51st Edition - October 2014

THE OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF SLIDELL TUG-O-WAR • BIKE RACES • 3K WALK • 3 ON 3 BASKETBALL • MEN’S SOFTBALL • OBSTACLE COURSE

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OCTOBER 2014

Extraordinarily Fascinating “Ordinary” People Sponsored by MIA SORELLA

Salvadore “Jack” Galatas

By Charlotte Lowry Collins

Before the heat of summer begins to taper, I hope to bring you back in time to a tale about boyhood summers, an era probably before your time. This month we journey to summers on the bayou in the first half of the 1900’s, for this is where and when October’s EFOP spent his formative years.

It is a tale of a young boy, now one of our revered elders, who can speak a language no longer spoken by many. During his youth, he learned the local flora and fauna, as well as the techniques for survival in this area as it was passed down from his ancestors. Throughout his life, he learned to adapt to the changes that were to come in his way of life. He is a large man, even at 90 years, with a gentle nature and manners that are no longer popular in modern society.

If you are from Bonfouca, you know that he fit into no census category back then, neither white nor black. The census now has an option of “other”, which is a better fit for someone of Creole descent. In case you are new to the area, we have a community named Bonfouca, on Bayou Liberty, that still has a few of these “good people”, for which it is named. I am told that bon means “good”, and fouca means “folks”. The term Creole as we use it today refers to the people from this area who have a combination of French or Spanish blood, combined with Native American, Caribbean, White and/or African American.

Now that your interest is peaked, I will add that this EFOP was born on Bayou Liberty by a midwife, Cecelia Doucette,

and continues to live there today, near a long lineage of Narcisse, Doucette, Pichon and Galatas relatives. Some of his earliest memories are of his great-grandparents and parents speaking the Creole language, sometimes referred to as “broken French”.

Salvadore Galatas, or “Jack” to his Bonfouca family and friends, laughs as he explained, “If my grandchildren could be sitting in a room where they were talking today, those kids wouldn’t be able to understand anything that was said.

And sometimes that was very convenient.

It sure made the kids want to learn the language, so they could know what was really up,” he finished with a sly smile.

Today, Creole is mostly remembered by those of his generation. You see, it is an oral language without written translation.

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A grassroots group started by his cousin, Caroline Rousseau, still meets in an effort to grow interest in the younger generations for this spoken language of their ancestors.

But so far, it is greatly under appreciated.

You can immediately sense their gentile manners throughout the revelry. I can still here them holler, “By-Yee!” at passers-by.

Their teachings are so important because once these elders can no longer pass on their knowledge, the Bayou Liberty area will have lost another piece of its valuable history.

Jack describes the Bayou Liberty area of his youth as untamed and untouched. “There were large cypress trees everywhere, but the live oaks and magnolias were only in certain spots where there was higher land. My Grandma, Cecile Doucette, was a Narcisse, of French and Indian descent, from Lacombe,” he explained as he looked across toward Bayou Narcisse. An old barn blocks the view of the little waterway from the place where we sat together in our interview, but I could tell from the look in Mr. Galatas’ eyes that he still clearly sees the vision. I know from my paddles that the tiny tributary is still untamed, and leads from right across the road to the larger and more well-known waterway of Bayou Liberty. “That big bayou (Liberty), where I was born, has changed a lot.

When I was young, we swam, crabbed, fished and paddled in a round bottom, twoman pirogue my daddy built. We went from here to Bayou Pacquet and on out to Lake Pontchartrain. Liberty was much narrower, and the water was much more clear back then. There were huge trees that shaded the banks that are gone now, I guess from all the motorboats.” But, as you will see in this story, Mr. Jack doesn’t spend time wishing things were different.

r

His is a story about a carefree childhood of swimming in Bayou Liberty, with paddling as his main method of transportation.

“We went fishing with my daddy, Etienne Galatas, or Papé, as soon as we were deemed old enough. We then went by ourselves and paddled in that twoman pirogue all over Pacquet. That is where my great grandfather, known as ‘Capitaine Edgár Doucette’ owned a sawmill and a schooner to bring goods to New Orleans. He taught me how to swim on Bayou Pacquet, which is where a whole lot of children learned about the bayou. It seemed like he was grandfather to most of the kids around here. He was pretty wealthy and donated a school for the community, called ‘Galatas School’. It

was a one-room schoolhouse where 30 to 40 children were taught from first through seventh grades. Back in those days, the ‘colored’ children went to Galatas School, and the white children went to Slidell. They had a bus for the kids that went to Slidell, but the coloreds walked. That was just how it was.”

Mr. Jack continued with childhood stories, “Before all the motorboats, we went all the way to the mouth of the bayou and into Pontchartrain and back. That’s how we made our living mostly. Kids didn’t sit around the house, and you just didn’t see the overweight problems of today. We loved speckled trout and crab the most, so we were willing to work for our food.”

I asked him where he set his crab traps, since I can’t seem to catch many crabs up this far any more. He explained to me why this is so. “We had plenty of crabs here before they came up with this crab trap business,” he winked at me. “We used a scoop net with a long handle. You shove it through the grassy marsh and bring up different kinds of crabs - busters, green crabs, and blue crabs. I used a cast net on the lake to get shrimp. You have to throw the net just right to open out on the bottom of the lake. Then I would set up a ladder with a light to draw the shrimp in. I also hunted squirrel, rabbit, wild ducks, geese and hogs. At night, we hunted alligators, using flashlights to show the yellow glint of their eyes. Back then, we only ate the tail. It tasted like catfish. But it wasn’t as popular as it is now,” he added with a chuckle. “The old-timers used the rest of the body for crab bait. They would put it on a hook with lead, and sink it down in the bayou.

“Old Buck Cornibe used to paddle from the Northshore to buy crabs by the batch from us - 15 cents a dozen for the large ones, and 25 cents for the green crabs. Then, he resold them at a higher price back at Bucks near the Watson Williams bridge.

(Highway 11, or “5-Mile”, Bridge as it is now called.) He knew the different types of crabs and separated them into two skiffs based on the type. He knew the grade, and priced them that way. If they were about to shed (green crabs), he would hold those back to sell later as soft shells. We would paddle to meet him from my Grandma’s house. My Grandma’s house was right on Bayou Pacquet near the lake, so we could hear everybody approaching. As a child, I would still be in bed in the early morning, and hear Mr. Faciane’s old boat chugging out to the lake. Then I would hear it coming

back again in the evening. Oh, and how I remember Grandma’s ‘papatate’, my favorite dessert. It was a sweet potato pone where she would actually sit and grate the sweet potatoes from our garden and cook it down with sugar. While it was cooking, we would play accordions and guitar. The grating was hard work, and it took time.

These days everyone makes sweet potato pie cause it is so much easier.

“My mom, Gustavia Farrere, was a really good cook too. She cooked fresh vegetables from the garden, red beans, white beans, and plenty of gumbo. My momma knew how to make the best gumbo, cause she learned from her mom; who, if you remember, was an Indian from Lacombe. Everybody came over when Grandma made that big pot of gumbo. We lived mostly on what we could provide, which was plenty. I would bring her my seafood for the gumbo. Other days, I brought squirrel or hog and she cooked that well too. People around here mostly used Catahoula and bloodhound dogs for hunting. I had a beagle and hound mix, named Buck, that I used for rabbits, wild duck and geese out by the lake. Charley Cousin and I used to race to see who could get to the end of Pacquet first, to where Buck chased the rabbit. The winner got the meat.”

If you’ve read my last two EFOP stories, you may have noticed a common trait about Slidell’s past - livestock were abundant in the Slidell area. Now you will learn why it changed abruptly. “We also owned hogs and cattle. At one time, my daddy had 17 heads of cattle. Then they passed a Stock Law and we had to get rid of them. There was nothing we could do about it. That was a big upset because almost everybody had cows and bulls. You would mark and brand them yourself, and most people then let them roam free and forage. I remember that we had a certain time every month that we all rounded up our cattle and brought them between Lacombe and Bayou Pacquet. They were forced to swim through a special dipping vat of poison to get the ticks and flies off the cattle. It was a special solution they made up in St. Tammany Parish. The ticks were really bad in those days, but that poison killed them and made ‘em drop off. One thing that always drew a crowd was when the bulls from Bayou Vincent and Bayou Liberty met up. There was always a big fight. That was our form of entertainment,” he said with a hearty laugh. Intrigued by this almost-forgotten part of Slidell’s past, 7

I was able to pull up an article about legislation in 1946 where branding became a misdemeanor. I suppose it was not too long after that there were far less wild cattle in Slidell, and then eventually throughout the parish.

ONE-STOP SHOP.

Mr. Jack remembers the changes. ”After that, my daddy went to work at the sawmill on Pacquet as a handyman for old man Ike. Daddy’s sister Althea, my Aunt ‘Taunt Alte’, was a good-looking ‘yellow’ woman, and a fine, gentlewoman. Old man Ike wanted to marry her, but back then he couldn’t because of the Segregation Laws since he was black. So, they courted under cover. The kids can’t believe it, but I told them there wasn’t anything you could do about it, you have to respect the law.“ Think about it - marriage laws are still changing today, but color isn’t the issue anymore.

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Mr. Jack quickly changed the subject. “I went to school at Doucette’s School, as Galatas School was called then, and was christened at St. Genevieve’s Church when it was the old wooden building. They had two services. At first the whites went, then the coloreds, and we sat on those same two or three long benches. But we all went to communion together and kneeled around the railing together. We would know the priest was coming when we saw the dust off the gravel road as Father Balle’s ’43 Chevrolet got closer. The priest would call us by name to catechism. Then they separated us, and my folks had to go to St. Linus Church near Bayou Vincent. We lived very near St. Genevieve’s, and walked or rode a horse everywhere we couldn’t paddle. My horse was named Red, after his color. He pulled our wagon and plowed our garden. We had a little of everything, but it was mostly sweet potatoes, which we traded. What we didn’t grow, we got from Mr. O’Berry from Pearl River - a little cabbage or other vegetables. My momma and Auntie would discuss the barter in Creole, and he used to get frustrated. He always said, ‘Why don’t you talk so I can understand what you are talking about?’ Mr. Jack giggled a bit, then went on as he envisioned the past. “There was also a little ‘dummy line’ train station nearby and us kids would hitchhike on it for fun, but that meant we had to walk all the way back, because we had to jump off before the station. It was built to get the lumber from the sawmill to Bogalusa for paper products.” Living on the bayou myself, I’m familiar with this. Every once in awhile, when the wind blows a little East of North, you can still smell those paper mills all the way down here on the bayou, so that is one industry that is still around.

