58th edition - May 2015 by Slidell Magazine

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Cover artist: Randy Caminita

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Editor’s Letter

Kendra Maness, Editor/Publisher, Slidell Magazine

next print and these retractions or apologies get lost in the shuffle. For this, I am truly sorry. I’m a pretty young gun in the whole scheme of the publishing world, and I have MUCH to learn. This month, I was taught a lesson in apologizing with dignity and humility by the master of both, my Storyteller, John Case. John asked me to print the following:

Dear Readers: Each month, Slidell Magazine strives to bring you the best in stories, history and information about our beautiful city. My writers and I spend countless hours pouring over text and photos, fact-checking and revising, to insure that we maintain the highest standards of excellence representative of our community.

Therein has arisen a problem. On at least one occasion, I got too close to the truth, with enough of my fiction thrown in, to leave some readers with less-than-good feelings about my story. Even though I used different names and no last names, there was a reference that could easily identify the character to people who knew the story.

THE OTHER SIDE OF STORY TELLING An Apology I have published approximately forty eight stories in Slidell Magazine and other similar publications. I do it for fun. I am not compensated monetarily, but get great satisfaction when I am told that someone enjoyed the story.

And we make mistakes. Lots of them. Whether it’s a misplaced comma or bad sentence structure, a blurry picture, or information that’s unwittingly incorrect (last edition - sorry Mr. Lowry!), we are human and the mistakes are there. There’s a saying in poker, “Once it’s laid, it’s played.” That’s true in publishing, too. In most jobs, making mistakes is part of the deal, and you can correct (or hide them) as the situation warrants. However, there is no magic eraser once an edition goes to print. There it is, thousands of times over, for all the world to see.

It matters little that I had the right to tell this story. I feel sure that I had the right to take the happenings of a character and put a fictional spin on it. Even if I have the right, it is not my intent to cause any hard feelings. For this, I sincerely apologize to those that were offended.

It is my mission to entertain. As I have written before, I like for my stories to have a rough, maybe even scary beginning; but I like for the reader to be left with, if not a smile, a feeling of satisfaction. I sometimes write pure history, and in those cases I try to be as factual as I know how.

An apology is worthless unless something is learned. Yes, I have learned something. I should have slept on it and reread my story one more time. Should my fiction be less realistic? That won’t happen. But I will be more sensitive to other’s feelings.

More often than not, my work is partly fiction. I guess you could say that some of my stories are historical fiction. These stories are not born out of the great abyss of the universe. Something had

I’ve printed retractions before and I will again, I’m sure. But, all too often, I’m rushing to the

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to give me the idea. Usually, that “something” is an actual happening. Something that happened to someone, at some place at some time. Often they are a mixture of several characters rolled into one. But I do want you to know that most of my stories, if not all of them, have some truth in them.

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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 Making Cents of Your Money, Mike Rich MikeRich@mypontchartrain.com Go Beyond, Rose Marie Sand Rose@RoseMarieSand.com COVER ART BY RANDY CAMINITA COVER AND CENTERFOLD ART DIRECTION, PHOTOS & STORY BY KIM BERGERON

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MAY 2015

Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People Sponsored by

DR. TRACIE NAJOLIA CARTER by Charlotte Lowry Collins

“The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win.” ~ Roger Bannister

As I sat at the table, waiting for this month’s EFOP, I was watching the door and wondering how I would know it was Tracie. Dr. Tracie Najolie Carter is a Pediatrician with Ochsner Hospital, so I assumed she would be wearing scrubs or a white coat. Glancing at my watch, I began to count the days until my deadline, and it occurred to me that she may be very distracted from complications she may be facing. I was wrong about the dress. In came a gorgeous, tall, blonde haired, blue-eyed blue eyed Norwegian woman, dressed for a lunch

date. I was also wrong about the stress, as she was wearing a big smile. My questions turned out to be unnecessary, because Tracie had the whole story ready for me. I’m inviting you to sit down and join us for an amazing journey, in more ways than one. After Tracie made room for her long legs under the table, the conversation began and never ebbed. She was incredibly focused and made me feel like I was the only one in the room, which was far from the truth on a Friday. We sat huddled together as if busy Fr we were wer old friends.

She began with her birth on June 30, 1972 at St. Tammany Parish Hospital in Covington. Tracie put her fork down and looked straight at me, her eyes twinkling. “My adoption was arranged before I was born, so I didn’t lay eyes on my birth mother until I was grown. My obstetrician would become my Uncle. You see, his sister-in-law was the one who wanted to adopt me.” She tilted her head back and laughed, “My first primer readers were all about positive stories of adoptions. I grew up believing that adoption was a wonderful opportunity. I always knew my birth mother’s name though.“

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With a nostalgic smile she described, “So here I was, a Norwegian baby with a Sicilian Italian dad, Joe Najolia, with black hair and dark eyes. Mom was Mary Suggs Najolia, a German-French with red hair and green eyes. It never occurred to me that I might look like someone else until I had kids of my own and they looked so much like me. My parents were very supportive and always taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to. They set the tone for who I would become.” “Then the impossible became possible, and they had a baby boy, Joey. I was convinced that they brought that baby home for me. I doted on him, and whenever Mom was concerned, I would give advice. I guess I was just meant to be a Pediatrician.” She proudly exclaimed, “Joey is now the owner and chef at Café Lynn in Mandeville.” Once our teas were refilled she reminisced, “We grew up on Davis Landing Road and loved to fish and ride three-wheelers along the Pearl River. I remember being fascinated by the wildlife we encountered. Science fascinated me.” Knowing I am an artist, Tracie confided, “I consider medicine to be both a science and an art. Because every person is different, doctors have to be able to spontaneously read people, situations, and creatively alter communication styles. My mom and dad were both artistic by nature, so they introduced me to art, and I loved it. I call myself a selftaught painter, and that’s where I turned when I was recuperating from my accident.” Tracie absently rubbed her shoulder, and that’s when I first noticed the scars. But Tracie was off on another story, so I put down my fork, and grabbed my pen with no further questions. “Next came the sports. At nine years old, my mom signed me up at the swim club at Cross Gates. I was like a fish to water. In the water it just all worked for me. I joined the Hurricanes Swim Club at eleven, and began year-round competitive swimming. This is when Coach Edward Kelly entered my life.” I looked up and realized she was tearing up for one brief second. Quickly her smile returned, “I finally found something I could do pretty well. Coach taught me mental toughness, dedication, and commitment. My parents were proud, and stressed the importance of these traits.” She paused and stopped eating. Her voice changed, and she sounded solemn as she described her coach. “He was like a father figure, and he died in 2013, just before my accident.” There was that reference again, but still no time for questions.

