We were close to school, though. Capdau is a junior high that has its share of delinquents. I was a seeker of greener fields.
On Sundays, we would hear the waffle maker operating out of a horse drawn wagon with the distinctive bell to announce his arrival. These were the absolute best waffles smothered in syrup. We gobbled them up.
There were two brothers living next door in this quad apt who hunted hogs along the many rivers of Louisiana. They would clean and butcher them right in the car shed hanging the beasts from the rafters. To a young man in Louisiana getting an anatomy lesson first hand was invaluable. We started hunting soon after seeing what they brought to the table.
We made friends with Gene and Terry. We shared many a Saturday night watching Morgus the Magnificent horror extravaganza until the wee hours. Every Saturday night was Halloween all over again. Terry was a delinquent who shoplifted frequently since he had no money. He watched the delivery trucks that filled the soda machine. They guys inevitably leave the keys in the locks while they load the machines. Terry would sneak up and grab those keys quickly disappearing until he pulled away. He would wait until he was alone then pull the caper of robbing the coin box. I almost took the rap for his many thefts of a carton of cigarettes at Sweggmanns where my Dad worked selling major appliances to rednecks.
We made friends with Gene and Terry. We shared many a Saturday night watching Morgus the Magnificent horror extravaganza until the wee hours. Every Saturday night was Halloween all over again. Terry was a delinquent who shoplifted frequently since he had no money. He watched the delivery trucks that filled the soda machine. They guys inevitably leave the keys in the locks while they load the machines. Terry would sneak up and grab those keys quickly disappearing until he pulled away. He would wait until he was alone then pull the caper of robbing the coin box. I almost took the rap for his many thefts of a carton of cigarettes at Sweggmanns where my Dad worked selling major appliances to rednecks.
I quickly sought new friends to hang with. There was a canal called Peoples' Canal for no good reason which flowed into Lake Pontchartrain. I caught my first snapping turtle in its greenish brown waters. The police would stop and ask what we were doing, 'watching the shit float by?' was what they asked. We had no answer.
New Years' Eve rolled around. This is bonfire night for the poor. The preceding weeks prior to New Year's Eve were spent preparing the bonfire. The older guys would build the fire by stacking old railroad ties into a giant tower that was filled with anything burnable. They knew what was coming so they filed the fire hydrant turning nut completely round. When the moment came to light the tower railroad flares were used. There was a pedestrian bridge close by built in the old fashioned way of creosoted lumber. The tower slowly toppled over falling on top the bridge lighting the bridge on fire. The fire dept. could do nothing.
That bridge was the poor people's link to the city and schools. Now the kids got to practice walking the water pipes that crossed Peoples Canal. I caught my first snapping turtle by hand which no one believed since these turtles are known for taking a finger or two. The way to handle them is by the tail. They still can get you as their necks are long and capable of reaching all the way back to their tail. My trick was to grab and throw.
I learned how to play penny toss. This is a game to see who can throw their penny closest to the curb. I managed to lose my .07 milk money everyday for a few weeks until I realized they are plucking chicken. Billy S. was a poor kid. One day, he was surrounded by the older bully gangs that ruled the neighborhood. They held him down and forced him to suck a dog's penis. The mentality of these people is something to be ashamed of.
The drinking water came directly from the Mississippi River. Never mind that upriver people throw all sorts of toxic waste like paint and antifreeze into this body of water. This is why Oschner Hospital was created. They needed to treat all the kidney patients who drank the river water. He became a famous transplant surgeon saving people who should have never gotten ill in the first place. Yes, it is filtered and treated but if you study the science that is not enough to make it safe. We campaigned to get the water brought from across the lake via pipe under the causeway. Last I heard they are doing that now. The number of deaths from poor drinking water is well documented. No one pays attention. Death ruled New Orleans for the longest time.
I learned how to play penny toss. This is a game to see who can throw their penny closest to the curb. I managed to lose my .07 milk money everyday for a few weeks until I realized they are plucking chicken. Billy S. was a poor kid. One day, he was surrounded by the older bully gangs that ruled the neighborhood. They held him down and forced him to suck a dog's penis. The mentality of these people is something to be ashamed of.
