Friday, August 7, 2020
Today is former Gov. Edwin W. Edwards’ 93rd Birthday. And we join his many friends in wishing him a wonderful day. He is the only person to have served Louisiana four times as Governor.
During his time in office, he visited Sabine Parish and this area more than any other Governor. Gov. John Bel Edwards has been here one time, Boddy Jindal visited a few times and Mike Foster passed through once on his way somewhere else. But Edwin Washington was a man of the people, and he loved to visit here.
I had the pleasure of meeting Gov. Edwards at a Press Convention in New Orleans in 1965. We have been friends ever since. That’s 55 years this year, and that’s a long time.
Back in the spring of 1990, Mr. Air Personality Tedd Dumas and I had fallen out with then-Gov. Buddy Roemer.
After pulling out of the race with Roemer, Edwards predicted before Roemer’s term was out, “People will be marching in the streets wanting me as Governor again.” And in his campaign against Edwards, Roemer had said he was going to “Slay the dragon.”
Discussing our disappointment in Roemer one May morning at coffee, Tedd suggested, “Why don’t we have a march in Many to support Edwards running again for Governor?” I liked the suggestion and when we got back to my office, I called Gov. Edwards with the proposal. Tedd and I had already named the parade “Return of the Dragon.” The ex-governor liked the proposal, but suggested we call the event “Return of the Friendly Dragon.”
We set the date in June and had a big turnout as we marched through beautiful downtown Many with a huge parade. The group that put it together, in addition to Tedd and I, were Ken Simmons, Gailor Phares and the late James Lynn Davis. We called ourselves “The Minute Men.”
Nowadays, I am fortunate to either chat or correspond by email with Gov. Edwards regularly. He lives happily in Gonzales with his wife of nine years, Trina, and young son Eli. He said he and his family are doing well through these strange and unusual times, but says he is bored.
Three years ago, Gov. Edwards celebrated his 90th birthday with a big bash in Baton Rouge. He asked Laurie and me if we would be co-chairmen for the event, and we were glad to accept. And I am glad to say we had a full house and persons outside who couldn’t get in. And he said at the time that we would celebrate again when he reaches 95.
I was fortunate to be Chairman of Gov. Jimmie Davis 100th Birthday Party. I believe EWE has his eye on 100, and I think he will make it.
Again, every good wish.
And there’s another great man who is celebrating today. Happy Birthday to John Curtis.
With the canceling of Marthaville’s Good Ole Days Festival because of COVID-19, many persons are disappointed.
State Sen. Louie Bernard wrote: “I have been coming to Marthaville on the third Saturday in September for over 20 years. I suspect my truck will automatically head over there on Sept. 19. Good Ole Days has been such a labor of love for all these years. It has been a gathering of friends and families who have prided themselves in wholesome, patriotic ceremonies and events. I will truly miss the Friday night gospel singing and the ‘World Famous’ parade at 10 on Saturday morning. The Heritage Committee should be proud of creating a tradition unmatched, not only in our parish, but in North Louisiana as well. I pray that the pandemic that has so changed our lives will finally fade away, and that on Sept. 18, 2021, we will all be meeting in Marthaville.”
Well said. But Louie has always been so good at saying it well. In addition to the letter, he sent a donation to be used toward the re-roofing of the Heritage Building.
Head man Fuzzy Hennigan said the annual membership drive is underway and donations are being accepted for the re-roofing project. Interesting persons may write the Heritage Society at P. O. Box 182, Marthaville 71450. Please help if you can.
Well, the start of school has been pushed back again. The School Board unanimously voted to now start it on Thursday, Aug. 20. Teachers will report to work on Aug. 10. For more information visit www.sabine.school or Sabine Parish School Board on Facebook.
Folks around here won’t forget the Father’s Day night murder of Dennis Ray Hall, age 36. It happened June 21, 2009. He lived back on a rural road between Noble and Converse. No one was ever arrested for the murder. New Sheriff Aaron Mitchell has promised his staff is going to take a look at the parish’s cold cases.
Collin Hall, a son of Dennis, wrote the following article entitled “Joy and Death in Converse, Louisiana.” The article appeared in the July 22 issue of the Cape May County Herald published in Rio Grande, NJ. It is an interesting, well-written article, and one we thought our readers would enjoy. It follows.