“Later on, most of my friends went to WWII. Some got killed, some were wounded and came back, and others stayed until the end of the War. I went to war, but they said I had high blood pressure, so I decided to help the war effort by taking a job - my best job really - driving an ambulance at the rifle range for soldiers and WWII veterans at Camp Villere.” This is what we now know as the Louisiana Air National Guard training camp. It opened in 1942, and was named for the Major General in the Battle of New Orleans in 1815, Jacques Villere. Mr. Jack continued, “I drove soldiers to the hospital in New Orleans. After the War, more white people moved to this bayou, and of course, things changed a lot more. But, that is just part of progress.”

8

He looked from the porch to the main house and reminisced, “I built this house in 1937, when the food and jobs were here, and I never left Bonfouca. After Katrina, I shoveled mud out of this house with a flat shovel and wheelbarrow for two weeks.

The Red Cross came and brought dinner everyday. I must have built well, because the roof and frame stood. But the floor and furniture didn’t stand as well. My sons helped me repair the house for my wife, Albertine.” His eyes had a gleam as he told me, “We were married sixty years, but Katrina broke her heart, and she died soon after. Mr. William B. Reilly was a generous man, and knew my family well. After every flood, he would bring cans of Luzianne coffee to the whole neighborhood. That’s how folks were back then. Neighbors helped neighbors regardless of color. Now I stay because my friends and family are here, but I do miss a lot of those people from my times.”

When I asked him if there was a difference in life then and now, he described it to me, “To tell you how different it was, I used to row my grandma in a skiff to get anything we needed from Willie Goertz’s store over

by the church. He was a big, tall German man, and we could trade what we had for other items we might need, and distribute them to different families. Later, I would take my wheelbarrow to Slidell and fill it with three dollar’s worth of groceries. One of the biggest changes is so many new people which brings the traffic, there is just too much. But, you can’t change that.

As you might guess after reading about life in those days, Mr. Jack asserted, “Life was much better then than it is now. Everything was cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about jobs as much as young folks do now. Sometimes I sit and talk with the great grandkids, and they are amazed at my stories. They ask me, ‘How did you do it?’ I tell them you would have made it, and made out well. There wasn’t much killing back then, not like you hear now. The laws were more strict, and you couldn’t get around the law like you can these days.”

Mr. Jack looked beyond me and smiled as he said, “Entrée”. I turned and saw his grandson-in-law Tracy, opening the screen door to come sit on the porch. I decided it was time to take my leave, so they could take up where I left off.

I sat in the car and remembered Mr. Jack’s late son, Lonnie, talking to me on that same porch. He told me that, after he served in the military, it felt great coming home to a new situation. He explained to me that, after Katrina, neighbors needed each other more than ever. He loved the level of acceptance. And he told me how he won first place in his league at the Bayou Liberty Pirogue Races, the last one still held in Louisiana. After all, Lonnie explained back then, “We are all kin somehow on the bayou.”

As I drove off, I was warmed by the realization that despite the changes, all of the cultural groups on this bayou found a way to get along and be good people hence Bonfouca.



9

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THURSDAY

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Storyteller Crawfish and Cucumbers

As a last resort, this was the method I decided on next.

I am not much of a gardener.

I don’t have my late mother’s green thumb; but I do try to plant a few tomatoes, a few cucumbers and some squash. My garden space is only about 8’x8’ so you must understand that the yield is only enough for a few salads.

It costs much more to plant than the produce is worth; but the pleasure of doing it and the joy of the freshness, to me, is worthwhile.

I usually have excellent luck with squash and cucumbers, but I struggle with tomatoes. This year, however, I could not get my cucumbers to even come out of the ground. I thought maybe it was bad seed, so I replanted.

No luck. I replanted again - and again, no luck.

I reasoned that, since I had been conditioning the soil since the previous fall with bits of vegetable

12

scraps, egg shells and coffee grounds, that I may have created a soil condition not conducive to the growing of cucumbers. Now, having a soil test would be too simple - and my mother would have never done that, anyway.

I had been successful some years back, just after Katrina when the soil was still salty, by buying a bag of topsoil, cutting a hole in the top and bottom and planting the seed inside the bag.

I picked a damp but sunny spot and set up eight bags of topsoil and put cucumber seeds in each. In less than a week, the seeds had turned into small green plants and I felt that I was well on my way. It was not to be. This time the culprit was not a raccoon, a squirrel, bad soil, or even insects. It was a crawfish.

When I was a kid, there was a ditch that ran along the side of the highway.

This area stayed damp almost all the time and I was fascinated at the crawfish holes that would just appear overnight. You know, the little balls of dirt, rolled precisely and stacked to look like an adobe chimney. I never saw a single crawfish building one of these, but they must be fast workers who are nocturnal.

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As kids, we declared war on the little crustaceans.

We pretended they were enemy soldiers who had entrenched themselves deep into their bunkers. We had seen enough war movies to know that a brave Marine would run up to the bunker and obliterate it with a hand grenade. We had plenty hand grenades.

They were actually cherry bombs.

Regrets Only

Unlike the war movies, the bodies of the enemy never spilled out, so we just assumed we had buried them in the debris. The Marines had flamethrowers and so did we. Ours were blowtorches. Finally, we departed from the Geneva Convention and used chemical warfare. Clorox was cheap; but if we wanted to see some action, we used carbide and water. Baking soda and vinegar was the coup de gracê. At other times, we would try to fish the crawfish out with a string and a small piece of meat tied to it. Lord, no, we did not eat those things - only people from Louisiana did that. I had not thought much about the crawfish holes in years until last week.

Every other day, I would carefully water my cucumbers. Perched on the last bag on the end of the row was a crawfish. Yes, there was a hole too.

The hole went down just beside my cucumber plant. Unlike any crawfish I had ever seen, he was a brave one. He let me almost pick him up before he scurried into his bunker.

I wanted to salvage my cucumber plant, if possible; so I did not resort to Clorox, baking soda, or any of my childhood weapons. I simply poured dirt on top of the hole and packed it tightly, hoping this was the end of my friend.

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The next day, the hole was bigger than ever, so I filled it again. Same results - he dug out. The third day, there he was, waiting for me. It reminded me of the old Brook Benton song about the boll weevil.

He seemed to say, “I’m just looking for a home.”

This time, I caught him. I guess I had become attached to him by now; and anyway, at the price of crawfish, I spared him the death penalty and decided he should not even be a POW. I cast him into a small ditch about ten feet away.

You guessed it. The next day, there he sat on my cucumber spot.

There is an old proverb; pick your battles. I abandoned this cucumber plant and left it to my new found buddy. He is still there. What his future plans are, I don’t know. But I do know he was one determined little mudbug. As for me, I have been thinking about a crawfish and cucumber salad.

 John Case

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14

KAYAK ADVENTURE

An Amazing Journey of Celebration, Recognition, and Friendship Story & Photos by Donna Bush

T

alk about a unique girls trip! Myself and eight other ladies went for a 5-day kayak and camping trip in the Nassau Fjord area of Prince William Sound, Alaska. Spectacular scenery, fantastic women, beautiful weather, gourmet food, kayaking with humpback whales, next to glaciers, among hundreds of harbor seals! What more could a girl want? This long-planned trip was a celebration and recognition of our friend Bunny, a one-year breast cancer survivor and Lyn, who wasn’t able to attend due to a sudden cancer recurrence. Five days without seeing another human except for one small cruise ship way off in the distance and a sailboat far, far away. Ahhh!

Solitude, unspoiled beauty of nature and communion with each other.

Our group are all from Alaska except for two of us; myself (Louisiana) and Bunny (Salt Lake City). Anchorage residents, Cathy, Shari and Sara, along with Fairbank residents, Debbie, Melissa, Lisa and Judy

16

paddle regularly in Alaska. Bunny lived in Alaska for many years and has been on numerous Alaska kayak/camping trips.

I’ve kayaked lots in Louisiana and short paddles in Alaska, but this will be my first Alaskan kayak and camping trip.

Our trip started with a full day of prepping: sorting out kayak gear, paddles, life jackets, gloves, boots, putting together menus, shopping for food, labeling everything, packing cooking instructions with food and storing in sealable bags, then packing in dry bags and bear barrels, plus packing camping gear, sleeping bags, tents, camp kitchen, some warm clothes, plus rain gear and bug spray. And more bug spray!

It was a record setting year in Alaska – warmest and buggiest! Since the weather can change at a moment’s notice and we would be camping and kayaking in glacier areas, we threw in everything from long underwear to tank tops! For the three of us into photography, we added in camera gear, binoculars and pelican cases.

We awoke early to load last minute gear and drive the 2 hours to make the 8:30am Whittier tunnel opening and our water taxi.

If we miss this opening, we will have to wait another hour. As we rush to the tunnel, we see the most spectacular bore tide I’ve ever seen. No time to stop and take pictures or we will miss our 8:30 passage through the tunnel.

Per Alaska.org, “The bore tide is a huge wave or series of waves that advance down Turnagain Arm in a wall of water up to 10-feet high. The bore tide is a rush of seawater that returns to a shallow and narrowing inlet from a broad bay.” They appear after extreme minus low tides, created by a full or new moon and occur all over the world. Only a few are spectacular enough to get notice. Turnagain Arm’s bore tide reaches speeds of 10-15 mph and 6-10 feet tall, requiring about a 27-foot tidal difference between high and low tide.

The best time to see one is during a 5-day window surrounding new or full moons.

This bore tide, one of the biggest in the world, is the only tide that occurs in the far north and bordered by mountains, making it unique and dramatic! It is easily accessible as the Seward Highway runs the length of Turnagain Arm with numerous places to pull off and observe not just the tide, but the kayakers, surfers, and paddle boarders riding the wave. Watch carefully, you might even see a harbor seal riding in or a Beluga whale coming in for the higher water.

The Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel, aka Whittier Tunnel, is the longest highway tunnel in North America at 2.5 miles. It was built in 1941 by the US Army as a railroad spur from Whittier to Portage to provide a supply link for the WWII war effort. The original consisted of a onemile tunnel through Begich Peak and a 2.5-mile tunnel through Maynard Mountain, linking the town of Whittier to the Alaska Railroad’s main line at Portage. Today the existing railroad tunnel is a one-lane combination allowing highway and railroad traffic to take turns traveling through the tunnel.

We all make the tunnel and head to Epic Charters for our water taxi. Kayaks are already loaded. We hustle to unload our gear, grab our life jackets, and off we go to our most excellent adventure!

It’s blue skies and sunshine, with temps in the 60’s, as we motor towards our first campsite, just off Icy Bay, inside Nassau Fjord. We land at low tide and form a gear line to quickly offload everything from the taxi to above high tide line. Gear unloaded, it’s time to pick out campsites, a kitchen site and get our tents set up so we can go kayaking.

Tents pitched, kitchen and bug tent pitched, lunch eaten.

