose whether they want to do homework before or after dinner. These may seem insignificant in your world, but they are HUGE in the eyes of your child. Not only does it let them exercise some control over their lives (in a reasonable, harmless way), it allows them to feel valued and special in ways they didn’t think they could be. This is so, SO vital, and I’m confident it will have an incredibly positive effect on your home life.”

Also I highly suggest you carve out a few minutes of your time to google and watch the video “Autistic girl learns to communicate using computers”, especially for those dealing with non-verbal children. There is so much going on in their minds that we don’t realize.

To the grandma at Goodwill and to everyone else out there struggling to put the puzzle pieces of Autism together, I want you to know that it will be ok. I want you to know that you can do this. And I want you to know that I understand. My son was diagnosed on the spectrum at 6 years old. He is now 12.

When he was first diagnosed, I questioned EVERYTHING. Did I do something wrong when I was pregnant? What about immunizations? It has to be the immunizations! Wait. My other two children got the same ones. BUT, he WAS in Hawaii... And Hawaii is like a whole other country! It has to have something to do with Hawaii! Oh, and the water in Hawaii... there was no fluoride in the water! But what does fluoride have to do with anything, besides teeth? He has great teeth! Maybe it has something to do with being in the military? Wild sex while pregnant? Too many home makeover shows? Brian, does anyone in your family have Autism? WAIT. Do I have Autism?! They say it’s hereditary... So someone in our family HAS to have it. Or HAD it. What if it was my Great Great Great Great Grandfather? OH lovely! If that’s the case, then we will NEVER know!

I was scared. I was looking for answers, searching for a cure.

Over the years I have read many books and articles on the subject, changed his diet, and tried disciplining him differently.

I’ve gone from one doctor to the next, for a second, third, even FOURTH opinion. I’ve put him in therapies. Put MYSELF in therapy. I’ve prayed. I’ve cried. I’ve gotten mad at God. I’ve CONSUMED MYSELF WITH IT. And the reality was, I had two other children to care for too. Struggling to try and give them equal attention while attempting to “fix” my oldest.

I know they have suffered because of it. So from that, I’ve spent a lot of my energy trying to make it up to them, trying to explain it to them, trying to love them even harder, even though I know I never loved them any less. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t have any more love to give to anyone, and just wanted to feel numb.

It wasn’t the fact that my son was different that I did all of these things. It was because I saw him struggling, crying out to me on how to control his overwhelming emotions and his extreme impulses. Spending hours at a time trying to help him with homework that should only have taken 20 minutes.

Helping him work through the outbursts at home. Dreading the sound of the phone , knowing it was school telling me that they don’t know what to do, as I hear his cries in the background. Being kicked out of summer camps because no one had the skills to deal with him. He has lived this. He has felt every bit of it, times a thousand. Autistic children are very deep. And, as a parent, you can’t help but to let it pull you down at times too. That’s what happens when you love someone so much. I do it with all of my children.

He has had wonderful teachers and mentors over the years that I feel I owe my LIFE to. With their dedication to him and the interventions my husband and I have put into place, I know that it has all helped him. I didn’t know where to start when this all began, nor do I know what’s in store for the future.

So instead of looking back, or worrying about what’s ahead, I choose to live in the present. Day by day.

I also asked him if there was any advice he could give, and these are the things he told me: “Parents and teachers should be calm so that we can be calm.”

“Be patient with us because we have a hard time focusing.”

“We need time to be alone.”

“It will help to have a pet y ou can talk to w hen you have a bad day.”

“When people say you’re not smart, they are wrong. I am very smart.”

“I am a nic e person. I woul d like to be an engineer and a person who rescues animals. Math is my favorite subject.

I want to build a robot one day to help kids with Autism and to help my Mom clean the house.”

He’s a wonderful child and has been through WA Y more than any twelve year old should; but who am I to question why? And although at times they still struggle, his brother and sister AMAZE me with their understanding and lo ve for others. Everyone in my family has been taught some life-changing lesson from this. And from it, we can educate others and have more empathy for those dealing with any type of special needs.

I’ve felt from day one that if I just BELIEVE in him and give him time, he WILL succeed. And no one has been able to tell me different. And no one ever will. PATIENCE. One little word with so much behind it... heartache, anger, tears, LOVE. Even if your child isn’t on the spectrum, patience does run out at times. You have to learn to ask for help. Something I wasn’t very good at doing.

Nothing could have never prepared me for this. But now, I can prepare others, in my own way. I have been given that opportunity. I am a better person because of it. And I can only hope, deep in my heart, because of our love, and the love of others, that he is too.

I also want to acknowledge that as hard as my husband and I have had it, there are those with children more severely Autistic than our son, whose struggles are even more difficult, and whose experiences are far more trying. To them, you have our greatest respect for your patience and resilience.

My advice to everyone out there, is this: Instead of searching on how to “cure them” or “fix them”, search on how to HELP them be the best that they can be. People with Autism are AMAZING, they have so much to offer.

If we just LOVE them with the same unconditional love they give us, ACCEPT them for who God made them to be, have PATIENCE, and help them to grow in their strong areas…

I deeply believe that they will change the world.

But I will give hope in this… he has come a LONG way and is starting to carve his own path. He KNOWS what he likes, and will tell you everything about it, then some. You didn’t know about Great White Sharks? Well you will now! You didn’t know about Bearded Dragons? I promise he will let you know! You want advice on how your pet is feeling? He feels it!

When I asked my son if it was ok for me to write about this, he said, “Yes. Sure. It will help other people.”

