Slidell Magazine - 69th Edition by Slidell Magazine

Vol. 69 April 2016

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Editor’s Letter

Kendra Maness, Editor/Publisher

households of my furniture, and listened to all of my nonsensical girl talk without vomitting. True friend, indeed. Every year, Bernie leaves Slidell and heads east - way east - to Ireland, to spend up to six months there, tending his family’s sheep farm. Yep, Bernie is a shepherd.

Take a look at my facebook page sometime and you’ll see the same face over and over again - my friend, Bernie Friel. I attend A LOT of events, probably 100+ each year. For most of them (at least the ones when I have the most fun), Bernie is my escort. He’s a favorite amongst my friends and work associates, a guaranteed good conversation, and has the old-fashioned, gentleman’s chivalry that just doesn’t seem to exist much anymore. At events, he seats all of the ladies at the table, shakes hands with every man, and insures everyone is taken care of. Besides being the best date any gal could have, he’s also the best friend I could ever imagine. Over the past four years, he’s cared for me when I was sick, taken care of my dogs when I needed a vacation, moved

It makes sense that my friend is a shepherd. It’s the perfect job for him in Ireland, much as it is the perfect role for him in my life. And not just mine, but everyone’s lives who he touches. I’ve always been humbled and honored to have Bernie as my friend. So much so, that I wanted to highlight him in Slidell Magazine as the May EFOP (Extraordinary Fascinating “Ordinary” Person). I hoped to share with all of you how fascinating and wonderful my friend is. True to his character, when I approached him with the idea, Bernie’s answer was an emphatic NO. He just can’t wrap his head around taking credit for being a great person. To him, that’s what is expected and what we should all be. Here’s to you my beautiful friend. Be safe on your travels and come home to me soon.

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I can’t help but make an anology to the Bible and the image of God as a shepherd. The reference is to God’s continual direction, guidance and care for his people. John 10:9, “He provides for and protects his sheep” and “The shepherd leads and guides.” Ps 23:2-3.

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April 2016

WALTER BERNARD ABNEY

Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People Sponsored by

Ron Newson

by Charlotte Lowry Collins

The face of the river, in time, became a wonderful book . . . delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it had uttered them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day. ~ Mark Twain, “Life on the Mississippi”

This month, you will get a view into the adventures and many challenges in the life of a river pilot. If you know Walter Bernard Abney, you’ll agree that his life has always revolved around water. He loved the water as a child - swimming, fishing, skiing, anything to do with water. The Abney’s had a place in Pearlington, Mississippi. He, his sister Monica, and his brother Rob, were always in their bateau exploring the East Pearl River. As an adult, he spent seventeen years on the ocean pursuing the dream of becoming a pilot, and succeeded. It was his ideal job. He then determined to live permanently on the water, and bought property on Bayou Liberty. But, to appreciate the challenges

he has faced, and the joys, I invite you to join me as I learn more myself... Immediately, I was enthralled with Walter and Lesley’s home. Walter walked me around the house, and I was captivated by the views of the bayou throughout each room. The center of the house was originally a caretaker’s house for Tranquility Plantation back in 1934. Ironically, one of the previous owners was also a ship’s captain, Captain Chotin. The house was designed to have a view of the bayou from every room, and the Abneys capitalized on that when they remodeled it. Coincidentally, my mom, Pomeroy Lowry, previously designed the remodeling of the house for the Chotins and the John

Brown family who bought the house from the Chotins. I played here often as a child when Nancy, Jimmy and Johnny Brown lived there. Walter was quick to point out Mom’s architectural embellishments that he and Lesley had preserved and elaborated upon. For most of my visit, we sat in the dining room with windows on three sides. I was able to watch the boats going by and the heron that fishes his favorite spot out front. Lesley had designed the corner windows that are full abutting walls of glass in this room. She also has a great appreciation for water, as her grandfather was “Red” Crockett, a tugboat captain for Lone Star Cement, and she grew up on Bayou Liberty. Forty days

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after the Abneys moved in, Hurricane Katrina brought in five and a half feet of water, mud, and whatever else the storm brought with it. So, they elevated and remodeled. In Walter’s words, “Now it’s like living in a treehouse.” The ancient live oaks flanked us on each side, so that in spite of our view, we felt hidden and sequestered by the massive limbs and moss curtains. That day was one of the first warm days of Spring, and Lesley opened the French doors to the balcony, bringing the outside in. Motioning over to the pigeonniere (a cylindrical outbuilding that the French designed for many storage purposes, including pigeons), Walter revealed, “While building that structure right after Katrina, I fell to the concrete 12 feet below on my back. I broke two vertebrae and my pelvis. With a broken back, I couldn’t work for a while,” he said casually. As you can imagine, it didn’t keep him down long. Unlike the euphemisms most of us on the bayou use to describe post-Katrina, Walter can literally say that he broke his back to restore his property. Walter then explained how he became focused with his career goals. “I used to fish with an older gentleman, Captain Lawrence C. Jurisich, Sr., who would tell stories while we sat for hours with our poles on his dock. He was a retired riverboat pilot that was commissioned as a pilot in 1937 by Governor Leche. His tales were all about the water and his experiences fascinated me. I admired him, he was such a smart man. Once Captain Jurisich realized I was seriously interested in following in his shoes, he recommended that I go to the best academic institution for maritime pursuits, the United States Merchant Marine Academy, located in Kingspoint, New York. My parents, Bob and Lynn Abney, are well known around Slidell for owning Sweeney Inc., a plumbing supply company, which originated from my great-grandfather. They understood hard work and determination. My family has a great appreciation for education, too. Three generation of men in my family have served with the school board, starting with my greatgrandfather before the school board was even established.” You can see the impact the Abney family has had on our education system in the fact that Abney Elementary was named to honor their contributions. “Together, they always taught me to shoot for the stars, so I applied for the institution Captain Jurisich recommended, the finest school of its kind.” His blue eyes gleamed as he relayed, “I am not much of a ‘ring knocker’, but for me this was the best fit.”

“Red” Crockett, Lesley’s grandfather, as a tugboat captain for Lone Star Cement

Until my research for this article, I did not realize that the admissions application includes high test scores, a medical exam, a fitness test, nor that typically accepted applicants must be in the top 20 percent of their class, usually higher. On top of these requirements, each applicant must have a nomination from a member of the U.S. Senate or the U.S. House of Representatives. It’s very competitive. Every student at the academy is on a full scholarship, but you can’t apply after the age of 25. Walter has reason to be proud! Walter looked at me earnestly while describing his path. “As a Cadet in the Academy, I shipped with Lykes Brothers to South America, Africa, Central America, Israel, and Egypt. It was

exciting. I studied hard, did well, earned a degree in Marine Transportation, obtained my license as Third Mate, and became an ensign in the Navy Reserves during this time.” Upon graduation, Walter was hired by the Department of Defense as a Third Mate for the Military Sealift Command, which he referred to as MSC. “We shipped a lot of ammo (bombs, bullets and missiles), fuel and supplies for the Navy and U.S. Allies. I stayed on my first assignment, a 655-foot tanker, for thirteen months straight, operating out of Hawaii, San Diego & Alaska. For the next nine years, I continued shipping with MSC mostly throughout Micronesia, Japan, Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, Thailand, the Philippines, the Persian Gulf and Australia,”