“I remember the mantra he gave our team, ‘Be the Best You Can Be.’ We had to be 100 percent committed, and never miss practice. It didn’t matter if we had swimmer’s ear or female issues. His answer was always (changing her voice to match his), “Get in the water, you’ll feel better.” I totally related to her passion for water, as I am a water baby myself. For those of you who are drawn to the water as well, you probably agree with Coach - water immersion really does make you feel better. “It turned out Coach Kelly had been an orphan. Then he joined the Army and he and his wife had five kids while they were stationed in the Dominican Republic.” Proudly, Tracie explained, “He organized the first swim team over there with no swimming pools. Everything that exists for swim today in the Dominican Republic started with his efforts.” “When I was twelve, one of the moms passed away from breast cancer. Coach wanted an example for all to follow, and so the Margaret Garwood Award was started. I didn’t even know Coach had noticed me until the moment he announced that I would be the girl’s winner of this award. That award literally changed my life, as I thought ‘now I have to live up to that’. Here was the man the whole team revered selecting me. My parents were so proud, and I realized I had better start thinking that way about myself. I moved into the top eight regionally and swam six days a week. I also decided to pay it forward by coaching girls at Tanglewood, found I was good with kids, and our team kicked butt! At sixteen, I knew I would be either a pediatrician or teach high school Biology.” As an educator, I remember having that same recognition. “At Pearl River High, I made good grades, but nothing exceptional. I set a goal of winning the Junior Swim Nationals, and decided that if that didn’t happen, I would use my brain to get to college. I am very much a realist. I gave it my all but didn’t make it. So I gave up the swim team and focused on raising my grades and ACT score to find scholarships and make my own way through school. Coach was setting up college interviews for me, and I know I disappointed him. But I had a full plate and also wanted to have a bit of fun.” “I got accepted into the Louisiana Scholar’s College at Northwestern. I was determined to become a Pediatrician. I got into Med school in August of 1994 and went to stay with my grandfather.” At this point, Tracie smiled quietly and told stories about Grandpa. “I

cherish that time with him, and came back to stay in my old room at his house later when he knee replacement.” I was beginning to think she would never tell me about the accident, as she continued with her story. “I returned to Slidell and joined a private practice in 2001. In 2007, I joined Ochsner Hospital. I was good at ICU, Neonatal, PICU, but it didn’t bring the joy of being able to watch children grow up. Now I have a private practice at Ochsner Pediatrics.” As I walked through the patient rooms, it was like I was walking through a giant aquarium. There were water murals in each of Dr. Tracie’s rooms with mermaids, sharks, scuba divers, and fish everywhere. Tracie brought her beloved water environment with her. The banner over the door had her motto, “Making Every Moment Count”. She described, “The emotional connection doesn’t stop at the office. One thing I value most is being able to face difficult decisions with parents. I sit with parents and deliver choices with compassion and honesty.” When asked what might be one of the toughest conversations, Tracie immediately said, “Autism is one of the hardest diagnoses to give, but it can also be one of the most rewarding to follow with families. The littlest of breakthroughs, like a non-verbal patient touching me with one finger for the first time. I’ve had to deal with losses too, from SIDS and cancer. But I love Pediatrics.” “In 2009, I went through a divorce after twelve years of marriage. I was determined to do this part right, even if the marriage didn’t go well. I had two sons that I adore. So we made a pact to parent well after the divorce.” Tracie showed me a photo on her phone. “When my kids turned out to look so much like me, I had an epiphany that I, too, must look like somebody, but I wasn’t ready to find her yet.” “To restore my peace of mind, I immediately started working out again. I went back to the pool and Coach and started training again. By 2010, I tried my first triathlon.” She laughed and admitted, “I crashed in the first race, flipping over my bike. My friend passed me and said, ‘I called 911 and the 7

ambulance is on the way.’ I had separated my AC joint, and while I was lying on the road, I heard Coach’s voice in my mind saying, ‘Does the bike still work?’ So, I got back on the bike and held on with one hand. I still had ten miles to ride and three miles to run. Suddenly, a butterfly landed right on my nose and I started crying, because I knew I would make it. But I never wanted to be on a bike again.” By the way, this was not what she considered to be ‘The Accident’. “Instead, I started cross fitness with weights. Finally, in 2011, I got back on my bike and returned to triathlons. I haven’t stopped since.”

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Now Tracie took a deep breath and looked at me seriously to prepare me for the big story. “On Wednesday, September 25, 2013, I was riding on a routine training on Highway 90. I did my sprint and decided to turn around at the Mississippi/Louisiana state line. I started my u-turn and found myself staring into a car with two ladies doing 55 MPH, the speed limit. My first thought was to maneuver out of the way, but there wasn’t enough time. I saw what was coming and knew it was time to pray. Something told me to just relax and let go. Thank God I did, because the bike took the direct hit. I went upward and smashed into the windshield, then flipped horizontally onto the road. I remember thinking, ‘there goes my shoulder again’. Those on the scene thought I was going to die. I was still somewhat lucid, and remember a lady telling me to lie still, that the ambulance was on the way.” “I was in the ambulance naked as a jaybird, wounds and all, except my bike shoes were still on,” she laughed. “My neighbor got the boys, who already knew something must be wrong when I didn’t answer my cell phone. I didn’t get to see my kids until Friday.” She explained, “I was in surgery all through the night Wednesday and Thursday. I had an open fracture on my right arm, glass had shredded my shoulder, both hands were broken, both knees had torn ligaments sheared straight across because I had been clipped into the foot pedals, and I had a Stage Four lacerated liver. Ochsner stabilized me in Slidell, then rushed me to the Ochsner in New Orleans for emergency surgery. I almost didn’t make it, due to the blood loss and internal hemorrhages, causing my blood pressure to crash.” She broke the intensity of her near death with a laugh and a toss of her hair. “Now I have a huge zipper scar.” Then she recounted the complicated surgeries. “A few days later, they fixed my arm and knees, after they were certain I was stable. I was five days in ICU and one week on the floor, and just so grateful to be alive. They thought I was in denial when they told me I may never have use of my hands. I pulled a Scarlet and said, ‘Let’s just wait and see.’” Tracie laughed, recalling her friend asking why she wasn’t pushing the pain med button. She responded, ‘Both my arms are in casts, so I can’t.’ She recalls, “He hadn’t realized how utterly dependent I was, and ordered round the clock sitters. That was a relief, but then I realized it meant I had a new stranger to get used to every 12 hours that had to take total care of me. There is no modesty. But it restored my faith in general humanity that there were people willing to do this kind of stuff for me. Of course, I heard Coach’s voice throughout my stay at the hospital and rehab. As hard as the accident was, the recuperation was more mentally

challenging. I endured over a year and a half of surgeries, seven in all.” “While I was going through my rehab, I started a hashtag for myself, ‘preservedtoserve’.” For the first time in the interview, I was distracted, as this struck a chord with me. My only child had a potentially life-threatening situation, and during his three year Gamma Knife treatment, had a similar resolve. He vowed to give back to medical science, and is doing just that today. Thank God for people like them. For Tracie at that time, the best she could do was coach friends for the swim portion of a triathlon. “I could swim with one leg, or sit on the edge. After six weeks, I went back to work part-time. There’s a difference between a vocation and a job. At the same time, I was also doing heavy physical therapy, so I was exhausted. I also turned to art to regain use of my hands. It saved me.” I saw photos of the thick impasto paintings of bright sunflowers. There was so much energy in the brushstrokes. It reminded me of Van Gogh, but without the brooding quality. Tracie’s work was full of life, waiting to burst into action. She described painting while she exceeded the goal for her home repetitions. “I sat on a stool and painted, then slowly and painfully started bending my knees. When the pain got too bad, I caught my breath and painted, then bent my knees, and started the exercise over, until the painting was finished.” Some of these bright flowers and sea animals are hanging on her office walls, as inspiration for her patients today. Tracie’s mood changed as she explained, “While I was in rehab, I had this strong feeling that my birth mom had health problems. I had learned to trust these feelings, and made a resolution to find her. First, I called a random librarian at SLU, and amazingly she worked previously in an adoption registry. It took us only nine days to find Linda in Maui. We spoke, and she said she had been looking for me, especially after Katrina. Then Linda told me my whole story, and how hard the

