Being young and impertinent my brothers and I busied ourselves at the school of hard knocks. We moved from South Caliborne simply because it was too dangerous. While playing at the merry-go-round I fell and was caught underneath the wheel. I was knocked in the head which required stitches at Charity Hospital. I was terrified since blood was streaming down my face. The bolts holding the rails on the merry-go-round severely lacerated my scalp. My first indication things were not safe in New Orleans. We carried on to school.
That was William O. Rogers Elementary School. The very first school to be integrated in New Orleans. This was met with resistance by almost everyone except my parents who knew in their hearts and minds that education was the way out. It was the way up in this mean world. We had to cross picket lines to get to school amid the raging and very vocal whites who wanted to intimidate us into not crossing the lines. We needed Federal escorts just to get in the building. We passed the black sisters who were crying because they were terribly afraid that they would not make it through the day. My brothers and I smiled at them hoping to reassure them not all whites are like that, We were the only students in school for a long time. Day after day we trudged to school amid the heckles and cat calls. At this point our lives became serious. Finally it was over and we returned to the anonymous life of young students. I was in Mrs. Ansardi's third grade class. This was one tough nut teacher who would show her anger by rolling the pencil in her palms so that her ring clicked each time it was passed over by the pencil. The louder the clicking the more displeasure there was as you witnessed the sweat pouring off of her in torrents.The heat was intolerable. It was so hard. Finally things settled down some but those images still remain firmly etched in my brain. I became a crossing guard complete with the over the shoulder sash and shield. I was very proud of my new role. I was always trying to create some levity for my classmates. We were walking single file to the auditorium for some lecture. There were these giant columns that were hold the building up. I had seen a lot of slapstick. I walked directly into the column falling down as with a startled look on my face. The class chuckled but keep going. That was the end of my slapstick comedy.
That year, my Dad brought home transistor radios for us boys. We listened intently to the Mighty 690 radio station. We were just getting into high fidelity. This was all tinny AM radio so you would get all the advertisements but also popular good tunes. We listened constantly. Fats Domino lived nearby because we would see his pink Cadillac flashing by with those huge fins. There was a talent show in the cafeteria. My Mother is a Southern girl so naturally she loved Elvis. I wanted to please her so I rehearsed Blue Suede Shoes in my spare time. I dressed in my best Elvis and jumped and gyrated as I had seen Elvis do on TV. I was just mouthing the words to the music but it so happened that my appearance was just what the doctor ordered for everyone there. I don't remember winning but I sure remember it was fun. This started a career in music that has yet to be fulfilled. Fear lasts a long, long time. That year I learned what true fear is.
My Dad also had the musical South Pacific in a record set that I listened to over and over. All three of my uncles served in the Pacific Theater in WW II. Two were at the Battle of Midway. The other was in the Philippines during the invasion. I grew up around these war heroes. I built model war planes. Toy soldiers were my troops that endured those times of battles. I found a chain belt of spent cartridges that I used like a Mexican bandoleer in my fake battles with my brothers for intimidation purposes. It seldom worked that way. One day someone talked me into boxing. I put on the gloves and took the boxing stance. The boy hit me so hard in the side of the head I was truly seeing stars. I immediately took the gloves off and never fought another fight except with my brothers.
Springtime was kite season. There is no better way to escape the bonds of earth than flying a kite. We built our own out of clear plastic that gave us the advantage of stealth when kite fighting. The tails of the kites were long. We embedded glass and razor blades in the tail so that we could weaponize the kite in many different configurations. The trick is to get your kite to fly higher than the others. Pulling hard on the string made it dive and swoop and if luck is with you, the tail crosses the string of your adversary. Then it is just a matter of time before it cuts through. There was no parental supervision in those days. They were always working and trying to make a living. In New Orleans you had to fight to survive. The kites taught us how to survive.
I believe my clear plastic kites were the inspiration for stealth technology. Who's to say? Surely not me. I once left my kite flying all night just to see what would happen. In the morning she was still up there but the winds had changed during the night. Somehow this was beginning to make sense. Later that day, we all heard a loud boom. Since it was the 4th of July we thought it was some kid playing with his fireworks. Soon though, we spotted one of our acquaintances lying on the basketball court. He had made a pipe bomb with a short fuse that blew up prematurely in his hand. He lost fingers and his face was embedded with shrapnel. A Good Samaritan loaded him in his car and drove him to the hospital. He could have bled to death right in front of us if not for this man. We stopped being creative with fireworks. Danger lurks at every step of your life along all of the paths you travel.