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he recounted. His resume shows that his highest clearance included Top Secret level. Walter continued, “While in the MSC, I upgraded to Second Mate’s and eventually a Chief Mate’s license. Each of these tests is an entire week in length. Meanwhile, I primarily focused my experience on Ammo Ships, because that’s where the action was. This was ‘breakbulk shipping’ on an underway replenishment vessel, and it was very labor intensive. We refueled vessels and transferred cargo while under way via cables under tension. This is called underway replenishment (UNREP). At the same time, helicopters were transferring netted cargo from the stern. This is called vertical replenishment (VERTREP). Generally, there would be 27 fork trucks, six elevators, two UNREP Rigs and two CH46 helicopters, all working at the same time. It was quite fast paced,” Walter said calmly, but his eyes glinted when he recalled the action. After a brief pause, Walter continued, “In the spring of 2000, I came home to finish necessary qualifications for licensing on the Mississippi River and picked up small commercial jobs. At this point, I completed my Master’s license and First Class Pilot’s license as a Merchant Mariner. I was now fully qualified to submit an application to the Crescent River Port Pilots Association. This was 13 years after my journey began.” He then began teaching at Houston Marine, an institution for maritime training, certification and license preparation. Looking over his professional profile, I saw that the page listing his additional certifications was a full page by itself. I was beginning to realize that there are a lot of hurdles and licensing in between each level. Walter nodded and added, “If all the stars were aligned, the soonest one could qualify as an applicant for pilot would require a minimum of eight years of education, experience and licensing.” Finally, Walter applied to the Crescent River Port Pilots and, in the summer of 2003, was elected to the apprenticeship program. “I made a point of riding with every one of the pilots in order to gain experience from each of them. Watching the older pilots was like poetry, they were so intuitive,” he reminisced. “If you complete the apprenticeship successfully and earn their trust, you then get commissioned by the Governor and are able to join the association. I accomplished my life’s goal.” Walter’s serious face conveyed the determination that got him to this position. Now, I too became fascinated by the profession, and how someone is selected. I was aware that the piloting of boats and ships is an ancient career, dating back to the Egyptian period. In researching, I learned that before we had pilot associations and commissions, unregulated pilots raced for the first sight of an incoming ship. According to the Louisiana River Pilots Association website, pilots would sometimes reach the ship at the same time and race to be the first to get aboard, each scrambling up opposite sides of the boat. In the end, the toughest and fastest won, not the most knowledgeable and skilled. Their site states, “Competition was fierce and obstacles were everywhere. The Mississippi River was and still is one of the most treacherous rivers in the world, with sharp twists, hidden sandbars and sunken wreckage. Pilots also deal with flocculation, a thick black mulch called “sea jelly” which traps ships and only occurs in two places in the world, here and Venezuela.”

Their site also pointed out additional hazards of weather, hazardous boarding, and unloading, as well as indirect problems like exotic diseases, combustible and toxic cargo. Even communication issues compound the dangers in a split second. A misunderstood command can bring serious consequences for the entire crew. Finally, I was reminded that these huge ships have no brakes, so it can take a mile to stop completely. That, for me, spells stress. In order to minimize these issues, licensing and regulations began in the 1800’s in earnest. In the 1900’s, required training and fraternal associations proved to further enhance the professional requirements from apprenticeship to licensed Pilot. The flip side of these safety measures also made the Pilot licenses highly competitive.

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Today, there are four associations in Louisiana. As you know, Walter was elected to the Crescent River Port Pilots. He also served in various management capacities for them including two years on the Board of Directors, just before health issues forced him to retire. He was on the top of his game. When asked about a typical day, Walter regained his playful spark. He described, “The first thing you did was to wait for your assignment. Vessel operations are 24 hours, seven days a week, working all hours of the day or night with no breaks for holidays. Work hours constantly fluctuate during the work week. All pilots on duty are in a queue based upon completion times from their last assignment. When a vessel orders a Pilot, the Pilot first in line gets the assignment. This could originate anywhere along our route. Our route of expertise starts 8 miles south of Venice at the head of the pass, mile zero, to the Huey P. Long Bridge, mile 106.1. If the vessel is inbound, from sea, manpower is stationed in Pilottown to await its arrival. All other manpower originates from New Orleans.” “We have what is like a little raised village down in Pilottown, eight miles south of Venice. The structures are all connected by boardwalks. There are hotel facilities with a 24 hour buffet for dining. Since Katrina, the locals moved further inland, so it is all Crescent Pilots now. Before my time though, it was a remote village including a school, post office and even a bar. The only means of transportation down there is bicycle, boat, or your feet. Truly an island lost in time, wildlife is everywhere, including alligators, coyotes, deer, hogs, raccoons, and an absurd assortment of birds.” “Next a launch service brings you to your ship somewhere along its route. Once you board, you introduce yourself immediately to the Captain to be briefed on the particulars of the vessel. The next order of business was always, ‘How do you like your coffee?’ I drink coffee all the way up to bedtime. As a Pilot, we work with the Captain and crew to deliver the vessel safely and efficiently to its ordered destination. This could be navigating it up the river and docking it at a berth for loading or unloading cargo, or to an anchorage awaiting berth availability. Through our Gubernatorial commission, we are tasked by the Governor of the State to protect its population, the waterways and environment. This always comes first, closely followed by serving the customers’ scheduling needs. We work hand in hand with the local authorities, including the U.S. Coast Guard, Vessel Traffic Service, U.S. Customs & Immigration

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as well as the local first responders,” he ticked off on his fingers. “Upon completion of the assigned task, I would make the trip home, and fall sleep, exhausted. Usually, each round trip would take between 24-30 hours. My wife and daughter were incredibly understanding and supportive. The work week was always dedicated to moving ships and getting rest because you never knew when the next call for an assignment would occur. I enjoyed the

I asked what there is to do for the crew, during their off time. “Work overtime on vessel maintenance, charts, navigation routes, inspections, and training. It’s a small floating city, so there is always something needed to be done to keep it effectively and efficiently operating. It isn’t boring, that’s for sure,” he exclaimed energetically. “That’s not to say there aren’t periods of calm. I loved the wheelhouse views. What other job lets you watch the sunrise every morning and the sunset every evening as a backdrop to expansive ocean or coastal views from a perch 75 feet in the air?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s so serene, but it isn’t for everyone.”

week on, week off schedule which allowed me quality time at home with my girls after the intense work week.” Manpower for each vessel consists of day workers, watch standers and a Captain. Usually, this is broken up between three groups, Deck Department, Engine Department & Steward Department. Walter’s hands began to punctuate his description. “There are anywhere from 13 to 28 crew members on most of the ships. The deck officers, Chief