The drinking water came directly from the Mississippi River. Never mind that upriver people throw all sorts of toxic waste like paint and antifreeze into this body of water. This is why Oschner Hospital was created. They needed to treat all the kidney patients who drank the river water. He became a famous transplant surgeon saving people who should have never gotten ill in the first place. Yes, it is filtered and treated but if you study the science that is not enough to make it safe. We campaigned to get the water brought from across the lake via pipe under the causeway. Last I heard they are doing that now. The number of deaths from poor drinking water is well documented. No one pays attention. Death ruled New Orleans for the longest time.
Sunday was a special day. The Waffle Wagon made its appearance on the streets of Gentilly named after the many flowers that bloom in New Orleans. The waffles were baked over a wood fired stove then carefully dusted with powdered sugar. When you smothered it in log cabin maple syrup your heart begged for more. We would fry eggs and place them on top these hand crafted waffles. These were the best days. The horse drawn wagon, the smoky fire and the distinctive bell created a memorable time that lived in our hearts for many days.
I dreamed of riding my bike to California. I thought of running away and living on the road. There were many times I managed to actually make a plan to leave the misery of New Orleans. Nothing ever came of it until I turned 17. I was a captured pawn in someone's chess game.
I dreamed of riding my bike to California. I thought of running away and living on the road. There were many times I managed to actually make a plan to leave the misery of New Orleans. Nothing ever came of it until I turned 17. I was a captured pawn in someone's chess game.
We played a street game called hit the power cable. These cables were enclosed in a metal sheath. The thrower would try to hit the line with a tennis ball. If you were accurate the ball rebounded strongly but if it was caught you got no points. If you missed and the ball was caught you lose the turn. The only way to get points was controlling the ball in such a way to prevent the other boys from scoring. This is the way we played on these hot summer nights under the street lights in New Orleans.
There was a bakery close by. Late at night one could smell the doughnuts being fried. One of the joys of living in New Orleans was the smell of food.
I was walking down the street near the house. I happened to look down. There was a Horner Marine Band Harmonica that I gratefully grabbed and secreted into my pocket. I played that thing until it finally clogged up.
You learn fast in the swamps and bayous of Louisiana. We once rented a fishing skiff in Lake Bourne. It is a bring your own outboard kind of affair. My Dad had an old green outboard he had from his youth. Surprisingly, it still ran. We were still too young to be out with the old man fishing like that. This was the activity of our family. To relax together and do something that was typical of families there.
You learn fast in the swamps and bayous of Louisiana. We once rented a fishing skiff in Lake Bourne. It is a bring your own outboard kind of affair. My Dad had an old green outboard he had from his youth. Surprisingly, it still ran. We were still too young to be out with the old man fishing like that. This was the activity of our family. To relax together and do something that was typical of families there.
Fishing and crabbing became a way of life for us. One trip my Dad took Mike my older brother on a fishing trip with his buddies from work. Back in those days there was little enforcement happening. The guys were drinking when the motor quit. They were in the process of putting it back together when a vital part fell overboard. They were now stranded in the middle of the lake. Darkness overtook them so they settled into a long mosquito infested night. My Mother quickly became concerned when they did not return. She was visibly distraught. They were rescued because she called the police. The fishermen made the Times Picayune with pictures of the rescue by the Coast Guard. My Mother is amazing when she is summoning help. Early in the morning the CG towed the strandees into the marina. There are pictures of them kissing the ground. Must have been a slow news day.
There was a long stairway to reach the second floor of our apt. My Mother was working 6 days a week downtown. She rode the bus as we all did back in those hard days. Every evening when she came home, I would meet her at the bottom of those stairs and help her climb the steep stairway in that sweltering hallway. This was my only chance to have time with my Mother. Those moments were special and will live with me forever.
One day, my Dad brought home his new acquisition. An Austin Healey Sprite 1964 baby blue with all the bells and whistles. We cherished that sports car. Every Sunday we polished her. Each wire spoke got the special treatment.
