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Editor’s Letter

Kendra Maness, Editor/Publisher, Slidell Magazine

at every party, banquet, festival, or grocery store when I hear a catchy tune and my feet start to move. Dancing is a compulsion for me. I can’t help myself. If you stop to think about it that way, it’s not so unbearable to watch me. More than once, when the music has stopped, I’ve felt a flush of embarrassment wash over me as I returned to a more “normal” state and tried to blend in with the crowd. Then the next song would start, and I would be shamelessly out on the dance floor again. Alright, alright - I’m just going to admit it (or maybe brag about it...) I AM THE DEFINITION OF “DANCE LIKE NO ONE IS WATCHING.” Oh yes. To any song. Any time. Any place. With any one (regardless of their willingness). Dancing isn’t something I do to bring attention to myself, or to show my ultra-cool dance moves. Trust me, I don’t know a single cool dance move and there are much better ways to get attention than making a fool of myself

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My best friend Dawnie, who is often an innocent witness to my dancing daftness, fields the questions about my sanity and sobriety to onlookers. (She’s got the dance bug too, but with much more discretion and TONS more rhythm and coordination.) She answers simply, “To watch Kendra dance is to see pure JOY.” Her pespective has helped me feel more comfortable in my skin. I no longer apologize for my quirky dance moves, or my terrible singing that usually accompanies them. I’ve come to realize that I’ve only got one big twirl on this dance floor called life, and I’m going to bust a move as long as my toes are fit for tapping. I’m gearing up for a weekend PACKED with my joyful dancing and awful singing - Festival Bonfouca is almost here!! The very first 3-day music fest for Slidell takes stage March 18-20 at Heritage Park. This is a really BIG DEAL for our community. Nothing like this has ever happened here before. Slidell Magazine is a proud sponsor of the festival and I’m proud to be a performer at the event. No, silly - not on stage. On the dance floor, where you’re sure to see me all weekend long. Hopefully you’ll perform with me too. Let’s be joyful together!

Cover Winston Artist TRIOLO Age: 24 Hometown: Arlington, Texas Occupation: Graphic Designer, Mothership Foundation. Musician. After graduating from LSU with a degree in advertising, Winston moved to New Orleans just one year ago and began a double career in graphic art and music - both of which he’s passionate about. (And we are soo grateful - his graphic artwork is awesome!) Winston says, “Graphic design and music are my life right now. It’s perfect that I am able to do both almost every day, in a city that supports what I love to do. I love my job as the graphic designer for Mothership Foundation. Plus, I continue to design material for my own band, Motel Radio.” Winston’s interest in design began as a freshman in high school when he took a Photoshop class. “I remember designing a cartoon comic book, featuring a talking guitar. I rediscovered my love for design in college in a visual communications class. For our final project, we had to make a festival poster for a pretend-festival called “Zonnaroo”. I remember getting really into it, as I created this colorful and abstract landscape with crazy mountains and trees. That project was the first of many colorful and abstract landscapes that I’ve done since then.” Winston describes his style as “one of simplicity and vibrancy.” But he’s quick to add, “My style is ever changing, and I feel myself getting better as I continue these projects for Festival Bonfouca. I’m inspired by all of the creativity constantly surrounding me, and my daily motions deeply impact where I’m going with this design thing. It’s only fitting that most of my design is centered around music, which seems to be the way it has always been. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS 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 Donna Bush Donna.Bush@yahoo.com

COVER ART BY WINSTON TRIOLO

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February 2016

FRANK JACKSON

Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People Sponsored by

by Charlotte Lowry Collins

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” ~ John Donne I begin this month with a tongue-in-cheek question: Can a jerk be an EFOP? I assert that he can be, if he is Frank Jackson, the soda jerk, consultant, and mentor. After all, we all scream for ice cream. But there’s more to this EFOP than homemade ice cream and sodas, as his story will reveal. I invite you to journey with me as we learn what his profession has taught him about life and living. Just a few days after all the Christmas hustle and bustle, I walked into the Old Town Soda Shop, and stepped back in time. The minute you enter the front doors, nostalgia washes away the cares of the day. I daresay the

adult in all of us takes a backseat in this environment. An antique jukebox projects nifty fifties music to the corresponding oscillation of yellow, red and green lights. Giant posters of ice cream sundaes, banana splits, and floats smile down upon you. And there in the forefront is Frank Jackson, the soda jerk, in his crisp white shirt, apron, and monogrammed red and white soda jerk cap, waiting to fill your requests. How could you ever have a bad day here, watching sparkling eyes from children of all ages follow your every movement while you prepare a sweet delicacy just to please them? Frank greeted me with a big smile and we

sat in one of the old fashioned red booths that fill the second room. A revolving list of jukebox choices sits on the formica green table top. Of course, my first question was how he chose this profession. Frank laughed and told me a story about his girls going to a kid’s birthday party. They were shocked that the place reeked of stale beer, and the bathrooms were even worse. This father of two was dismayed to hear that there wasn’t a decent kid’s venue to be found. And that is when he and wife Carla first thought of this building for kids’ parties. My mom was in that business for 32 years, and Carla went into business with her. It was the Party House in Chalmette, so they could see the need

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for this in Slidell, and it had to be in Olde Towne. The soda fountain and ice cream were perfect additions, but it wasn’t the initial concept. Funny how opportunities in life present themselves. I figured there was probably an ice cream spark somewhere back in Frank’s past. After we discussed many fascinating topics, I broached the question about his childhood. Frank thought for a second, then unrolled the script in his memory. “I grew up at a time when kids were free to walk and bike everywhere. How well I remember going to the Frostop on Chef Highway, and the soda fountain in the Sears and Roebuck at Gentilly Woods, as well as the Walgreens. Then came the Howard Johnson’s on the corner of Press and Chef Highway. I even rode all the way down Canal St. to the Woolworth’s soda fountain. But my most vivid memory was Waterbury’s. It was open 24 hours a day. I can picture it now as one soda jerk would take your order, and yell this order to the other soda jerk. He would shout either ‘shoot one’ for a single, or ‘double shot’ for a sweeter version. Then the other soda jerk would squirt one or two shots of the syrup for Cokes, add the ice and the carbonated soda water, and that was a Coca Cola.” When I expressed surprise at the way soft drinks were made from scratch, Frank looked proud and said, “We offer handmade cokes and root beers here! It tastes so much better than the ones you buy in a bottle or can. We even use flaked ice.” Frank reached back even earlier in his memories, to when his family hand-cranked ice cream at home. “It only happened once a week. On Sundays, the neighbors would come over, and whoever volunteered to crank, got to lick the dasher. I’ll never forget the day I heard the motor on a new electric ice cream machine. It saddened me to realize that my little brother would never get to experience hand cranking, or the anticipation that goes with it. My life was like Leave it to Beaver, seriously. Kids didn’t have a care, or need to fear strangers.” I was temporarily distracted by a little girl who dashed past us on her way to the back room, where the old-fashioned arcade games are. Her eyes were sparkling as she saw the PacMan video game. Frank quickly exclaimed, “Those kids are what it’s all about here. The popular flavors may change, but ice cream will always be a favorite, regardless of the latest diet fad. Remember when the favorites were vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, and you had to wait for the season for the last one? Now there’s cookie dough and mint chocolate chip, not to forget my original Madagascar Bourbon Vanilla. This business

The Old Town Soda Shop has been a media darling since its inception. Frank shared some of the HUNDREDS of news stories about the shop with us and noted, “There are pictures posted on facebook from people all over the country, that I don’t even know about until someone tells me. This place makes great memories for people.” is more kid driven, so we also have more colorful ice cream flavors. You know, sight is the first sense that attracts you, and smell is actually second. These days you can pull out your phone and see it all on my website. They are working on the smell part too,” he laughed. This soda jerk is actually quite philosophical. I suspect you learn a lot about human nature in his line of work. For Frank, it’s all about people. He looked at me across the table, with his big hands folded in front of him and asserted, “All of us are a combination of everyone that we come in contact with, our family, friends, even old friends we seldom see anymore. I don’t stay in touch with my high school and college friends. But they are still in my heart. Every one of them played a specific role toward influencing me. You see, I am the sort of man that dedicates himself to his business, so friendships suffer as a consequence. One of my good ‘couple friends’ missed us so much that they actually brought dinner to us here at the shop and arranged to meet Carla and me after we closed. We just couldn’t take a day off since the shop is open seven days a week. It was the only way to find time to visit. Carla and I and our two girls even moved in right next door in the old First Methodist Church building so we could maximize time at work and home. My youngest, Laurie, worked with us for years.” Frank added, “You know, small businesses take on the personality of the owners, too. Franchises, though, are a different story. They are the same no matter what city or state you visit. I think you’ll find that every small family business owner works long hours beyond the posted opening hours. They have to keep the wolf away from the door. If they are struggling, that means their family will, too. I want family-owned shops to make

it, so I started consulting. I really wanted new soda shop owners to make it, and I figured they could learn from my mistakes. I want to leave this world a little better somehow, and my experience is what I have to offer. My consulting business is called Walking In My Shoes. Prospective soda jerks even tracked me down while I was closed after Katrina, even though I didn’t have a landline. They would have seen the article about my shop in Southern Living, or on the Food Network, and call the City of Slidell to send a message. I agreed to travel to their shops in West Virginia, Georgia, anywhere they asked. But once I built back, I knew that it would be best for them to come here. I have people coming from the Carolinas, New York, Iowa, Florida, you name it.” Frank pulled out an article featuring the fact that Blue Bunny, the largest distributor of ice cream, sent their International sales team down here from Asia, the Caribbean and Africa to see how we do it here in Slidell. They were here for three days. “Usually, I have a one-day course, but it is packed from eight in the morning to often ten at night. We go over everything from making ice cream to hiring and firing, advertising, every aspect of running this business. If nothing else, I want prospective owners to know the effort involved. You don’t want to mortgage your

home only to realize this isn’t what you bargained for. So I don’t sugar-coat anything. The hours are grueling, and you also have to be willing to mentor high school kids until they understand what work ethic is all about. There’s so much more than meets the eye to owning your own business.”