It’s time to kayak! Camping in bear country can be a challenge with fresh food. Food aromas carry through the air and bears have an extremely keen sense of smell. We put the strongest scented foods in the bear barrels. Bear barrels, made of tough polymer material, contoured wider in the middle, with flush locking lids, thwart even the smartest of bears. We place the other food and toiletries in dry bags packed in the hatches of our kayaks and off we go - eight single kayaks and one tandem making splashes of yellow, white and red in the azure water.

The tide is starting to come in but still low, as we paddle out Nassau Fjord and into Icy Bay, turning left into Gaamaak Cove. Discovering that we have a bald eagle nest sharing our tent sites, we head toward the shore for closer exploration. There is a least one chick in the nest and an adult perched nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the young. This is a great place for a nest - just like living next door to the grocery store. A bay full of fresh fish next door, Mom and Dad won’t have far to go for dinner.

Tide is up, so we take the shortcut across the spit to our campsites.

Mojitos, margaritas and wine poured – check. Hummus, smoked oysters and crackers – check. Shrimp curry and salad for dinner – check. Camping and kayaking in Alaska with my girlfriends is a priceless experience!

One of the symbolic reasons behind this trip was to pay tribute to our friends who have been and are going through breast cancer. Lyn is once again fighting cancer.

Bunny has finished surgery and treatment, and is a oneyear survivor. So many other loved ones have fought cancer. Upon learning of our planned tribute, the Breast

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Cancer Project of Fairbanks Memorial Hospital provided each of us with “Circle of Hope” t-shirts. We celebrate our fellow survivors in our t–shirts and wrap Bunny in an enveloping hug of our love and support of her through her journey. Each day we offer a new tribute in our t-shirts to friends and survivors. We even have a bunny hop ceremony, complete with Bunny and her stuffed bunny that travels with her everywhere.

Our first full day of kayaking dawns with beautiful light on the mountain. The three photographers are out in our pajamas and boots with cameras in hand getting shots of Mother Nature’s beauty. The rest are starting the French press coffee and water for tea and oatmeal.

After the previous afternoon of shuffling gear and boats, combined with sleeping on the ground, several are asking for a quick 10-minute yoga class before we start our full day of paddling. Soon, we are off for our day of adventure, bringing lunch and lots of clothing layers. Our plans are to paddle Icy Bay, as close to Chenega Glacier as we safely can. After a mid-morning break with more yoga poses in our commemorative t-shirts and a video we shot for Lyn, we arrive at our lunch destination. Even though we are quite some distance from the glacier, we can hear it calving and see the waves crash ashore as we munch on our smoked salmon wraps.

Lunch completed, we don extra layers for our chilly paddle up close to the glacier, as the temperature drops drastically as we approach. We carefully steer clear of the larger icebergs, as they can be up to 10 times the size below surface as above, and could easily swamp a kayak if it rolled as we neared. We make it to within a mile of the glacier’s edge, with ice everywhere and the glacier still calving. It is a thrill to be this close, hearing and feeling the glacier as it calves. As we turn to paddle back to camp, we realize that the thick ice has surrounded us like water hyacinths in a Louisiana bayou. Not only that, but we discover we are being watched!!!

Hundreds of harbor seals are curiously watching us from their icy perch, bobbing up and down with each calve of the glacier. We spend hours paddling through the slushy ice trying to break a path, watching the seals as they wait to the very last minute before jumping into the cold water from their icy boat, disappearing until we pass then bobbing back up to watch our slow progress.

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As we finally approach our camp, Sara lassos an iceberg to bring in for our drinks! No trip to the 7-11 for ice for us! Dinner is Pad Thai and smores, followed by photos in front of an iceberg that resembles a giant frosty blue bathtub. Girls just want to have fun!

We awake to another beautiful day with lots of work ahead. It is time to break camp, pack up everything, see if we can find a way to load it all in our kayaks and paddle to our next and last campsite, Dual Head. As we leave our protected bay, we discover lots of ice still in the main channel of Icy Bay and our seal friends awaiting us. We stop for more photos and even record the sound of the ice popping and cracking like rice krispies as milk pours over each piece.

We arrive, build camp, enjoy lunch and a short paddle.

This site is high above the water line, warmer as we are further away from the glaciers, which brings in more bugs.

A waterfall is nearby, providing a source of fresh water and welcoming (although cold) showers. Mexican night,

complete with margaritas and guacamole, along with another campfire celebration of Bunny’s health and shooting a video to share with Lyn to let her know of our love and support.

Our last full day involves a paddle to the waterfall to restock our water supply and a cold, cold shower. It’s a beautiful, bright sunny day. Unfortunately, our waterfall shower is in the shade! It’s icy cold but invigorating! There’s a pool below the waterfall. Only the brave or crazy dive into the pool for an after-shower swim! WOW! We hop back in our kayaks and paddle off for more adventure. We see whales in the distance but never very close.

On our final night, we all toast Bunny for her health success with many more years to come! Sad that Lyn is not with us, we lift

up healing energy to send her way as we plan a future trip to have her with us on our next girls kayak trip!

Our last day provides a few hours of kayaking if we break everything down early and are ready for the water taxi when it arrives. Of course we are up, camp broke and on the water for a quick paddle. We paddle in Whale Bay and past Humpy Cove, decide we are cutting close to our taxi’s arrival time and turn back. As we arrive in Humpy Cove, just like the name, a Humpback Whale appears and paddles to and fro treating us with its beauty and a few breaches! Woohoo! What a way to end our trip. Of course, we don’t leave. We stay until we see the water taxi approaching and then paddle like crazy to meet it.

It was an amazing journey, filled with all of the wonderful things that Alaskan kayaking can offer! Mostly, though, our adventure was a celebration of good friends, good health, and the enjoyment of life. Cheers to Bunny and Lyn!

19

TEMPTING THE Story and Art

by Lori Gomez

Palette

This month is my one year anniversary writing for Slidell Magazine! At first, I was nervous about whether or not I could actually do the column, but I am glad that I stepped out of my comfort zone and challenged myself. It’s important to try new things - even if it’s a little scary in the beginning. I have received some wonderful feedback over the past year and am looking forward to continuing on this journey.

Over the summer, I have been working nonstop on several big projects. One of these has been restoring and painting a piano for East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity’s upcoming fundraiser. Habitat is currently raising money to build homes for our Veterans. I love this idea - after all, the veterans have given so much for us, we should give back to them.

Last May, Habitat partnered with Kissa Corporation and held the first Veteran’s Festival in Slidell. It was an amazing event filled with inspiration and appreciation from and for our Veterans. I had a booth at

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the event. I brought a photo of my fatherin-law in his Army uniform, along with his medals from WWII, to display in honor of him and his service. I never met him, as he passed away when my husband, Mike, was only 7 years old. Like many of our military personnel, he did not discuss his life in the service; so Mike knew very little about what it was like for him. We had done some research and had some information, but not much. Mike was with me at the Veteran’s Festival. We had no idea what an emotional day it would be. All day long, Veterans would stop at our table and look at my father-in-law’s picture and medals in amazement. Many of them explained to us what Mike’s dad had done in order to receive the medals. This happened many times throughout the day. Each time, you

could see the smile on Mike’s face grow bigger and bigger. And, each time, you could feel the electricity in the air as if my father-in-law were right beside him. It was such an amazing experience and a completely unexpected blessing. I decided then and there that I would devote the next year of my paintings to celebrating all branches of our military men and women.

I have completed the first several pieces and will be displaying them May 15, 2015 at the next Veteran’s Festival. If you want to experience something truly amazing, I hope you will attend.

For several years, Habitat has asked Artists to come in and choose something from their Restore to repurpose for sale at their annual fundraiser. I’ve always wanted to paint a piano. Habitat usually

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gets several pianos donated to them throughout the year, and most are in poor condition. So I told them to let me know if the received one that was in good shape and I would paint it. Almost immediately, they called and said they had two for me to choose from. I have always wanted a piano, so I bought one. (I mean, if I’m going to do one, I may as well do two, right?) I’ve never played on a piano, but I sang in my high school choir for 4 years and played the guitar. Two pianos were delivered to my house and, with some help from Mike, the work began.

The theme for the Habitat piano would be Louisiana Music Legends. After all, Louisiana has an abundance of music legends - one of which is the amazing Ronnie Kole, who happens to live right here in Slidell. I drenched the piano in bright colors and pictures of some of the legends I’ve painted through the years Ronnie Kole, Vince Vance, Irma Thomas, Fats Domino and more. Many people became involved in making this project for Habitat a huge success. Even Senator A.G. Crow came to my house to tune the piano. (I bet you didn’t know that Senator Crow has restored over 100 pianos!)

Then Vince Vance came to my house and signed the piano by his picture. Ronnie Kole graciously went on WWL’s morning show with myself and Habitat’s Executive Director Debbie Crouch and played the piano. I could never have imagined any of this when I volunteered to do this piano! The night of the auction, Ronnie Kole signed by his picture and treated the audience to a spectacular show. The piano was then auctioned off and raised more money than any item before! Slidell Memorial Hospital’s CEO, Bill Davis, and his wife, Dottie, purchased the piano for their daughter, Rachel, who is majoring in Music. I was humbled to be a part of such an amazing project. If you would like to see the piano, the Davis family has graciously left it on display at the Chamber’s mARTketPLACE on Front Street.

I restored the 1907 piano that I bought and have been teaching myself the chords for the past year. I use all the wrong fingers and have no technique, but I do play the correct chords and am able to sing my little heart out when I’m by myself. I absolutely love having a piano in my home. I am always amazed and surprised when someone comes over and suddenly starts playing, when I had no idea that they knew how to play. When that happens, they get their picture taken while playing, and it goes on the wall right next to the piano.

Back to Habitat: I didn’t think I could top the piano from the 2013 fundraiser, but Debbie and I agreed that we should do another one for this year’s auction. Wouldn’t you know it, no pianos were donated - at least none that we could use. As auction time got closer, everyone was nervous. Everyone, except me. I told Debbie that I wasn’t worried; God will provide, he always does.

That night, I found a piano online. Habitat picked it up from Mississippi and delivered it the following day. (At almost 1000 lbs, and stored in a mobile home with steps, a Habitat crew had to build an 8 foot ramp just to get to it!)

When it got here, it looked rough. No one had touched it in 50 years. When I looked up the information online, I dated the piano to 1890-1895. I wasn’t even sure it would be worth the effort. But, I love a challenge and I love bringing history back to life.

So I called musician Barney Floyd, who has played with Ronnie Kole and other well know groups. He tunes and restores pianos, so I asked him to take a look before I even started. I explained about the project raising money for Veterans homes and he came over the next morning. We took it apart and Barney told me what needed to be done and that he would show me how to do most of the repairs. I never dreamed I would be restoring pianos, but I actually love learning about the inner workings of them.

If you’re as busy as I am, you probably have trouble finding time to cook a nutritious, homemade meal. Crockpot to the rescue!

