Religion
Dad was a righteous man. He was no saint, to be sure he had his failings, but he tried to set a good example and kept his faith the best that he could. He prayed on his knees every night, and tried to make it to church every weekend. He was a member of the Knights of Columbus and the Saint Vincent DePaul. He always tried to help whenever he could.
I don't know how old I was, maybe five or six, but I'll always remember a Christmas day when dad and his friend, Mr. Willie Adams, came into the house in a hurry. They started scrambling all over the place, closets, the attic, and the shed, collecting dolls and toys and clothes. When I asked what was going on, I was told that there was a family who didn't have anything for Christmas. They left with a bundle of things and delivered them to some poor family. I can imagine how much that family appreciated the kindness of those two men that Christmas Day.
We attended St. John's Catholic Church when I was young. It was a beautiful building with thick stucco walls, big columns throughout the structure, stained-glass windows and a red slate roof on top. Inside, behind the altar was a mural of the crucifixion with a statue of Jesus on the cross as its centerpiece. On either side of the altar were statues of Mary and Joseph, and in the back were the confessionals and poor box. It was typical architecture for an early 20th century Catholic Church. Dad loved that church.
When Hurricane Camille blew through town, it tore up the church's roof and water leaked in causing some damage. The church hierarchy decided to raze the building. Dad went down there and looked it over to see the damage for himself. His pronouncement was that the damage wasn't as severe as they were stating. Dad felt that there was a movement afoot to get a "modern" church, something that didn't set well with dad. It pissed him off enough that we stopped going to St. John's and started going to St. Theresa's, which was where the majority of the black families went to church. It was years before he set foot in St. John's again.
I guess dad had the last laugh, because when the demolition crew swung the wrecking ball and struck the church, it barely cracked the stucco. I don't know if it's true or not, but I was told that the cable snapped and ball ended up smashing the sidewalk. After that, the wrecking crew changed strategies and dismantled the interior of the church before taking out the walls.
Dad liked to attend the 6:30 a.m. mass and then go down the block to Mr. Phil's bakery and pick up fresh French bread. The rest of us used to attend the 11:15 mass after feasting on French bread and coffee. Sometimes we'd go over to the KC hall, which was just behind Mr. Phil's, and play the nickel slot machines or shoot pool. When I look back on it, I find it funny that no one gave a second thought to a bunch of kids feeding nickels into a one-armed bandit. Today people would go spastic over that. We'd probably have been taken away from our parents and they'd be in jail.
It was in a church that I saw my dad the angriest I'd ever seen him. We were at St. James' Church at Jill's wedding rehearsal. Her fiancé, Daryl, was running extremely late because of his job, and he was highly agitated. During the rehearsal, the wedding coordinator had them try their entrances into the church several different ways. Daryl got fed up and said, "I wish you'd make up your goddamned mind" right there in the church in front of the priest and the Holy Eucharist. A big mistake! Next thing I know, dad is rolling up his sleeves and telling Daryl to meet him outside. Mom and Jill rush over to dad and plead with him not to fight. It took a while to settle things down. In the end, Daryl apologized to all present and everything proceeded normally from there. I have no doubt that had the women not intervened, Daryl would have received a severe beating.
Vehicles
I remember my dad owned a 56 Chevy Bel Air. I remember it was two-toned yellow and white(?). According to Jill, it was bought brand new from a dealer in New Orleans. She said mom and dad were very proud because it was their first new car. I guess after the "new" wore off, dad used it as his work car. Jill and Ann used to go to a summer camp of some sort in Alabama. One year we picked them up from camp in the Chevy and were headed back home in a light rain. I recall seeing one car on the road in front of us as I laid down with my head on dad's leg and my legs in mom's lap. Suddenly, dad slammed on the breaks and we skidded right into the back of the car. I flew off the seat and banged my knee into the glove box with enough force to dent it. The wreck was bad enough to mess up the front end of the car.