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3/25/2015 10:19:07 AM

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57th Edition.indd 26

3/25/2015 10:19:09 AM

March Brain Injury Ad 8.5x11 031615 Slidell Guide.pdf

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3/25/2015 10:19:11 AM

New Orleans Streetcars

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Rambling along St. Charles Avenue beneath a canopy of century-old live oak trees is one of the most spectacular ways to see the views of New Orleans. And the most inexpensive way is to let RTA do the driving while you sit back and enjoy the scenery. This isn’t a bus ride, a cab ride or even a carriage ride. This is a ride on a piece of history. Hop aboard the New Orleans streetcar for the most unique ride in the city.

On September 30, 2014, the St. Charles Avenue streetcar line gained designation as a National Historic Landmark. Such a designation is given to “historic places that possess exceptional value in commemorating or illustrating the history of the United States.”

Originating operation in 1835, this is the oldest operating streetcar system in the world. Due to this status, the “Perley Thomas” streetcars must be forever preserved in time as they were in 1923. Therefore, a ride on the St. Charles line is like a ride through history.

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The cars in operation today are from the 900 series but they dated back as far as 1915 with the 400 series, all designed by Mr. Perley A. Thomas, chief engineer of the Southern Car Company in High Point, NC. These “semi-convertible” streetcars with their arched-roof and green steel bodies were a huge hit in New Orleans. They were comfortable, with mahogany seats, and well-ventilated, with high opening windows providing much desired airflow. Today the “Perley Thomas” cars look like they just rolled off the showroom floor thanks to the skilled RTA (Regional Transit Authority) craftsmen that maintain and refurbish the cars.

driver. By 1948, only the Canal Street and the St. Charles Avenue lines remained. All of the 800 series cars and most of the 900 series were sold to museums, out-of-state businesses, or destroyed. Just 35 of the 900 series cars remained running and only on the St. Charles Avenue line. Local preservation groups were able to obtain protected status for the remaining 900 series cars in 1971 when the St. Charles line was listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Following extensive work by the St. Charles Avenue Association, it gained its spot as a National Historic Landmark. This famous New Orleans landmark joins the San Francisco Cable cars as one of the only two moving National Historic Landmarks.

The 400 series cars were retired in the mid 1930’s, while the 800 and 900 series were in use until post-WWII. NOPSI began to phase out the streetcars after WWII because they required a motorman and conductor to operate. They moved instead to buses, which could be operated by just a

There are currently four streetcar lines serving the New Orleans area. As I mentioned, the St. Charles Avenue line is the oldest. In the early 1800s, the Uptown community of Carrollton was not a part of New Orleans.

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It s in w th to fi M o tr to s o th u li re

T h th S C C c b G Z n a S a tw b e

I D C D E h b

s

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d ll 0 e 0 e n s 1 n s. s a w o g

g e n of s.

It was an area of plantations and farmland separated from New Orleans proper, which included the French Quarter, the Treme, what’s currently known as the CBD, and the Warehouse District. In 1835, in order to connect these two populated areas, the first tracks were run along the bend of the Mississippi River. Today, these tracks are part of the St. Charles line. The first streetcars transported people, freight, firemen headed to fight fires, bands headed to entertainment spots, ill in need of treatment, etc. In 1891, overhead electrical lines were approved and the Carrollton streetcar barn that’s still in use today was constructed. The Carrollton line was extended to Jeanette Street and renamed the St. Charles Avenue line.

Today, the St. Charles line showcases highlights of the city as it meanders from the edge of the French Quarter at Canal Street down beautiful St. Charles to South Carrollton Avenue, until it’s termination at Carrollton and South Claiborne. Riders can enjoy the historic architecture framed by magnificent ancient live oaks, the Garden District, Audubon Park, Audubon Zoo, Tulane and Loyola Universities, plus numerous delectable restaurants, shops and hotels. A one-way ride on the famous St. Charles line from beginning to end takes approximately 40 minutes with stops every two blocks. The streetcars run continuously, but less frequently during late evening and early morning.

I had the sheer delight of interviewing Ms. Deborah Warren who drove one of the St. Charles streetcars for 34 years. Although Deborah grew up in the city between Esplanade and Elysian Fields, she never had a reason to ride the streetcar until she became a driver.

© Donna Bush

© Donna Bush

© Donna Bush

When Deborah first applied with RTA, she wanted to be a bus driver, but no positions were available. She went through the streetcar driver-training program and was hooked. She had built relationships with her passengers and co-workers. They were too much like family to leave.

of cross traffic, traffic lights, pedestrians that prefer to jog or walk in the neutral ground, and riders rushing to make the streetcar.

Don’t forget to throw in some unique weather conditions like rain or fog and fogged up windows. Driving a streetcar is a tedious but serious job.

Her route carried lots of locals but also numerous tourists, especially during special events like Mardi Gras, French Quarter Festival and ball games. Deborah’s even had celebrities ride her streetcar.

Another fixture on the St. Charles Avenue line is Michael Brown, entrepreneur. For 13 years, each and every day, Michael is at the Carrollton end of the line selling his homemade pralines, candy and bottled water.

Fourteen years ago, he used his Grandpa’s recipe and started cooking pralines, praline candies and writing his 3D cartoon strip, “The Funchies.” At the time, he worked as a counselor at River Oaks Hospital. He would bring in jars of his candy and place them in each unit. At the end of his shift, the jars would all be empty. People suggested he sell them. Michael contacted Elmer’s Chocolates and began buying pecans and bags from them and selling his candy.