Here’s an easy recipe, with hardly any prep time, that your whole family will enjoy.

Crockpot Roast A roast or stew meat 2 cans Cream of Mushroom soup 2 cans French Onion soup 1/2 green bellpepper chopped Salt and pepper or Tony’s 1. In the morning, brown meat on all sides.

2. Put it in the crockpot.

3. Add all other ingredients.

4. Turn on the crockpot and forget about till dinner time.

Note: Sometimes towards the end, I add some canned carrots and peas. You could also add potatoes and mushrooms. This is great served over rice or with mashed potatoes.

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

The following day, I started cleaning the piano. Apparently, some kind of critter once lived inside it. (I’m just glad he wasn’t still in there.) Unfortunately, the original ivory keys were broken up and I had to remove and replace them – again, something I never dreamed I’d be doing. The inside of an old upright piano is quite amazing.

Once cleaned, I used 18kt gold leaf on the metal. I then stained the beautiful mahogany, and Mike reattached some of the veneer. Thank goodness my husband has been in the costume wood working field for 35 years. Once all the external repairs were made, we sanded it all down and I began to stain it. For the next several weeks, I worked on the piano every day, night and weekends painting my design.

This piano’s theme this year is The Beatles. Next month, I will continue to take you on this journey. In the meantime, visit my Face Book page, Lori Gomez Art, to see the before and after photos. I’ve documented every step of the journey and will continue to add photos. I am also restoring a 1925 Victor Victrola for myself and have photos of that on there as well.

21

Of Your Money

By Mike Rich

Pontchartrain Investment Management

The most important article I’ve written about money.

Wrong.

I have been a runner since 1982. For many years, I ran every day, seven days a week.

Missing a day was unthinkable. I got up at 4:00 in the morning most days to run, including Saturdays and Sundays. I even ran as a hurricane approached Slidell so I could get my run in before the storm hit. I’ve run five marathons. For many years, I lived on a low-fat diet of rice, vegetables, pasta, bagels, banana chips, and other healthy stuff. I weighed less than I did in high school. I pretty much maintained this regimen up until Katrina, when I tore the meniscus in my right knee and had surgery to fix it. My recovery was slow, but I eventually got back to running. Not nearly as much as I had before, but enough. I let things slide a bit diet-wise, too, but figured I was still healthier than most people. After all, I had run and eaten so healthy all those years, right?

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Last July, after a routine physical exam, I found out that I was pretty close to having a heart attack.

Here’s what happened. Because I hadn’t had an exam in several years, Mary insisted I get one. She made the appointment and told me when and where to go. I hate – absolutely hate – going to doctor appointments. But, I went because she made me. Most of the results came back OK, but my cholesterol level (the “bad kind”) was very high, higher, in fact, than that of your typical heart patient. My doctor was ready to put me on medication, but I told him I wanted to try diet and exercise first. Within two months, I had lost about 15 pounds. However, during my family’s annual trip to the beach in June, I began to have some funny feelings in my chest when I ran. Not pains, mind you, but enough discomfort that I figured something just wasn’t right. Fortunately, for once in my life I set aside my machoman attitude and had the presence of mind to have the problem checked out. I called my doctor and told him I wanted a stress test. That test came back bad, and my doctor referred me to a cardiologist.

He did an angiogram a few days later and found 99% blockage in my left anterior descending artery. Two stents later (plus that cholesterol medication and a bunch of others), I’m on the road to recovery.

But what a shock! Me? A runner for more than 30 years? A healthy eater? How in the world could this have happened to me? The medical professionals have told me that it was stress-related and, given my high-anxiety approach to life, I believe them. At any rate, it happened, and now I have to deal.

I’m well on my way to fixing my health issues and will do everything in my power to see that it doesn’t happen again. But, I’ll tell you what. It sure has made me think

about what could have happened to my wife and family if I had died or couldn’t work because of a heart attack.

As bad as those thoughts are, they aren’t nearly as bad as they could be, because I’ve done a lot of things during the years to prepare. Here are some things you might consider doing for yourself and your family: Try to have several sources of income in case you die or can’t work because of a disability.

Most income plans don’t happen overnight, and yours probably won’t, either, but we can get started now. A cash emergency fund for short term needs is essential. Plus, one of the things I want all of my clients to have is a source of guaranteed income in addition to their Social Security benefit. Meet with me and I’ll figure out a strategy for you.

If you own a business, set up a succession plan.

As a business owner, a buy-sell agreement with your partners or key employees is an essential component of protecting the value of the business you are working so hard to build. Structured and funded properly, your family could benefit, even if you are not around to run the business. Don’t ignore this. Talk to me.

Use life insurance to protect your spouse and family.

Even though my first love in this business is managing money and designing retirement income plans for my clients, I spend a lot of time talking with them about life insurance. I’ll make no excuses about getting in your face over this: if your family depends on you for money, you should have life insurance. Lots of it. No ifs, ands, or buts.

No lame excuses about how life insurance companies exist only to rip us off. If you are reasonably healthy, term life insurance is inexpensive. Work with an expert (me) to figure out how much you need. If you die, your death benefit can provide income for your spouse.1 Plus, if you buy permanent insurance, you might be able to spend some of the cash value before you die. How cool is that?

If you care about taking care of your spouse and family, call me and we’ll get started.

Because I thought I was taking good care of myself, never in a million years did I think I would ever have a serious health issue, but it happened. I will be forever grateful to Mary for making me get that physical exam, which got me off my butt long enough to get checked out.

Likewise, I think she’s grateful for the things I’ve done to provide for her if I’m no longer around. I also think that most people truly want to protect their loved ones, but they procrastinate, thinking that bad things can’t or won’t happen to them, and it doesn’t get done.

Don’t fall into that trap. Bad things about your health might not give you advance notice. It’s difficult – if not impossible – to fix the financial impact of a health issue after the fact, so don’t delay. Call right now and make an appointment to meet with me.

Maybe it’s because of what I do for a living – and what almost happened to me – but I think it’s one of the most important phone calls you will ever make.

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2014 NORTHSHORE

GLADIATOR GAMES Local teams will battle against each other for annual bragging rights during the inaugural Northshore Gladiator Games, but the real fight will be waged against cancer and other health issues.

event also exists to promote a healthier lifestyle for individuals and families and to encourage people to get frequent medical check-ups to catch any problems early so they can get the proper treatment.

will be determined by the time the last family member crosses the finish line. Just about anyone can compete in the 3-K walk, where everyone wins just by entering the event and raising money for a good cause.

Presented by the Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation, the games begin at 7am on Saturday, November 1, and will take place at Fritchie Park in Slidell. The full day of events includes such activities as bike races, a 16-team softball tournament, a three-on-three basketball tournament, corporate tug of war contests, a law enforcement obstacle course and many other activities scheduled throughout the day.

“Anyone can participate in these games and enter as many events as they like,” explained Darryn DeWalt, the president and co-founder of the Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation, along with his wife Cherine. “The purpose behind the Gladiator Games is to promote healthy living within our community. Through our foundation, we are promoting a day of healthy competition and exercise for a healthy lifestyle for families.”

The corporate tug of war pits 16 area businesses in tests of strength against other businesses in a double elimination tournament. The teams will be determined by total weight of the team members, not by the number of participants.

Individuals and teams pay a fee to enter each event, with most of the proceeds going to the Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation to fund cancer awareness programs and research.

Besides raising money to fight cancer, the

The more competitive or experienced cyclists may wish to compete in the 5-K bike race. For family competition, the 3-K bike race will feature three or more family members in each team racing toward the finish line. The team standing in the event

Sure to be a popular event, representatives from area law enforcement and fire protection agencies will run an obstacle course. Each team will consist of four athletes running the course in a timed competition. Families may also enter the team obstacle course competition. Like the law enforcement event, teams must consist of four people.

“We have a lot of businesses in our community,” DeWalt advised. “It would

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really be fantastic to see various businesses compete in the tug-o-war. That would earn great bragging rights for the winners. The law enforcement obstacle course competition is going to be a favorite that everyone wants to see. We’ll make them sweat, run, jump over things and carry things like they would do in their daily jobs. We have some great prizes and trophies for first, second and third place finishers in each event. The winners also get bragging rights for a whole year.”

While the athletes flex their muscles and sweat in the games, their families, friends or other interested spectators may walk the grounds of Fritchie Park to cheer on their favorites teams. Some local businesses will staff booths displaying or describing their goods and services.

Vendors will sell food and refreshments, but people may attend the games for no charge.

“We’ll have some concessions for people to buy food and refreshments,” explained Cherine Hafez-DeWalt, co-founder and vice president of business development for Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation. “We’ll also have some opportunities for local businesses to display information about their products and services.

There will be more than enough activities for people to do at the games and it’s all free to watch.”

While this year marks the inaugural competition of the Northshore Gladiator Games, many hope it turns into an annual event. During the past two decades, the DeWalts conducted or participated in many similar events to raise money for medical research or to promote health awareness. When not running a charity foundation, the DeWalts conduct their own business, DeWalt Consulting, a sports marketing, advertising and public relations firm.

“This is the first time for the Northshore Gladiator Games, but Cherine and I both have marketing backgrounds,” Darryn said. “We’ve been involved in events for the past 18 years. We’ve worked with professional athletes and have done events for them. We worked with many NFL players over the years from many different teams. We’ve done basketball tournaments, softball tournaments, walks, bike races and other events. They all turned out tremendous.”

The DeWalts started the charity foundation in 2009 after Darryn suffered from major health issues. They created the foundation with the mission of reaching men, women and their families where they live, work, play and pray.

Their community outreach is designed to offer health prevention messages, tools, screening programs, educational materials, advocacy opportunities and patient navigation.

“Our purpose is to foster health care education and services that encourage men and women of all ages to implement positive lifestyles for them and their families.

We also want to increase the physical and mental health of men and women so that they can live fuller and happier lives. We know that people are so involved in so many things these days. The last thing they want to think about is their health. Men don’t like to go to the doctor. They might have something wrong, but by the time they go to the doctor, they are too far gone. The medical staff can’t help them.”

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25

A high school and college football player, Darryn gained about 250 pounds after his playing days, until he weighed nearly 500 pounds in 2004. He lost more than 200 pounds in the next three years and became more active. Then, in July 2008, he noticed something strange - a lump in his groin area. He met with Dr. David Engstrand who scheduled surgery. However, instead of a simple hernia as they suspected, the doctors discovered much worse problems, two cancerous tumors.

“I thought I had a sports hernia,” Darryn recalled. “The doctors thought so too and were going to get it out, but they found out that I had liposarcoma cancer, which creates tumors in the fatty tissues of your organs. Every organ in the body has fatty tissues. I had a large tumor on my back. I couldn’t feel any of these and had no idea it was happening.”