Finally Frank spoke about the hard times. “After Hurricane Blue Bunny, the largest distrib Katrina, I basically severed all International sales team down he ties, and avoided phones and Africa to be taught by FaceBook. Carla and the girls went to Atlanta for two years, and I did what was needed then. I wound up back in the construction business as a contractor, helping to rebuild. I remember on one of her visits back, Carla and I went to a party, and we had no less than three requests as to when the Soda Shop was coming back. Even going inside the hardware store, I always got that same question, plus when would I restore the fire engine.” Frank looked at his hands and refolded them. Then he quietly and earnestly confided that for those two years, he didn’t miss the management part of his business. He ticked off the unpleasant tasks on his fingers, including the taxes, payroll, insurance, permit compliance, and inspections. After 17 years of 80-90 hour work weeks, I’m sure he and Carla, and probably even the girls, were ready for a break.

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“Eventually, Morris Hawkins caught me coming in from construction at ten at night, and offered to do the stuff I didn’t want to, if I would just build it back like it used to be. So I put in more long days and nights; but this time, I was finally renovating my own place, after seven long years. It only took me twelve weeks, because I put in 16 hour days.” After a moment of contemplation, Frank was back to his easy, smiling nature. He raised his finger and proclaimed, “See, all that time I was missing one thing, my customers. My regular customers become friends, and we watch their kids grow up. I have so many warm memories.” He cocked his head and smiled off in the distance. “I remember one incident that probably affected me most. A doctor and his wife were visiting lots of towns, trying to decide where to begin their practice, hang their shingle, and raise their family. The hospital director always brings potential doctors here for lunch. After this couple moved to Slidell, the wife came to me and made a point of telling me that this business was part of the deciding factor. They were courted by so many cities in Louisiana that it became overwhelming to make the final decision, and details became almost a blur in their quest. She said she figured that any town with a family business like this must be a great place to raise kids.” Frank beamed, “Now THAT is a reason to bring back a business. This community needs a place like this. A soda shop brings people back to the good old days. Even the youngest ones have seen old movies or TV programs, where the world used to be such a neat place to live. I like making that happen, even if only for a few hours in their lives.” I was amazed that this single experience helped that family

choose to settle in Slidell, but Frank said he hears stories all the time about how much it means to people. “After Katrina, a couple came in with their 19 year old daughter. I could tell she had been crying. They explained that she moved to Tennessee after Katrina, and they surprised her on this trip back home by showing up here. She never dreamed we were butor of ice cream, sent their back. The girl sobbed as she ere from Asia, the Caribbean and exclaimed to me, ‘My whole life y Frank here in Slidell. was here.’ Now that’s humbling! I was so busy fighting the good fight of life and Katrina, and then I realize how much this place meant to the community. Olde Towne is a special place for Slidellians, and the Soda Shop is part of that. Hardly a single day goes by that someone doesn’t stop me and thank me for keeping this atmosphere in their town.” As if on cue, a friend of mine, Julie Kronlage, brought her two grandchildren in and sat down. They ordered the biggest old-fashioned hamburgers I’ve seen in a while, followed by ice cream. On the way out I heard the granddaughter ask, “Will this place be here when I grow up?” This nine year old picked up on the special nature of this ambience. Frank beamed knowingly at me and explained, “When I travel, I avoid the interstates and franchises. I look for the family-owned businesses, places where the locals gather. That is how you find the sense of culture that embodies the local spirit. I have always hated to see that part of culture lost. Cities that have a town square or old section are able to keep that history and sense of community. But you also have to have a community that supports that part of town.” Frank shook his head, and then looked back at me with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Here lately, I hear people wanting to bring that atmosphere back, and avoid the big box stores. We’re beginning to realize what it’s all about.” My husband had begged me to find out about Frank’s antique fire engine. That question hit a soft spot with Frank. “About a year and a half after I started the soda shop, we took a trip to Callaway Gardens in Georgia. I drove into the old part of LaGrange and there I saw this old 1947 fire truck out in the weather. It was just there to hold up a big sign, but it was irresistible. On a whim, I started talking to the owner, and next thing you know, I was driving it home. I had fun building the little firehouse for it and restoring it back to its full glory. Sadly, it went under in Katrina and sat for seven years. Morris eventually talked me into refurbishing that, too. I like to say it’s the luckiest fire engine in the world. You see those kids having a blast riding around Olde Towne during their parties. They love it. I love that little engine so much, I am now writing a kid’s book about its history,” Frank beamed. That old siren can be heard throughout Olde Towne, and who can resist waving back at the smiling faces on those kids? Everybody loves “The Little Engine That Did”. Feeling quite fortunate that we still have this establishment, I became curious how they chose Slidell. Frank explained that he and Carla started out on the South Shore, where

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The United Methodist Church of Slidell (19051956) is now beautifully remodeled and home to CASA downstairs and Frank & Carla’s home upstairs. Original photo by G. Rondeau. Copyright Slidell Museum, 1998 he was in the construction business in New Orleans as Jackson Construction Company for 15 years. “I was gone long hours every day, and I missed my family. One day I told Carla that I needed a family vacation. I asked her where we had been, and I was appalled when she and the girls quickly named the only two vacations we spent together. Both times I cut the trip short, I was so focused on my job. I had lost the ability to relax. I thought about it and, after the girls went to bed, we calculated that if I kept this up, by the time my eight and nine year olds were 18 and 19 and leaving home, I would have spent four quality weeks with them. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my life. So first, we moved to the Northshore, chose a home on Carr Drive so I could fish, and joined the First Methodist Church, where we met so many native Slidellians. There were only about 16,000 people here then, and it was a good choice.”

“Almost immediately, Carla and the girls became part of the community. But I was commuting, and gone all the time in the construction business. I had already lost interest in my work, and the commute made it worse, so I decided to find something on the Northshore. It took me another two years to wind down all of my commitments, but I gave up that business, and wanted to spend time with my family for a while. I took all that energy and decided to focus on them while we figured out what to do next. Finally, I had learned that they wanted my time, not my money. So when the girls were off that summer, we sat around the breakfast table in the mornings and decided how to spend the day. You name it, we did it - from putt putt golf, to swimming, even taking off on trips. We had a blast, and I really got to know them.” Now Frank laughed out loud. “I overdid that, too. One day my oldest, Christie, just came out and asked me, ’Dad, don’t you have friends anymore?’ Of course I was clueless. Carla had to pull me aside and explain that they needed to see their friends once in a while.” Now he shook his head and smiled a wry smile. “Then I realized what they say is true, you can’t make up for lost time in one summer. But I had made a start,” and he smiled with one finger in the air. “After that, I knew I had to look for a business on this side of the lake that would give me more time with my family going forward. That’s when we decided to start the children’s parties. I was buying shoes over at Buckley’s and told Marie Giordano about our plans. That’s when she told me she had this building, and relayed the story about this building where Giordano Buckley’s Shoe Store used to be. They had the store downstairs, and all lived upstairs. It sounded like the Brady Bunch. Her mom had three kids, her dad had three, then they had three together. Once they married, some of them added on rooms and came into the business. The house had been added on to many times. I was intrigued, and Carla and I thought it was perfect. I bought my girls’ dance shoes here, never dreaming we would own it some day. After a little research, I discovered the previous building burned in 1915, and this one was built in 1916. So this year we celebrate the hundredth year of this structure.” Frank waved his arm toward the ceiling in celebration. That’s when another ice cream scoop collection caught my eye. When I first entered, I had seen rows of scoops from every period, size, and shape, from the utilitarian to those with Scooby Doo on the handle in the front room. Now my eyes followed them, and saw that the rows of scoops wrapped from room to room. Frank admitted, “I collect everything

historical about the soda shop industry. I also research these pieces of equipment, learn about their history.” He brought me some laminated sheets with fascinating facts and photographs that he leaves on the counter for others to discover. I can see why kids and adults alike never want to leave. Now Frank got animated, and revealed that after he started researching soda shops, ice cream and ice cream cones, he really got enthused. “Let me show you the fascinating part of this business.” He jumped up and asked me to follow him. Behind the counter we went, over to the large showcase window at the front entrance. This was where shoes used to be on display back when I was a kid, eyeing shoes at Giordano Buckley’s Shoe Store. Frank picked up an extremely heavy cast-iron piece of equipment, carried it like a babe in bunting, and placed it on one of the round ice cream tables out front. Well, that was all it took. People were intrigued, and I watched the males, in particular, gravitate to it throughout our interview. It never failed. They gleamed at the colorful candies and ice creams, then headed mesmerized, straight for the mysterious big, black box. I learned that this was a cone mold. In fact, it was a six-cone maker that was in use before 1904. He showed old black and white photos of child employees using the machine in a horse barn. Frank exalted, “It took me 15 years of research before I discovered the real history of this invention. I had always heard the same history at Ice Creamers conventions. The belief was that the ice cream cone was introduced at the 1904 World’s Fair because of a conversation between an Assyrian baker and an ice cream vendor that ran out of cups. It turned out that it was an Assyrian who introduced the cone, but he had already been serving cones before the fair. So, it was at this fair that they became widely known, but not when they were invented,” Frank enthused. Next he brought out a box full of photos and articles, including a 1908 image of a gasoline operated cotton candy apparatus with a foot peddle. It looked so similar to my grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine. From there, Frank introduced me to stir pots, a lead and tin ice cream container from George Washington’s day. Only the rich folks and politicians used them. They actually stirred with a spoon before a woman, Nancy Johnson, invented the dasher in 1843. I never wanted this interview to end, I was learning so much more than I ever imagined. “You know, I love researching and experimenting. It was a natural progression from buying name brand ice cream to selling my own