decision was for her. She arranged to come to Louisiana. On April 27, my Mom, my sons, and I met Linda for the first time. My two kids had been the first humans to look like me, but then I saw me and my boys in Linda’s features. I met my cousins and one of their sons looked just like my son. I poured through the photos that Linda brought me, and was struck by how much my youngest, whom I had unwittingly named Christian, looked just like his Norwegian great-grandfather, Einart Christian Eriksen. Another one of those amazing God things. It turned out he was an avid skier, so I guess that is where I got my passion for sports.” Tracie showed me the photo of the reunion, and the resemblance was striking. Then her smile faded as Tracie explained, “I only saw her for that one month she visited, because she died after she returned to Maui. I had been right about her health, as she had heart problems.” Tracie mustered her positivism, and returned to sports again. “You know, it turned out that race I was training for during my accident had to be cancelled due to a hurricane. A year after my accident they were to hold that sprint triathlon again, and I had to be in it.” She shook her head and smirked, “I was forced to sashé instead of running, but it was my come-back race!”

much like my non-verbal patients, so I can relate.” When asked about her next move, Tracie explained, “I am training for my first Iron Man on November 6th in Florida.” “For now, I am happy to improve the health of my patients, and share the message of nutrition. My goal is to fight obesity and stress the importance of wearing a helmet. I tell them, ‘Look at my arm, now look at my face,’ because my arm is full of scars but my face is fine, thanks to my helmet. I know my biggest purpose of service has yet to come. So until it finds me, I will continue to help where I can.” And with this pronouncement of dedication, Tracie quietly and earnestly concluded her story. I wonder if this amazing person realizes how much she has brightened every life she has touched?

Fast forward to today. “Now my oldest, Chance, is at school at my alma mater in Natchitoches, majoring in Business and Marketing, which continues the artistic side of the family. Christian is at Northshore High School and wants to be a veterinarian.” Tracie laughed, “Animals are very 9

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The Slidell Pizza Situation Part 2 If you read my article last year, you’ll recall my dismay at the lack of good pizza in Slidell. Aside from a few restaurants that don’t really specialize in pizza and a glut of mediocre delivery options, our city doesn’t have an authentic pizzaria. I’ve been asking for a while where the great pizza is in Slidell. Believe it or not, one of the top answers has been Sam’s Club. Time passes and things change. Slidell still doesn’t have a true pizzaria but we do have some very interesting new options...

Joe’s Italian Ristorante Joe’s, a new restaurant that opened in Oak Harbor just this March, is Sicilian to the core. The owners, Joe and Paulie, operate a couple

of Italian restaurants in Sulpher, LA and Dallas, so they know what they’re doing. It’s a nice place - on the water and along the path of the Oak Harbor golf course. It’s not on any of the busy streets in Slidell, and that’s probably why this spot has been such a tough location for past tenants’ restaurants to succeed. But great food goes a long way on the road to success. So how was the food? We had an appetizer of crabmeat stuffed mushrooms. They were good but perhaps overshadowed by the spinach and white wine cream sauce they were swimming in. The sauce was a good complement for the giant basket of bread they brought to start the meal.

Christopher’s

So how was the pizza? The pizza litmus test is a simple pepperoni. A hybrid of traditional New York and the crispier St. Louis styles, the crust at Joe’s was a good substrate for the subtle sauce and what seemed to be quality cheeses. I would say Joe’s brings a new style to Slidell that’s reminiscent of Theo’s in New Orleans.

BJ’s Also just opened is the chain restaurant BJ’s. It’s that monolithic structure in the Fremaux Town Center. With a huge menu and zillions of beers on tap, it’s a good addition to the local scene. BJ’s has deep dish and super think pizza styles. If you like variety, BJ’s offers so many options it’s hard to imagine not being able to find a topping combination that fits your needs.

Another promising sign...

We tried the cheese manicotti. The pasta was perfect; filled with ricotta cheese and baked with a good red sauce.

Just the other day, I noticed signs saying a new pizza place will soon open in the old Neely’s and Olympic Pizza location. This, in addition to Joe’s and BJ’s, give pizza lovers and their taste buds in Slidell “pie hopes” for the future!

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Storyteller The Good, The Bad and The Average As adults we may judge people by a prototype that was etched into our mind as children. You have often heard the expression, â&#x20AC;&#x153;He is a good man.â&#x20AC;? Or maybe you have heard, â&#x20AC;&#x153;He (or she) is a bad person.â&#x20AC;?

Soft spoken, kind and reasonably educated, he was the advisor to those with less learning or less ability. Respected he was. I and others knew him to be a â&#x20AC;&#x153;Good man.â&#x20AC;? Twilly Anderson was the antithesis of Richard Blaylock. He had a wife, two daughters, six and eight years old, and a son age twelve. The sonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name was Randy.

For me, I remember the exact persons on whom I placed these labels when I was very young. Both Good and Bad are characters in the same event. Also there is a third character, a person who is like most of us, just Average. The Good Richard Blaylock was considered by all to be a pillar in the community. He was not wealthy, but he provided for his family, paid his debts, gave to charity, helped the sick and injured, and of course, went to church. He was a farmer. He did not live in a fancy house, but it was comfortable. He raised some cotton and soy beans on a big scale for income, and he made a large vegetable garden that supported his familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s needs. The summerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gathering would be frozen and stored in an International Harvester deep freeze to be eaten throughout the long winter.

He had a new Ford tractor that he used to cultivate the big fields, but for his personal garden, he used a mule. In his opinion, nothing could lay a proper row like a mule. He also raised chickens, cows and hogs. All of those were for his familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s consumption. He did not sell livestock. He still cured his pork in a smoke house which he tended to religiously during hog killing season. Somewhat Amish in his practices, it could be said that he liked to hold on to the old traditions.

Twilly barely made ends meet, and that would be stretching it. He worked odd jobs sometime. He was not dependable and, besides, he drank. He drank heavily. He had been known to shoplift paregoric from the local drug store for the alcohol effect, and was known to strain liquid shoe polish through bread to obtain the alcohol. His preference, however, was the moonshine made by Hollis Clifton. The Bad Hollis Clifton had made whiskey all of his life. His daddy had made it before him and, even with the family tradition, he had never excelled at the art. His whiskey was strong, hot, and not very good. It was also cheap, and that was his vocational niche.

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He had been known to color it. Colored whiskey looked more like store bought legal whiskey, and he would color it with anything he could find. Shoe polish was one source, but his favorite was mercurochrome. This yielded the color of the better bonded whiskies, such as Ancient Age and Old Crow; but in large quantities, mercurochrome could make the product toxic. His customers almost exclusively were the down and outs. The ones who had let their life deteriorate to the point that all they wanted was the buzz. Yes, it made them sick; but by this time, they had so many health ailments they could not pinpoint the cause as being the tainted whiskey. They just felt bad all the time, so there was no reason to suspect their drink of choice and affordability was a contributor. Hollis Clifton’s whiskey would go from bad to worse. His reputation was much like his whiskey. He was looked down on and considered a “Bad man.”