Liposarcoma cancer is a rare form of malignant tumor that attacks fat cells in deep soft tissue. It typically creates large, bulky tumors, but may also form a number of small satellite tumors near a large one.

Frequently, the sufferer experiences no symptoms or pain and may not even know the tumor exists for a long time. As tumors grow larger, they can cause more pain.

This type of tumor occurs most frequently in adults 40 years old or older and typically requires surgery to remove the tumors.

After finding out the bad news, Darryn began radiation treatments to shrink the tumors. After a little more than three weeks, however, he developed cysts on his bladder from the treatments. In December 2008, DeWalt returned to the operating table to have the liposcarcoma tumors removed.

“With liposcarcoma, anything it touches has to be removed,” DeWalt advised. “I was scheduled for six hours of surgery, but the doctors and the surgical team worked on me for 14 hours. They removed my right kidney, my appendix, half of my colon and were going to amputate my right leg.

I died twice on the operating table. The liposcarcoma wrapped itself around the main vein in my leg. When they were trying to scrape off the cancer from the vein, it burst. They were able to graft the vein back and save my life. When they were going to get the instruments to amputate my leg, the vein burst again and I died again. They repaired it again and decided to close me up before they killed me a final time. Unfortunately, they left about 20 percent of the cancer in my body. They removed a lot of the cancer, but they didn’t get all of it. I’m a cancer survivor still living with cancer.”

DeWalt spent 10 days in the hospital.

After his release, he discovered staph infections in three areas, causing him to spend another 22 days in the hospital.

Eventually, he consulted with Dr. Murray Brennan of the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesotta, the top sarcoma doctor in the world. Some cancer remains in his body, but he didn’t have to endure any more surgeries. In December 2013, DeWalt started undergoing chemotherapy.

“The chemo shut my one kidney down and I almost died again,” DeWalt revealed.

“I went through radiation treatments for almost a year and a half. I still had three tumors and the chemo was not doing anything to shrink them. We had to find a way to reduce these tumors. Through my wife’s due diligence to find a cure or a way to reduce these tumors, she learned about an experimental drug. I was able to get in a program where I got it. Only 253 people in the United States can get that drug. I’ve been taking it since January 2014 and it has dissolved one of the tumors already.”

As his health began to improve in 2009, Darryn and Cherine started the Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation

26

to help people avoid the hell that Darryn went through and encourage people to get medical checks frequently, even if they don’t feel any symptoms. They conduct or assist with many programs, such as the Northshore Gladiator Games, to raise money for cancer research and promote awareness.

“We want to raise awareness so people get checked, even if they don’t have any symptoms,” DeWalt said. “We raise cancer awareness through local educational campaigns to promote public and media awareness of health issues and to disseminate vital information on how to prevent disease and health concerns. We have a program called Man Up for Your Health that encourages men to get health checks on a regular basis. We also want to help find a cure for cancer. We have several programs where we raise money for research. We recently did our third annual charity basketball game between New Orleans Saints players and law enforcement personnel. We raised enough money to enable 40 less fortunate men to get prostate exams.”

According to the American Cancer Society, more than 200,000 people a year learn they have prostate cancer. More than 32,000 men die of prostate cancer each year. One American man in six will be diagnosed with prostate cancer during his lifetime. Black men suffer even higher rates of affliction and frequently go to the doctor for screening far less often than other ethnic groups.

“It’s no secret that men still need to pay more attention to their bodies,” DeWalt said. “Several things work against men.

They tend to smoke and drink more than women. They don’t seek medical help as often as women do. Some men define themselves by their work, which can add to stress. Many of the major health risks that men face, like colon cancer or heart disease, can be prevented and treated with early diagnosis. Screening tests can find diseases early -- when they are easier to treat!”

our goal of getting our community healthy and health conscious.”

Not to leave the ladies out, the DeWalt conducted a breast cancer program called Football Camp for Her (www.footballcampforher.com) .

More than 300 women participated in the September 2013 Football Camp for Her Expo, held in the Northshore Harbor Center in Slidell. Several members of the New Orleans Saints football team at that time showed up to help guide participants through various interactive sessions.

“We’ve been working with the Saints for the past four years with the Football Camp for Her to raise money for cancer research,” Cherine advised. “In 2013, Lance Moore, Cameron Jordan and Pierre Thomas each taught offensive and defensive strategies, rules of the game, position by position explanations and use of equipment. During the halftime of the program, we held a fashion show. All of the models were either cancer survivors or patients.”

The foundation recently started a new program called I Can for Cancer to build and grow the awareness of cancer while helping the environment at the same time. The program encourages people to recycle aluminum cans and other items.

The foundation wants businesses to put cans into receptacles to raise money for cancer research. The money raised during

this program and the Northshore Gladiator Games will go to the Get Checked or Check Out Health Foundation general fund to be distributed to different programs as needed.

“We’re going to be keeping the money on the Northshore,” DeWalt said. “We want people to understand that we live in Slidell and we’re part of the community.

Sometimes, big charities don’t necessarily pinpoint help to smaller communities.

We want to be that foundation that does pinpoint the smaller communities and help get our own community healthy. We are very fortunate to have a lot of team players in this community that are helping us reach

People can live for a long time without even knowing that cancer is growing in their bodies. Left untreated, cancerous growths increase in size and can metastasize. The longer cancer develops in a body without treatment, the less likely that person will survive. However, with frequent screenings and early treatments, people can defeat cancer and live long, prosperous lives to the benefit of their communities. While the athletes and teams may or may not win their respective events, together they each will help defeat cancer and other health issues just by participating.

“Through promoting these games, we want to let people know that we are here in the Northshore and that we want our neighbors to stay healthy,” DeWalt summarized. “We want to have the families enjoy a great day of healthy competition. We want to make this an annual event and make a difference every year.”

For more information on the 2014 Northshore Gladiator Games and a schedule of events, see www.northshoregames2014.com For more information on Get Checked or Check Out, see www.tcynow.org or call Cherine Hafez-DeWalt at 504-305-7563.

27

SLIDELL NEWCOMER’S CLUB

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In 2004, Judge Jim Lamz was elected City Court Judge in Slidell. He immediately pledged ϐ commitment to ensuring fairness, maintaining a high standard of integrity and ethics, and rendering swift justice. Eight years later the Louisiana State Bar Association honored Judge Lamz with its coveted Crystal Gavel Award for delivering on his promise and being an unsung hero in Louisiana law.

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29

Go Beyond

By Rose Marie Sand

“Smell that?” Mike Fradella asked me.

“That’s Louisiana.”

Perched like a blonde egret aboard his Diamondback airboat, I closed my eyes and inhaled.

Yes, that’s a Bayou in Louisiana.

I wore a noise-cancelling headset and sat near the edge of my seat to see every sight and soak in every moment, admiring the moss-strewn cypress and inhaling scents of the marsh. Once we were up to a speed of about 60 miles an hour, I closed my eyes again and held a hand up to feel the spray.

I found myself feeling a power that transcended even this exciting moment.

Do you remember the story of Helen Keller’s first word? The deaf and blind Helen, born 1880, broke through the isolation imposed by her disabilities with the help of a teacher named Anne Sullivan.

In her autobiography, Helen wrote of the moment when her teacher signed “WATER” in Helen’s hand, and half-dragged her to a rusty outdoor water pump. “As the cool

stream gushed over my hand…I knew that ‘w-a-t-e-r’ meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand.

That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free.”

It has always seemed to me that water carries the power in its currents to awaken any soul. Of course, those of us gifted with all five senses need only to open our eyes to the beauty of a Louisiana shoreline; yet every sense is engaged on the water.

Immerse yourself in south Louisiana in ways that are unique and involve all of your senses – borrow or beg a ride in a boat.

I’ve had the joyous pleasure of doing just that, with the help p of some friendlyy boat owners. Mike Fradella’s Fradella’s ’ airboat was certainly the most thrilling, but back to t that in a moment. Let’s t start out with what t’s

is perhaps the most picturesque way to enjoy our bayous.

I jumped at the chance to take a scenic afternoon ride - more like a stroll on the water, really - in my friends, Nolan and Debbie’s, pontoon boat on the tributaries of the Pearl River.

Slidell is bordered to the east by the West Pearl River, which flows from its headwaters in the area of the Nanih Waiya Indian Mounds in central Mississippi and drains into the Rigolets and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico. The Pearl is home to the Honey Island Swamp, one of the most beautiful and least-altered river swamps in the United States.

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Ah, the swamp. It was amazingly quiet for an area so rich with wildlife. The setting was right out of The Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland, with ramshackle boathouses and more colors of green than a Crayola box. But this is the real deal.

Nolan’s artist eye pointed out birds, turtles and herons as we glided along the quiet river. The soft sounds of the engine, the lapping of the water against the sides of the boat, and the hum of crickets is a lullaby.

On the way home, Debbie cranked up some Kenny G music, and we boogied our way dreamily home. I experienced what they enjoy every day of their life; and that living is good.

My next ride was through some of these same waterways on a Swamp Cruise with a group of friends, including my friend Grace’s Aussie Aunt Barbara on a Cajun Encounter Swamp Cruise. I think we all learned as much as the woman who’d traveled so far to enjoy our Bayous.

First off, Grace and I were the last to board the covered, flat-bottomed boat. Although the pilot explained as we rode through these “flooded meadows” that we might be the first to encounter a snake should one drop from a mossy tree branch, we were brave. Because it’s the best place for a broad view of the lush bayou off the rear of the boat, I highly recommend being the tardiest passenger in your group and staying cautiously engaged.

The big, prehistoric-looking gators swim right up to the boat, and gracefully pluck plump, white marshmallows from a stick offered by the captain. Cameras snap and our boat-mates rush either toward or away from the action, as their courage dictates.

The same thing happens when wild hogs approach at the shoreline.

I’d love to know the story of the first swamp person to realize that these carnivores also have a sweet tooth. Hopefully, diabetes is not in their genes.

I was tempted to bring some marshmallows on my next boat ride, just for the fun of it and in case some wayward gator crossed my path. But, no worries, because the speedboat ride I took with my buddy, Sam, would have given the gators the brush.

From the helm of his center console sport fishing boat, Sam is the master of all he surveys. We rocked out to Cowboy Mouth songs as we plunged headlong from Eden Isles and made our way to my choice of destinations. I wanted to see the concrete and steel topped levee that the Corps of Engineers recently built in St. Bernard.

We launched at the Perlington Launch, went down the East Pearl to the Rigolets, and entered the Intracoastal Waterway.

It was kind of a crisp day that goes with sunshine, ham sandwiches and cold beer.

But we waited until we went under the Green Bridge in Chalmette, where the Intracoastal meets up with the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet, and into an open gate of the “Great Wall.”

Our wisecracking, storytelling, salty boat captain regaled us with tales of the swamps. With his sun-colored nose and a road map of Louisiana on his face, we devoured his stories like an alligator devours marshmallows. He pointed out the huge old cypress trees with their knobby knees sticking out of the water and big tupelo gum trees, which attract thousands of bees.