You can see that Walter thoroughly enjoyed his time shipping around the world. However, he also explained, “There was nothing like the pleasure gained from piloting a massive piece of floating steel in the Mississippi River. The ships we pilot on the river range from 300 feet to over 1000 feet in length. They consisted of bulk carriers of liquid, gas or grain, cruise ships, container ships as well as some special purpose vessels. Harnessing the various forces we experience means taking into account the shipboard propulsion, steering gear, harbor tugs, eddies, currents,

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wind and bank pressure. All of these factors make these vessels move in different ways. Our job is to harness these forces to efficiently carryout the assigned task, and this was the daily challenge that we embraced. In addition to those challenges we also had to keep a close eye on what everyone else is doing. You have to watch everything.” Walter clarified, “We don’t actually touch any of the controls including the steering or propulsion. The helmsman actually steers the vessel and the officer on watch rings up any propulsion commands. Our steering or propulsion commands are verbal such as, ‘Starboard 20, midship, steady, half ahead or stop engines’. The possibility of communication problems with foreign crews is very real, so all commands are repeated and confirmed when carried out. It is very easy for a foreign national to misunderstand simple commands. At times ‘Starboard 10’ can easily sound like ‘Stop Engines’,” he said ominously. “Other concerns are from external influences. This includes other vessels from a wide range of types and experience levels, from fisherman to small tugs, to line tows pushing more than 40 barges, to other large vessels with Pilots aboard. I never worried about the vessels with Pilots aboard. After traveling much of the world and having boarded Pilots in every port, I can honestly say, I have never encountered a finer group of shiphandlers anywhere.” Now he placed his hands on the table emphatically. I knew Walter had to have some harrowing experiences, so I asked. Walter complied after a moment of pause, “Throughout my career I have experienced hurricanes, typhoons, groundings, collisions, fires, loss of steering, loss of propulsion, stowaways, pirates and medical emergencies. If you are out there long enough, it’s going to happen. The first such experience would have been on a Lykes Brothers ship, the Jean Lykes, as we were approaching Charleston, South Carolina. Hurricane Hugo had just made landfall and damaged their shore-side gantry cranes. This meant we had to rig our heavy lift boom onboard. I was a Cadet at the time and the Bosun, the supervisor of the deck gang, sent me to the bow to retrieve a sling. As I undogged the steel door to the machinery gear house that the sling was stored in, I heard a deep rumble behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a freak wave come over the bow. It threw me up against the steel structure, pinning me between it and the door. As I fell to the deck, a 55-gallon drum of shackles hit me and knocked me out. I regained consciousness with water still flowing over my face, by the

edge of the bulwark (the rail of the vessel), disorientated, partially clothed with some serious abrasions. The watch officer in the wheelhouse saw the whole event and was able to send help. I had a tough first lesson on the viciousness of Mother Nature. I was lucky,” he said calmly. “I also vividly remember the day the second Gulf War started. I was the Captain of a 950 foot, 65,000 horsepower rollon/rolloff (RORO) vessel docked in Shuaybah, Kuwait. We were offloading rolling stock, humvees, earth moving equipment, helicopters and the like. The port had an ammonia plant, and I had been briefed the previous evening that the war would start early the following morning. There would be a lot of incoming, targeting the plant and the port. Five missiles came throughout the next day. Each time, sirens from the port sounded interrupting the offload, and sending us running for gas masks and deep shelter in the bowels of the vessel. Upon completion of the offload, I requested a Pilot for departure. They declined to send one due to the obvious barrage of incoming missiles. I informed them that I would be

Walter and daughter Peyton showing off their culinary skills in the kitchen

Peyton holds her dad’s “Hotel Flag”. It’s a long-standing tradition that when a Pilot assumes control of his first ship, he brings a new flag onboard to replace the one flown by the previous Pilot, signifying his presence onboard. The old flag, called a Hotel Flag, is then kept as a keepsake for the new pilot. Walter’s Hotel Flag was framed as a gift from Lesley and remains displayed in their home.

cutting my lines and would pilot the vessel to sea on my own. They then agreed to immediately send a Pilot. There was no way I was going to stay berthed there after completion, exposing my crew & the vessel to those potential hazards.” Fortunately the missiles were of a Russian variety with poor accuracy. None found their mark and all landed harmlessly in the Gulf. “This was my last voyage prior to being elected into the apprenticeship program for the Crescent River Port Pilots. Quite a fitting end to the seafaring portion of my career.” His mood and his voice changed, almost imperceptibly. “In the winter of 2010, I suddenly started having odd spells, where I couldn’t recognize where I was while driving and my memory eroded. At first, there was denial and I assumed I was overly tired. I finally confided in Lesley and we immediately sought medical attention. You get a lot of odd looks from pharmacists at the drug stores when you can’t remember your own birthday or that of your wife and daughter,” he laughed wryly. “My doctor said these were simple and complex partial seizures and 11

A panoramic view of the Abney property from Walter & Lesley’s back porch. Absolutely stunning!

recommended further testing at Mayo Clinic. At Mayo, they verified a rare autoimmune disease, and before long the seizures began to get worse. They felt almost serene, but if you were witnessing the facial contortions and difficulty controlling my movements, you would swear it must be painful. At the time, they told me I was only one in fourteen who had been diagnosed with this form of the disease.” “Naturally, it ended my career.” He shook his head and said, “I loved it, it was the best job in the world.” Gesturing across the span

of windows he smiled, “But, now I have this to keep me as busy as my health allows. I am now the yard boy and cook and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.” With that, Lesley came to check on him and I discovered how they met. Walter said, “You know, as young men, Lesley’s uncle and my father were best friends. She had been to my house with my cousin, but somehow we never met until after I left MSC to begin the final pursuit of becoming a Pilot. Once we met, every thing fell into place quickly. A couple of years later, we married at the

SalmenFritchie House, had a beautiful daughter, Peyton, and bought our dream home on the bayou.” Then, Walter looked off across the bayou. “Now, I enjoy watching nature, taking care of my land, and cooking for my girls.” Walter gazed toward the next room, watching Lesley and Peyton with obvious pride. “I’ve always smiled when I went to work, and smiled when I came back home. What more could I have ever asked for? Looking back, I feel blessed, because I accomplished what I set out to do. My rear view mirror is full of great friends, a fabulous family and a productive and rewarding career,” he concluded.