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Twilly had never provided for his family, not even the basic necessities. His oldest daughter got sick and was taken to the doctor. Her hair was falling out in clumps. It was determined that she was malnourished, with a condition known as pellagra. Her primary diet was cornbread and water, with occasional salt pork if it could be afforded. They were a poor family with no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no automobile and hand me down clothing. Remember this was the 1960’s, not the 1930’s. Even by rural standards, their existence was far below the poverty level. Randy was twelve years old when it happened. Twilly had left home about a week before and had not been heard from since. That was not unusual. No one worried. He would show up, he always had, and he finally did.

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Someone drove into the yard and pushed him out of the car and then sped away. Randy thought the driver may have been Hollis Clifton. Randy had been with his father when he had bought whiskey from Hollis on several occasions. Twilly fell to the ground and could not get up. Randy and his mother went to his aid but realized he was drunker and sicker than they had ever seen him. He could not walk and he could not see. Randy was sent for help. He went to the Blaylock place about a mile away. He knew that Mr. Blaylock would take his father to the hospital. Sure enough, he found Mr. Blaylock tending his hogs. Randy was familiar with Mr. Blaylock’s farm as he had done odd jobs there from time to time. He also knew that hogs were Mr. Blaylock’s favorite farm animal. He had names for all of them. All sixteen of them. As was expected, Mr. Blaylock asked no questions. He went to the garage, got the car, and he and Randy headed back to Anderson house. When they arrived, except for the fact that he was breathing, it was hard to tell if Twilly was dead or alive. Twilly was hospitalized and it was determined that he had some type of poisoning. Randy told the sheriff what he had seen and who he suspected of bringing his father home. The Average From the standpoint of the law, Sheriff Billy Reaves had basically left Hollis alone. A sheriff’s duty is to enforce the laws and stop crime in the jurisdiction in which he is elected. In reality, in many cases, sheriffs regulate just how much crime can be allowed. This was the case with Sheriff Billy. Hollis had a following. As demented as his following was, they had votes. After all, 15

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moonshining was a Federal offense. Why ask for a headache you didn’t need to have? The Feds did raid Hollis’s place from time to time. In fact, they had done just that last month. For some reason, except for two short jail terms, all they did was destroy his still. Sheriff Billy knew he had to pay Hollis a call. The doctors had heard what Randy had told him and they would expect him to at least investigate. Pinpointing the poison type was critical to saving Twilly’s life.

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Hollis moved his still from place to place to avoid detection and Sheriff Reaves knew all of them. At the second suspected spot he checked, there it sat. No one was present, so it gave Sheriff Reaves a chance to examine all the still’s components. The Sheriff was not a moonshiner but he had been around enough stills to know what should and should not be there. A pipe ran from the cook pot to a barrel filled with water. The pipe disappeared into the dark water. Sheriff Billy pulled the pipe up and attached to it was an automobile radiator. This was what he was using as a condenser. He was probably using it because the Feds had destroyed his copper one and this was a quick way to get back into operation.

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Sheriff Reaves knew this was probably the culprit. There could be lead poisoning from the soldering of the radiator and there could be remnants of anti-freeze. Both had the potential to kill. He went back to the hospital.

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Randy and his mother sat on the front steps of the emergency room. The sheriff did not have to ask, he knew Twilly had passed.

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The funeral was the next day. They buried Twilly behind his house and, other than his family, there were only two people present, the sheriff and Mr. Blaylock. Mr. Blaylock had dug the grave with his tractor. Twilly was not buried in a casket. He was just wrapped in a blanket. After he was put in the grave, Mr. Blaylock covered him up with dirt. That day, twelve year old Randy became the sole provider for the family of four. It wasn’t a big change because Twilly had contributed little in his lifetime; but Randy knew that they were now his responsibility. He would do what he could. Randy worked any odd job he could find when he was not in school. One thing his mother insisted on was that all of her children go to school. Randy excelled. He worked for Mr. Blaylock some of the time and at night he would work at the local pool room, racking balls, emptying the ash trays and sweeping the floor. Most of the patrons knew his situation and would tip him well. This was his main source of income. In his spare time he could study his schoolwork, as the pool room had electric lights and his home did not. Over the next four years, things did not change significantly for his family, for the better or the worse, until late one November when Randy was sixteen. The pool hall burned and he was basically unemployed.

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By this time, he was doing less and less work for Mr. Blaylock and, financially, things were the worst they had ever been. Two days before Christmas, he went to see if Mr. Blaylock could find work for him. Randy could not find him at home or in the barn. He reasoned that he could be with his hogs and went to the hog pen. Mr. Blaylock was not there, and as Randy turned to leave, he noticed there were more pigs than were usually kept. He reasoned

that one small pig would feed his family through the holidays if cooked properly. They had no refrigeration at his house, neither did they have a smoke house. But the weather was cold. He reached into the pen and grabbed a small hog, a shoat. It is not known how he transported the animal. It is possible he killed it on the spot and carried it, but no blood was found. That afternoon, Mr. Blaylock discovered Snort missing. There were no boards missing and the hogs had not rooted deep enough to tunnel out. He started searching his property. At a small creek on the edge of his farm, he found the gruesome inedible remains of a pig that had been cleaned and butchered. He called the sheriff. In the 1960’s, they no longer hanged people for livestock theft but it was still a serious crime. The sheriff brought the tracking dogs. The dogs went straight to the Anderson home. In the wood fired oven, a quartered small hog was being baked. The sheriff and Mr. Blaylock looked at each other. Both dropped their heads, as if to say what do we do? After a few moments, the sheriff looked at Randy and said, “Let’s go son.” Randy was taken to jail and booked with livestock theft. His family had no money for bail and there he would remain. Word traveled fast, and

among those who knew the situation, sympathy from the average man tended to lean in Randy’s direction. After all, he was hungry, his family was hungry, his hunger was not his fault, and it was Christmas. Mr. Blaylock did not sleep that night or the next. He was torn. Should the guilty pay or are there mitigating circumstances? He decided that question did not have to be answered and it certainly did not have to be explained to anyone but himself. After all, it was his pig. By nine o’clock on Christmas morning, Mr. Blaylock was at the Sheriff’s office which was connected to the jail. He would post bond and he would not press charges. Sheriff Reaves smiled.

It is said that due to the happenings of the Twilly family and the actions of Hollis Clifton, Sheriff Billy decided not to run for reelection. His last act was to set up Hollis and work with the Feds to bring him down in a big way. Hollis got ten years and served eight. Eventually, Randy would tear down the shack where he was raised. As a senior engineer, he would build a beautiful home on the spot. For some reason he felt a calling to raise hogs. His hogs were the offspring of the boar he had given Mr. Blaylock years before. They also won prizes.

Randy never got into any more trouble, and he finished high school salutatorian of his class. Every Christmas Eve for the next ten years until Mrs. Anderson remarried, Mr. Blaylock sent a hog to the Anderson home, dressed and butchered.

 John Case May 2015

Years passed and Randy graduated as an engineer from college on the co-op plan while working for Louisiana Power and Light. One of his first purchases with the money from his new job was the prize winning boar at the state fair. He gave it to Mr. Blaylock.