My family would go over to our Great Grandmothers whom we called Fat Mamare. She was that but she was fat because she no longer could walk very well and would sit all day reviewing her family which was immense. At one of these family gatherings on New Years Eve I sat down at the old upright piano to doodle with music. This family has its share of malcontents. I was suddenly attacked from behind with a hammer. One of our many cousins turned jealous. He sneaked up behind and clobbered me with a silver hammer. I was seeing stars and nearly passed out from the blow to the cranium. Maxwell's silver hammer fell down upon his head. Pretty sure he wound up badly.
I immediately associated music with being injured. That set the stage for avoidance for quite awhile. I still am nervous when playing constantly looking over my shoulder for trouble approaching. Hardly a way to be creative. Yet my Mother constantly wanted me to be an artist. She gave me a John Negay Learn to Draw kit with charcoal and color pencils. She gave me a paint by numbers paint set which I used in my spare time. There is nothing original about staying within the lines. I found nothing that would support me. My prospects were growing dimmer.
I happened to know of a group of musicians working out of the garage. I went over one day to hear an impromtu singing of the Duke of Earl. On another occasion Gene Tierney came to my school to show off his talent and inspire kids. I though he was talking to me when he tried to enlist the help of everyone to produce music.
These were the days of plastic soldiers and bug tussles that helped us pass the long summer afternoons. We would take over some front yard garden under the alzaleas hidden from view. We would develop a battlefield with ramps and forts that any general would find exciting. This how a child learns to process the battles he faces in life. My parents were firm in the belief that allowing the boys to play was the best way to develop them. There are shops in New Orleans that specialize in hand painted toy soldiers. This tends to get expensive when a patron orders a full division of soldiers. The detail is an astounding achievement in miniaturization. The European battles such as Waterloo and Napoleon's French troops swarming Europe are really popular since it is a rare thing to even read about these battles in popular media. Remember Napoleon was expected to arrive in New Orleans after his escape from Helena. There is a building called Napoleon House with a small observatory to watch for his arrival by ship. History is simply forgotten by most
except for Fitzhugh.
This guy was a Viet Nam veteran who was blown all to hell. He was wearing braces with damage to his shoulder. He had this huge head compared to the body. There is more about this character somewhere else in these blogs.
That was William O. Rogers Elementary School. The very first school to be integrated in New Orleans. This was met with resistance by almost everyone except my parents who knew in their hearts and minds that education was the way out. It was the way up in this mean world. We had to cross picket lines to get to school amid the raging and very vocal whites who wanted to intimidate us into not crossing the lines. We needed Federal escorts just to get in the building. We passed the black sisters who were crying because they were terribly afraid that they would not make it through the day. My brothers and I smiled at them hoping to reassure them not all whites are like that, We were the only students in school for a long time. Day after day we trudged to school amid the heckles and cat calls. At this point our lives became serious. Finally it was over and we returned to the anonymous life of young students. I was in Mrs. Ansardi's third grade class. This was one tough nut teacher who would show her anger by rolling the pencil in her palms so that her ring clicked each time it was passed over by the pencil. The louder the clicking the more displeasure there was as you witnessed the sweat pouring off of her in torrents.The heat was intolerable. It was so hard. Finally things settled down some but those images still remain firmly etched in my brain. I became a crossing guard complete with the over the shoulder sash and shield. I was very proud of my new role. I was always trying to create some levity for my classmates. We were walking single file to the auditorium for some lecture. There were these giant columns that were hold the building up. I had seen a lot of slapstick. I walked directly into the column falling down as with a startled look on my face. The class chuckled but keep going. That was the end of my slapstick comedy.
That year, my Dad brought home transistor radios for us boys. We listened intently to the Mighty 690 radio station. We were just getting into high fidelity. This was all tinny AM radio so you would get all the advertisements but also popular good tunes. We listened constantly. Fats Domino lived nearby because we would see his pink Cadillac flashing by with those huge fins. There was a talent show in the cafeteria. My Mother is a Southern girl so naturally she loved Elvis. I wanted to please her so I rehearsed Blue Suede Shoes in my spare time. I dressed in my best Elvis and jumped and gyrated as I had seen Elvis do on TV. I was just mouthing the words to the music but it so happened that my appearance was just what the doctor ordered for everyone there. I don't remember winning but I sure remember it was fun. This started a career in music that has yet to be fulfilled. Fear lasts a long, long time. That year I learned what true fear is.