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SBSC Meeting Chamber • 8:30am

Third Thursday Artist Galleries de Juneau 5 -7pm

Business & Community Showcase Harbor Center 3pm-7pm

Art & Conversation Business After Hours Chamber mARTketplace • 5pm

Communication Committee Chamber • 8:30am

Olde Towne • 4-10pm

Arts Evening

SAT Jazz on the Bayou Chateau Kole • 3-7pm Bayou Clean-Up • 8am • Heritage Park

Street Fair Olde Towne • 10am-5pm

The Little Mermaid • Cutting Edge Theater • 8pm

Monty Python's Spamalot • Slidell Little Theatre • 8pm

The Little Mermaid • Cutting Edge Theater • 8pm

Camellia City Kid's Fun Fest Heritage Park • 11am-6pm

The Little Mermaid • Cutting Edge Theater • 8pm

Kitchen Witches • Cutting Edge Theater • 8pm Relay for Life 9 Heritage Park • 10am-10pm Mad Hatter 5k Fun Run Camp Salmen • 8am Public Policy Meeting Carseat Guardian Angels Benefit Chamber • 8am Wine Market • 7pm The Boxcar Children Slidell Little Theatre • 7:30pm Crawfish Cookoff 16 Fritchie Park • 11am-6pm Road to Home 5k Run/Walk St. Tammany Fishing Pier 8am The Boxcar Children • Slidell Little Theatre • 7:30pm

Carey Street Crawl • 5pm

FRI

APRIL

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2016 Business and Community showcase Northshore Harbor Center Thursday, April 14

GRAND OPENING Open Arms Community Center 3:30pm

Fill in the Blank with Art • Slidell Library • Show runs April1st - April 19th

Education Committee Meeting Chamber • 8:30am

Ambassador Meeting TBD • Noon

Education Committee Conference Room • 8:30am

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The Little Mermaid • Cutting Edge Theater • 2pm

Street Fair Olde Towne • 10am-5pm

The Boxcar Children Slidell Little Theatre • 2pm

Bayou Jam Frontiers Heritage Park • 5:30pm

The Boxcar Children Slidell Little Theatre • 2pm

Bayou Jam Christian Serpas Heritage Park • 5:30pm

Jazz on the Bayou Chateau Kole • 3-7pm

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Storyteller The Horn Parents love their children, or that is the natural order of things. If not, I suppose we would not survive from infancy and thrive toward adulthood. This benevolent guardianship crosses all socio-economic lines and extends to most species. We want our children to succeed, and we do everything in our power to see that they do.

me. They were correct. I lacked coordination and flexibility, all things needed to be an athlete.

I know mothers that have worked an extra job just to provide money for their daughter’s dance lessons. I know fathers who have taken precious time off from their work to take their sons to football practices, soccer practices, or sports camps. This is done with a willing heart, with nothing in return expected. This is parenthood.

The fifth grade was the first year you could enroll in band, so for years we waited patiently for all this hidden talent I had to emerge. Finally, I was old enough.

When and where I grew up, a young man’s avenues to expand his abilities and define himself were much more limited than they are today. These opportunities were, for all practical purposes, limited to academics, sports, and music.

This left music. There was some validity for that reasoning as it is said my paternal grandfather had an outstanding voice and was a student of music, if only limited to the religious variety. It was determined that I would take music as soon as I was old enough.

Subconsciously, I suppose my parents analyzed my potential and realized that, genetically, I was probably academically limited to mediocrity. They had no interest in sports whatsoever, so they never considered that being an avenue for

It never occurred to my family that you had to possess an instrument of some sort to be in the band. That was the problem. We had no instrument and we had no money. Drums were the cheapest to get into. All you had to have was a practice pad and a set of drum sticks. But drums don’t create melodies, and we wanted music. I would later learn that staying away from drums was a lucky choice as you have to have rhythm to play drums. I have no rhythm either.

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Finally, a cast away cornet was found, somewhere. It took some work to make it at all playable. In fact, I have seen cornets in better condition than mine made into lamps and flower pots. Dad took it to a friend of his that owned an auto body shop, and he did some bending and straightening. The spit valves were missing, so those openings were closed with black friction tape. I had an instrument, using the term very loosely. Fine musical instruments are handled with care, often with a glove to protect the gold lacquered finish. If not handled with a glove, they are wiped down before being placed into their padded leather case. I had no gold lacquer on my cornet. That had disappeared with the handling of one or more of the previous owners. I also did not have a case. I transported my cornet in a pillow case with a draw string around the open end that my mother had fashioned. I caught on quickly, but not because I had talent. It was just that where I lived was so isolated from other activities, I had more time to practice than most of my peers. One milestone in playing a cornet or a trumpet is to be able to play the note known as “High C”. I finally did it. I had found a venue that would take me to stardom, pay for my education at some elite music university, and make my name a household word. Yes, Harry James and Al Hirt would soon be fleeting memories. I could really be good if I had a decent instrument. My family was proud of me and wanted to give me all the support they could. It was just that there was little they were financially able to do. A family meeting was called. It consisted of my parents and my maternal grandfather. My grandfather owned forty acres of land, and about half of it was in timber. Pulp wood was what was valuable at the time. He told us to get all the facts, and he would see what he could do by selling a small portion of his pulp wood.

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If you wanted an instrument, you notified your high school band director. He then notified a musical instrument representative. One day, a young man drove up to our house with a station wagon loaded with all types of musical instruments. I suppose he had made an appointment with my parents, but I actually do not remember.

I wanted a cornet, not a trumpet. I don’t know why, except a cornet was a little less expensive. I knew that we could not afford one of the professional instruments such as a Bach or a Benge, but I wanted a step up from the basic student model. I thought I deserved that for trying to make the flower pot I had been playing work. I think he brought out four second-tier cornets. Two were manufactured by Conn, and two by Olds. I fell in love with a gold lacquered Olds that had a silver ring around the bell. It was called an Olds Super and was $260, carrying case included. That does not sound bad, but using an inflation calculator, that would be equal to $2,300 in today’s money. When he told us the price, I saw a sad expression on my parents’ faces. I had seen it before. It meant it was nice, but we could not afford it. All this took place in August, prior to the start of school. The cornet was not mentioned again. We lived in a house on my grandfather’s place. Around Thanksgiving, I heard chain saws in a patch of timber not far away. I did not realize the significance. It was Christmas morning, 1959. I had been taking band lessons, as we called them, a year and a half. Mother asked

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me if I could play some Christmas music before we exchanged the few gifts we would share. From a Christian hymnal, I played Silent Night. I did not hear my grandparents arriving, but while I was playing, they stood in the door and listened attentively. Mother then said, “Johnny, play it one more time so PaPa can hear it from the beginning.”

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As I opened the hymnal back to the page, my dad pulled a case from behind a cabinet. Of course, it was the Olds cornet I had wanted. Not only that, it had a Bach mouthpiece – the best money could buy. It was just like the one Harry James and Al Hirt used. I think that was the best concert I ever played. At least it was in the eyes of my parents and grandparents. I could now excel. High school brought new challenges. There was more competition and realization set in. If you have to choose between talent and persistence, it is my opinion, when it comes to any art, talent trumps. Other kids had more talent than I. I lost my edge, and became ordinary at best.