Post-Katrina, the Soda Shop stayed in the news constantly. Everyone wanted to know when the doors would open again. Frank and Morris’ decision to reopen the shop made front page news across the parish and beyond, with many people considering their comeback a sign of recovery and healing in Slidell. handmade flavors. I just couldn’t get fudge ripple or black walnut wholesale. You may be surprised, but even finding the right vanilla extract is a project. Plus the price is skyrocketing. So I think my next creative endeavor will be making the extract myself.” Just as quickly, Frank brought the conversation back to his family. “Prior to Katrina, my four year old granddaughter, Reagan Laird, loved this place, and would jump up to serve customers. It was so touching, I even sewed an apron just for her. It didn’t occur to me that this would be such a brief period in her life. Now I can take off work, but I still can’t be with my family because they are of the age where they are engrossed in the rat race. We really have it all backwards. I should have been with my kids when they were little, instead of working to provide everything they wanted. Now is when I should be spending time working, because they’re grown. So many people tried to tell me that. I used to eat lunch on a big concrete form with this older man at the Jackson Barracks. He told me this same lesson. I realize finally that people come along in your life when you need them, if you only listen. Even if you aren’t ready for their knowledge, we store it in the recess of our brain, and pull it forward when we need it. How I wish God had just knocked me over the head. I was so hard-headed that it seems it took me forever to see that your family and friends are the ones who suffer when you work so hard. But I’ve been fortunate to make friends that I can depend on like family. I still have to make a conscientious effort to take time off. We all tend to think everything will fall apart without us,” and Frank smiled wryly, and shook his head.

I commented on how I lost my sense of time while we were reminiscing, and how much fun it was. Frank looked up and announced, “You know, oral story telling is becoming a thing of the past. It makes me wonder how the older generation will pass their knowledge on. At times it seems like we are headed toward missing the entire social order of things. You can sit in a doctor’s office and never learn anything from the strangers around you. You could sit an entire hour right next to someone and know nothing about them, their past, their goals, or aspirations. With our phones, we tend to engross ourselves with games, email or work. The younger generation is really missing the fact that we are all part of this huge family called the human race.” He caught himself, and said, “I know that sounds extreme, but I’ll give you an example. Carla and I went to this neat restaurant in Meridian, Mississippi. I’m trying to think of the name.” I guessed the name immediately, Weidmann’s. It was a magical restaurant my grandparents used to bring me to when I was little. The waiters were jolly and personable, a crude ceramic jar of homemade peanut butter was always on the table to tide you over, and there was a treasure chest for good little boys and girls. The room was full of good stories and cheer.

as jokes. When one left, another came in and took his spot, and they all congregated toward the door. It struck me that no one sat on the far end. Then I thought about what young folks might do. They would probably gravitate to the other end, and pull out their cell phone. That’s what I want to change in Slidell.” Frank pointed out a table behind me. There was a group of maybe eight high school students, all jammed into a circular booth laughing and talking. They are leaning forward, looking intently at each other. “That makes it all worth while. You know, my granddaughter, Tatum Laird, is only ten, and while I’m making ice cream, she comes out and waits on customers, talks freely to them, and interacts with the older kids I employ. I want other people’s grandchildren to experience this sense of security, so I also have soda jerk camps in the summer. I want to spread the joy.” Frank concluded our visit by proclaiming, “We all have good people around us if we just take the time to listen, and that’s what this place is for!”

“Yes, that’s it!’ Frank exclaimed and continued his tale. “As we sat there I watched the counter, and it seemed each man knew the other and spoke to everyone down the counter as they entered. News was passed between them, as well 11

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Storyteller The Wounds of War in war, but it was not something that any captain or commander wanted to order. Even in war time, it was murder. What would they do?

On June 4, 1944 a German submarine lurked off the coast of West Africa. The ship’s name was the U-505. It was spotted by a Naval Task Force and depth charges were dropped. The submarine was forced to surface and surrender. It was standard German procedure that if a submarine was forced to surrender, the ship’s valves would be opened, and other steps would be taken to scuttle it. With the exception of one person, all the crewmen were saved and the ship did not sink. The Americans were able to capture the ship undamaged. More importantly, the ship contained pieces the Americans would need to decipher the ultra-secret Enigma code. Having this code gave the Americans a distinct advantage over the enemy as long as the enemy did not know they had it. They could not take the crew as prisoners of war. If they did they would have to notify the International Red Cross and the IRC would notify

It was decided to classify them as refugees, escaping Nazi Germany and needing political asylum. This classification did not require notification to the International Red Cross. The Red Cross was notified the entire crew had been killed in the sinking of the sub.

their families that they were alive. The Germans would then assume the ship could have fallen into enemy hands. One solution would have been to execute the crew. Not that things like that did not happen

They in fact were alive and well, and shipped to a POW camp in Ruston, Louisiana. It was a top secret project and they had to be guarded. If only one escaped or talked to another prisoner who was allowed to write letters home, the secret would be revealed. The camp in Ruston was isolated. Who would guard them? It could not be left up to the normal Military Police. They may accidently reveal who they were guarding in a letter that could be intercepted.

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During the war, in all branches of the service, professional and semi-professional athletes were recruited to entertain the troops. They played their sport, usually football or baseball, at military bases all over the world. The intent was to entertain and boost the morale of the troops. By 1944, entertainment was not in such demand, as the spirits of the soldiers were improved with a possible war’s end in sight. A dreadful but needed decision was made. These athletes would be used as guards. All of the athletes’ families were notified that they had been killed in an unexpected bombing. The American families received their death notices in mid-July, just as the German families received theirs. The result was that two groups of soldiers, one American and one German, disappeared. ---------2012 Mary worked at Lake View Retirement Center. Technically, she was an aide, but there was no question in anyone’s mind she was more than that. She had that special gift. She had the ability to communicate with special people - those special people whose minds have long since retreated into rest, and just exist tacitly behind blank, expressionless eyes. “Mrs. Robinson sho feels good this morning,” Mary said to another aide as she pushed the wheelchair of a client by.

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“Mrs. Robinson didn’t tell you nothing.” The coworker’s tone was almost one of jealousy. “Oh yea she did. She talks to me. Sometime she does. When she don’t, I can see what she is thinking in her eyes.” Mary was a favorite at Lake View. She had worked there for twenty years. Somehow she had earned the right to only care for those whose minds had begun to decline. It truly seemed that she could communicate with them when no one else could.

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Mrs. Robinson became a client the day after her 90th birthday. That was five years ago. She was a favorite with the staff because of her agreeable disposition and her sharp wit. She knew every employee’s name, their spouse’s name and the names of all their children. You would have never known she was 90 except for her mobility problems. It became too dangerous for her to live alone; and her children, three of them, were a minimum of a two hours’ drive away. Over the years, she had told the staff about her life. They enjoyed her sharing what appeared to be a story book life with a family of love, financial comfort and happiness. So many clients do not have a past filled with positives. She told them about her fifty-seven-year marriage to William, her three girls, and her son Robbie. To the staff, Robbie was the only tragedy in her life. He was killed in Vietnam in 1966. Then slowly - no, rapidly - the wit and mental sharpness began to retreat. At first, she just talked less. Then she would forget things she did in the morning, but remember things that happened years ago. This was the point in time when she was assigned to Mary. Dementia is a strange state of being. It lies in the valley between genius and unconsciousness. Mary prided herself in bringing out the best moments. That time when maybe the damaged mind knows more than the healthy one. Out of these moments come glimpses into lives. Lives and events in lives that have long been hidden or at least not talked about. Mary knew about William. She made it a point to gather all the information she could about a client. She knew that tomorrow

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would have been William’s birthday had he not died ten years ago. She also knew that in the past, Mrs. Robinson liked to celebrate it. Not only was Mary a dedicated employee, she also loved her clients and would do things for them on her own time and at her own expense. Wednesday would be her day off and, with her own money, she would buy a birthday cake. She decorated a table on the patio facing the lake and seated Mrs. Robinson in the shady part of the roof overhang. Just the two of them sat on the patio. Soon Mary knew that today Mrs. Robinson was confused. She rambled, she talked about William and knew it was his birthday. She talked about Robbie, her son, and sometimes called him Robert. “You know Mary, he played baseball. Signed with the New Orleans Pelicans. He would have been a star if the War had not come along.” “What year was that Mrs. Robinson?” Mary asked.

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“It was the Summer of ‘43. You know, Summer, that is baseball season. Always loved baseball. Never went to a game again after Robert was gone. I still miss baseball though.”

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“Mrs. Robinson, your son was Robbie, he was not born until 1946, you done told me that.” “No Mary, not Robbie, Robert. He was my husband.”

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Mrs. Robinson, we be havin’ a good day, you are confused. We be here to celebrate your husband’s birthday, he be William.”

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“Yes, but my husband was Robert too. Mary, come here. I don’t want anyone to hear what I am going to tell you.”

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There wasn’t anyone within one hundred yards but Mary leaned close to Mrs. Robinson. She whispered, “I had two husbands.”