My Dad also had the musical South Pacific in a record set that I listened to over and over. All three of my uncles served in the Pacific Theater in WW II. Two were at the Battle of Midway. The other was in the Philippines during the invasion. I grew up around these war heroes. I built model war planes. Toy soldiers were my troops that endured those times of battles. I found a chain belt of spent cartridges that I used like a Mexican bandoleer in my fake battles with my brothers for intimidation purposes. It seldom worked that way. One day someone talked me into boxing. I put on the gloves and took the boxing stance. The boy hit me so hard in the side of the head I was truly seeing stars. I immediately took the gloves off and never fought another fight except with my brothers.
Springtime was kite season. There is no better way to escape the bonds of earth than flying a kite. We built our own out of clear plastic that gave us the advantage of stealth when kite fighting. The tails of the kites were long. We embedded glass and razor blades in the tail so that we could weaponize the kite in many different configurations. The trick is to get your kite to fly higher than the others. Pulling hard on the string made it dive and swoop and if luck is with you, the tail crosses the string of your adversary. Then it is just a matter of time before it cuts through. There was no parental supervision in those days. They were always working and trying to make a living. In New Orleans you had to fight to survive. The kites taught us how to survive.
I believe my clear plastic kites were the inspiration for stealth technology. Who's to say? Surely not me. I once left my kite flying all night just to see what would happen. In the morning she was still up there but the winds had changed during the night. Somehow this was beginning to make sense. Later that day, we all heard a loud boom. Since it was the 4th of July we thought it was some kid playing with his fireworks. Soon though, we spotted one of our acquaintances lying on the basketball court. He had made a pipe bomb with a short fuse that blew up prematurely in his hand. He lost fingers and his face was embedded with shrapnel. A Good Samaritan loaded him in his car and drove him to the hospital. He could have bled to death right in front of us if not for this man. We stopped being creative with fireworks. Danger lurks at every step of your life along all of the paths you travel.
My family would go over to our Great Grandmothers whom we called Fat Mamare. She was that but she was fat because she no longer could walk very well and would sit all day reviewing her family which was immense. At one of these family gatherings on New Years Eve I sat down at the old upright piano to doodle with music. This family has its share of malcontents. I was suddenly attacked from behind with a hammer. One of our many cousins turned jealous. He sneaked up behind and clobbered me with a silver hammer. I was seeing stars and nearly passed out from the blow to the cranium. Maxwell's silver hammer fell down upon his head. Pretty sure he wound up badly.
I immediately associated music with being injured. That set the stage for avoidance for quite awhile. I still am nervous when playing constantly looking over my shoulder for trouble approaching. Hardly a way to be creative. Yet my Mother constantly wanted me to be an artist. She gave me a John Negay Learn to Draw kit with charcoal and color pencils. She gave me a paint by numbers paint set which I used in my spare time. There is nothing original about staying within the lines. I found nothing that would support me. My prospects were growing dimmer.
I happened to know of a group of musicians working out of the garage. I went over one day to hear an impromtu singing of the Duke of Earl. On another occasion Gene Tierney came to my school to show off his talent and inspire kids. I though he was talking to me when he tried to enlist the help of everyone to produce music.
These were the days of plastic soldiers and bug tussles that helped us pass the long summer afternoons. We would take over some front yard garden under the alzaleas hidden from view. We would develop a battlefield with ramps and forts that any general would find exciting. This how a child learns to process the battles he faces in life. My parents were firm in the belief that allowing the boys to play was the best way to develop them. There are shops in New Orleans that specialize in hand painted toy soldiers. This tends to get expensive when a patron orders a full division of soldiers. The detail is an astounding achievement in miniaturization. The European battles such as Waterloo and Napoleon's French troops swarming Europe are really popular since it is a rare thing to even read about these battles in popular media. Remember Napoleon was expected to arrive in New Orleans after his escape from Helena. There is a building called Napoleon House with a small observatory to watch for his arrival by ship. History is simply forgotten by most
except for Fitzhugh.
This guy was a Viet Nam veteran who was blown all to hell. He was wearing braces with damage to his shoulder. He had this huge head compared to the body. There is more about this character somewhere else in these blogs.
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