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Cecil Trantham was our new band director. He was a nononsense guy who ran his classroom almost like a military unit. He was good at what he did, and wanted desperately to take a group of rag tag kid musicians to the next level. In addition to the normal happenings that take place in a band room, he taught us music theory, and more importantly, he taught us the value of listening. If we could not hear the sounds, those minute sounds, we could not excel. He referred to this God-given talent as having “radar ears”. Sometime in my junior year, I made a realization on my own. No one had to tell me. I did not have “radar ears”. In fact, I realized that, to some extent, I was tone deaf. I loved music, but my mind and ears could not process the sounds that I was producing. I also never liked the marching part of high school band. I loved the concert band, but not the marching. My music career would end at the close of my junior year in high school. I would learn that my grandfather had given $100 of his pulp wood money toward the purchase of my cornet. The rest was financed over almost two years at something like $12 per month. By the time I quit band, the cornet was paid for, but it was not nearly as glamorous as it was five years prior, when it was new. There were only a couple of minor dents, but the lacquer had worn and the shine was gone. So was my interest. Over the next year and a half, I would take it out occasionally and play the sounds of a Mexican bullfight outdoors, for the benefit of my neighbors. Of course, they were not impressed. At some point, the mouthpiece got stuck and could not be removed. The horn was too long to fit back into its case. Years passed and I married. The cornet and, at first, the case went with us wherever we moved. At some point, it was determined that we would leave my native state and move to Louisiana. As we packed our furniture, we threw out things we deemed not necessary to move. There was a cornet case that the cornet would no longer fit into. The case went on the trash pile.

My dad had some problems with our moving. Actually, our new home in Louisiana was only 40 miles farther away from him than our previous home had been, but going across the state line, especially the Louisiana line, was like moving to

a foreign country. People in Louisiana, in his opinion, were just different. Our moving grieved him.

floored attic. Occasionally, but rarely, when I would have an interest in playing it, I could not find it. Years passed.

On moving day, the van was packed and we locked the house for the final time. We then followed the van as it rambled through Jackson and headed south. We had no idea Dad was even in the area, but he wanted one last look at our life in Mississippi. It was as if he knew we were never coming back to live. He drove by our now abandoned house.

About twenty years later, we were cleaning the attic for the first time. Having fallen off the floored attic and nestled in the insulation was my Olds Super cornet.

He told me later, the saddest thing he ever saw was that cornet case on the trash pile. I suppose he remembered the hopes and dreams he had for my musical career and the sacrifice he and my mom made to purchase the cornet and the case. He put the case in his truck and took it to his house. Sometime later, he told me he had it, but I had never had the mouthpiece removed so I had no use for it. He said to just let it stay in the closet at his place. That is where he wanted it. I have no idea what happened to the case. When Mom died, I did not see it. Dad had died years prior. I do know about the horn, however. It was moved from place to place, and in 1979, when we built our new home, I distinctly remember it being stored in the

********** About the time I was giving up music, another young man was beginning to go places I could only have dreamed of. He was from down in New Orleans, where musical talent seems to be piped in through the drinking water. He would take playing a cornet seriously, and he had both the talent and the “radar ears”. He would become a professional. During his career, he has played with such names as The Temptations, Gladys Knight, The Four Tops, and Bob Hope. The list goes on and on. We became friends. I don’t know why, but I knew it was time to honor my sacrificing parents by letting my horn be heard. If not played by me, played by someone. They had given a lot for that piece of twisted brass. I knew exactly what I would do. I gave it to my friend. I did attach two requirements: one, that he never sells it; and two, that he plays it at least once professionally.

There is a good chance you know my friend Bobby Ohler. He is a professional musician. He is also the principal of a parochial school and performs musically for charities and other venues, often pro bono. His talent is still in high demand. In these performances, he uses my cornet occasionally. He says it has a dark, mellow sound that new instruments do not have. I didn’t tell him, but that mellow sound came from the love and sacrifice by which I had acquired it. This past Saturday night, I was at a fundraiser where he and his Harbor Band were the entertainment. There must have been five hundred people there, and in his hands, was a 57-year-old cornet. For over fifteen seconds, he played it in a register far above “High C”. Mom and Dad would have been proud. I know I was. As always, when I mention someone’s name in a story, I always let them read it prior to publication. Bobby reminded me that the glitter of gold is no more important in life than it is to the vibrance of the cornet. I liked the metaphor.

 John Case April 2016

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

Fairy tales can come true.

(but probably not when it comes to your money) In February this year, Mary and I took a trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando with our daughter Betsy and her family. Granddaughters Grace and Allison had a week’s vacation from school for Mardi Gras, so it was to perfect time to go. Plus, Mary and I hadn’t been there in more than 25 years. We had a blast. According to my fitness tracker, we walked about six miles each

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Those of you who have been to Disney World already know it’s a magical place, as Grace and Allison discovered firsthand. Betsy had purchased the photo package (there’s always something to purchase at Disney World, isn’t there?), so we took advantage of the services of the many professional photographers in the four theme parks. Of all the pictures we have from our trip, the one you see here, taken when we were at the Animal Kingdom, is my favorite. If you look closely, you’ll see that Allison is holding Tinker Bell in the palm of her hand. The looks on the girls’ faces are worth every penny we spent on our trip. Grace and Allison are certain that Tinker Bell is a real, live fairy, one who can make all their dreams come true with only a sprinkle of her pixie dust. You and I, of course, know that’s not true for the rest of us, especially when it comes to money, financial security, or a comfortable retirement. So, rather than believing in fairies and their magical powers to make their financial dreams materialize, I encourage my clients (and you) to think in more down-to-earth terms:

Financial planning is all about goals.

INVESTMENT MANAGEMENT

day. We wore ourselves out, but what fun it was, especially to see it through the eyes of our granddaughters.

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1) Make a plan & live within your means. Most of us would admit – maybe begrudgingly – that we have to make sacrifices to reach our financial goals. However, since “sacrifice” sounds so negative, I prefer to think of it as putting off something good today to get something even better in the future. Yes, yes, I know that’s easier said than done. We Americans are pummeled every day with advertisements that are craftily designed to make us feel inferior or left out or somewhat less-than-whole if we don’t have the latest car, smart phone, deodorant, or whatever. One of the best ways to fight this is to have a financial plan in place that outlines your goals, including money for your needs and wants – that next trip to Disney World with your family, perhaps – and then work with an advisor who keeps you on track. It requires a little work up front, but I think the effort is worth it. It’s been said that many Americans spend more time planning their vacations than they think about where they’re going to get their retirement money. Don’t be one of them. Call me to get started on a plan that is designed for you.

2. If you are young, start a long-term investment plan. If you are old like me, keep it going. Slow and steady is the best approach in this particular race, and, the earlier you start, the better, because the power of compounding is absolutely incredible. If you don’t want to harness this miracle for yourself, do it for someone else. Let’s say you want to do something really nice for your newborn grandchild. If you invest only $25 a week and earn an average of 6%, your grandchild will end up with more than $700,000 in 60 years!1 By most people’s calculation, that’s a lot of money. You could get it started and then your grandchild could take over later, when he or she is grown up and working. What an amazing gift, and it doesn’t take much effort. You don’t have $25 a week to give your grandkid? ANY amount going into an investment account is better than nothing. Let me help you get started.

3. Purchase life insurance while you are young. Young often means healthy, and if you are young and healthy, it generally means that cheap term life insurance is there almost for the taking. I can’t think of ANY young person – or older person who is still responsible for someone else – who does not need enough life insurance to cover his or her Human Life Value. If you don’t know what Human Life Value is, meet with me here at my Olde Towne Slidell office and I’ll not only tell you what it is, I’ll tell you why it’s so important for your financial security.