I asked Deborah to share one of her most memorable experiences. “I remember one day when this young lady with her small children got on the streetcar. She asked if I remembered her. I didn’t. She then told me that I used to drive her to school, and now I’m driving her kids to school! Oh my!”

“Another time I was just having a bad day.

I didn’t really want to talk and carry on a conversation with anyone. I just wanted to get to the end of the line and get off for the day. This gentleman, not a local, got on board and stood in the area where a rider can stand and talk to the driver. He wanted to carry on a conversation and he was insistent. So we talked and at the end of the line, he handed me a $50 tip, a big smile and a ‘Thank You.’ He was like an angel sent to brighten my day. You never know who’s watching, who’s riding. It’s always easier to smile than to frown.”

Driving a streetcar is not a cookie-cutter job, especially on a busy street such as St. Charles in a tourist city like New Orleans.

Deborah told me each day she drove, she remembered the words of her platform instructor, “Get the big picture!” In other words, take in everything you see and look for the things you don’t see. Driving down St. Charles, you have lots

“The Funchies” is based on an AfricanAmerican family living in the 9th Ward. The matriarch of the cartoon, Grandma Flo, is based on Michaels’ grandmother and mother.

“Mama was a devout Catholic that turned into a demon at the drop of a hat! My grandmother would talk about how wonderful you are to your face and how lousy you were behind your back!” In one of the cartoon strips, Ferguson, who in Grandma Flo’s opinion is her no good son-in-law, wins the lottery and moves his family from the lower 9th Ward to a mansion on St. Charles.

The remaining streetcar lines use newer streetcars modeled after the historic St. Charles cars but adding modern amenities such as air conditioning and wheel-chair access. They are painted a bright red with yellow trim around the windows and doors.

The Canal Street streetcar line is almost as old as the St. Charles but it was shut down for a period of time. Originally, it operated from 1861 to 1964 and ran towards Lake Pontchartrain where numerous resorts and recreational areas existed. Rebuilt and reopened in 2004, this line runs the entire length of Canal from near the Mississippi 29

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River, through the CBD, to the historic cemeteries filled with rows of granite tombs and magnificent statues at City Park Avenue. A branch line splits onto North Carrollton Avenue to the beautiful 1500 acre City Park at Esplanade and the New Orleans Museum of Art (NOMA).

City Park is full of attractive gardens, biking and walking paths throughout century-old sprawling oak trees. Numerous © Donna Bush activities exist for kids and adults, complete with bike and boat rentals available.

NOMA opened in 1911 with only nine works of art and today houses an impressive permanent collection of over 40,000 pieces.

Traveling collections visit NOMA as well.

NOMA also houses the five-acre “Sydney and Walda Besthoff Sculptire Garden” with over 60 sculptures on a beautifully manicured site with meandering footpaths, reflection ponds, 200-year-old live oaks, magnolias, and camellias. A one-way ride down either Canal Street branch takes about a half hour.

The Riverfront line opened in 1988 becoming the first new line added since 1926. It runs from the French Market, the country’s oldest public market, along Woldenberg Park, the Aquarium of the Americas, various shopping venues and ends at the Ernest Morial Convention Center. It is the perfect venue for locals and tourists desiring to visit the French Quarter, French Market, or attend an event at the Convention Center. A one-way ride end to end takes less than 15 minutes.

The newest addition to the streetcar line is the Loyola/UPT line, a 1.6-mile line running from the Loyola Avenue/Union Passenger Terminal to Canal Street and the French

“newspaper article written that said the Martin Brothers were making sandwiches for the ‘poor boys on strike,’ and when the transit workers would go to get a sandwich, they’d say, ‘Give me a poor boy; I’m on strike.’” Apparently, the name stuck and that’s where we got our ‘poor boys’.

Quarter. This line provides transportation for those arriving in the city via bus or Amtrak to get to major hotels. It passes along the Warehouse Arts District, City Hall, the city’s Financial and Medical Districts, and the New Orleans Public Library.

Construction of a new streetcar line running down North Rampart Street and St. Claude Avenue from Canal to Elysian Fields broke ground in January 2015 with completion targeted for third quarter 2016. Plans include a dedicated bike path and six sheltered streetcar stops. The same cars that roll on the Canal Street and Loyola line will be used on this new line.

Did you know that the “poor boy” sandwich is a result of the New Orleans streetcars?

It is! Clovis and Bennie Martin, two former streetcar conductors, operated a restaurant and coffee stand in the French Market in the 20’s. During the 1929 streetcar strike, they gave free sandwiches to their union brothers.

Around the same time, they were working with baker, John Gendusa, to create a longer, narrower loaf of French bread specifically for sandwiches. John Gendusa tells of a

1

Just a little more trivia for you.

Do you remember Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire? Per Professor Kenneth Holditch of the University of New Orleans, “While Williams was writing the play, he said that from his St. Peter Street balcony apartment in the French Quarter, he could hear that ‘rattletrap streetcar named Desire running along Royal Street and the one named Cemeteries running in another direction, and it seemed to be the ideal metaphor for the human condition.’”

Standard fare for a one-way trip on a streetcar is $1.25, with transfers costing 25¢. Senior citizen fares are 40¢ with free transfers and children under 2 ride free. A “Jazzy Pass” allows the passenger to ride as often as they would like for the duration of the pass. They may be purchased in 1-day, 3-day, 5-day and 31-day increments for $3 - $55 online or various vendor locations.