“I didn’t know you be divorced, Mrs. Robinson.”

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“I wasn’t.” “He be killed in the War, I imagine? That right?” “Well, yes and no. He was killed, but I guess you could say he came alive.” “Oh, Mrs. Robinson, do you feel ok?” “Better than I have felt in years. You think I am crazy. Sometimes I am, but not today. You look him up, his name was Robert Sandifer.”

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“How does he be Robbie’s daddy if you married to Mr. William?” “No, Robbie was William’s son, I just named him after Robert. You see, I never told William I was married before. I couldn’t.” “You couldn’t?” “No, we were never divorced. I told you I had two husbands.” “How that be?”

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“Well, the week before Robert left for the Army, I went to New Orleans to watch him play his last baseball game. You see, we were high school sweethearts. Down at that Monteleon Hotel, we got on that turning bar, and it just made those drinks that much stronger. We drank too much and started feeling sorry for ourselves.” “He said he may never come back and I started crying. The first thing I knew it was ten o’clock the next morning and we were at the city hall getting a marriage license. The next day, we pulled some strings and got married. We decided not to tell anyone, and when the war was over, we would have a real wedding.

We told no one. He did not even tell the Army people about me.” “The word came that he had been killed. I heard it from friends. Of course they did not know we were married. I was devastated, but knew I had to go on with my life. In just a few weeks, I met William and in six months we were married.” “Thank goodness William was away that day. I heard a knock at the door, and I could not believe my eyes. It was Robert. I did not know what to do. I just froze and nothing would come out of my mouth.” “It seemed like forever, then he said, ‘Is it true?’” “I couldn’t answer. In a few minutes, I saw tears roll down his face and he turned and walked slowly away. I felt so bad; but what could I do? I loved him, but I loved William, too. Mary, I was also pregnant with Robbie.” “I never saw him again. I never asked anyone about him and no one ever mentioned him to me. Our paths never crossed. I don’t know what would have happened if they had. You know everyone has ups and downs in their marriage.” Mrs. Robinson got real quiet as if she knew she had told a secret that should not have been told. Mary saw that curtain in her mind close and knew that, for all practical purposes, the day was over.

It was as if Mrs. Robinson had to make one last confession before she finished her earthly business. Two weeks after the conversation, she passed away in her sleep. Mrs. Robinson’s daughter, Theresa, who lived the closest, come to pick up her things. She made a special point to call Mary outside and thank her for the care she had given her mother. She placed five one hundred dollar bills in her hand. Mary grieved for all of her clients, but somehow she grieved for Mrs. Robinson the most. It may have been because she knew part, and only part, of a love story that no one else knew. She also knew it was an unfinished love story. Almost two years after Mrs. Robinson passed away, Theresa called the retirement center. She wanted to speak to Mary. “Mary retired six months ago, but we remember your mother. She was a real nice lady.” “Do you have a number for Mary?” Theresa inquired. “We are not allowed to give that out, but we will give Mary your number and let her call you if she wishes. “Yes, I will give you my number and tell her that I want to see if she ever heard of a Robert Sandifer.”

“I sure will.” About an hour later, Theresa’s phone rang and it was Mary. “Yessum, yo mama told me about him, kind of confusing. Why do you ask?” “Yesterday a man who identified himself as Bill Sandifer called me. He said he was a genealogy buff and his father was Robert Sandifer. He said he found a marriage license for his dad and my mother but no death or divorce record. Do you know anything about this?” “I do Miss Theresa, but sometime you should just let a sleeping dog lie. It aint professional for me to repeat what I heard when I was working. Just be content in the fact that yo mama sho loved Mr. William. That’s all I am gone say.” Storyteller’s Note: You can visit the U-505 in its pristine restored condition at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois. There is a picture of the baseball players that served as guards. I am sure Robert Sandifer is in the picture.

 John Case

February 2016

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Slidell Magazine is proud to support Leadership Northshore (LNS), an innovative program to assist in preparing emerging community leaders for leadership positions in local government, business and community affairs. LNS provides a forum for and increases the awareness of potential leaders by giving them an intense course which encompasses a broad scope of community concerns. Each year, a new class of 25-30 members start on this intense 9 month learning process. The class is also divided into 4-6 project teams, with each team developing, coordinating and funding a specific project of their choosing that will have an impact on St. Tammany Parish. Some of the best known Leadership team projects include Pelicans on Parade, Kids Unlimited Playground, Pumpkin Fest, Senior Celebration and the preservation of Greenwood Cemetery. Look for future stories in Slidell Magazine as we continue to highlight the wonderful work that Leadership Northshore is doing in our community.

“Saving One Life At A Time”

magine a hot summer day. You stop at the grocery store on your way home from work to pick up some milk. Walking through the parking lot, you notice an odd noise coming from the car just to your right. It’s the sound of a child locked inside. The temperature is rapidly rising! What is your first reaction? Do you break the window to prevent injury or perhaps to save the child’s life? How could this situation have been prevented? In the US, an average of 37 deaths occur each year related to parents and/or caregivers who forget their child in the car. Leadership Northshore (LNS) team “The Car Seat Guardian Angels” is on a mission to prevent these tragedies in our community. Their motto of “Forgetting Once is Regretting Forever” has some alarming statistics to back it up: Every 10 days, a child dies from vehicular heatstroke in the U.S. Between January 1 - September 30, 2015, there were 23 child deaths.

Heatstroke is clinically defined as when a person’s temperature exceeds 104°F and their thermoregulatory mechanism is overwhelmed. Symptoms of heatstroke include dizziness, disorientation, agitation, confusion, sluggishness, seizure, hot dry skin that is flushed but not sweaty, loss of consciousness, rapid heart beat and hallucinations. The focus of Guardian Angels is hot cars, because of the South’s notorious heat; but the problem is nationwide and is also relevant for children in freezing cars. Between 1998-2016, there were 662 child deaths related to being left behind in a vehicle. According to Jan Null CCM, San Francisco State University Department of Geosciences, 73% of those deaths were children under the age of 2. Children’s thermoregulatory systems are not as efficient as an adult’s and their body temperatures warm quicker, causing them to warm at a rate of 3-5 times faster than an adult.

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It can take as little as 15 minutes in an overheated car for a child to suffer life-threatening brain or kidney injuries. When body temperatures reaches 104°F, internal organs shut down. At 107°F, children die. In 2010, the problem became near-epidemic as a heat wave washed across the US, causing 49 vehicular heatstroke deaths in that one year. Who does this happen to? The problem crosses all social and demographic lines. Team member Angela Totora, a Registered Nurse at SMH who runs the Clinical Education programs and serves as a House Supervisor, says, “I’ve experienced it. I’ve seen them. We had 3 families last year that were brought into the ER because of this. We have parents from 16 years old to their forties. And they need to be educated and aware that this can happen to anybody. They don’t even have to be having a bad day - it’s the activities of life.” Team member Carrie Calvin, who serves as a CPA and Audit Manager with Bourgeois Bennett CPA Firm, agrees, “The parent is used to a routine. Say that the dad has to drop the child off at daycare and he’s not the normal parent to do it. He’s on auto-pilot of going to work and parking his car. So, he does that, and the child is sleeping and quiet and he forgets the child. It’s not about being a bad parent. How many times have you driven to work and not remembered how you got there?” On June 5, 2015, Angel Green, a 22-month-old little girl, died in Baton Rouge from vehicular heatstroke.

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How can this be prevented? The team’s goal is to provide Slidell Memorial Hospital with Baby Alert ChildMinder Softclips®, an electronic clip that attaches to the child’s car seat and has a key fob for the parent. The key fob emits a loud alarm to warn the parent if they’ve walked more than a few steps away from their car without their child. Currently, SMH is the only health care provider in East St. Tammany Parish that has a service line focusing on our newborn population. The team plans to present a Baby Alert to the parents of each of the approximately 1,000 newborn babies leaving the hospital during 2016. The goal is to raise $25,000 so the clips can be purchased in bulk, at discount prices, to be distributed free of charge. The other method of prevention is through awareness. Dwight Evans, a detective and former patrol deputy with the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s office, notes, “Awareness is definitely needed.” He is also quick to add that the awareness campaign goes much further than the parent. It includes working with organizations throughout the community to spread the word and help educate parents and caregivers. “Being a first responder, I can connect to other agencies like the fire department and others to get the word out there. My job requires me to deal with people and community organizations, so I can be helpful in that way,” Dwight says. Dwight also has had first-hand exprience with the dangers. “There was an arrest made in 2014 from a 5-week-old girl on the Northshore who was

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Vehicular heatstroke affects all demographics. The parents of Juan, a vehicular heatstroke victim, were an accountant and a research scientist.

left in the car. We’ve got to make people aware that this can happen anywhere and it can be prevented.” The group is currently attending events around our city to inform new and future parents about these devices, as well as other products that are available to prevent this type of tragedy. You will likely see them at the Camellia City Market, The Carey Street Crawl, the upcoming Kids Fest (another Leadership Northshore team project that is slated for April 23) and various other festivals and activities throughout St. Tammany Parish. A big part of the success of this program is raising the funds needed for the child alert system. Team member Cheryl Scaglione serves as Director of Open Arms Community Center (Behind the former Bethany Lutheran Church, newly renamed to Open Arms). She says, “If you were to buy the Alert System yourself, they would cost $100 each, but we’re able to get them for $25 each. So, our goal is to raise $25,000.” Cheryl believes that her job serves as an asset to her team’s goal because, she says, “In my job, you have to be a self-starter and prioritize yourself. I’m currently writing grants and fundraising for the community center, so there is a lot of overlap with fundraising and awareness of the Leadership project.”