Jill recalls an earlier car, "I remember a '47 Plymouth DeSoto it was blue and looked like a big bug. On one of our Sunday drives in it I got a lime sherbert ice cream cone from Stones Ice Cream parlor which somehow got shoved up to the interior fabric ceiling. I would never admit to it even when it later made a black mildew spot which no amount of cleaning would ever get rid of. I never did tell that to another living soul."
The lady driving the car was a true southern lady. She had been turning into her driveway when we struck her. Unlike now days, she didn't get out of the car cursing and screaming. She surveyed the damage and pulled her car into the driveway. She then invited us inside so dad could use the phone and call a wrecker. She treated us as though we were invited guests to her home, instead of the people who'd just crashed into her car.
I don't remember the drive home, but I do remember dad replacing the front-end with one he picked up at a junkyard. It was a hideous green color. Eventually, dad sold the Chevy for $100.00 to one of Ann's boyfriends, Huey Hill. I think Huey fixed it up for drag racing but I'm not sure.
For a while, dad was the unlikely owner of a red VW bus. I don't know how my father ever came to own this vehicle and I don't know how long he kept it, but it replaced the Chevy. The only thing special I remember involving this vehicle was when Chuck and I were riding in the back of it one time and as Chuck leaned against the door dad rounded the corner from Pass Road to 23rd Avenue and the door flew open with Chuck clinging to it. What I don't recall was whether this was an accident or whether Chuck had opened the door on purpose.
While the Chevy was the first car I recall my dad driving and the VW was the oddest car I recall my dad driving, the one that defined him was his pickup truck. In 1969, he bought a brand new GMC pickup truck. It was a working man's truck; absolutely no frills for my dad. It was gold -I was told Jill picked out the color because she was going to Southern Miss.- had a three-speed column mounted shift, a straight-six engine, no seat covers, no carpeting, and no radio. It was a thing of beauty and my dad was its proud owner.
Dad kept that truck as his prime source of transportation until he died in 1988. During that time he made just two modifications to the truck; a year or so after he bought it, he added a Bayou cap and, in the late 70s, he added an AM radio. Dad fixed up the cap by adding paneling and a dome light so we could take it on a vacation to the Smokey Mountains.
Critters
From time to time, dad kept chickens in the side-yard. Some were kept for their eggs and others were there for the meat. I remember him snaring the chickens and hanging them upside down from the clothesline. He'd cut their heads off and they'd flop around on the line until they bled to death. Somewhere along the line I recall him acquiring a couple of roosters. He killed them and plucked them and mom barbequed them for Sunday lunch, but meat would have been better used to resole a pair of shoes. My lunch that Sunday was a bowl of Corn Flakes.
Another time he bought a couple of pigs. He kept them on somebody's property in Lyman. We used to go up there after he got home from work and slop them. Dad used to get on this one back road and floor the Chevy. I remember watching the front-end rise as he accelerated, then he'd turn off the engine and let it coast to the property. I don't remember much else about those pigs, but they did make good ham.
In our back yard we had a shed and like most sheds, it was filled with junk. When we replaced the solar powered dryer with an electric dryer, dad installed it in the shed. One night mom sent Jill to the shed to get the clothes from the dryer. A few moments later, we heard Jill scream at the top of her lungs. Everyone raced out of the house to see what was wrong. Jill was in a state of panick and said there was something in the shed. Dad went in there armed with an ax-handle. We heard a flurry of activity and a couple of minutes later, dad emerged from the shed holding a bloody possum by the tail.
Years later, dad would befriend a member of the rodent family. On the south side of the house he errected a birdhouse atop a pipe about 15 feet high. He put the birdhouse where he was sure nothing but birds could get to it. But to his surprise, a squirrel managed to take up residence in the house. I expected dad to do away with the fuzzy rodent but Dad was so impressed with the squirrel's ability to climb a piece of galvanized pipe that not only did he not harm the squirrel, but he began to feed it. It got to the point where the squirrel recognized dad and would scamper down the pole whenever it saw him. It would walk right up to dad and wait for him to dispense some pecans. I don't believe I recall dad ever interacting that much with any of the various cats, dogs, or birds that we kept as pets over the years, but he sure did like that squirrel.
I'm hoping some of the other family members will provide me with some other stories.