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VULTURES Story and Photos by Donna Bush

In the words of Sarah McLachlan’s song Angel, “So tired of the straight line and everywhere you turn, there’s vultures and thieves at your back.” I was starting to feel like the vultures were following me. Did they know something that I didn’t? I had this idea to write an article about vultures and include some of my photos. I knew I had some 35mm slides from 2002, but could I find them? So I started looking around for vultures to update my digital photo library. First, I visited spots where I had always seen them, like Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge in New Orleans east. When I worked at Michoud for USDA, there would

be a vulture on every light pole for miles along Highway 90, and 20 or more circling the transmission tower, often roosting there for the night. I packed up my camera gear, tripod and headed out in search of my goal. I saw one vulture! Only one! I set up my tripod, mounted the big lens and Boom! It’s flying as fast as it can in the opposite direction. I would see them, many of them, at least 8-10 within a block of my house. I’d grab my camera and go back immediately and they’d all be gone. What? Where did they go, so quickly? This happened several times. I even found them on road kill. Immediately, I drove back with camera in hand only to have

them all gone, abandoning their food source. It became a game, a challenge. I was in North Carolina sitting on the balcony of a hotel room and saw ten vultures soaring on thermals headed in my direction. I set up my camera and again, they totally disappeared. Of course, I wanted shots of them against a beautiful blue sky. So every time we had gray skies, vultures would fly overhead for hours! They also were psychic! They immediately knew whether or not I had a camera with me. Camera-less they would all but land on my shoulder. Camera in hand, they knew to stay far, far away. They even followed me

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when I would go for a bike ride. Really? Do they know something I don’t know? I researched vultures as a Native American animal totem, a symbol used to represent a tribe, clan, family or individual. According to Native American lore, “A vulture crossing your path signifies that you need to be more patient with yourself, think things through and take more time before making decisions. You should use all of your resources to choose the proper path that supports your higher consciousness and your heart. In this way, vultures can teach us about life, death, rebirth, and ultimate fulfillment.” Being a yoga instructor, this gave me many thoughts to ponder! There are 23 species of vultures throughout the world, with over half endangered or threatened. There is at least one species of vulture found on every continent except Australia and Antarctica. Did you know that the endangered California condor is actually a vulture? These under appreciated birds serve a distinct and necessary purpose. They provide a vital link in the ecological chain by cleaning up carrion (decaying flesh of dead animals) and averting the spread of disease from rotting carcasses. The black vulture and turkey vulture, locally often called buzzards, are the only kind of vultures in Louisiana. Both reside here yearround, but also cover a great deal of the United States and most of South America. Turkey vultures outnumber black vultures in the U.S., although black vultures are the most numerous vultures in the Western Hemisphere. Turkey vultures, slightly longer in length and weighing more, can easily have a foot longer wingspan than the black vulture. Despite their ample size, they only weigh 2-4 pounds. Due to their light weight, they appear to float in the sky riding thermals higher and higher. They are so proficient at finding thermals, that hawks will watch them to find our where the currents are located. Although they appear black at a distance, they are actually a dark brown and sport a small featherless red head with a pale bill and two-toned under-wings. They have an extremely keen sense of smell. Per Smithsonian Science News, “They can detect the scent of rotting flesh in concentrations as tiny as a few parts per billion in the air.” Their keen olfactory senses can even pinpoint something as small as a dead rat buried under a pile of leaves. They have been known to be able to smell carrion from over a mile away. This combined with their keen eyesight make them the best of the carrion predators.

Turkey vultures are majestic soarers, although a bit unsteady, with very few wing beats giving them a wobbly, teeter-tottering look. They appear to rock from side to side, rarely flapping their wings. While flying they hold their wings slightly above their backs in a dihedral ‘V’ position, giving them stabilization in flight. They may soar in small groups, but often roost in large numbers. Fun fact #1 - a group of vultures is called a committee, venue or volt. The best place to see turkey vultures are along roadsides, open fields, landfills, and anywhere there is carrion available. Closely related is the black vulture, with their smutty black plumage and small bare black head, sporting white patches on the underside wing tips, giving them quite a dapper appearance. A bit smaller than the turkey vulture, the black vulture still has keen eyesight but not nearly as heightened olfactory glands. In fact, black vultures tend to follow or flock with turkey vultures to join in on their food finds. Fun fact #2 – a flock of vultures in flight is called a kettle.

Black vultures are extremely social and will share food with relatives, feeding young for months after they fledge; almost like a family reunion. They have a distinctive flying style with strong wing beats followed by short glides, giving them a bat-like appearance. You can see black vultures along roadways eating road kill, picking out of dumpsters, and soaring overhead in large groups. Fun fact #3 – a group feeding together on a carcass is called a wake. They like to roost together in trees or on transmission towers. Black vultures are more likely to be seen in urban and suburban areas, unlike turkey vultures that prefer more rural landscapes. Vultures don’t have a pretty song or call like most birds. Turkey vultures emit more of a low guttural hiss when angry or disturbed. Black vultures make a raspy drawn-out hissing noise while feeding and fighting along with grunting sounds like a hungry pig. In my quest for vulture photos I reached out to my contacts with USF&WS (U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service). They would contact me when they saw groups of vultures but of course, they had fled the scene when I arrived with my camera! Then one day I get a call that a black vulture is visiting the bird feeder at the headquarters in Lacombe. Never before has anyone heard of a vulture eating sunflower seed from a birdfeeder! This happened twice in one week! Sadly, no photos. My vulture camera theory has extended to others. Millions of humans get food poisoning every year. So how are vultures able to consume

© Donna Bush rotten carcasses without becoming ill? One theory is they developed immunity to the bacteria they were eating in order to survive. Also, many disease-causing toxins are killed in their stomach, which contains 10 to 100 times stronger stomach acid than humans. Another theory is that they use the bacteria in the stomach in a probiotic sort of way; by having the good bacteria crowd out the bad bacteria. In some countries, such as Africa, Asia and India, the loss of vultures has led to a huge increase in rats and feral dogs carrying rabies and other diseases. Vultures help prevent disease by cleaning up the carrion, able to strip a carcass in just a few hours. They are the ultimate recyclers and an integral player in the circle of life. Vultures are the perfect clean team, swooping in to keep the environment clean and disease free. By the way I found those 2002 slides and was a little scared to realize I was completely surrounded by vultures. Hmmm? “Vultures and thieves at your back.” So the next time you see vultures soaring or feeding, pass them a kind word and a thank you for their hard work. And if you want to avoid vultures, carry a camera. 19

Of Your Money By Mike Rich Pontchartrain Investment Management

Armed and Dangerous You are armed and dangerous. You might not believe it, but you are. You possess a weapon of immense power. Kingdoms have been toppled by it, lives have been changed by it, and many people will do anything to get it. But, all of that pales in comparison to its most important use. What is this weapon? It’s your money.

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When it comes to building assets for financial security, the short-term is pretty much meaningless. Wealthy people have known this secret for generations. Unless you’re a stock day-trader (bad idea), you are better off to ignore the daily gyrations of the financial markets and, instead, focus on the long-term. For example, in your IRA, 401(k), or other investment plan, try to increase your rate of savings bit by bit every year, rather than chase rate of return. Also, keep some of your powder dry: be sure to have some cash on hand for emergencies, even if it’s only a few hundred bucks in your dresser drawer. If you want to crunch some numbers to see how long-term saving, investing, and the incredible power of compounding can work in your favor, call me and we’ll fire up the calculator. 2. Set goals.