Team member Eric Barnstein, the owner and operator of Apogee ATM (and a member of the Slidell Magazine family!), agrees that each team member brings a new perspective to their LNS project because of their life and work experience. “My job presents me with problems that aren’t readily solvable or don’t have an easy answer. Being able to work through those problems and see possible solutions helps me solve some of the problems in our project and create

ideas to reach our goal.” As for their diverse personalities and opinions, he says, “As a team, we’re really doing well. We’re all focused on the outcome. We may not travel down the same roads or use my ideas but each idea generates thoughts that eventually will lead to the success of our project.” The team is seeking donations from anyone who feels they could make a difference in saving a child’s life. The team has set up a GoFundMe account, an active social media campaign, placed donation jars, and set-up information booths to promote awareness and raise funding. Eric sums up the overview of the project, “We want to raise awareness. The 1000 families that get the monitors are going to tell all their friends about it. As the information permeates through the community, we hope it won’t be as necessary to have the monitors.”

For more information about preventing vehicular heatstroke, visit: www.KidsAndCars.org www.Safercar.gov www.safekids.org/heatstroke

To make a donation to the Car Seat Guardian Angels, visit: TheCarSeatGuardianAngels.com Like them on facebook: The Car Seat Guardian Angels Donate online at: www.gofundme.com/rmfvqm54

The Car Seat Guardian Angels: l-r: Eric Barnstein, Angela Totora, Carrie Calvin, Cheryl Scaglione and Dwight Evans.

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MAGICAL BUTTERFLY Inner Wheel USA Foundation Walk Saturday, February 27 Camp Salmen Nature Park Slidell

9:00am - 10:00am To support the Inner Wheel, USA Foundation which provides myoelectric prosthesis limbs to children The local Inner Wheel Club in Slidell is looking for sponsors and walkers for their annual fundraising event to support the Inner Wheel USA Foundation. Walkers will walk a mile though Camp Salmen beginning at 9:00am on February 27th and sponsors pledge $10 for the mile. Please support this effort as every $10 means a million to a child in need.

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Of Your Money By Mike Rich, CFP® Pontchartrain Investment Management

What would you do with one million dollars?

The Canadian music group Barenaked Ladies recorded If I Had $1,000,000 in the early 1990s. In it, the singer lists all the things he would buy his sweetheart if he were a millionaire. Things like ottomans, tree-forts, pre-wrapped sausages, and such. These would not be amongst my first choices, so I decided to check another source. While I was on vacation with my family in late December, I asked my grandson Rex, who just made ten years old, what he would do with a million dollars. His answer stunned me: “I would put it in the bank and invest it for a long time.” Not expecting to hear that from a ten-year old, I asked Rex

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why he thought that was a good idea. “If I put a million dollars in the bank now and wait a long time before I take it out,” he said, “I’ll have way more than a million dollars in the future, and just think what I could do with all of that money.” Now, in case you are thinking that Rex is some type of investing prodigy, he went on to say that he could also buy every video game, hand-held electronic device, and Lego set ever made and would then never run out of anything to do. Oh, well... Although having a million dollars is nice, most people don’t start their financial lives with that much money in hand. Instead, folks who want to work their way to financial security typically do it little by little. Here are some of the things many of my clients do:

1. They protect what they have and what might come. It doesn’t make much sense to build assets if you aren’t protecting the ones you already have. Your family comes first, so any breadwinner in the house needs life insurance. We can save the discussion about the differences between whole life and term life insurance for another day. The important thing is to have the correct amount. It might surprise you, but a 35-year old who earns $50,000 a year has a Human Life Value of more than $1,000,000. In insurance company-speak, it means that he or she needs that much in life insurance death benefit, invested over the years that would have been worked, to provide adequate replacement income. Along those same lines, for your biggest asset (no, it’s not your house), you need disability income insurance. Your ability to achieve financial security will likely come to a dead stop if you can’t work because of a sickness or injury. If you have a group policy, please make sure you understand how it works, because a lot of them don’t work very well. If you don’t have a group plan, get your own policy. I can help you figure out what you need.

2. They have an emergency fund. When Rex said that he would put his million dollars in the bank, he unwittingly said that he liked liquidity. Most people probably don’t need that much cash

sitting around earning next to nothing, but everyone I can think of needs an emergency fund. If the tires on your car are about to wear out and you have to use a credit card for replacements, my guess is that you don’t have enough liquidity. If money seems to disappear before you can build up emergency cash, consider opening an on-line savings account and setting up automatic, regular deposits. Automatic is good. Set it and forget it. Make it an iron rule that you won’t touch it unless you have a financial emergency.

3. They relentlessly avoid short-term debt. In my opinion, short-term debt is bad debt, and I want it off your balance sheet. Pay off high-interest credit cards first, then tackle the rest, such as student loan debt. Get rid of it.

4. They invest for the long-term. Here’s where things can get really interesting. Let’s say that Rex is lucky enough to get his hands on one million dollars tomorrow, and he invests the money at an average annual return of 6%. The math says that when he is 70 years old, he’ll have approximately $33,000,000.1 That’s a lot of Legos. For sure, Rex is not likely to get a million dollars tomorrow (not from me, at least). However, he’s already saving a little bit in his piggy bank every month and, by doing so, is establishing a habit that is likely to pay off in the long run.

5. They have a plan for dealing with long-term care. Here’s a pretty safe bet: if you live long enough, you are probably going to need someone to take care of you. I’m seeing it in my practice and in my own family. The issue is real and it’s going to upset a lot of lives and potentially rip huge holes through retirement accounts for those who are not prepared for the cost of care. The good news is that you don’t have to sell the farm to deal with this, IF you start early. Call me to start the discussion. If you read my articles regularly, you’ve noticed that my message stays pretty consistent: protect what you have, stay liquid, invest for the long haul, stuff like that. There’s a reason for that, and it’s not because I’m a lazy writer. I don’t change my message because the rules for working to achieve financial security haven’t changed, either. I believe that most people can do this, but they simply need someone to guide them. The good news is that you might not need a million dollars to live well. To find out what might make sense for your situation, or to talk about how I might be able to make your financial life easier, call me for a free meeting.

When he interviewed a Regions Business Banker, he grilled us about our unique financing solutions. You should too. Ask us the hardest-hitting questions on your mind.

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How will you work to understand my business and financial goals? Will you give me lending options based on my specific needs? Can I expect smart advice and guidance through all those options? How do you ensure my loan is in line with my objectives?

You’ll find that we have a lot of thought-provoking answers to address the critical issues you face. So interview a Regions Business Banker today to learn how we can help your business move forward, now and down the road. Kurt Bozant | Business Banking | 985.326.2526 1253 Gause Blvd. | Slidell, LA 70458

This is a hypothetical example and is not representative of any specific situation. Your results will vary. The hypothetical rate of return used does not reflect the deduction of fees and charges inherent to investing. Investing involves risk, including loss of principal. 1

Securities and Advisory Services offered through LPL Financial, a Registered Investment Advisor, Member FINRA/SIPC. The opinions voiced in this material are for general information only and are not intended to provide specific advice or recommendations for any individual.

For an interview with a Regions Business Banker, call 985.326.2526 or visit us online at regions.com/interview.

Take a mental journey with me... It’s a bright and clear spring day... We’re dancing... We’re singing... Relaxing... Our lawn chairs and blankets are sprawled in the warm sun... The smell of delicious food lingers in the air above us... Beautiful art surrounds us... The cold beverages flow freely... We’re smiling and laughing with our friends in the community we love at the place that best exemplifies everything that is to love about Slidell... And we get to do it all again tomorrow. Oh yes, Festival Bonfouca is HERE!

Slidell’s very first three-day Music, Art, Food, Community and Fun Festival has arrived! Festival Bonfouca takes its name from the historic Bayou Bonfouca, which intersects Lake Pontchartrain on the Northshore. Bayou – a body of water typically found in a flat, low-lying area, and can refer either to an extremely slow-moving stream or river (often with a poorly defined shoreline), or to a marshy lake or wetland. Bonfouca – an Indian word meaning rich landing or site of abundant resources and referred to the mouth of the river at Lake Pontchartrain.

In April 2014, the idea was born for Olde Towne’s Heritage Park to host a new music and arts festival - a fun, familyfriendly weekend of local art, music, and food. It would serve as a growing engine for the cultural economy, and be the highest caliber music festival that Slidell has ever seen. The festival’s origins can be traced back to one of New Orleans’ most successful and beloved community-centered music and arts festivals, the Mid-City Bayou Boogaloo. The first Bayou Boogaloo was a one-day, one-stage event that attracted nearly 5,000 people. Over the past decade, the Boogaloo has grown into a three-stage, three-day festival that attracts roughly 35,000 people annually!

Festival Bonfouca is hosted by The MotherShip Foundation, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization dedicated to encouraging social change by improving the quality of life for Louisiana residents through the promotion of arts, culture, and recreation. MotherShip Foundation was founded in 2005 in response to the cultural aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Bayou Boogaloo is the organization’s flagship program and offers so much more than fun and entertainment. The annual festival has enabled MotherShip Foundation to reinvest in the community by replanting oak trees along Bayou St. John that had been lost to hurricanes, launch an anti-litter initiative, and become a valued community partner to organizations throughout New Orleans that rely on the annual Mid-City Bayou Boogaloo to generate exposure and raise funds for their services. Now, Slidell has the opportunity for this same fun and philanthropy. “The goal of Festival Bonfouca is to showcase Slidell’s unique art, culture and recreation while bringing economic opportunities to our local businesses and community partners,” said Jared Zeller of MotherShip Foundation. “Festival Bonfouca will be an annual event that benefits all stakeholders, including artists, musicians, vendors and nonprofit partners,” he said. “We also hope to bring a rocking good time to Slidell and turn more people on to the natural beauty of Heritage Park.” The family-friendly festival includes music on two stages, a curated arts market featuring 30 regional artists, a Family Village with children’s games and activities and food from many local restaurants and caterers. A variety of recreational activities are also planned, including canoe and kayak rentals, a fishing tournament and other activities for all ages. Festival Bonfouca has the potential to rival the success of Bayou Boogaloo. Jared says, “We’re excited to develop this new cultural capital event for Slidell and St. Tammany Parish! Come out and see for yourself, it’ll just blow you away!”