If you’ve never ridden the New Orleans streetcar, I encourage you to do so. It is an inexpensive, enjoyable way to see the city and get to know what is less than 30 miles from our doorstep. If you have ridden the streetcar, I hope this article has inspired you to look at it in a different light or to try a different line.

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Thank goodness, Spring is finally here!

Let’s burn our overcoats! Bask in the skies so sunny they make us question if they’ve ever been that bright before! See the flowers stretching and unfolding! And, of course, relish and partake in all that spicy, red, beautiful, beautiful crawfish! These are all wonderful things to enjoy outside each Louisiana spring but, besides eating and enjoying the beautiful weather, there are some great backyard sports we can enjoy with families and friends. Not a bad way to burn off all the crawfish you just ate, and maybe earn some family bragging rights for a week or two as the newest “badminton champ.” I don’t get to brag about that one very often...but at least I have frisbee in my back pocket...

There are always those all-time favorites: football, frisbee, baseball, and some form of volleyball or tennis to play around the yard; but then there are more classic and less acknowledged lawn games: cornhole, horseshoes, beer(or not beer) pong, ladder golf, and bocce. The best part is, there can be as many or as little rules as you want to have in these games! It’s good old quality time that you can’t put a price on and that you can’t miss taking part in.

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Frisbee is a great outdoor game to play with friends and family. You might even have a few strangers join in if you have a game in the right area. And regular frisbee is a fun, relaxing sport to play. But if you want to take it up a notch, ultimate frisbee is always a fun, competitive team sport. Similar to football, there are two endzones and boundaries. The object is to get the frisbee into the opponent’s endzone. The catch is - once you hold the frisbee, you can pivot, but you can’t move both feet. You can intercept the frisbee and if someone has an “incompletion” or catches the frisbee out of bounds, the frisbee goes to the other team. You can add rules, like you can only hold the frisbee for 10 seconds, or you can’t pass backwards, to spice things up a bit. The possibilities are endless and it’s sure to make fast friends - or enemies!

Football is another sport that is fun to add rules to. If you want to get away from the rougher tackling aspect, flag football is probably one of the safer versions, and is especially great for kids.

And you can add wrinkles to it, like having one person be the quarterback for both teams if

you don’t have an even amount of people, rush the quarterback after 10 Mississippis, or only using 3 completions for a first down.

Other sports, though, are fine just as they are, like soccer and baseball. And volleyball is right there in between. With each of these, there are only a few rules you can really play with, but they are universal enough that they work just as well no matter how you play them.

Classic spring lawn games are fun, but can also be a little strange. Mostly because they aren’t as mainstream as most team sports.

For instance, cornhole. Really, who came up with that name? It’s like they wanted to pick a name obscure enough that people would play it just to know what a cornhole is. Needless to say, there was a learning curve for me. It is a game played with bean bags and a rectangular box, tilted upwards, with a hole cut in it. The object is to have a

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higher score than the other team. Simple enough. At least after you figure out no corn is involved.

Horseshoes, I’m gonna be honest, always felt like a sport that the grownups got to play while the kids had to go find something better to do. Similar to curling, the thrower tries to throw a horseshoe as close to a stake as possible and tries to get a “ringer” by getting the horseshoe to encircle the stake. Typically, getting within 6 inches is 1 point and a ringer is 3. Then it can get interesting. If both players throw a ringer, they cancel out. If both of one player’s horseshoes are closer than the opponent’s, two points are scored. In the case of one ringer and a closer horseshoe, both horseshoes are scored for a total of four points. No wonder it is a grownups’ game, I would have been TOTALLY confused as a child. Scratch that, I’m still confused...

Speaking of adult games, beer pong is a game developed by adults, for adults. That doesn’t mean adults are the ONLY ones who can play it, but you might want to switch to something like Coke or ginger ale to include a younger crowd. You set up a triangle of 10 cups on each side of a rectangular table. An additional “cleaner” cup of water is a good idea for those of us who will actually drink the liquid in the other cups. The object is to throw ping pong balls into the opponent’s cups. Those players then take those cups, drink the liquid, and remove the cup from the game.

After getting to 6, 4, 3, and 2 cups you can restack them to more geometric shapes. The last one with cups remaining wins. There are so many variations of this game that it can be more fun just to look up all the rules you can add. And if you bounce the ball and make it in, you get to remove two cups. Sure it was a favorite amongst college kids first, but it’s even more entertaining with more experience and in your own backyard.

Getting back to less-adult games, ladder golf is an interesting lawn sport. It is played with a “ladder”, a stand that has three separate ropes at a regular interval up the ladder.

The thrower throws two balls connected by a string at the ladder. The top rung is 3 points, the middle is 2, and the bottom is one. The point is to make exactly 21 points. The first to 21 without going over wins. I am NEVER good at this.

I usually either miss it entirely, or knock it over. And I don’t even throw it hard! At least that’s how I justify it to myself.

Finally, there is Bocce, the one lawn game most foreign to me, but is a lot of fun. Again, similar to horseshoes and curling, the throwers are trying to bowl their balls closest to the “jack”, a smaller ball thrown by a player at the beginning of the game. The player who has the most balls closer to the jack gets a point for each ball. The first with the most points, usually anywhere from 7 to 13, wins the game. The catch is that after each player throws their four balls and the score is tallied, the jack is thrown again. This keeps the game interesting. I know I will be trying it soon. Plus, it’s fun to say. Bocce. Bocce…

Lawn sports are so much fun to play at a gathering like a barbecue or a crawfish boil. And seeing that Spring is now here, I am sure we will have a lot more chances at playing some of these great sports. Make sure you try out one or two of these at your next cookout or boil.