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Whether it’s a little or a lot, most everyone has some and it’s a formidable weapon. With it, you can change your family’s life for the better, or you can waste it and just muddle through. If you use your weapon correctly, you can rid yourself of the bane of many Americans: financial mediocrity. That’s the good news. The better news is that it’s not all that hard to learn how to use your money’s firepower. And the best news is that you can start today by working with me as your financial advisor. Here’s how:

Marksmen aim at targets, and so should you. If you don’t know where your financial target is, you can pretty much bet you won’t hit it. You’ve heard about the Army’s Smart weapons? Your goals need to be SMART, too: Specific, Measureable, Achievable, Realistic, and Time-bound. For example, if paying off short-term debt

is your goal (Specific), decide on the monthly amount you’ll devote to your cause (Measureable), make it the first check you write (Achievable), start with the small accounts (Realistic), and set a target date to have it paid off (Time-bound). SMART goals can work for almost any financial dream you have. If this sounds like fun to you, call me. 3. Establish a source of guaranteed income for the future. If you don’t have a pension, you can build one, and an annuity might be just the ticket. It will be your personal pension plan for retirement. It provides guaranteed income1 and can be used to supplement your Social Security benefit. Warning: the media is full of people who will tell you to steer clear of any and all annuities. These so-called “experts” are woefully misinformed. Ignore them. In your arsenal of financial weapons, an annuity can be powerful. To learn more about how this tool can work for you, let’s meet. 4. Don’t fall for financial myths. These are everywhere, and people who have everything but your financial welfare in mind will use these falsehoods to defuse your money’s firepower. One of my favorites is “You don’t need life insurance after you retire.” You know what? The myth vendors are right: you might not need life insurance after you retire. However, what these folks never tell you is that the presence of life insurance might actually let you significantly improve your cash flow in retirement by giving you a “permission slip” to spend some of your assets more freely. What a great idea! In that case, do you think you might want life insurance as part of your financial plan? To find out if this strategy can work for you, call me. 5. Hire me as your advisor. Professional athletes – including competitive sharpshooters – have coaches. A good financial coach is like the instructor at a shooting range, adjusting your stance or steadying your aim. The time and money you spend with me will be more than made up in peace of mind, knowing that you have an expert, a personal Chief Financial Officer, to help you sort through the ever-increasing amount of financial information that bombards us every day. So, hire me and let me be your guide. Yep, your money is powerful, and, like any weapon, you have to handle it carefully. I can help you do that. So, get ready, aim, and fire yourself and your family to financial peace of mind. Call me today for a complimentary appointment.

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Badges of Honor Louisiana Veterans Festival They stood at the front of the crowd, leaning against the barricade that separated them from the band onstage. Each had his arm wrapped around the other, and they swayed in unison to the beat of the music, singing along to the song. They were clad in blue jeans, one with a t-shirt and leather vest, the other with a camouflage shirt, both adorned with a myriad of patriotic patches. They were brothers, not by birth, but by service to this country, and in this moment, they finally had come “home.” This was the Louisiana Veterans Festival, a homecoming that was vastly different than that of their return to the very country they had served during the Vietnam War era. Back then, there were no tickertape parades. No pomp and circumstance. No heroes’ welcomes. It was an injustice that would not be rectified for many years to come. As they continued to sing, one gleefully raised his fist, as if to celebrate the victory of the moment, while the other, overcome with emotion, wiped away a tear. And as the song came to an end, they hugged, a long, heartfelt celebration of the bond that had brought them together: service to our country. It was a scene that would be repeated throughout the day, different veterans, same roller coaster of emotions. There was the pair that sang along at the top of their lungs, turning to face the audience and giving high fives to anyone within reach. This was their moment of glory, and they were surrounded with love and appreciation for everything that the two represented.

The badges of honor upon their vests were nothing in comparison to the badges most would never see, the figurative badges deep within their hearts that had long since been hidden from public view. I stood back and observed the rituals and felt privileged to witness these poignant moments, two of many that had touched my heart throughout the day. There was another veteran who relied on a motorized, wheeled contraption that provided upright mobility to compensate for the permanent damage to his legs, his sacrifice of war. There were the many Veterans in full dress, attending the ceremony that provided recognition for their service, and a plethora of public officials who had come to honor them, plus a moment of silence remembering those

who had not come home. And the impressive young man who had created a website to honor St. Tammany’s military heroes, whose speech during the ceremony was delivered with an eloquence that greatly exceeded his years. Collectively, these moments had woven a rich tapestry of courage, of bravery and of heroism that enveloped all of those in attendance with pride and love. The event, hosted by East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity, brought together countless veterans, their families, and the entire community for one very special celebration. The day reminded all those who were present that when an individual makes a commitment to serve, it’s a decision that impacts many—mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, grandparents and

Art direction, festival photos and story by Kim Bergeron children. So it seemed fitting that the festival honor the same. By the end of the day, about 2,000 people had come together for the occasion, and the resulting proceeds were dedicated to the East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity’s first Veterans Build, a project that’s currently under construction for a deserving veteran and his family. The second annual Louisiana Veterans Festival will take place on Saturday, May 16, from 11 am to 9 pm. A Car, Truck and Motorcycle Exhibition will take place from 9 am to 5 pm, with awards presented at 5:30 pm. Pre-registration forms are available on the event website. The first 100 registrants will receive a limited edition, cast bronze Louisiana Veterans Festival coin. One of the most anticipated events of the 2015 festival will be the Veterans Tribute Ceremony with special guest speaker General Russel Honoré. In 2005, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, the media hailed General Honoré, as the “Category 5 General,” crediting much of the area’s recovery to his leadership of Task Force Katrina, for which he led the Department of Defense response to Hurricanes Katrina and Rita in the tri-state gulf coast area of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. With the tenth anniversary of the storms approaching, his guest appearance this year is sure to seem even more meaningful. He also joins LT. Colonel Joe Way, US Army (Ret) in serving as Honorary Chairs of the event. Internationally renowned pianist Ronnie Kole will follow General Honoré, performing a patriotic medley, followed by a community prayer for military heroes, led by Lt. Col. Joe Way. Festival guests are invited to bring a photo of their military loved ones that they can hold and honor during the prayer. The tribute ceremony also will include a performance by The White Sisters of Soul Revival fame. Prior to the Veterans Tribute Ceremony, a flag retirement ceremony will be held at 1:30 pm,

providing guests an opportunity to properly honor flags that are no longer fit to fly.

Festival at a Glance

New to the festival this year is onsite Stand.Down services for veterans, providing transportation to the festival, meals and special services to designated veterans in need of assistance.