PROGRAMMING: Programming will include diverse Musical Entertainment, an Art Market, a Family Village, Favorite Local Restaurants and Caterers, and Recreational Activities for the whole family. MUSIC: Two stages located in Heritage Park will feature music from all genres including Jazz, Funk, R&B, Country, Soul, Gospel, Cajun, Zydeco, World, Hip Hop, and music found only in Louisiana. ART: Thirty regional artists will be selected by jury to display their handcrafted, original art in an open-air market. FAMILY: The Family Village surrounding Heritage Park’s beloved playground will include a children’s marketplace, games, and activities for the whole family. FOOD: Local restaurants, caterers, and food trucks will serve the best in Louisiana cuisine. RECREATION: Enjoy canoe and kayak rentals, a fishing tournament, and activities for all ages.

TICKETS: Friday $5 Saturday or Sunday $10 THREE DAY PASS $20 Purchase before Ash Wednesday (February 10, 2016) to receive 20% off Saturday, Sunday, and Weekend Pass Tickets Children under 12 free Children under 14 must be accompanied by an adult Founders Circle VIP: MotherShip Foundation invites you to be a part of the magic in establishing this signature event. Located next to Festival Bonfouca’s main stage, the Founders Circle VIP Lounge offers shade, a climate-controlled restroom, reserved stagefront viewing, catered cuisine, and a private bar. Children under 14 admitted free with parent.

MUSIC LINE-UP Big Freedia Cyril Neville’s Royal Southern Brotherhood Marcia Ball Sonny Landreth Chubby Carrier & the Bayou Swamp Band Bag of Donuts The Molly Ringwalds Lynn Drury Dash Rip Rock Sweet Tea Trio Honey Island Swamp Band Mike “Soulman” Baptiste & The Real Soul Band ...and MORE!

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by Corey Hogue

It’s February and you know what that means! New Year’s resolution time! Because, of course, no one REALLY gets started until February, right? January is like that gimme month where you’re slowly easing into it but mostly not making those actual changes until you’re three weeks into the new year and realize ok, it’s time to actually follow through now. But it’s time to get up and get started! Personally, I have decided this year to eat healthier and exercise regularly, starting day one of the New Year. So naturally, a few sandwiches and some fried chicken wings later on January 1, I was still waiting to start my New Year’s resolution. I know, I know, self control. But even after that slow start, I didn’t fret. Becoming healthy and making the changes for a healthy lifestyle does not need to be done all in one day. Getting started and making the initial decision is the first step in any health routine. Before you know it, you

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will be exercising regularly, eating better, and feeling good about your resolution. It’s all a matter of forming those healthy habits and getting them to stick. See? When it’s worded like that, it’s not so scary, is it? If you haven’t started exercising and are ready to do so, it’s important to know some facts before you dive right in. The American Heart Association suggests at least 30 minutes of moderate-intensity physical activity on most days of the week (my current goal is 3-4 days). But even if you can’t do 30 minutes, you are going to start seeing benefits even at five to ten minutes of moving around. What does that mean exactly? Go for a walk, ride a bike, dance, or even garden or do chores. Each of these types of physical activity can give you a great workout. Remember, you aren’t training to run a marathon. That sounds exhausting. Yet people do it...for fun…. anyway. No one should go too intense on

their first few outings. If you aren’t used to an intense workout, not only can it deter you from working out in the long run, but it can increase the probability of injuring yourself. So, as much as you might want to lose 50 pounds in two weeks, short of swallowing a worm, take it easy to start off with. Think of it in smaller, more attainable terms. You are simply getting started on becoming or staying healthy. Most people’s biggest excuse for not taking enough time for their health falls somewhere in the realms of scheduling and lack of time. But what are we making time for if not the most important thing - our bodies. There are several ways to work on fitness even if you have a busy schedule and can’t work in working out. Take the stairs at work if your building offers them. Park the furthest from the front door of the grocery store. Walk your block a few times after you get home from

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work. Also, the more people you include in your goal to get healthy, the more fun you are going to have and the more motivated you will be to stay in that routine (my wife calls it “something about accountability”). Whatever you do, make sure it is something you like to do. You are more likely to keep working out or being physical if you enjoy your routine, so much so, that it doesn’t even feel like a routine. Make a kickin’ workout music playlist; get a Richard Simmons workout video going; if you love to workout to a Kinect, then buy a fun workout game. Change it up and do something different three times a week. When you workout, make it something you love to do. Keep in mind, if you are working out for those thirty minutes and want to make sure you are getting your time’s worth, make sure to get your heart rate to about 50-70% of your maximum heart rate, and keep it there for a few minutes. Despite my (I’ll admit) larger waistline, fitness and me actually get along fairly well. I feel like I have always been a relatively active person. It feels satisfying to complete a workout when it’s done within your abilities, and in a healthy way. However, while fitness may keep your muscles working and create great health benefits, it is not complete without altering your diet a bit. It’s true that 80% of health and weight loss is about what goes in your gullet, and 20% is about that activity your body goes through. Now, I am not going to go on a rant about the food we eat. Trust me, I love food TOO MUCH to bad mouth it. And living in the New Orleans area, really, don’t we all? But there are some tweaks you can make without compromising taste. Things like increasing your protein by choosing protein Cheerios instead of regular Cheerios. Or grabbing a water instead of soft

drinks (in fact, if you are more of a foodie thank a drinkie like I am, challenge yourself to one soft drink a month, or none at all!). Try substituting fried foods with baked ones. Fire up the grill and grill some vegetables, chicken, and seafood. Grab smaller portion sizes, or use bigger plates to trick yourself into thinking you’re eating more than you actually are. Maybe sub out the fries for fruit once a week at your lunch outing of choice. Finally, use a calorie counting app to keep track. You could amaze yourself by just learning how many calories the foods you eat are. That’s what has been the most enlightening to me. I just would have never guessed the calorie amounts of some of the things I used to eat. And it makes you overall just more mindful of what goes from fingers to teeth. Personally, I like MyFitnessPal (available for free on Apple and Android phones) but there are tons of great ones out there. They customize how much you should eat based on your measurements, gender, and age, and includes tons of restaurants and pointers which makes eating out a breeze. And they keep track of your goals for you. Which is great for me, because even though I am working on getting fit, I am DEFINITELY still lazy. No shame in my game. If losing weight and getting healthier is your goal, portion control is very important. Think about it, the less you put in, the less calories, fat, sugar, etc. that you consume. This is the hardest lesson for me to put to practice. I love food and when I really love it, I want to eat as much as I can. Having said this, I do have a few tricks to counteract my cravings for more food. My stomach doesn’t rule me! Hear that stomach! You don’t always get what you want! One thing I like to do is to ask for a to-go container as soon as my meal arrives at a restaurant and save

half of it immediately (I can’t tell you how awesome it is to have leftovers like this the next day). Plus, this helps to stretch your dollar by getting you two meals for the price of one. Another tip is using a smaller plate when fixing a plate of food, which research says helps to curb larger portions and to feel fuller with less food. Also, after you fix a plate of food, pack away the leftovers before you sit down to eat to prevent going back for seconds. If you’re often dining with friends or loved ones, split the entree, or just order a few appetizers to share. Another great tip for saving a few dollars, too. Finally, if you are a dessert fiend, brushing your teeth after dinner not only benefits your teeth and mouth but deters you from polishing your sweet tooth with sugar. If you are like me, you aren’t trying to get on the cover of Men’s Fitness or Shape Magazine. Just maybe it’s 2016 and you just want to begin and work on a healthier lifestyle. To feel comfortable and secure in the skin you were given. My own goal is to be healthier, not necessarily lose weight. That is a positive side effect, for sure, though. If I drop pounds, then it will be a great health benefit. If not, I am content with my curvy figure. I have my goals that I am intent on accomplishing. So, before you workout or adjust your diet, find goals you are able to achieve and stick to them. Because resolutions work better with a plan. Even though it is February, it’s not too late. Now, it’s time for me to enjoy some pasta...and maybe a 30 minute walk...small steps! *Note: Be sure to consult a doctor or physician if you are serious about getting into a workout routine to make sure you are healthy enough for physical activity, and to make a plan that’s best for you. Every body is different!