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3/25/2015 10:19:29 AM

By John N. Felsher

From Slidell to the Great Lake by boat For eons, waterways created highways of transportation, recreation, communication and commerce. When European settlers came to eastern North America from across the sea, they found a multitude of rivers and lakes that formed a navigation network.

However, some waters didn’t quite touch.

During the past two centuries, people dug canals to connect major waters, such as the Great Lakes to the Mississippi River.

Technically, these canals turned eastern North America into a giant island. Traveling across gulfs, oceans, rivers, lakes and canals, Bill and Laura Borchert determined to circumnavigate that huge island.

“I’ve been around boats all my life,” advised Bill, a Slidell city councilman. “My dad had several boats when I was growing up.

He had a 14-foot tri-hull that we used to fish all around Lake Pontchartrain. When the weather was nice, we’d take it to the Chandeleur Islands. Later, he bought a 32-foot houseboat. We’ve had a dozen or so other boats over the years. A couple years ago,

I finally convinced my wife that we needed to buy a boat and cruise The Great Loop.”

“I grew up terrified of the water, hated swimming and was scared to death of boats,” laughed Laura, a Slidell attorney. “For our honeymoon, we went on a boat trip to the Galapagos Islands in the Pacific Ocean.

How could I pass up on that trip? It was a lot of fun, just an incredible time. Years later, we chartered a sailboat and took our girls, Kristen, Sophie and Katie, on a trip around the Greek Islands. After some cool trips like this, I eventually got over my fear of boats and just love to be on the boat now -- especially when it’s tied up to the dock!”

The Great Loop, also called the Great Circle Route, circumnavigates eastern North America entirely by water. Depending upon the route, the voyage could take from 5,000 to 7,500 miles. “Loopers” could take more than a year to do it all at once. Because of work or other schedules, though, some people take years to complete the trip, a little at a time.

The Borcherts bought a 52-foot long 1985 Kha Shing Vista Taiwanese-built trawler with three staterooms and a large covered rear deck to keep them dry in the rain and cool under the scorching sun. In the fall of 2010, they cast off, but only made it as far as Port St. Joe near Panama City, Fla. They had to bring the boat back for repairs and maintenance.

In March 2012, the Borcherts again cast off from their home on Bayou Bonfouca and ventured down to Lake Pontchartrain. From there, they navigated through the Rigolets to Lake Borgne and turned east across Mississippi Sound.

“After we left Slidell, one of our brand new belts broke, so we had to pull into Biloxi, Miss., on one engine to get a new one,” Bill recalled. “On the first night, we anchored at Dauphin Island, Ala. From there, we went to Panama City and spent a couple nights there. Then we crossed the Gulf of Mexico to Clearwater, Fla. That was the longest stretch of water without seeing land on our trip. It took 22 hours.”

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The Borcherts continued down the Florida Gulf Coast to St. Petersburg. The boat stayed there for about nine months.

“We fell in love with St. Petersburg,” Laura said. “When we pulled up, they asked how long we would stay. I said, ‘A day, a week, I don’t know.’ When we pulled into St. Petersburg, the people down there were having a dock party. We didn’t want to leave!”

Because they both work, the Borcherts need to return to Slidell periodically. They finish part of the loop and fly home, leaving their boat in port until they can return to resume their voyage.

“We usually spend about one week on the boat,” Laura revealed. “I try to schedule my court hearings around Bill’s city council meetings, so we have big gaps of time together between those times that we can spend on the boat.”

After finally leaving St. Petersburg, the Borcherts next headed to Key West, Fla., landing on their anniversary. From Key West, they rounded the tip of Florida and headed into the Atlantic, crossing part of the notorious Bermuda Triangle en route to the Bahamas. They arrived in the Bahamas just after Hurricane Chantal hit the islands.

“Going through the Bermuda Triangle was the scariest part for me,” Laura admitted.

“We had 6-foot waves and the furniture on the boat was moving around. The china crashed in the cabinet. When the hurricane approached the Bahamas, everyone got in their boats and headed back to the United States. When we pulled into Bimini, we were the first boat there and the only boat in the marina that evening.”

The hurricane silted in one of the channels.

The boat hit a sandbar and damaged the propeller. Bill had to get into the water to

attach a new propeller. After three weeks in the Bahamas, the couple motored to Wilmington, N.C. and left the boat there for the winter.

“In April 2014, we picked the boat up in Wilmington and headed to Norfolk, Va. for the America’s Great Loop Cruisers’ Association rendezvous,” Bill explained. “We’re life members of the Association. We met up with about a hundred other Great Loopers in Virginia. On our travels, we’ve met many good people. We’ve stayed friends with some of the people we’ve met along the way. Some visited us here in Slidell, including some people from Australia.”

From Virginia, the Borcherts continued north to New York City. While in New York, they took several side trips to Connecticut, Montauk and other places. When not cruising to a new destination, they enjoyed life in the Big Apple.

“Living on the boat was like having a waterfront condo,” Laura recalled. “In Manhattan, we got to see a lot of the shows and had a blast.”

Upon departing New York City, the Borcherts left salt water and turned inland. They cruised up the Hudson River to Albany and then headed west on the Erie Canal, the oldest manmade waterway in North America. They took the canal to Brewerton, N.Y. on Lake Oneida and left the boat in storage there for the winter and to perform some maintenance.