May 16, 2015, 11 am-9 pm Northshore Harbor Center

Special events for children will include a variety of games, inflatables and activities. This year’s event will also feature East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity’s inaugural Children’s Build, providing an opportunity for children to learn the value of philanthropy via the “purchase” of shingles, sheetrock, paint, windows and doors for a future Veterans Build home. Everyone who donates to the Children’s Build booth will be invited to participate in the actual construction of a playhouse during the festival. At the end of the evening, one of the project donors will be selected as the winner of the playhouse, in a random drawing from among all participants. Music lovers won’t want to miss the stellar entertainment lineup, which, in addition to Kole and the White Sisters, will include The Molly Ringwalds, Bag of Donuts, The TopCats and Witness. The event will also include arts and crafts, Louisiana food and beverages, and festival commemoratives, including the official 2015 Festival Poster created by artist Randy Caminita, and the limited edition, cast bronze coins. With a sellout anticipated, adanced purchases are recommended via pre-order forms available on the website, www.LAVeteransFestival.com. As was the case with the inaugural festival, proceeds from the event are dedicated to East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity’s Veterans Build Program, providing affordable homes to deserving veterans. “Our belief is everyone deserves a place to sleep at night,” says Debbie Crouch, President and CEO of the local Habitat affiliate. “It is unacceptable that a Veteran who has served our country should ever have to worry about having a decent place to live. We hope that the many who share our beliefs come out and join us to honor those who have served or continue to serve our country.” So as the sun sets on the Northshore Harbor Center, and the last of the bands has played, the second annual Louisiana Veterans Festival will come to an end, paving the way for new beginnings for the veterans who will benefit as a result.

with 2015 Honorary Chairs Lt. General Russel L. Honoré, US Army (Ret), and Lt. Colonel Joe Way, US Army (Ret) Car, Truck and Motorcycle Exhibition 9 am - 5 pm, Awards at 5:30 pm Flag Retirement Ceremony, 1:30 pm Veterans Tribute Ceremony 2:00 to 3:00 pm featuring special Guest Speaker General Russel Honoré and performances by Ronnie Kole and The White Sisters 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 Plus Stand.Down Onsite Veterans Services EST Habitat’s first Children’s Build Children’s games and activities Louisiana cuisine and beverages Arts and Crafts Showcase Memorabilia 2015 Louisiana Veterans Festival poster by artist Randy Caminita Limited Edition Cast Bronze Commemorative Coins Order forms and additional information available on the event website, www.LAVeteransFestival.com Join in the celebration of military heroes, www.Facebook.com/LAVeteransFestival Admission $5 Veterans ssion $8 General Admission Children 12 and under admitted free

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Going to the Picture Show

The Arcade aka: The Old Theatre

Prelude: The Arcade Theatre and the Forbidden Tree Shortly after the turn of the 20th century, one of Slidell’s most popular entertainment spots was about to be born. Peter Lalumia and G.A. Baker purchased a piece property on Carey Street, soon to be the home of The Arcade Theatre. In 1916, Mr. Andrea Carollo (affectionally known as Papa Carollo) purchased Mr. Baker’s half interest. Papa Carollo also owned a grocery store just a few doors down, what is now KY’s Restaurant. Even though I researched, I am not sure if a picture show was on the property in 1916 or not. However, according to some old maps, there was a large wooden building on the property in 1926. Sometime around 1930, the old building was replaced by a masonry building that is still there today. In early 1930, Papa Carollo bought out Mr. Lalumia and became the sole owner of the Arcade

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The Arcade in the 1930’s and 1940’s. Note the lights under the canopy, a sure sign that this was a movie house.

Theatre. Some 30 years later, this would be my all time favorite place to go. Even though Papa Carollo owned the Arcade, he really didn’t have much interest in the day to day operations; so he enlisted his family: son Russell “Cy” Carollo and his wife Ruby, and his daughter Selena Fontana and her husband Luke.

were stapled to telephone poles around town. Yes, I stapled many a flyer (in the 60’s) and was paid with free movie passes. Thursday night was “Bank Night” with a weekly drawing for a $25 prize. If no one won, the prize would increase each week. One time it reached $1000. That drew in a bunch of customers because that was a lot of money in those days. Another popular promotion was “Glass Night.” The first 50 customers on a certain night would receive a glass plate or bowl, etc. Many customers would end up with enough dishes for an 8-person place setting.

Even though business was good, the family still employed all sorts of advertising to attract more customers. You will never see this kind of advertising in today’s theatre business. Colorful flyers with upcoming movies and screen stars

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My memories of the Arcade What made the Arcade so unique was that it was much more than a picture show. For several decades it provided all kinds of entertainment. One night, I went to see a live magic show where a crazy doctor was going to cut a woman in half with a chain saw and then put her back together. Joe and I were sitting on the front row within a few feet of the woman. Just as the act began and without warning, the woman began screaming. Before I knew it, I was covered in blood. The first thing I thought was something had gone terrible wrong. Needless to say, I ran home crying. I was so scared. When my mom saw the blood on my face she thought I was hurt. She too went into a panic. Once I told her what had happened, she starting laughing. She explained to me that it was fake blood. I didn’t think it was a bit funny. I thought it was a trick gone wrong. Later I found out I wasn’t the only one scared. Within seconds, the first few rows had cleared out. The Arcade was also famous for its midnight shows, double features, and Saturday afternoons matinees. They also had beauty pageants and baby contests. One night a world famous Jazz player, Al Jolson, performed. Another night was a risqué dancer, with feathers and all. On Saturdays, my friends and I would go see movies such as Godzilla vs. Rodan, King Kong, Elvis Presley movies, Tarzan, and John Wayne westerns. The Arcade was also the perfect battleground for old fashioned popcorn and spitball fights - and believe me, we had some humdingers in there. Having this type of fun at the Arcade was not an easy task because Mr. Luke and Mr. Cy were not only the owners, but they were also the ushers. Both men were pretty cool, but they had way too many rules to follow. They also had the ability to appear out of nowhere with their flashlights in hand. All during the movie, they would walk up and down the isle just waiting to catch a violator. If you so much as sneezed too loud they would light you up quicker than a frog hunter at night. They were slick, too. Sometimes they would sit in the audience just waiting to apprehend a noisy patron. That is why we would sit in the last row, so we could keep an eye on them as well. One day, when I was getting bombarded by spitballs, I decided to use popcorn kernels instead of spitballs. Big mistake on my part. I loaded my straw up with several kernels and took a shot at Joe who was sitting on the far end of the aisle. He saw it coming and ducked. As a result, I ever so slightly wounded an old man sitting on the other aisle. He was moaning and groaning as if I shot him with a 22 caliber rifle. Within seconds the flashlight police were on the scene doing an investigation. We denied having any part of it but witness after witness pointed us out. Everyone of us was kicked out. As usual,

“Mama & Papa Carollo” owners of the Arcade

Luke and Selena Fontana co-operators of the Arcade

Cy and Ruby Carollo co-operators of the Arcade

knew of where the popcorn was sold outside of the theatre. You purchased the popcorn before you bought your ticket to get in. The popcorn stand was just as you entered the breezeway. This was a good idea because you could buy popcorn even if you didn’t see the movie, which I did a million times. The “popcorneers” were Ruby Kay Carollo and Danny Garrison. My favorite food was a hot dog and a giant pickle. I washed it all down with a suicide drink - a little bit of each flavor mixed into one cup. It sounds nasty but it was very good. Then there was the candy. We had the usual ones that would often remove your fillings, such as Milk Duds, Sugar Babies, and Sugar Daddy’s. Then there were Jujubes, which stuck to your teeth; Jaw Breakers, which broke your teeth; Sno Caps, which got stuck between your teeth and Boston Baked Beans that stained your teeth. Oh, and Red Hots and Atomic Fireballs that burned your gums.

my dad got wind of it and when I got home, I found myself in another battle. Needless to say, I lost two battles that night. The biggest film to play at the Arcade in my day was Goldfinger starring Sean Connery and Honor Blackman. The line to get in stretched around the corner. I was very young when I saw Goldfinger. This movie left me with two things--a warped mind and a wish. The warped mind - I now love action movies that contain fights, killings, espionage, fast cars, fast women and sex. The wish - when I grew up, I wanted to be just like James Bond 007. Trust me, at my young age, I still had my physical virginity - but after that show, my mental virginity was rattled a little, to say the least! It’s been over 50 years since I have seen Goldfinger and I have just one question: Why in the world would the movie industry allow James Bond to have a partner named Pussy Galore? Unlike today, you didn’t need to rob a bank to buy popcorn, drinks, candy or hot dogs. In fact, it only cost a quarter to see a movie. Popcorn was 15¢ and so was much of the candy. Drinks were 10¢, pickles 5¢. The Arcade was the only show that I