Joy and Death in Converse, Louisiana
It’s hard to separate a dying place from the memories that haunt it; whenever I make the long drive out to the charred grasses, frothing ponds, and old family farm in Converse, Louisiana, I am reminded of a thriving community that I was never able to fully participate in. I am thankful I know those hot Louisiana roads, even if most of what I do is examine clues that hint at a more vibrant past.
Ten minutes from our farmhouse, a dusty old man sits stone-like in his straw chair underneath a red hot sun. He guards his front-yard crops from… from whatever. From time. A human scarecrow, we called him. Scarecrow-man did his hunchback-duty every day I can remember, until one day he disappeared. Crumbled into smiling ash.
Past the church behind that old man’s house, scattered homes of all kinds hide. All of them are small trailers with different accentual charms. Some sit tidy and proud; others flaunt front-yard trash, abandoned carpentry projects, and howling skeletal pets.
A mile further away from the church, you can see the hulking, maroon, homemade monster truck that slouches beneath two eighteen-wheelers and a bright yellow tractor.
Past the monster truck, take a right onto Midway road, a road once full of life and family, or left to the family cemetery. The first house on Midway Road is Uncle C.B. and Aunt Bobby’s. Their backyard boasts two gleaming ponds, countless chained and howling dogs, prairies of horses, barns full of cats, cattle, and piles of waste. Uncle C.B. died three months ago; we found him floating silently in the 25-acre lake behind our house; he fell victim to an accidental drowning.
A stone’s throw from C.B.’s house is something even older, what we call the yellow house. Grandmother’s house. Well, she was really my great grandmother, but we called her Grandmother anyway. She grew up in severe poverty; she raised my father’s mother in another house, one with no electricity. That house was the blackhouse, but only a deep well covered in leaves remains. They drew water from that well and kept warm with a real roaring fire and read by the light of an oil-lit lamp.
That newer yellow house was a sign of my great grandmother having ‘made it.’ Grandmother saw the rot and the laziness that comes when people don’t want better for themselves. When they don’t want an education, don’t want to speak properly. She was determined to do better for herself and for her children; she was the first in a long line of my Louisiana-kin to attend college. She made sure her kids did the same. Grandmother died of a blood clot at our farm, not her yellow house. But that yellow home, the one she and her husband built themselves, sits rotting and vine-covered all the same.
Third down the row of houses leading up to ours lived Aunt Mac and Uncle Charlie; they both could always be found lounging in rustic recliners in the cramped living room of their tiny blue trailer. I don’t know how they ended up there in that house, on that road. Aunt Mac would sheepishly gift my twin sister and me a doll from her massive collection every time we’d visit. But nobody watches over those thousands of cloth bodies anymore. Aunt Mac died about nine years ago. Her husband followed shortly after. The home is soon to meet them.
An old Datsun 280z collapses on itself. Its owner, their only son, killed himself while his parents traveled in the RV that sits alone in the backyard. A lawnmower hopes to be started just one more time. The roof does its best to protect those dolls, but it too is soaked to the bone with rainwater.
Aunt Mac was a steady-going Christian, a country stereotype, typical in her southern manners and kind heart. She was an old soul, a slow-speaking woman with a selflessness common to the area. Bella and I never left empty-handed; she always would insist that we leave with a plush “friend.” Dolls were her passion, and it brought her joy to share them with us whenever we stopped by.
When I find the courage to revisit that now-rotting trailer, the musty air feels foreign. A fog of nostalgia, of a family gone, of longing for times past, and of actual fungal growth kicks up with every step. Those same doll-eyes that once breathed warmth now gawk from every angle. The place could be a horror set; dozens of shelves on various levels hang on the walls, all of them stuffed with dolls. New dolls, old dolls. Licensed dolls. Dolls of presidents. The rot and caving-in walls and dark scare me, but not enough to overpower the memory of generosity and loving southern drawl that same home once poured out.
What was once an anchor, just a blue trailer, is now gasping for relief and sits in rot. Who is telling Aunt Mac’s story? Or the house’s story? Its stories live on, if just within pages and within the hearts of those dead. If only here. I’ve only been an ancillary part of the stories that take place in Converse, Louisiana, but I know that I will protect those tales with all I have.
That will do it for now. As always, thanks for faithfully reading. I love to hear your ideas for future columns, so give me a call at (318) 332-8653 or send an email to robertrgentry@gmail.com. To save, send or print today’s column, please click on the appropriate icon below. To read Observations of the last few years, follow the pages listed here. To see older ones, visit our Facebook page.
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