The boat remains there, waiting to begin their next leg on their nautical adventure.

“Because of the cold winter last year, the Great Lakes didn’t thaw until mid-June,” Bill advised. “We’re going to have to wait for the lakes to thaw to resume our voyage up the Oswego Canal and into Lake Ontario. Once we get there, we’ll cross the Great Lakes, go through the Straits of Mackinaw and pull the

boat out for the winter. The following spring, we’ll go down the west coast of Michigan to Chicago and visit Laura’s sister, Michelle.

From Chicago, we’ll take the Illinois River to the Mississippi and back to New Orleans.

The biggest issue for people making a trip like this is just untie the dock lines and go.”

Readers can keep track of Bill and Laura’s adventures by following them on Facebook.

Planning a “Loop-y” adventure Although individuals may take different routes to complete the Great Loop, most usually start in the Gulf Coast during the spring and follow the coastline to New York. From New York City, cruisers may head across the state on the Erie Canal or venture up the Hudson River to enter Canada through canals connecting to the St. Lawrence Seaway and then on to the Great Lakes.

When taking the Great Loop, most boaters travel counterclockwise to take advantage of downstream currents in the Illinois and Mississippi rivers. Lake Michigan connects to the Illinois River through canals. The Illinois River flows into the Mississippi.

Some adventurers travel up the Ohio to the Tennessee River and voyage down the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway to the Mobile River and out Mobile Bay in southern Alabama.

Like Bill and Laura Borchert, many “Loopers” belong to the America’s Great Loop Cruisers’ Association. The AGLCA exists primarily to share information and enhance the experience of members making the voyage.

Periodically, Loopers rendezvous at different points along the route to enjoy the company of likeminded cruisers.

For more information about AGLCA, see www.greatloop.org or call 1-877-GR8-LOOP.

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3/25/2015 10:19:30 AM

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It’s a blessing, in that the variety keeps things fresh. I’ve practiced small animal (that’s dogs and cats, in my case) medicine and surgery for nearly 25 years, and I won’t be surprised if, tomorrow, I see something new that I’ve never seen before. It can also be a curse; it’s just not possible to keep up with every new development, medication, surgical technique or discovery coming from the latest veterinary research in all the different fields of practice. As a result, my “Jack-of-all-trades” label sometimes ends with “master of none.”

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three- or four-year residency in a particular specialty. After completion of the residency, which typically includes some research and scholarly publication, they are eligible to take a rigorous board exam, passage of which allows them to call us the term “specialist.”

A referral to one of these specialists is typically initiated by a pet’s primary doctor. It could be for an advanced diagnostic procedure that the primary veterinarian can’t provide, like ultrasound, endoscopy, arthroscopy, or even a CAT SCAN or MRI. It could be for a high-end surgical procedure, radiation/chemotherapy for cancer, or just a second opinion on a complicated case.

Decades ago, most specialists were found on the teaching faculties at veterinary schools. With only 28 veterinary schools in the country, some pet owners wishing to take advantage of such a service might have found themselves several hours, or even a few states, away from the nearest specialist. Today, though, most cities of even moderate size have specialists within a reasonable distance. In St. Tammany alone, we have board-certified veterinary specialists practicing surgery, internal medicine, ophthalmology, dermatology, neurology, oncology and emergency medicine.

Expanding outward to New Orleans, Metairie and Baton Rouge, including the LSU School of Veterinary Medicine (my alma mater), you can find specialists in fields such as anesthesiology, cardiology and even exotic animal medicine.

I’ve consistently been impressed at their willingness to take my calls to consult on difficult cases at no charge, even when there’s no chance of a referral. Access to these fine doctors is, in my opinion, a real blessing and an asset to the primary care veterinarians in Southeast Louisiana, especially for a solo practitioner like me.

The importance of trust between a referring primary doctor and a specialist is paramount. Just as would be the case with the medical care of a human family member, it’s imperative that a pet owner knows that a specialist has the full trust and confidence of the referring primary doctor.

Open communication, regular case updates, and faxed or e-mailed medical records are standard practice in a good relationship of this kind. When a case is resolved, the patient is returned to the care of the primary doctor for follow-up and any necessary continued care.

At the ripe old age of 50, I’ve never been to a specialist MD in my life, which is fine by me. Actually, I couldn’t even tell you the name of my primary doctor at the moment nothing to be proud of, I know. Yet I have a handful of my own patients who’ve been to multiple specialists in their relatively short lives. In fact, I can think of one English Bulldog (SURPRISE!) who has a close relationship with his own orthopedist, dermatologist, and two ophthalmologists!

Lucky dog! Lucky to have an owner to go to the trouble and expense to get him the care he needs; not so lucky, I suppose, to need all that high-end medical care in the first place. Specialty veterinary referrals may not be for everyone, but it’s comforting to know the option is there when needed.

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Go Beyond

Hacienda Mosaico Story and Photos by Rose Marie Sand

I signed up for five days in a paradise called Hacienda Mosaico in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and all I had to do was walk through a shark tank to get there.

A haven of color, art, lush gardens and pool side Mexican feasts, Hacienda Mosaico features artist retreats every month. When I learned the February retreat featured my favorite artist and teacher, Carol Shelkin, I immediately sent my deposit. I’d met Carol in Boston last year, and her realistic mosaic portraiture workshop brought new range to my work.

So, I eagerly researched everything there was to know about traveling solo to Mexico.