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Valens-Gras

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Louisiana can be a confusing place this time of year. Is it Mardi Gras? Valentine’s Day? Winter? Summer? Do I take a vacation with the family or stay for parades? When I was a kid, my parents liked going to parades. They would have everything prepared the day before. Car gassed up, snacks packed, throw bags at the ready, probably embroidered with our names. They always knew what parking lot we would be in and which restaurant we would go to for dinner. One year, they even had a potty station in the van… a small plastic toilet where your business would disappear behind a sliding contraption with the

push of a button. I always just figured it went out the bottom of the van thru a pipe in the ground, but obviously, they had to empty it SOMEWHERE. Never knew about it though. I always had a blast, and my parents took care of the rest. The only semistressful memories I have was when someone would open the van door mid-stream or mid-plop, or when my Mom knew someone on a float and would accidently grab me by my hair instead of my shirt, dragging me down the road for a huge bag of awesome throws. Totally worth it by the way. When my husband and I take the kids to a parade, it’s usually fun for us too, but we are NOWHERE

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NEAR organized like my parents. I’ve always loved Mardi Gras, but it’s so different when you are the adult. There’s always the one or two parades that make you question why you even left the house. For us, it’s when we decide to go at the last minute. From there, we are led into a downward spiral of unfortunate events. First, we are driving into a sort of back roads neighborhood corn maze of dead end metal barricades. By the time we finally decide where we want to stand, and find a legal place to park, we’re already sweating from the 5 block trek, yet freezing at the same time because we didn’t dress appropriately for the bipolar Louisiana weather. When we get to the desired spot, it’s already on float #5 and one of the kids has to pee. For some odd reason, this makes another kid hungry. Did we grab snacks? Usually not. But if we did, they are still sitting in the car, five blocks back. My husband is already on edge and I’m completely blaming him so I will feel better about my lack of preparedness and last minute STUPID decision. He is usually the one to walk back to the car because my toes are numb from wearing flip-flops, making him even more frustrated. I figure since he is going back, I might as well give him a verbal list of everything else we need - like jackets, cash, the throw bags, the other child… a daiquiri. I ask him to scope out a bathroom too (in other words, the secluded bushes), because of course, we probably chose a spot by three closed doctors’ offices and an abandoned shack. I usually get an eye roll at this point, and hear some mumbling. I think he is telling himself how much he loves me, or figuring what he will get me for Valentine’s Day. While the children and I are huddled together under a cold cloudy sky, I kick myself for not asking him to grab a couple umbrellas too. As float #8 passes, we have two beads. One that I reluctantly caught going 20mph into my painful frozen fingers, and the other that hit me right in the eye when I wasn’t paying attention. ALWAYS. IN. THE. EYE. There’s a family across from us with two ladder stands holding all eight of their kids, bundled up with blankets. The kids are eating pizza, the grown-ups have drinks, music is

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playing, and the stuffed animals and Mardi Gras spears are flowing abundantly into their warm, gloved hands. I make yet ANOTHER promise to myself to build one of those ladder things for next year, as I’m contemplating how to befriend them for a box of pizza and a beer. My neck hurts from looking back for my husband and making sure the kids don’t go under the float. When my husband returns, and float #15 is passing by, I typically grab the daiquiri first, so I don’t grab his throat, then we distribute snacks and clothing. The kids eat the snacks as the sun comes out, causing all the jackets to end up in a pile on the chair. “See, I told you it was gonna be hot,” I sarcastically say to my husband, as I sip my daiquiri, sporting six beads and a black eye. He again mumbles under his breath. Pretty sure it was something about roses and chocolates. When we think the last minute parade decision couldn’t get any 32

worse, we usually manage to stand by the bratty kid with no parents that likes to have a bead tug-o-war with the bead my child caught. Or the loud old drunk lady wearing tight jeans, heels, and a crop top, who thinks it’s cute to jump in front of us to grab a throw and prance right past all the children, flashing her prize in the air. And probably her boob. Why did I ask my husband to grab cash? Because it ain’t my first rodeo. We WILL be buying overpriced items from the cart guy so the kids can have something to go home with, other than shattered dreams and stolen pizza. You know it’s bad when the fire engine looks like Jesus floating towards you and the Police sirens become the sound of heavenly angels singing. You can now grab your crap and go. Why in the world did I not inherit any of my parent’s organizational skills? Seriously. Hopefully it skips a generation and our kids do much better. I’ve already

planned to make a ladder seat for the Grandkids instead. It seems more realistic. That is, IF our kids invite us to parades. But as of now, for Mardi Gras week, we plan on being somewhere with predictable weather this year. Somewhere that I don’t have to shield my face from flying objects, or fight with my husband over whose fault it is that I had to steal pizza from Mary Poppins and Bob the Ladder Builder. It will make Valentine’s Day much more enjoyable. We will be able to enjoy our romantic dinner (eating restaurant leftovers in a hotel room while the kids watch “Teen Titans”) MUCH better if we are talking to one another, and don’t have a bead imprinted on our faces. Plus, I think I heard my husband mumble something about a deep tissue massage and a day of shopping by myself while we are there…. but I could be wrong. As to you and yours… Happy Valens-Gras!

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Slidell by: John N. Felsher

When “Streaming” Had a Different Meaning Prelude: This month, Slidell Magazine writer John Felsher (“Nauti People”) sits in as our guest writer for “Once Upon A Time” as we await the return of regular columnist Ronnie Dunaway. (Ronnie’s still recovering from the Saints’ disappointing season, but will be back soon!) A native of Louisiana, John N. Felsher grew up exploring the waters near Slidell and graduated from Slidell High in 1978. He’s a professional freelance writer and photographer with more than 2,100 articles in more than 135 magazines to his credit. He also co-hosts a weekly live outdoors radio show and a weekly syndicated show that goes to multiple stations. Contact him through his website at www.JohnNFelsher.com.

Before the Internet, video games, smart phones and other creativity-stealing electronic devices, children made their own entertainment - and maybe even a little mischief - in that wonderful place called “the outside.” To those of us in that magical age bracket between too young to be left alone and old enough to really assume any responsibility, summers, holidays, weekends and any other time away from school meant freedom from any semblance of adult obligations. Hopefully, that included chores if we could escape quickly enough out the door before Mom noticed or Dad came home from work. Nobody really cared where we went or what we did, as long as

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we returned home for supper without seriously bleeding and without a police escort. As the weather warmed in the spring and all through the fall, we roamed the fields and forests surrounding Slidell from daylight to dark, putting the “free” into free days. At that time, considerable portions of a much smaller Slidell remained wooded and crisscrossed by canals and ditches. Those small streams made excellent highways to high adventure and misdemeanors. Avoiding chores as often as the fear of parental punishment would allow, we explored every ditch, canal, bayou or other stream we found. Why do you think they call it “ditching work?” Not so lucky, my dad and other fathers suffered from the same freedom-robbing affliction called a “job” that often kept them out of fishing boats. Since our gang couldn’t yet drive, that really cut into our outdoors adventures. My group of friends didn’t explore waterways just to avoid work and responsibility, although that was certainly a benefit. We constantly looked for new fishing holes. We discovered more than a dozen secret fishing holes easily reachable by walking or a short bicycle ride from our homes where we could disappear between times when our dads could take us “real fishing.” Of course, most anglers call their favorite places “fishing holes,” but many of our piscatorial pleasure pits really were holes! Occasionally, we found a real pond before someone put a fence around it, but most of our fishing holes were merely wide spots in local canals or drainage ditches. Some consisted of little more than an opening by a culvert flowing under a road where we could catch small bream and mudcats. We could jump across some. Most reached depths of only one or two feet deep, but to us, each represented a heavenly oasis of freedom from adults, responsibility, cleanliness, homework, girls and everything else we despised at the time. Sometimes, we just spontaneously grabbed whatever we found at hand, jumped on our bikes and headed to a nearby fishing hole – usually preceded by our mothers hollering at us to stop bothering her and do our work or when some other onerous tasks awaited us. At other times, we planned our angling adventures down to the last details with more intricate machinations than Eisenhower used to land in Normandy. As the planned day of blissful freedom approached, we scoured our freezers and refrigerators for bait -- frozen shrimp, chicken livers, leftover meats, old hot dogs, bread, cheese -- whatever our mothers wouldn’t terribly miss. Sometimes, we pooled our allowances to buy worms or night crawlers. (Side note,

many mothers don’t like to discover a paper bag full of squirming night crawlers in their refrigerators!) On rare occasions, we actually had live shiners or store-bought crickets left over from some “adult” fishing trip. When we couldn’t find or buy sufficient bait, we caught our own. We scooped minnows, crawfish and grass shrimp from roadside ditches. We snatched grasshoppers and crickets from weedy vacant lots. We overturned pine straw to capture succulent worms. We tore apart rotten logs in wooded lots to find grubs, or kept some smaller fish from previous expeditions for cut bait. With tempting bait secured, we grabbed our gear, stuffed the bait into our pockets -- much to the chagrin of our mothers who usually discovered “leftovers” on washday -- and pedaled our bicycles to our chosen honey hole. Fortunately, we didn’t carry the amount of gear we experienced anglers find so essential now. With one hand clutching our rod and a handlebar, and the other hand gripping a tackle box, we steered our bicycles and held our equipment as best as we could when embarking upon our adventures. Most adventures turned into all-day fishing and exploring expeditions. Often, we biked to our favorite not-so-secret honey hole: “Ol’ Five Pound Canal,” also known as “Fishing Hole No. 3.” Neither name will show up on any maps. At the time, we didn’t know the official name of this waterway, nor did we care. We did care that this muddy drainage ditch that flowed under Gause Boulevard near Slidell Memorial Hospital within our bicycle range had some fish in it. Years later, I learned the official name -the W-14 Drainage Canal. Back then, the canal wandered through Slidell and crossed Interstate 10 near the present Fremaux Town Center shopping mall. It connected to other canals along La. Highway 433 going toward Salt Bayou, which also connected to the West Pearl River. In the other direction, it passed behind St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church and crossed under Robert Road, making another fishing hole for us. Since the canal connected to the Pearl River system, periodic floods restocked our favorite fishing hole with catfish, bream and even an occasional bass. After a flood, low water conditions trapped fish in the relative depths near the bridge. Occasionally, we spotted one wary old giant catfish, at least for those waters. We dubbed him “Ol’ Five Pound.” Today, Ol’ Five Pound Canal, as I will always call it, looks much different than I remember it in the early 1970s. Back then, it widened as it crossed under Gause Boulevard. Where it