As long as I live I will never forget the boys room at The Arcade. It was just one slight notch better than an outhouse, at best. Only in the Slidell would a young boy learn how to pee on a wall, not a urinal, but a ceramic brick wall with a pipe running along the top that gave a constant flow of water to move the urine to the drain. To this day, I have never seen anything like it, and I hope I never do. There was only one toilet, which I was scared to look at, let alone sit on. No air flow. Just one little exhaust fan that didn’t have the strength to move a small dust bunny. No locking door. At best, a 5-watt bulb for a light. If the bathroom didn’t make you sick, getting to

The Arcade is listed on the National Register of Historical Places

33 33

Cy Carollo sitting in his office at the Arcade. The calendar is dated March 1948.

it would. The place actually had a smoke room, complete with a large viewing window. If you needed to go to the bathroom you had to pass through the smoke room first. Think about that for a minute - 20 men smoking cigarettes in a small room for hours without ventilation. So, if you wanted to survive a trip to the bathroom without inhaling second-hand smoke, or pass out over the smell of warm urine, you had to be able to hold your breath for a couple of minutes. I loved the seating at the Arcade. At the end of every other row was a love seat that was twice as wide as a regular seat. It was designed for a couple to sit together with their arms around each other. Well, I never had anyone to put my arm around, so I used it as a couch. I would lay back and let my feet hang over the side until the flashlight police came and made me move them. I think that was rule #90 out of 100. I also remember the red velvet curtains. There was something about those curtains that gave the place a majestical feeling. When you first walked in the theatre people talked quietly. There was no loud music. When the curtains opened there was dead silence. Unlike today, there was no preshow. No advertisement that I can remember. No trivia questions. No upcoming attractions. No slide shows. Quiet as a graveyard.

Now I’m going to tell you something very few people outside of the family know. I’m going to tell you just how important those red velvet curtains became. It may not mean much to you, but it was the best inside information I found in my research. After hanging in front of the silver screen for decades, it was decided that new red velvet curtains were in order. Sometime in the late 1950’s, it was in with the new and out with old... sort of. Within a week of old red coming down, everyone working at The Arcade was wearing a red velvet jacket. Mrs. Ruby had made jackets out of the old curtains. Everyone wore them - from the popcorneers to the management. The exterior of the Arcade was pretty cool too. There was an alley on the south side of the building that was perfect for playing hide and go seek. The alley was a short cut to the back parking lot of other businesses. It was very dark and spooky and you dare not go through there after watching a scary movie. There was also a fire escape that was fun to play on until the flashlight police caught you.

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By now, I suppose you are wondering what the Forbidden Tree has to do with the Arcade. I’m not so sure myself, except it was behind the Arcade on their property. There was a little sign nailed to it that read “Don’t pick my persimmons.” Well, I never was a good rreader and I never was one to follow tthe rules. This tree was all by itself and sstuck st t out like a swimming pool in the desert. Did I mentioned my mom loved d persimmons? I would do anything for p pe my mom, even if it meant picking fruit m from fro fr o the forbidden tree. So, one summer Ib began to monitor the tree. I might be a little litt li ttll dumb on some subjects, but I know tt persimmons. I learned about them the hard way, when I bit into one that wasn’t ready. I couldn’t feel my lips for two days. Anyway, when I saw that they were ready, I went to Carollo’s Grocery and borrowed a fruit hamper. I rode my bike around the back where the tree was and sat there for a moment while I tried to figure out how I was going to fill up that hamper without getting caught. So I recruited my little brother to help. Tommy was about six or seven, and very short. Perfect size for tree climbing! He went up that tree like a little monkey and tossed the persimmons to me. Just as he reached the top, I heard someone scream at him to get out of the tree. I grabbed the hamper, balanced it on my handle bars, and took off. When I looked back, that poor little monkey was still in the tree. Just as I got to the corner by First Baptist Church, I lost my grip on the hamper. Persimmons went everywhere. I wasn’t about to stop and chase down a hundred persimmons rolling down the street. As I was leaving the scene, I could hear cars running over them. I circled the block to go back and get Tommy, but it was too late. He was standing in front of the store, spilling his guts to Daddy. Tommy and I never found out who screamed at him to get down. It wasn’t any

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of the Carollo’s because it didn’t seem to bother them (except for the fact that they had a hundred smashed persimmons all over the front of the store). We concluded that someone else put the sign there so they could have all the persimmons to themselves. It’s amazing what little boys will do for their mom. The Arcade did have a remarkable and generous policy that benefitted a lot of people: They admitted, free of charge, all senior citizens, school teachers, law officers, clerics, and people who were too poor to pay.

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Mr. Luke died in 1960 and Mr. Cy died in 1962. Their deaths brought one of Slidell’s favorite dating and entertainments spots to an end. In 1963, the family closed the Arcade for good. Papa Carollo died Oct. 19, 1967. He left a memorable legacy that I look forward to telling you about in a future story.

The Arcade today. Located on Carey St. in Olde Towne Slidell

Credits and Special Thanks Carollo & Fontana Family Book Dan Ellis Bonnie Vanney: Images of America - Slidell Slidell Times 1960 Gloria Minacapelli Adrian Innerarity

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Go Beyond

A Pirate Looks At Philly

by Rose Marie Sand

I recently attended a conference of the Society of American Mosaic Artists in Philadelphia, featuring workshops on mosaic techniques and the opportunity to network with other mosaicists. As many of the artists were milling about a mosaic gallery show, the buzz about a recent lawsuit involving famous musicians was in the air. Did the recording in question come directly from a classic song, or was it simply inspired by it? The court determined the new song, Blurred Lines, had too many similarities to Gotta Give It Up, and the defendants had to “give up” millions of dollars. The verdict was certainly a hot button topic that night. I browsed the incredible artwork in the gallery, taking pictures (after asking for permission) and dreaming of new pieces to create. I began to ponder this question - what’s the difference between inspiration and stealing ideas? Mosaic is a medium that creates new art from bits and pieces of items we call tesserae (a Latin word that means small pieces used in a mosaic). A mosaic is of itself a synthesis - a combination of broken things that are given new beauty in a new whole.

Of course, the adage that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is all about subjectivity. Is the concept of influence versus plagiarism also in the eye of the beholder, or are these lines even distinguishable? I thought of a great saying, “Good artists copy, great artists steal,” and looked it up online to see where it originated. Lo and behold, it’s been attributed to several thinkers, both good and great. Picasso, Steve Jobs, W. H. Davenport Adams, Alfred Tennyson, T. S. Elliot, Lionel Trilling – all of these people are ascribed to the quote or to something similar. I believe that everything one reads or sees becomes a part of who they are. Yet there’s a distinct difference between outright fraud and honesty in creative objects – how do we draw that line? What I stole in Philadelphia In every lecture, every gallery, I took pictures and notes. Philadelphia is a mosaic artists’ dream city – there’s extensive public mosaic art everywhere. Much of this art is that of a maverick street artist named Isaiah Zagar. No visit to Philly is complete without a visit to his “Magic Gardens.”