4. Don’t try this at home (or alone). One of the life lessons my dad taught me is that you can’t know everything and that it makes sense to hire an expert. The single best decision I ever made about my own money was deciding to work with a financial advisor early in my career. My core belief is that ANYONE who is committed to success can achieve financial peace of mind, but sometimes we need someone else to help us along and stay on track. Wealthy people have known this for generations, and that’s why they rely on financial advisors. Isn’t it time you did the same thing as them? Meet with me to get started.

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5. Share your wealth – and yourself – with others. I’ve been a member of the Rotary Club of Slidell Northshore since 1999, and served as my club’s president in 2005. Rotary’s motto is “Service Above Self.” Members are expected to serve others with their time, talents, and financial gifts. I’ve found that the more I share my time and personal resources with others, the more I receive in return. I’ve also made a lot of friends along the way. Try it yourself by finding someplace to serve in our community. We have needs all over the place. The rate of return on your investment will be immeasurable.

Ask us the hardest-hitting questions on your mind.

Tinker Bell, pixie dust, and fairy tales coming true are fun to think about when you and your family are experiencing the magic of Disney World or any other vacation spot. However, financial planning needs to be grounded in reality. The decision to take control of your financial life is a big one. I’ll be happy to help you. Call me for a free consultation.

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.

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

1 2 3 4

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?

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

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.

HISTORICAL ANTIQUE ASSOCIATION’S 35TH ANNUAL SPRING STREET FAIR

SLIDELL STREET FAIR

ANTIQUES • COLLECTIBLES • VINTAGE • ART • CRAFTS • FOOD

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MAKING HISTORY I bet you don’t realize how much the Slidell Street Fair impacts life in our city. It sure has changed mine. By Kendra Maness Editor/Publisher Slidell Magazine

February 2010: I had just moved back to Slidell after spending almost a decade away from the hometown that I love. It was good to be home. I had a vision and a mission - to start the best community magazine Slidell had ever seen. It would highlight all of the wonderful people, places and events in our beautiful city. It would be free for all Slidellians to enjoy, and advertisers would be clammoring to buy space in the pages of this literary masterpiece to make it all possible. Reality set in REAL quickly. With the first mock-edition of Slidell Magazine (16 color pages copied at Office Depot) and a healthy dose of enthusiasm, I began knocking on the doors of local businesses, sharing my vision of what could be - if only given the chance. It makes me giggle now when I think back to that time. So many of the local business owners whom I now call my friends were hesitant to invest in my dream. And, rightfully so. They were savvy business professionals and had seen many local publications come and go. Plus, the economy wasn’t conducive to putting their hard earned dollars at risk. After months of unsuccessful sales, and my confidence getting a swift kick in the pants, I decided to go back to my roots, where Slidell all began, and visit Olde Towne. That was the first time I met John Marshall, owner of Antiques and Art on First, and that meeting is why you are reading this magazine today.

John was president of the Slidell Historical Antique Association at the time. He saw potential in the magazine and brought a copy of my haphazard mock-edition to his board members. Within a week, the Antique Association had written me a check for one year of advertising. My first advertiser! Even better, it was the money I needed to print my first edition, which hit the streets in June, 2010. I still have a copy of the check to this day. I am forever grateful to the Association for their faith in Slidell Magazine. Last year, I was honored to be allowed to join the Association as the first member without an Olde Towne store front. They’ve adopted me in as family, and their love for our city inspires every edition. I hope all of the readers who enjoy our stories appreciate where it all began and visit the Olde Towne Antique District. You’re sure to see me there! I visted with John recently to talk about the upcoming Street Fair. “We’re expecting crowds of over 10,000 people this year, like most years,” he said energetically. “We have people traveling from all over the Gulf coast - from Mississippi, Alabama, Texas. We advertise in several national publications that are geared towards the serious antique collectors. And, we get a lot of regulars who come back to shop the Antique District even after the Street Fair. That’s part of the goal to bring more shoppers and people to Olde Towne all year long.” The Street Fair also impacts Slidell in ways most of us don’t realize. “It puts a good light on Slidell and is a great source of revenue for the whole city,” John said. “Think about

it - vendors and shoppers come for the whole weekend. They stay at our local hotels and eat at our restaurants. That’s in addition to the tax revenue generated and paid by our fair vendors.” Just think - this has been happening twice a year, every year, since 1981. “It’s become such a regular event. I think the perception is that the City of Slidell hosts the Fair, rather than our small group in Olde Towne. The Street Fair is self-funded by our Antique Association members. We pay police officers, insurance agencies, waste removal companies, rental companies for things like tables, chairs, porta pots, etc. And all of this money is spent with the local businesses. Also, with the proceeds from the Fair, donations are made to the Keep Slidell Beautiful program, the City of Slidell Police Department, and Community Christian Concern, just to name a few. The city definitely helps with the event, we couldn’t do it without their support.” “It’s a great family event for the Slidell locals. There’s such a variety of things to do and to buy. It’s not just antiques - we have crafts, artists, food, live entertainment.” I can attest to this - the energy at the Fair is palpable. It’s my favorite time of the year. “Plus,” John reminds me, “it doesn’t cost anything to look and enjoy the atmosphere!” “Once people visit us at the Fair, they become regular customers. It’s our bread and butter, and keeps us going all year long. If you’re looking for a great time with your family, unique gifts, local art, collectibles and vintage - stay out of the chain stores and shop local. Come see us. Shop Olde Towne.” 25

Sedona Story and photos by Donna Bush

My editor, Kendra Maness, is always after me to write more about me. What?? I never talk about me. Anyone who knows me knows that. But Kendra keeps telling me that the readers love to hear about my personal stories. Hmmm! February of this year, my husband and I took a week vacation to Sedona, Arizona. I haven’t been there since 1994, around 22 years ago, and Eric has never been there. We booked our flights into Phoenix, which is the closest major airport, only about a 2-hour drive and a nonstop flight. The drive was beautiful, even if a bit stressful due to holiday weekend traffic made up of many Phoenicians wanting a long weekend north of Phoenix! We arrive at our at Sedona Pines Resort condo, about five miles south of Sedona proper. It’s nice being a bit away from the hubbub. Although, I don’t think Sedona is like your usual touristy town. Restaurants, stores, everything closes at 9pm, no later than 10pm, weekdays and weekends. Sedona is a hiking, biking, and all things healthy mecca! After a 4am wake-up call to catch our flight, we are exhausted. We decided on dinner at the resort’s Italian restaurant, Bella Vita, having heard that it was excellent. We didn’t realize we needed a reservation, but our luck held when owner, Dan Cohen, was at the reservation desk and suggested a small corner table in the bar. Perfect! Our waiter, Paul, was a delight, making entree and wine recommendations. Eric enjoyed Saltimbocca - thinly sliced veal rolled with prosciutto and mozzarella, sautéed in a garlic Chianti mushroom sauce. I opted for Vitella Capriccio - veal scaloppini sautéed with prawns, deep-sea scallops in a brandy mushroom cream sauce. Yum! Everything paired perfectly with our Dievole DAL 1090 Chianti Classico, including the Torta Di Loccolato – flourless chocolate cake, suggested by Paul for desert. OMG! We didn’t waste any time starting our adventure! Our first day kicked off with a four-hour train ride through the Verde Canyon on a fully restored vintage train pulled by two FP7 diesel locomotives. We wound our way twenty miles through a miniature version of the Grand Canyon from Clarkdale to the ghost town of Perkinsville for our turnaround, entertained by tour guides pointing out the various red rock formations, such as howling wolves, stagecoach, etc and listening to a variety of train songs. Yep, you guessed it; the songs include The Monkeys