widened, we could barely cast across it even when our reels weren’t clogged with sand, mud and goo. Sometimes, we even swam in it, prompting our mothers to immediately order thorough showers the moment we returned home. Away from the road, the canal narrowed and became shallow again. Today, Rue Verand runs along one side of it. Most of the time, the canal averaged only about two feet deep, but it became a raging torrent after a severe downpour. Near the Gause bridge, it dropped to about five or six feet deep in places, even deeper during wet weather. Major tunnels holding up the bridge held relatively deep water. Ol’ Five Pound usually stayed back in one of those tunnels. At the edge of the bridge, a sloping shoreline created a tiny beach big enough for one person to fish where a concrete retaining wall now stands. This prime spot gave the first person there excellent access to Ol’ Five Pound’s lair in the deeper water under the bridge. For years, neighborhood boys – and an occasional girl – futilely chased Ol’ Five Pound, who tormented us with his infrequent and unpredictable appearances. Sometimes, he surfaced just a few feet from us, daunting us and refusing all our offerings. We tried everything to nab, net or hook that cagey whiskered critter, including grabbing him with our hands. Nothing worked. With ease, he stripped off our best baits cleanly from our hooks. Occasionally someone actually hooked a big fish, possibly Ol’ Five Pound. Inevitably, he broke the line, straightened or spit the hook and rolled back into the gray-green waters. Sometimes, he tore the guts out of our cheap and ill-maintained reels. I lost him myself several times and once even had him up next to the little beach where we fished before he popped the line and casually swam back to his lair under the bridge. Each year, his legend, along with his real and imagined size, grew. Every time we spotted him, he always seemed much bigger than the last time someone saw him. Although failing to catch Ol’ Five Pound, we did catch many other fish for such a small spot, and bragged about catching considerably more. On the last day of school one year, a friend and I made a bet to see who could catch the most fish before the first day of school began in the fall. Throughout that summer, we kept up with each other’s progress. Sad to admit, my friend gained a considerable lead over me with just a few days before school began. Across Gause Boulevard from Fishing Hole No. 3, next to what was then the NASA complex and is now Textron Systems, another patch of woods ran adjacent to Ol’ Five Pound Canal. 43

Crossing to that side of Gause one day, I started exploring the woods. Rather than wilderness, I quickly found a rustic old home occupied by an elderly widow who loved to care for her flowers. On her property, a long narrow pond with the prettiest black water ran parallel to the NASA fence, partially where Dairy Queen stands today. The widow’s property came to a point where Ol’ Five Pound Canal made a turn toward Robert Road. Near the point sat a hill, likely made of spoil taken from the pond. We thought it was the highest point in St. Tammany Parish and often played there. I also found out that hornets liked that hill as well, but that’s another story. The kindly lady said some of us could fish her pond and play in the woods by the hill behind her house as long as we didn’t touch her flowers. The pond contained some monster bluegills. It even held some big bass and other fish species. We called it Fishing Hole No. 5 and spent many long hours there in what seemed like remote wilderness, but barely yards from a four-lane highway. One blustery day just before school started, I headed to Fishing Hole No. 5. I probably wouldn’t have ventured out on such a day, but with bragging rights at stake, I needed to try. Unfortunately, the fish didn’t cooperate. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get anything to bite, although I did see schools of minnows swimming on the pond surface. The rules of the bet simply stipulated that we could catch any fish species by any legal hook and line gear, but not in nets. Every fish we physically touched scored one point. I came up with a plan. I rooted around my tackle box for the smallest hook I could find and baited it with a sliver of bread from my lunch sandwich. I dangled the bread in front of the minnows swimming on the surface. When a minnow grabbed the bread, it couldn’t get its mouth over the hook, but it held onto that morsel. I quickly swung it over to the shoreline where I grabbed it, scoring a point, and released it

immediately to possibly catch it again. I racked up more than 50 points in about an hour, just enough to win the bet and bragging rights! That same friend got me out of a tight scrape another time. An underground drain culvert running parallel to Gause Road emptied into the Ol’ Five Pound Canal under the bridge at Fishing Hole No. 3. One day while waiting for Ol’ Five Pound or his relative to take our bait, we decided to explore the culvert, the closest thing to spelunking in South Louisiana. We followed the culvert, which gradually decreased in diameter the farther we explored. My skinny friend could easily navigate the ever-narrowing pipes. I couldn’t. Before getting stuck, we looked for an exit. Fortunately, we found a side pipe with sunlight shining at the other end of it. My skinny friend suggested I go first. If I could get through, he could also. If not, he could go back the way we came and seek help. I crawled through this pipe, which also decreased in diameter with each foot. Finally, barely out of the sunlight, I could go no farther. Not wanting to do all that backtracking, my friend starting shoving me as hard as he could. Eventually, I popped out of the culvert on Gause Boulevard close to I-10. I bet that pipe never looked cleaner. We should have sent the city a cleaning bill! Behind St. Margaret Mary, another canal connected to Ol’ Five Pound Canal and ran through the pine forests behind Audubon Place. It crossed under I-10 (Fishing Hole No. 2) just north of the current TA Truck Stop, then called the Union 76 Truck Stop. The canal eventually connected with streams that led to the Pearl River system. Rue Rochelle crosses that canal today, but back then, extensive pine forests north of Gause and east of Robert Road ran all the way past the interstate. One day, I explored a trail through the forests that led along the Fishing Hole No. 2 Canal and crossed a recently opened Interstate 10. To obtain fill dirt to build the interstate, workers dug several borrow pits along its route. Many still exist.

Before I left home on one sweltering summer day, my dad gave me three very explicit instructions: 1. Be home at a certain time. 2. Don’t cross the interstate and 3. Never swim alone! The trail along the canal led to a new borrow pit on the other side of I-10. Surrounded by woods, the pond sat far enough from the interstate so passing vehicles could not see it. My dad was at home several miles away and could not possibly know about this pond, which he could only reach by hiking through the forest. That seemed terribly unlikely on such a hot day. As I reached the pond, I looked around and had the entire pit to myself. This cool, refreshing water made an irresistibly tempting, if muddy, swimming hole on such a hot day. If my clothes remained dry, no one would ever know, right? Fish weren’t biting, so I decided to go skinny dipping. Okay, I know what you’re thinking. When did I EVER do anything that involved the word “skinny”? Fair enough! Someone might more accurately describe my swimming efforts even back then as “fat flopping.” I piled my clothes on the beach and went for a dip in the cooling waters. I enjoyed myself so much I lost track of time. My dad didn’t lose track of time. Several hours after he expected me to walk through the door, I made one last dive into the refreshing water. When I surfaced, looking away from the beach, I heard a sound behind me that sounded like someone angrily clearing his throat. There, on the beach, stood my dad holding my clothes, looking over the top of his glasses at me and not making a happy face! I couldn’t come up with an excuse for swimming alone in the pond -- across the interstate -- several hours after my appointed return time. I couldn’t escape without my clothes and couldn’t stay in the pond. Technically, I didn’t “cross” the interstate. I went under it, but at this point, all I could do was take my lumps – and did I take them! Recently, I stopped at Fishing Hole No. 3 with my son. He saw a shallow insignificant ditch trickling through a bustling part of town, but he could only see what his eyes allowed. I looked at that ditch through my mind’s eye and saw a time that no longer exists. I saw a young boy sitting on a tiny, long-disappeared beach fighting Ol’ Five Pound. As usual, that wily old catfish broke the line and got away again! Years after I last fished that old canal, I heard that someone actually did catch a 10-pound blue catfish in it. Did Ol’ Five Pound put on a little extra weight? Perhaps, but I prefer to think that the crafty critter died of extreme old age after many years of daunting new generations of young anglers, or better, still rules his small muddy kingdom.

OUT TAKES Slidell Magazine was EVERYWHERE this month! Here are just a few of our adventures!

All Hail the Queen! Mona Lisa MoonPie reigning Queen, Missi Spinosa, celebrates a great parade (and after party) with Kendra

Believe it or not, th (cheesy m at is Andy ustache) Prude along wit Neil Van d h wife Su e Voorde, e, f riend and Pontc partners hartrain Steve Kern Investme nt ahan and Mike Rich

An awesome Bogue Chitto Flat s book reading and signing was held Harbor Center. l-r (back): Och at the sner Golden Opportunities Director Chr istie Trew and Harbor Center GM Kathy Low rey join Kendra and John for a picture

st! t he does be ler doing wha n, ia ic The Storytel d blues mus John Case an with m a reading or rf pe e, a Wes Le to t mpanimen musical acco es lu B n so ai M e at PACKED hous

Michael and Melissa Reed were a hit with their Beatles-themed float â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Yellow Submarineâ&#x20AC;?. The kids were the Beatles. He is The Walrus. She is a Blue Meanie. Goo goo ga joo...

Slidell M

. 2016

67-Feb

Artists Keith an d Kelly Dellsperg er rocked the regg ae theme for th eir Mona Lisa MoonP ie fami ly float

ons Eric! Congratulati ily member, m fa e in d by Slidell Magaz congratulate is , in te ns e th Eric Bar at dy Drennan g Mayor Fred in en op d an gr A pogee ATM

15 COMMUNITY CC received the 20 sisters of the SW ing Commerce. az of r am e be Th am Ch O!! WOOOOH OO St. Tammany st Ea e th om fr D INVOLVEME NT AWAR

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