This complex undertaking placed more than 100,000 cubic yards of concrete to build approximately eight miles of flood control wall, or “T-wall,” atop the existing levee, raising the protective barrier substantially. We entered an open gate, and dropped anchor to eat our lunch by the “great wall.” We toasted the engineering feat with a prayer that it would never be tested.

He explained that the name “Honey Island Swamp” refers to the fact that honeybees were once common here. Although it’s considered to be one of the least-altered river swaps in the United States, about a hundred years ago many of the trees were clear-cut.

The route back took us under the Almonaster Bridge, the Chef Bridge and the Seabrook Bridge into Lake Pontchartrain. Between the spray that our 30 mph speed kicked up, and a sudden rain shower, the exhilaration was a cheap thrill. But the biggest thrill was when Sam gave me instructions on the controls of the center console, and I drove the boat in across the Lake. I learned that “red right returning,” means that when coming in, go to the right of the red buoys, and that you don’t let up on the throttle. I braced against the console and threw caution to the wind, and had a blast.

“Did you know that one of every three bites of food comes from honey bees?” the Captain asked. If bees disappeared off the face of the earth, there would be no more pollination, no more plants, no more animals and no more man. The sounds and smells and even the food chain is as real as…marshmallows and alligators.

So, when Slidell Magazine editor, Kendra Maness, told me she could top that with an offer of an airboat ride, I was thrilled. This would have it all – speed, scenic wonders, water, and wildlife - plus a jet engine! This boat is sort of like a BIG aluminum pan with a jet engine strapped on the back.

And it floats along land, marsh and sea like a screaming banshee.

Kendra’s friend, Mike Fradella, is perhaps better known for his three auto collision repair shops. But his other claim to fame is his involvement with wild boar research in the marshes of Louisiana. That’s his passion, and his Diamondback Airboat gets him into marshes where the animals can be tagged.

Airboats can travel over just about any flat surface, and can be launched on solid ground. Hence, launching the boat was just about as simple as setting an ice chest down from your truck’s tailgate. Mike didn’t even break a sweat in his pressed long sleeved shirt.

We dropped the boat in Fritchie Marsh off Highway 90, and from the second the airboat starts running, excitement doesn’t quit. The Diamondback craft has a 550 horsepower aluminum Corvette marine version engine, and flat-out goes about 75 miles per hour.

Kendra sat in the co-pilot’s chair, and I was right down and dirty in the front of the boat. We donned huge headsets to drown out the sound of the engine, and as Mike gracefully maneuvered the labyrinth of marsh, ground and water, I had to repeatedly remember to close my mouth, lest I got a taste of dragonfly wings.

If there’s anything more jaw-dropping than skimming through insect-laden marsh grass, to glassy ribbons of swamp water, to full open bayous, straight back into a river of grass marsh land – I can’t imagine what that could be.

We went all around the marsh, and then into the area of the Rigolets, all the way to the train Trussel Bridge into Lake Borne.

31

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From time to time, Mike would idle the boat and tell us stories of his work in wild boar research.

“We find wild boar in the marshes, and put satellite tracking collars on them. Large hogs, males and females, are tracked through this system to understand the ranges of the boars and also the breeding cycles and amount of proliferation in the marshes.

“The program is often called the ‘Judas Hog Program.’

The common feeling is that wild hogs are a detriment, but they have a place in nature. We feel like they are ‘nature’s killers’ because there are not enough natural predators to manage the population, so if there’s an adequate amount of hunting done, it can keep the population managed.

“And when they root, they turn over the soil, and that leaves the soil vulnerable, creates more open land and water space. But when they turn the soil over, you can look at it later, and it looks like it was never touched. More like plowing a field,” Mike explained.

Mike does some bow fishing and frogging from his airboat, but admits it’s “more of a fun watercraft than any other boat you could possibly buy.”

“Uniqueness is what I like about it. When you have a regular boat, you can only run in water, and not in shallow water. But airboats do not have limitations. They go into shallow water, to land and beyond, over stumpy surfaces, a cow pasture or across a road. Some fish get stuck in landlocks, and you can only get to them in airboats.”

Summertime brings tall grasses with lots of insects, so our runs across the marshes included sightings of more than hogs, nutria, fish and alligators. I’m not so good at Where’s Waldo book sightings, so I just followed where Mike’s trained eye pointed.

Sunlight played around the reflection of clouds in the water, and diamonds sparkled in the ripples. Mike found a small sandy beach, really only a few yards long, and we hopped off the airboat to stretch our legs. Huge driftwood logs slumbered along the shore, and iridescent shells dotted the coarse sand.

We were in the scene, not just observing it, every second of that ride - worlds away from the stress, traffic and concerns of everyday life.

Perhaps this kind of focus is what breakthroughs are all about. Perhaps only by being focused in the way that water rushes across your fingers, or under the seat of your boat, can help you understand the equalizing, transcending power of water. Helen Keller’s spirit must surely reside in every drop.

Thank you to Debbie & Nolan, Sam, Cajun Encounters, Kendra and Mike for showing me Louisiana’s W-A-T-E-R.

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I used to be a burger elitist - preferring only those grilled over a flame. Five Guys changed that. It seems they’ve developed a process that will produce a perfect burger.

A Fast Food Influx You’ll encounter folks who say “fast food” is something to be frowned upon. I guess they’re the wealthier, healthier ones who don’t have to work late, bring their kids to a baseball game or quickly chow before begging Junior to do his homework.

Judging from the lines at most of the new fast food joints, that’s not us. Almost everyone in Slidell occasionally saunters up to the ordering counter and kisses their diet goodbye.

One thing I’ve enjoyed over the years is the enthusiasm my friends have for certain fast food restaurants. I worked with a guy who ate Taco Bell EVERY DAY. “It’s the most food you can get for four dollars.”

How many times have you heard someone say, “I wish they would open a...”

Slidell is the 5th of this growing chain of restaurants. There are 4 in the New Orleans area and one in Boston (weird, huh?)

The specialty is burritos, and there are countless raw materials from which you can create yours. As far as I know, Felipe’s is the only place in the area that serves refried black beans. The bar serves good margaritas and has several local and interesting beers available in bottles and on tap. Now I’m wondering why every fast food restaurant doesn’t have a bar?

One thing to note if you’re going to Five Guys for the first time: the portions are huge. A “little” burger is more than big enough and a “regular” order of fries is enough for two. For fast food it’s not cheap.

You’ll spend ten bucks.

Some other notable spots that have opened or will open soon: New Orleans Hamburger and Seafood (in the old Shoney’s) Dairy Queen Panera Bread Popeyes - why this took this long to put one east of Gause I have no idea

Five Guys has to be one of the fastest growing chains in the country. Every time you turn around, there’s a new one opening. And when you walk into any Five Guys you’re going to have the same experience - a pretty great burger.

Whoever “they” are, “they” have finally listened. A bunch of new fast food operations have opened or are in the process of being built.

Felipe’s is one of 3 new spots recently opened in the Fremaux Town Center.

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One thing to keep in mind: It’s fine to enjoy fast food (most of these franchises are locally owned and are a benefit to the community), but make sure you give our unique local restaurants a chance too.

If you’re used to having Popeyes, give Bonnie C’s fried chicken a shot. Certainly try the new Dairy Queen when it opens.

But make sure you don’t forget the Olde Towne Soda Shop.

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It’s fall.

Football has started.

Our fantasy teams are taking form. And there’s that familiar crisp in the air of sports and fans and Sunday afternoons. So, naturally, I know the most pressing sports issue on everyone’s mind. But, it’s not whether LSU can keep our hearts from palpitating, whether the team we have on the field for the Saints is Super Bowl worthy, or even if Drew Brees will return our love letters (I just mailed number 24, Drew. COME ON!).

No, I know what ails all of my Jockularity readers. The month is October and that means we have a HUGE decision to make. Halloween is at the end of the month and we can’t make up our minds on the sports costume we are wearing! Sure, there are the obvious choices, such as Rob Ryan (grab your wigs!) and Drew Brees, while others might be more creative, like a flag-happy referee who has money sticking out of his pocket in an Alabama, Florida, or Auburn envelope. But there are flaws in the costume system, and you know it.

Maybe Les Miles’ cap is not “hatty” enough, or maybe Rob Ryan’s hair is not quite long and silver enough, but you noticed it, you savvy sports-fan, you. But just in case you might have missed something, here are my do’s and don’ts about donning your 2014 sports “outfit”.

#1. Avoid being a “fan”. Nothing wrong with being a fan when it’s game day; but when it comes to Halloween, check your “fandom” at the door. Dressing up as a fan will get you nothing but shaken heads and tsk-tsk-tsk’s.

It’s all year, it’s overdone, it’s not your best effort. And we’ve all seen him at that second Halloween party we’ve dragged ourselves to. The guy in the corner, snacking on chips, wearing a jersey or a sports shirt and jeans, maybe with a hat. It’s lackluster. If you don’t have a costume, admit your fault. Just don’t say you are “the guy from section 3, row 24”. #2. Now, having said that, if you want to go as a fan in a costume, that is great. LSU Spiderman, the “Whistle Monsta” (that guy who has a giant whistle on his head every Saints game), “Fireman Ed” from the Jets, or any other sports-related tie-in, mascot, or super-fan are all great costumes. If you don’t know what I am talking about, watch the student section of LSU games or look around the stadium during a Saints game. But if you’re gonna do this, go for the gold! Invest in that whistle hat! Invest in that fake axe! Go big or go home. Or don’t go. But do the fans justice.

#3. If you are going to be a basketball player, you’ll need to go find some platform sneakers.

Otherwise, what’s the point? No one is going to get who you are. No Lebron James, Kobe Bryant, or even Michael Jordan costume is going to elevate your Halloween status without the height to make it work. If you’re not at least 6’2”, why bother!? I’ll sure have fun making you feel like a “mini-Lebron” though. More fun than you’ll have, anyway. #4. If you are going to do your Saints proud and be Drew Brees, make sure you get the birthmark right. (On HIS right.) Everyone will know if you don’t do it right. Without it, you’re the old Saints player who used to be number nine, but you ain’t no Drew Breesy. Trust me. I will find you and make sure you meet everyone at the party. And I’ll be sure to say, “This is ‘Drew Brees’. Let’s play what’s missing!”

They’ll get it right. Every. Time. *For bonus points, if you are going to be Drew, try to change it up a bit. You know, like getting four dolls, sewing them to a #9 jersey, and acting like a very, very tired dad. He just had his fourth child, and he plays football. The man HAS GOT to be tired. Or have a Jimmy Johns shirt on OVER a Brees jersey with a sandwich

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in your hand. Seriously, have you seen how much he talks about those sandwiches? Check out his Twitter if you’ve got any doubt. Even his kids are into it. So maybe four dolls with mini sandwiches!? Eh? Eh? #5. Maybe I am just a sucker for this kind of thing, but I love costumes of sports-related equipment. Giant helmets, soccer balls, anything you can think of. For inspiration, go to the Internet, there are some CRAZY ones. Like a pool table.