Last Train to Clarksville, which of course we renamed “Last Train to Clarkdale”. We even saw nesting bald eagles and Sinagua Indian ruins dating back to 600 B.C. Just time to grab a bite to eat and head to our next adventure, stargazing. Arizona is home to at least twenty observatories, including Lowell Observatory and the US Naval Observatory in Flagstaff. Sedona offers some of the best observing conditions in the United States, with over 300 dry, clear nights per year, high altitude and virtually no light pollution. There are 3-5 groups of 12 attendees, each with an astronomer and a huge telescope. We lucked up with Rick Shaffer, a retired 70-year old physicist, as our guide. Rick managed radio astronomy for the NASA Deep Space Network and was a team chief on the Magellan, Ulysses, and Haley-Pathfinder missions. He was a wealth of information answering every sky question imaginable. Our location for stargazing is below one of the most heavily traveled east/west flight patterns. Did you know that airplane contrails have a huge effect on our weather? We observe the contrails causing clouds to build and dissipate.

This phenomenon was discovered after all air traffic was shut down for 3 days following 9/11. Rick cautions us to watch the sky, not him. “If you see a UFO, your tour is free!” Three quarters of the way through our tour, we notice a small bright light moving across the sky without any noticeable flashing lights such as an airplane would have. Rick laughs, looks at the time, and says, “Yep, that’s the plane that delivers fresh fish to local Sedona restaurants!” About that time, the plane turns slightly and the blinking lights are visible. HaHa! Our tour started with a telescope view of the craters of the moon since we were gifted with a half-moon. Then, we moved to a view of the south sky, including identification of the astrological signs, followed by viewing the north sky, constellations, the Milky Way and of course, Polaris, the north star. As our final treat, we viewed Jupiter and its moons as it emerged above the eastern horizon! Despite the cold, our group was the last to leave, delighted with the information shared by Rick. Monday morning offers a wine tasting tour of three local vineyards in a limo driven by Roger along with guests from various Sedona lodges. The best was Page Creek Vineyards, which offered excellent wine and beautiful grounds with an overlook at the river, which was rushing with muddy water from the snow melt of two weeks earlier. We also visited Javelina Vineyard and Oak Creek. I was thankful to find out that this was not the Oak Creek that is sold for $3 per bottle at Wal-Mart! We enjoy our included lunches with the last of our wine on the patio of Oak Creek. All of the wine and lots of sunshine did us in for the rest of that day. 27

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Sedona javelinas are everywhere. They are local wildlife, which resemble pigs, but are actually in the peccary family. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any in the wild but I did see several local painted ones. Think Slidell pelicans and you get Sedona javelinas. Early morning start to visit Airport Mesa, one of the wellknown vortexes (local’s plural of vortex) in the Sedona area. Per Webster’s Dictionary, a vortex is “a mass of spinning air, liquid, etc., that pulls things into its center; something that resembles a whirlpool; a mass of fluid (as a liquid) with a whirling or circular motion that tends to form a cavity or vacuum in the center of the circle and to draw toward this cavity or vacuum bodies subject to its action; i.e.: whirlpool, eddy.” This definition implies fluid dynamics, which don’t exist around the vortexes found in Sedona. Sedona Vortex Tours defines, “A vortex is a place of concentrated energy that people can sense.” The website, Love Sedona, says, “The energy resonates with and strengthens the Inner Being of each person that comes within about a quarter to a half mile of it. This resonance happens because the vortex energy is very similar to the subtle energy operating in the energy centers inside each person.” Are you a believer or a disbeliever? I admit, my computer science brain says disbeliever, but my yoga teacher brain says, Sure, I can feel energy! I feel it every day in my body. I feel others’ energy around me. Surely, you’ve picked up on negativity or anger from others around you. Or even happiness and joy - all forms of energy. So, yes, I believe in the energy “vortex”. But, maybe not the Webster definition of vortex. For sure, there’s a beauty, a feeling, an energy about Sedona. In addition to Airport Mesa, we visited Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park, a Buddhist shrine representing the Mind of Enlightenment. After lunch, we visited the Chapel of the Holy Cross Catholic Church, which appears to rise out of the red rock vistas surrounding it. All things spiritual and beautiful in Sedona!

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On tap for the afternoon is my first-ever helicopter ride, giving a close up tour of the red rock formations less than a three-minute flight from Sedona’s airport, which is too short for commercial airlines but a perfect size for corporate and personal jets of the more well-to-do local residents. The ride is less than 20 minutes but provides unique views that could not be achieved in any other way. Unfortunately, as I stepped out of the helicopter I placed my left foot on the skid and rolled my ankle almost to the point of breaking. Just a sprain, but definitely providing me with some colorful and occasionally tender memories of the trip! Not wanting to sideline our vacation with a trip to the ER, I waited until I got home to see a doctor. Of course, the doc wanted to know how it happened. I told her, “I was stepping out of the helicopter and the parachute didn’t open.” She laughed, “You made my day!” That’s my story and I’m sticking to it! Amazing what you can do with an Ace bandage, Aleve, Arnica gel, and a tightly-laced hiking boot paired with an ice pack in the evening! Our next adventure turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip. We’ve both always wanted to see Antelope Canyon, one of the most well-known slot canyons. We found out about a tour offered from Sedona, which included a knowledgeable

driver, stops at the historic 1916-built Cameron Trading Post, Horseshoe Bend overlook of the Grand Canyon, lunch at the Glenn Dam of the Colorado River and Lake Powell, and then our final destination, Antelope Canyon. Chris, our wonderful guide, gives us a verbal tour of the area, since we are on the road well before sunrise, with our traveling companions, Anne, Wayne and Linda. Our small group makes for a wonderful day of getting to know each other and making new friends. We climb from Sedona, which is primarily forested of pinion pine and juniper, through Oak Creek Canyon, to the second largest ponderosa pine forest in the world. (The largest is in Siberia.) Ponderosa pines are almost completely straight and make perfect fence posts and telephone polls. These pines are on the Colorado Plateau, the second largest plateau in the world. The largest is the Tibetan Plateau located on the opposite side of the planet at nearly the same latitude. We are touring upper Antelope Canyon, located on a Navaho Indian Reservation in northwestern Arizona, and can only be seen with a Navaho guide. Our tour is with Antelope Slot Canyon tours owned by Chief Tsosie and our guide is Leonard Nez, one of the best. He’s a full-blooded Navaho and not only knowledgeable about the canyon, but the best place to take a photo and how to take a photo, with virtually every make and model of camera! You must enter and stay together as a group with your guide. Rules are very strict. Photographs allowed on the walk in only. On the walk out, keep moving, no stopping and no photos. Upper Antelope is known as Tse’ bighanilini, Navaho for “the place where water runs through rocks.” At about 4000 feet in elevation, canyon walls rise 120 feet above the streambed and were formed by erosion as the water rushed through the canyon. We were not disappointed with the tour. I don’t believe Antelope Canyon is considered a vortex but, in my mind, it should be. It is a spiritual energy engulfing

her eye, infectious laugh and mischievous look. I’m not sure if I believe in reincarnation, but if I did, Anne is my next Sheshe. Anne mentioned that she and her husband had plans to do the seven sacred pool and sinkhole tour on Friday with the same tour company. Chris graciously called and booked us reservations on the same tour. So we did not have to part for good at the end of Antelope. Wonderful!