Converting dollars to pesos, dusting off my high school Spanish, packing tools and glass into my almost over-the-weight-limit suitcase – these things were challenges I welcomed. Would I really be swimming in 80 degree weather when the rest of the country, including my own hometown, was suffering from the worst winter in memory?

Let me at it!

Then I received the guidelines from the Hacienda; I learned that after deplaning at the Puerto Vallarta airport, you first go through immigration, then pick up your luggage on the carrousels and go to the customs area.

“You’ll be asked to push a button that will randomly determine your next step. A green light means you are free to continue to the exit gate and a red light sends you to you to the customs counter to have your bags checked.”

As I would be carrying lots of stained glass pieces and tools, I hoped I wouldn’t get the red light. But that seemed like small potatoes when I read the next step. My eyes stopped in their tracks when I got to the part about the “shark tank.” Huh? It seems the local government allows a gauntlet of salespeople in an area between customs and the taxis waiting outside of

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the airport. This time-share hellhole of salespeople, who will stop at little to get you to listen to their spiel, has been dubbed the “shark tank” by unsuspecting tourists.

No one wants to be accosted, and I remembered other trips through crowded airports and tourist traps that had kind of freaked me out. Generally speaking, however, I really enjoy my time spent in airports. Even waiting on a delayed flight brings opportunities to observe people.

The story of a city is often revealed in the tee shirts, food and souvenirs for sale in their airport. The recent improvements to Armstrong International Airport, for example, are proud examples of New Orleans’ culture.

(The fact that the three letter identifier, MSY, stands for Moisant Stock Yards, is also a charming example of culture).

Was I due for a culture shock in Puerto Vallarta?

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One website explained the situation: “They look official and will throw every lie at you. Just keep walking past both sliding doors and be confidently polite. Don't engage.

Don't even make eye contact. They are not allowed to follow you outside the airport.”

Hey, I’ve walked down Bourbon Street in the height of Mardi Gras, can those sharks be any worse? Fortified with one friend’s advice – “Wave your arms around, act crazy, and pretend you’re talking to an invisible friend.

They’ll leave you alone” – I realized that forewarned is forearmed, and confidently began my journey.

I had a 5:15 am flight, and the ticket counter for the airline didn’t open until 4 am. That left just enough time to check my bag, get through TSA and board my flight, and that turned out to be the most upsetting thing that happened on my journey to the Mexican mosaic paradise.

I was engrossed in a good book during my flights, got the green light at customs, and confidently charged through the sharks. I got out of it unscathed, and actually enjoyed the challenge of being less than Louisiana-polite in the dreaded shark tank.

I’d printed out the instructions to the Hacienda in Spanish for the taxi driver, had the right number of pesos ready, and was welcomed into the walls of Hacienda Mosaico intact.

From the moment I entered the compound, graciousness and beauty surrounded me. The owner offered me a margarita and took my luggage to my beautiful room. In no time I was napping by the pool, happily awaiting the arrival of the other students.

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The sounds of northern voices awoke me – different accents that were still surprisingly familiar. Coming from pronounced “yat” accent-land, New York accents can easily make me feel at home, even in Mexico. We talked of traveling as a gift one gives oneself that brings an appreciation of the future, and a sense of how connected we all are. After a few margaritas, we were fast friends.

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For a luscious week, we created art and enjoyed poolside extravagant Mexican food and margaritas. The give and take of the women, the nurturing, and the laughter were exactly the same as home. As I was there on Mardi Gras day, I packed some beads and greeted each person that Tuesday morning with the dictate – “say ‘Throw me something, Mister’, and I’ll toss you some beads.”

“But you’re not a Mister,” one said quizzically. I even got the Mexican translation for those words and tossed beads to our cook.

In addition to instruction and creating, we took a side trip to Sayulita to shop and eat along the beachfront. The shopping in Mexico is legendary for good prices and colorful merchandise. Most of the vendors understood my combo of English and pigeon Spanish, although there wasn’t much room in my suitcase for souvenirs. But every time I walked away from a shop, I knew that this was just my first time in Puerto Vallarta. I can bring an extra suitcase next time!

One of our party, Sue, is a Spanish teacher in real life, so we had a built in interpreter in Sayulita. As she chatted with our taxi driver on the way back, she suddenly burst into laughter.

“He asked me to explain the sign on a recently renovated building, and spelled out P O L E dancing!” she said. The driver blushed – he had no idea what that was until Sue explained it.

We had one whole day to stay in the workshop and focus on our pieces. With Carol available for consultation any time I needed her, I worked intently.

For a time, I became frustrated with a piece that wasn’t coming out as I wished. Carol brought a “view finder” to me – a small piece of paper with an even smaller square cut in the center. “Don’t look at the big picture, look for tones and tonal values just inside this window,” she said.

That concept is as foreign to me as Mexico, as I tend to frenetic activity. Perhaps if I could stop thinking of the big picture and learn to focus on one thing at a time, I might stop misplacing my keys. But her advice helped me focus on my work, and my piece took on a life of its own.

So, lessons learned in Mexico –focus on one thing at a time and just walk through the shark tanks!

Oh, and pole dancing in Spanish is baile de tubo.

Laura Mauffray Borchert 233 Robert Street Slidell, LA 70458 At Notting Hill in Olde Towne

985-649-1881

LAMBorchert@aol.com

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Slidell’ Prelude:

Slidell

s Movie I ndu stry in the 1960’s by: Ronnie Dunaway

Are you kidding me?

The New Orleans Saints played the Dallas Cowboys in the 1969 Championship game?