Really. A whole pool table. Or a ping pong paddle. A bowling pin. There’s just something about someone getting out of their Prius as a wobbly, awkward, fuzzy yellow tennis ball that flat out de-lights me. Seriously, I think I have a small infatuation...

It’s like my version of cat videos or something. (Don’t judge.

I’m telling you. TO THE INTERNET.) #6. Don’t go as Mike the Tiger. I know he’s “the man” and everything and he’s the most recognizable, stable LSU costume you could find; but let’s be honest, that is reserved for the little tykes now. If you want your child to go as Mike, though, you can use that to your advantage! Go as the zookeeper that keeps Mike in check. They can growl and you can tell them to cool it.

It also lets you control the candy horde. You can say that “little Mikey” has to have his daily sugar intake limited. Of course, that means more for you…This is sounding better and better… #7. Coaches. Always a great fallback option. Rob Ryan, Les Miles, and Sean Payton are obvious picks. Though, if you don’t get the right wig, Rob Ryan’s costume fizzles flat, unlike those silver waves on a humid Louisiana September evening.

Nobody can pull off “Rob Ryan after a haircut”. Nobody. Don’t forget about guys like Dennis Green or Jim Mora. Of course, you have to yell, “They are who we THOUGHT they were” or “Playoffs?!?” every now and then for people to get it. A worthy sacrifice. #8. Hockey costumes are great and all, but I don’t think anyone can don a hockey mask on Halloween without everyone else thinking of Jason from Friday the 13th. So if you are a big hockey fan, think of a costume without evoking images of a scary, knife-wielding movie icon. Maayyybe leave the mask at home. Or hey! Back to #5 – be a puck!

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#9. Don’t forget to be creative! If you can’t think of anything, a jersey and some black makeup to be a football player are nice, but try to think of something outside the box. Grab a crutch and wrap your knee in an ace bandage to go as an injured player. Get an opponent’s jersey or team shirt and rough it up really bad, like you were jumped, and get anxious everytime someone roots for a Louisiana team. Don’t forget about retired players that are in the spotlight, like Michael Strahan and Terry Bradshaw. If you are going to be one of these retired players though, NAIL THE ACCENT! Terry Bradshaw sounds like he’s a good-ole-boy that yells the last few words of every other sentence. And Michael Strahan’s lisp is iconic. The key is not to be mocking, but be recognizable. If you are acting like them, people will laugh. If you are making fun of them, people will pound on you. Hard. Most likely the person dressed like your opponent, or that old guy dressed as Mike the Tiger.

Tis the season. There are so many great ideas for sports-related costumes. Some original, some not-so-original, and some that just make you scratch your head. There are also so many ways that they can be executed. I think the key is to not rush it and find inspiration in the sports you love to watch. Whatever you do or don’t this Halloween, make it your own. Have fun with it.

But do it right! And do it proud. Or we’ll pound on you. Hard.

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(Ruff BreedING?) It occurs to me that much of what veterinarians do is cleaning up genetic messes brought about by generations of breeding for a particular look, with nary a thought for function or health. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the curious world of the brachycephalics – that’s medical jargon for short-nosed, flat-faced breeds like pugs, bulldogs and Pekingese.

Before I go down this road, I want to make a disclaimer: I have known many a wonderful and mild mannered bulldog in my years of practice. They are overwhelmingly sweet, lovable creatures who don’t deserve the misery we’ve bestowed on them.

And by “we,” I mean humans in general, irresponsible breeders in particular, and the writers of breed standards most specifically. More on those standards later. In terms of disposition, you’d be hard

pressed to find a disagreeable bulldog.

I’m ranting here about certain physical features that make them prone to some serious medical conditions. These are inbred traits that have been developed and honed into a potentially lethal combination of anatomical abnormalities, by the selection of form over function, for so long that they threaten the very sustainability of the breed.

Let’s take the English Bulldog as a prime example. Long ago, bulldogs were not a specific breed but a general body type, bred in Victorian England for a particular use – bull baiting, or (in essence) bull wrestling. Large, stocky and gifted with uber-strong jaws, ancestral bulldogs were designed - even then by man, not by nature - to bring a bull to its knees, for “sport.” Their physical form made sense

for the job they were intended to do, the ethics of torturing bulls notwithstanding.

But as the English became a bit more civilized, the sport of bull baiting went by the wayside, and was outlawed in 1835.

The need for bulldogs to have a certain physical form to get the job done faded as well. But people had taken a liking to the stocky, powerful look, and the demand for bulldogs didn’t die out with the sport; people wanted more of them. Breeding practices switched from “make a dog that can bring down a bull” to “make a dog that looks like a bulldog!” The need for form to follow a specific function, however, was lost. Somewhere in all this, the general size, shape and features that had defined “bulldog” morphed from a powerful and physically fit specimen into the extreme, exaggerated features of the modern

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English Bulldog. The problems created by the bulldog breeding practices of the last 180 years or so are too numerous to mention. But let’s run through some, just to illustrate a point. If a new English Bulldog puppy walks into my office tomorrow, I’ll tell its owners to prepare themselves for the likelihood that they’ll eventually have to deal with at least a couple (maybe more) of the following: hip dysplasia; entropion (rolled eyelids that can result in painful abrasions on the cornea); allergic skin disease; ear infections; angular limb deformities; respiratory disease; heart disease; and an ingrown, infected corkscrew tail. And those are just the highlights off the top of my head; talk about a genetically modified organism!

And oh, by the way, to top it all off, English Bulldogs are by and large incapable of conceiving or giving birth on their own.

They overwhelmingly require artificial insemination and Caesarian sections just to reproduce.

As I write these words, I can hear the criticisms already. You’re being overly critical of the breed! All pure-bred dogs are prone to certain conditions by virtue of their genetics! Why hate on Bulldogs?!

Actually, I’m arguing here in defense of the dogs. Any veterinarian will tell you that English Bulldogs are in a class by themselves, both in the number of different ways they’ve been made to suffer through inherited diseases, and in the severity of those conditions. Worst of all, though, in my opinion, is the fact that many of the problems faced by the breed aren’t accidental traits picked up along the way; they are written right into the breed standard that tells breeders what their puppies should look like. The English Bulldog standard, published by the Bulldog Club of America, is the ideal conformation that breeders are to strive for. Among other things, it demands a “low-swung body…. massive head….wide shoulders….very large skull…. extremely short face…. very short muzzle….jaw massive and undershot….forelegs presenting a bowed outline….elbows standing well out from the body….tail screwed but not curly.” Call me crazy, but this seems like a really bad way to design a dog. In fact, in veterinary school, I learned the medical names for every one of those standard “traits,” all of which are anatomical abnormalities.

If a Beagle or a Golden Retriever puppy were born with even a single one of those

traits, it would be rightly termed a birth defect. But in an English Bulldog, it’s not only tolerated, not just encouraged, it’s required. Am I hating on the Bulldogs? On the contrary, I’m advocating for them. I’m saying that the health and longevity and vitality of the individual dogs should be the top priority, not an exaggerated body form that has no relation to any function or purpose. The Bulldog standard is arbitrary, out-dated and harmful.

One of the benefits of pure-bred dogs is knowing what you’re going to get, within reason. Size, color, temperament, coat type and other traits are obviously more predictable when choosing a specific breed, as opposed to a lovable but nonpedigreed mutt. I get that. Nevertheless, if you’re going to breed a dog, don’t just go for looks. Go for healthy. To hell with breed standards that say ridiculous things like “In profile, the face is flat. When viewed from the side, the chin, nose leather and brow all lie in one plane, which slants very slightly backward from chin to forehead.” I don’t know about you, but I like my nose leather to stick out a little bit. It’s easier to breathe that way.

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e Gates

By Lesli

Crimi-Mommly INSANE FOR BETTER OR WORSE As I ponder life here in my art room, wearing a fuzzy unicorn onesie (complete with tail and horn), sitting on an old pleather couch my friend and I found in the trash behind a grocery store on a Fun-Day-Monday, staring at a version of Emerald City that we made from green wine bottles that once resided in “Wonderland”, I think... do the kids have clean uniforms for school in the morning?

One day, I was sitting on the riding lawn mower in our detached garage, hiding from the kids and smoking a cigarette.

It was a mess in there. If I was lucky, I could find a screwdriver. If I didn’t break my leg first.

The very next day (Valentine’s Day), I started clearing it out. I put boxes in the attic, tools in the other small garage where we store all the bikes.

The riding lawnmower, ummm… I will figure that out later…

I was always nagging my husband to clean it up, but he knew where everything was, so it didn’t bother him any. Well, it bothered me. He was hardly ever in there as it was.

I was so excited to have a project that would ultimately lead to my own happy room!

Welcome to my mind.

As I sat in there, looking at all the potential behind the mess, I thought, this would make a GREAT art room! How did I not see this before?!

My neighbor even jumped in to help me after asking, “Does Brian know about this?”

Don’t stay too long. You may get lost.

I’ve always been a bit “different”. By that I mean, life bores me easily; so I do strange things to liven it up some. I’m very impulsive and extremely creative.

And when the two come together, the dishes will stay in the sink for a week.

It’s a blessing and a curse.

I brought it up to my husband, figuring he would be happy I had a place to store all the art supplies laying around the house. Plus, it would give me an outlet.

He didn’t say much though.

(Keep in mind, my husband is at work and has no clue that I am doing this.)

“Nah, but he will be fine with it. His tool box will fit in the other garage, and I will organize it for him.”

She looked at me like I had a tail growing from my forehead, thinking, oh yeah, you’re dead.

As 5:30 rolled around, Brian pulled up, just as we were painting the walls green.

He slowly exited his truck, eyes fixated on the empty garage. Let’s just say, he was MAD. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Remember my idea about the art room?

Well, here it is!”

Yeah. He didn’t talk to me the rest of the night.

I thought to myself…

“Ya know what? I’ve spent MANY lonely days and nights as a military wife so he could finish his career, had my body torn apart by 3 babies, had my sanity torn apart by staying home with those babies every day, always putting my needs last. I never had an outlet. I never had a hobby. I barely had friends or adult conversation. And for once, FOR ONCE, in my life, I found something that I enjoy doing, and that I’m pretty damn good at. He must not love me if he doesn’t see that! Doesn’t he see all that I have sacrificed! And doesn’t that mean more to him than a stupid garage that he never even uses!”

Yeah. I was mad. Not only because of that, but because I wanted HIM to come up with the idea. I wanted HIM to surprise me with it.