The 3rd place winner of the recent Heard Museum World Championship Hoop Dance Contest entertained us prior to our tour of Antelope Canyon. The Native American Hoop Dance is a form of storytelling performed by a solo dancer incorporating from 1- 30 or more hoops, which are used to create shapes, representing animals and symbols to tell a story.

experience. If I could have one wish, it would be to be able to visit it with just my guide and myself. Well, maybe a few very close friends, but certainly not the crowds that go through on a daily basis. Even with the crowds, the beauty and experience of seeing such a place could not be diminished. Upon exiting, Leonard plays a hauntingly beautiful song on his Navaho flute.

What added a whole other dimension to my tour was meeting my new friend, Anne. Had I not sprained my ankle and had Anne not been recovering from bronchitis, neither of us would have taken the time to talk to each other in such detail so that we really connected. Due to our issues, we were the only members of the group who did not make the 1 1/2 mile hike to Horseshoe Bend overlook. Instead, we stopped at the kiosk, which was more than enough for my badly swollen ankle. We started talking and instantly hit it off with so many commonalities. She said I reminded her of her daughter, who was also a redhead named Donna. Her passion and life’s work has been in longevity studies, the same as my dear 93-year old friend and yoga student, Bobette. To add to our connection, Anne reminded me of my best friend and soul mate Shirley Welles (Sheshe) who passed away four years ago. She has the same twinkle in

Only 2 days left. A pink jeep archaeological tour to Honanki Canyon to see remains of Sinagaun cliff dwellings in the Coconino National Forest. These dwellings were inhabited between 1100 CE and 1300 CE. Even though the name Sinaguan means “without water”, water was readily available. Pictographs, painted on rocks, and petroglyphs, carved into the rock face, are abundant on the walls and tell interesting stories. Archaeologists believe these same dwellings were used by Yavapai and Apache Indians over the last 700 years. Among the ruins are areas where you can see a remodeling took place, adding more rooms or even another level. Interestingly, there is a Chinese dialect that contains many words similar to Apache. One of the resident traders had a Chinese cook and overheard him speaking with Apaches. When asked how he learned Apache, the cook said there language was similar, little difference. A visit to Slide Rock State Park in Oak Creek Canyon was the next order of business. A 43-acre historic apple orchard surrounded by beautiful red rock formations becomes the perfect swimming hole in the summer. It’s even named one of the US’s top 10 swimming holes. Today, it’s just as gorgeous a backdrop for my photos as it was for several western

movies shot in the 1940’s and 50’s - Angel and the Badman, Broken Arrow, Drum Beat and Gun Fury, to name a few. Despite an overcast sky, I’m in search of the perfect sunset photo. If I’m not camera-ready and the sky clears, I’ll be kicking myself, even if I am limping at best. Of course, it seems the best places are also the most crowded, with nary an inch to squeeze in a tripod leg. I get a few shots, but still not what I’m looking for. Last day and we visit Coffee Pot Diner for breakfast then meet Anne and her husband, Don, for our Red Rock Jeep Tour of the Seven Sacred Pools and Devil’s Kitchen Sinkhole, aka, the Soldier’s Pass Tour. The diner, also known as 101 Omelets has omelet number 101 on the menu in memory of Elvis, who filmed the 1967 movie Stay Away Joe in Sedona and the restaurant decided to add his favorite omelet to the menu – peanut butter, jelly and banana. I’ll confess, I did not try it and don’t intend to! Another “it was meant to be” moment was when we learn that the four of us are the only ones who signed up for the tour. Awesome! We also learn that this is their most adventurous, exciting and thrilling off-road tour! Oh my! What have we signed on for! Anne and I giggle as we hear this information. An adventure!! Eric and Don just kind of roll their eyes. We strap into the Jeep with our guide, Mary, who is wearing full cowboy attire – bandana, boots with spurs, hat and leather vest. Mary left the family-owned Manhattan limo business over five years ago. She says her parents still think she is just on vacation and are saving her limo for her.

Maybe our first warning should have been the phrase, “Please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened and tight across your lap, while I put the Jeep in fulltime 4-wheel drive. Hold on as we go across the speed bump. It’s just to keep the tourists out.” This is the first 7-foot speed bump I’ve ever seen and I bet it does keep out the riff-raff! We proceed along what can’t even be called a path. It’s just rocks and boulders with juniper pine and prickly pear growing out of them. Anne is in the front seat and is curiously looking around for a handhold as we bounce over the boulders. I suggest that she stand up, hold on to the roll bar, and yell “Yippee Yi-o!” She laughs, reminding me again of SheShe. The seven sacred pools are staggered pools of water in the rock floor, formed from rain water and snow melt. They are considered sacred, as water is difficult to find in such a desolate climate. We head to the sinkhole, known as Devil’s Kitchen, where it sits behind the base of the sphinx rock formation. Local legend states that the sinkhole formed in the early 1880’s. A local settler took the preacher to see it and, when the preacher peered over the edge to see piles of bright red rock and heavy dust coming up from the bottom with the sun shining through it, he said, “I wonder what the Devil’s cooking in his kitchen!” We mountain climb our Jeep out of the sinkhole area and head back to town. Mary asks if we’ve tried any adventurous local cuisine and suggests sampling the cactus fries. Well, it’s our last day in town, so Anne, Don, Eric and I hit the Cowboy Club restaurant for a local sampler platter, including cactus (prickly pear) fries, buffalo skewers, rattlesnake sausage and cilantro flat bread. Of course, I’ve got to try a prickly pear margarita! Yum! At lunch, Don asks if we knew that his youngest son was named Eric and Anne’s daughter was named Donna? Hmm! Another interesting reason why we were meant to meet each other. Maybe there is something to that vortex energy. Alas, all good things must come to an end. We part ways after shared hugs and Anne tells me that she will not say “Goodbye.” I won’t either. I’m off again in search of the perfect sunset. It’s my last sunset of this trip! Guides have mentioned going out Dry Creek Road, so that’s where we head. We never actually find the spot we were told to look for, but I am anxious to stop and shoot what I can find. We stop on the side of the road and the full moon is just creeping above the red rock. As we step out of the car, haunting flute music floating through the canyon from some mysterious source fascinates us. What a magical, mystical way to end our trip. Energy? Yes! Vortex? I’ll let you decide.