With Charlton Heston leading the Saints as quarterback in 1968?

I don’t know about you, but when I think of Charlton Heston, I think of Moses, Ben Hur, The Ten Commandments, The Omega Man, or Heston as president of the National Rifle Association. Certainly not a football player.

But, it’s true. He was a Saint’s player!

Well, sort of.

When I hear the name George Dunbar, I think of one of Slidell’s most celebrated and accomplished artists. It’s hard to believe that he had a strip tease party at his home with guests such as Charlton Heston, Mr. and Mrs. Gus Fritchie Jr., Mr. and Mrs. Robert Lowry, and a couple of other Slidell guests.

But, it’s true.

Well, sort of.

Can you imagine having a dancer do a strip tease on your bar? Not just once, but several times until she got it right? It really happened.

Well, sort of.

If all that isn’t enough to absorb, how about Charlton Heston having dinner in your kitchen at your home with your family and friends.

Well, that happened too.

You know what really bothers me about this story? It happened right under my nose and I didn’t even know it. Even though I was only 13 years old, I thought I knew everything that was happening in Slidell, but I missed this one. I wish Mr. Dunbar would have called me. I would have made a great bartender.

Being at a strip tease party would have been right up my alley. I would have picked up every piece of clothes that she removed.

I suppose now it’s time to tell you that everything you just read is true. It was all part of a movie that was being filmed, in part, at Mr. Dunbar’s home in Bayou Liberty.

Everyone mentioned thus far were actors or extras in the movie, except me.

MOVIE: Number One (originally named “Pro”) STARRING: Charlton Heston, Jessica Walter, Bruce Dern, John Randolph, Diana Muldaur, Richard Elkins, Bobby Troup, Mike Henry, Stephen Franken, G.D. Spradin, Roy Jenson, Ernie Barnes, George Dunbar, The Fritchies, The Lowrys, The Colberts DIRECTOR: Tom Gries Locations: Tulane Stadium (home field for the Saints at that time) Bayou Liberty, Slidell (at the home of George Dunbar) FILMED: 1968

RELEASED: 1969

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2

When Heston stepped off the airplane at Moisant Airport, he was tall and elegant, but very skinny - looking about as much like a pro quarterback as country singer Lyle Lovett. Heston was playing Ron “Cat” Catlan, an aging quarterback who would lead the Saints to a Super Bowl victory. This was kind of funny to a lot of people, since the Saints had only been in existence for a couple of years. (It took the real Saints forty years to win a Super Bowl.) Without a doubt, Charlton Heston was a phenomenal actor.

However, as a quarterback, even a quarterback-actor, Sean Payton would have benched him within the first two minutes of the game...and most likely would have been inclined to trade him for a good hunting dog.

During rehearsals, when the cameras weren’t rolling, Heston would try to throw a few passes. Even at ten yards, he couldn’t come close to his receiver. Every pass was too high, too low or too wide. He was not able to complete a single pass. Heston was a great guy, very sociable, but he didn’t an athletic bone in his body (which, later in the movie, would prove to be somewhat painful). Nearly every throw by Heston was dubbed a “wounded duck pass,” meaning uncatchable. And I know why! He was schooled by Billy Kilmer himself, who was the master of the wounded duck pass. As far as I am concerned, it was the blind leading the blind.

I watched the entire movie before writing this, and I really thought the plot was great. Filming in Slidell was a brilliant choice and using locals in the movie made it that much better. However, I noticed one thing that hasn’t changed since 1968. The fans could be just as brutal then as they can be today. One fan screamed at Heston that he wasn’t worth the price of a ticket.

And when Heston (Ron Catlan) ran on the field, the fans booed him unmercifully. Similar to the booing Roger Goodell received at the last Super Bowl.

George Dunbar playing the part of a passed out guest at the strip party.

Standing behind him is Charlton Heston and Diana Muldaur.

George Dunbar The Stripper played by New Orleanian, Shannon Meistrell

Ron Catlan was an over-the-hill quarterback who didn’t know his time was up. At forty years old, he tries to compensate for his failing skills with booze and an extramarital affair. His friend offers him a job with an auto leasing company, but Cat insists he can lead his team to a championship. Catlan tells his friend he will take the job after one more season. His friend warns him the job may not be available at a later time. Things were no better at home, as his wife threatens to leave him because of his alcohol abuse and late nights with other women.

The final scene in the movie was as real as it gets. Heston was supposed to be lying on the field in a daze after being crushed by the Dallas Cowboys defense. In reality, it was three real Saints players: Mike Tilleman, Dave Rowe, and Fred Whittingham dressed in Dallas uniforms for the movie. After the shot, Heston and the producer didn’t think the play looked real. Heston thought the Dallas linemen eased off because he was a movie star, not a real football player. So they did another take. This time, Heston told the linemen, and particularly Fred Whittington (a one-time Golden Glove boxing champion) to cut loose on him and make the tackle look authentic. Authentic it became! Real Saints guards, Jake Hupp and Del Williams, let the “Dallas” defense roll in and crush Heston, breaking three of his ribs. And the rest is history.

Gus Fritchie and Robert Lowry as extras

The “Dallas” defense as played by real Saints players

You can watch Number One online anytime at Amazon.com SPECIAL THANKS TO: Elwin “Jimmy” James for the idea and material Mr. George Dunbar The New York Times Nola.com The Horn Reviews

The last scene, where “Cat” suffers a vicious sack.

In reality, this scene broke 3 of Heston’s ribs

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