The next day, I continued to work. Decorating with old doors and windows I had, the pleather couch, my Grandmother’s easel, and art work I had painted.

Everything in there was free or we already had it laying around. I was in creative heaven!

5:30 rolled around again, and he pulled up.

The kids were sitting on the floor, painting the dog. I was standing there, looking proud, yet worried about what he might think. He walked into the garage and looked around.

“Looks nice.” He said, impressed.

I smiled. “Thank you. Now all I need to do is build a wall out of the pallets in the backyard, and I will be done.”

He nodded, and went in the house.

My mania was starting to die down at this point, and all I was left with was guilt. I felt totally selfish.

In that moment, I completely decided that he could have it back. I would find something else. I felt horrible. It was “his room”, and I had just stolen it from him.

About an hour later, he came back into the garage and said, “Come help me with something real quick.”

I followed him to the back porch and looked down. On the ground, there was the pallet wall. He had built it for me.

We lifted it up and carried it in together, completing the art room.

Marriage is a bitch. It’s hard.

And there will be times where you both want to just walk away from it.

And sometimes, in unhealthy situations, you should.

There were times in my childhood where it seemed like my parents were living two different lives.

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I often questioned their love for one another.

My Dad worked contract jobs away from home for years, living in his own apartments, sending money back to support us. He learned to take care of himself. And my Mom, left back with us kids, learned to do it all on her own. But I never questioned if they loved me. You do what you have to do to take care of your family. Everyoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s situation is different.

My Dad, a retired U.S. Army Officer, war veteran, and a Past Knights Templar Grand Commander for the State of Louisiana (just to name a few of his accomplishments), has Parkinsonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s now.

He canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t drive, the tremors make it hard for him to eat, and the weakening of his legs make walking impossible some days.

But he keeps going, doing the best he can, still proving to me what a strong, resilient man he is. And next to him, every step of the way, is my Mom. An amazing woman, showing me what it means to care, and truly love someone, for better or worse. And every Wednesday that I spend with my Dad, he never forgets to tell me how much he appreciates all that she does for him.

This month, they will be married 48 years, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never seen a deeper love between them.

True love doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t happen overnight.

True love is built.

New love is great, but it is fleeting. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s something we can look back on to realize how far weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve REALLY come.

True love stands the test of time. The test of trials and hurts. The test of babies, body changes, and emotional changes.

Buying homes, selling homes, and making a home wherever life takes you.

Deaths of loved ones... which tears us apart inside, but helps us to see a more vulnerable side of each other.

Fightsâ&#x20AC;Ś which also tear us up inside, but helps us to see what we truly long for in one another.

Marriage is beautiful and ugly and everything in-between. And one day, our children will learn that love isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t perfect.

Life isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t perfect. And thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ok. Because from that, they will learn THIS: Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ever give up. Although life is a journey of ups and downs, wins and losses, if you take the best from it, you can only win.

Love can break you down, and it will hurt.

Really bad at times. But it wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t last long. Actually, it will just build you back

up even stronger and help you to love even deeper.

Find someone who loves you for who you are, but, LOVE YOURSELF first.

As far as the art room, it has been therapy for me, my children, my family, and my friends.

I make everyone who comes in there paint something, and then hang it up.

Brian has even enjoyed it. He will sit in there with me at night sometimes and watch me paint.

Oh, and donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry, he got a brand new shed out of the deal.

And I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t plan on taking it over. Yet. A room that was so dark and dreary is now full of life! It just took a little love and TLC. Take that how you want to.

I admit, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t go about it the right way, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure what made him give into the art room, but he did. He was the bigger person. He took the time to see through my eyes. And sometimes, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all it takes.

So with that said, keep on fighting the good fight!

And remember, if love were perfect, it wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be love.

My Priority is Justice, Not Politics Alan Blackâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parents instilled in him respect and strong moral principles; traits he holds dear today. His skills as an attorney were honed over 30 years in his solo civil and criminal practice. The Supreme Court saw in him the talents to administer justice, ďŹ rmly and fairly, often appointing him as Ad Hoc Judge during the past 20 years.

Alan Black earned his stripes--every one of them. They did not come at the hands of a powerful select few. Alan has never worked for nor drawn a salary from the District Attorneyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s or Sheriffâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s OfďŹ ces. And he has never run for political ofďŹ ce.

With Alan Black as your next District Attorney, you will have separation of powers between the District Attorney, Sheriff, and Judiciary.

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A Cop’s Watch In Memory of Patrolman Raymond A. Bennett 1945 - 2000

Prelude:

I

t was around 1966. The social fabric around the country was changing and Slidell was no exception. We baby boomers were reaching adolescence and young adulthood; and some of us were a little rebellious against society and authority. Indeed, the 1960’s was the decade for social unrest. Even though Slidell was a small city and very close knit, it did experience a few issues. Schools were integrated, marijuana had reared its ugly head and, with the space program, Slidell’s population skyrocket nearly overnight.

third year at its current location. The time had come for the department to take action, and they did. They began to hire new policemen in order to uphold that famous promise - “To Protect and Serve.”

Thank God our city officials had the fortitude to expand our police department into a new era.

In 1966, the Slidell Police Department was in their

As fate would have it, the citizens of Slidell were blessed that one of those new policemen was Raymond A. Bennett.

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Raymond became a police officer like the officers before him. He had the desire to be a public servant by way of protecting the citizens of Slidell. He rode as an auxiliary officer for a couple years before he actually joined the force in 1966, at the young age of 21. That experience was the driving force that led him into a career in law enforcement . He began as patrolman, then Sergeant, several years as a juvenile officer, and eventually retired as a Captain in the 1990’s. Raymond was well liked by the citizens of Slidell. He really helped a lot of people in many ways. When possible, he tried to resolve issues before taking anyone to jail. At the beginning of his career, Raymond’s brother, Henry, was also on the force. The two brothers looked so much alike in uniform that they often confused people. (Slidell was very small in those days.) Raymond usually patrolled the south end of town in his 1966 Chevy, and Henry the north end.

We Have The Keys!

Crime in the 60’s and 70’s in Slidell was different from today. Most of the time, it was uneventful. Sometimes, several days would go by without any significant calls.

Unfortunately, when it was bad - it was REAL bad. Sadly, on August 13, 1975, the worst day in the history of the Slidell Police Department occurred. Sergeant Earl L. Alfred was killed in the line of duty. Raymond was home sleeping from an earlier shift when his wife Dianne heard the calls for help on the police scanner. She immediately woke him up and, within seconds, he was out the door to help a fallen comrade. Sergeant Alfred’s death took a heavy toll on the department, as well as the citizens of Slidell.

Raymond had a knack for memorizing every little detail in his assigned area. He had eyes like an eagle and a memory like an elephant.

One day in November 1967, those sharp eyes paid off.

While driving down Robert Street, off-duty and unarmed, Raymond spotted an automobile that, for some reason, caught his attention. He followed it for several blocks until it turned onto a side street. Everything seemed ok at the time, so he continued on to his destination. A few minutes later, he spotted the same vehicle in a parking lot where he was going to shop. With no such thing as a cell phone or radio, Raymond went into one of the stores and called for back-up. He approached the car and soon realized something wasn’t right. With back-up now on the scene, and a brief parking lot investigation and search of the car, Raymond arrested all four subjects. Not only did he discover the car was stolen, but so were the three guns, several knives, four cases of beer, and ten cartons of cigarettes contained inside the car. He single-handedly busted a burglary ring that stretched from Maryland to Slidell. Not bad for an unarmed cop without a radio.

To Unlock Her Heart!

Raymond’s tenure with Slidell Police Department did not go without several recognitions. He received the Certificate of Merit Award for his outstanding record with the department. He also received the Outstanding 43

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Officer Award. However, one of Raymond’s greatest achievements came outside of his police work. He was one of the founding volunteers who started Toys for Tot in Slidell. Every Christmas, thousands of children are able to receive Christmas gifts through this organization.

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If you were a kid and you considered becoming a juvenile delinquent of some sort, and had any chance of surviving it, 1966 would have been your year. Slidell was the place and Patrolman Raymond A. Bennett would have been the officer. Any other formula or combination and you would likely end up in jail.

I was never rebellious against society as a whole, just a select few individuals. As far as breaking the law, I only had one little-bitty incident, but some old biddy made it sound like I needed to be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. My little brother, Tommy, and I were using the “old purse trick” on anyone who took the bait. We would get an old purse, tie fishing line to it, put it in the middle of the street, then wait for someone to attempt to pick it up. When they reached for it, we would pull the string and yank it away from them. Some of the victims of this harmless prank would get so mad. Most people just got embarrassed and left. Me and Tommy - well, we just laughed and laughed at them. Then, one night, some old lady didn’t think it was so funny. She first drove past the purse, but then suddenly stopped and slowly backed up, close enough to reach the purse from her car. Just as she was about to snatch it up, we pulled the line. Oh my God, she screamed so loud that I knew someone in the neighborhood would hear her and call the cops. When she drove away, she laid on her horn for about two blocks.

(I never did understand what that was all about.) All of this took place at Slidell Grammar School. Just like Brock Elementary is still today, the school had two driveways that led to the playground. We were on the Carey St. side because it had good hiding places. Just as we were about to set up our next prank, we saw a police car coming at us

through the playground. We dropped everything and ran home as fast as we could.

As soon as we hit the door, we got out of our clothes and into our pajamas.

After a few minutes, we considered ourselves pretty lucky. But the relief didn’t last long. Someone was knocking at the door - and it sure wasn’t the Avon lady.

When Mama answered the door, I knew who it was.

Yep, Officer Raymond Bennett himself. I could hear the whole conversation. The old lady went to the police station and claimed someone was trying to steal her car. Raymond told my mom that he followed us from the school to the house, but he already knew who we were because he recognized us. Well, I denied everything. But Tommy, on the other hand, threw me under the bus. The good news was that Raymond knew we weren’t trying to steal her car. Nevertheless, there was going to be hell to pay... and I was the payee.

Raymond said I needed to come to the police station.

Not Tommy - just me. Of course.

When Officer Raymond Bennett put me in the police car, I’ll admit it I was scared. We never made it to the police station, though. Instead, we drove around as he explained to me what life would be like at juvenile hall if this ever happened again. Back in 1960’s, this was the way Raymond Bennett handled business. For me, I took his advice and it never happened again.

To Officer Raymond A. Bennett and every police officer - thank you and God bless you all.

A special thanks to Dianne Bennett Bertucci, Henry Bennett, and the archives of The Slidell Times News for helping me with this story.

45

OUT TAKES ag

Slidell M

ition st 51 Ed

Our tired but HAPPY crew of volunteers celebrates the final Movie Night of the season!

“Grease” played to RECORD BREAKING crowds!

Can’t wait for more movies in Heritage Park next year!

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