There was a long stairway to reach the second floor of our apt. My Mother was working 6 days a week downtown. She rode the bus as we all did back in those hard days. Every evening when she came home, I would meet her at the bottom of those stairs and help her climb the steep stairway in that sweltering hallway. This was my only chance to have time with my Mother. Those moments were special and will live with me forever.
One day, my Dad brought home his new acquisition. An Austin Healey Sprite 1964 baby blue with all the bells and whistles. We cherished that sports car. Every Sunday we polished her. Each wire spoke got the special treatment.
He bought this car for my Mother. They drove down to Mexico one year on a whirlwind tour. They eventually came home all tanned and fit looking.
He finally traded it in for a family sedan and took us all to Mexico. We wound up in the mountains at a resort with horses. This is a palatial estate of huge proportions.
My brother and I got on these Mexican horses and took off. At first it was fun but soon we realized something was terribly wrong. My horse would not obey my commands and did a big circle back to the barn. I was on a wild animal who cut across the slick tiled floors of the veranda nearly slipping and falling. The gardeners were all shouting at me in Spanish. The horse just got more excited. We finally arrived at the barn. Whew! I survived a pretty exciting gallop. I was done with horses for awhile.
That year, the Beatles came to New Orleans. They played at Pontchartrain Beach Park. From what I heard, it was great. I was too busy with my struggles to even consider going, I heard the music from the back porch some distance away. At that point in their career, it was impossible to even get anywhere near them.
That year, the Beatles came to New Orleans. They played at Pontchartrain Beach Park. From what I heard, it was great. I was too busy with my struggles to even consider going, I heard the music from the back porch some distance away. At that point in their career, it was impossible to even get anywhere near them.
Chad and Jeremy also showed up that year. I saw them in the limo as they made their way through the city. I actually had the chance to see the Beatles in Seattle but opted out since I already knew that it was hazardous for me to attend such extravaganzas.
Emerson, Lake and Palmer played a gig at Tulane University that I almost made. I did make the Seals and Crofts show, even attending the after show reception where they answered my questions about the Bahai Faith. I was an interviewer for a street rag.
We double dated often. We would go to the Bali Hai Restaurant at Pontchartrain Beach with its Tiki motif and Mai Tai drinks with the little umbrella that the girls loved. We enjoyed going there since it was the only night spot opened to us. We were trying to be adults doing adult things. Our dates all shared our enthusiasm and the love of a tropical setting. Other times, we would go to the local drive in restaurant after a movie or football game when things were tight. They usually were with money. Frank had a '57 Chevy. The real classic model. When we showed up in this beast of a car the girls would be ready to ride anywhere we wanted to go. Sometimes we attended the submarine races at Lake Pontchartrain. You could never tell the outcome of those matches. We were waiting for the girls to become affectionate.
Frank appeared in one of my classes. After listening to him talk about the Scouts, I was became interested in joining. He invited me to a Scout meeting in Gentilly some five miles away. I rode my bike to every meeting thereafter for five wonderful years. I was meeting really fine people who had their lives pointing in the right direction with enough income to be called middle class.
We double dated often. We would go to the Bali Hai Restaurant at Pontchartrain Beach with its Tiki motif and Mai Tai drinks with the little umbrella that the girls loved. We enjoyed going there since it was the only night spot opened to us. We were trying to be adults doing adult things. Our dates all shared our enthusiasm and the love of a tropical setting. Other times, we would go to the local drive in restaurant after a movie or football game when things were tight. They usually were with money. Frank had a '57 Chevy. The real classic model. When we showed up in this beast of a car the girls would be ready to ride anywhere we wanted to go. Sometimes we attended the submarine races at Lake Pontchartrain. You could never tell the outcome of those matches. We were waiting for the girls to become affectionate.
Frank appeared in one of my classes. After listening to him talk about the Scouts, I was became interested in joining. He invited me to a Scout meeting in Gentilly some five miles away. I rode my bike to every meeting thereafter for five wonderful years. I was meeting really fine people who had their lives pointing in the right direction with enough income to be called middle class.
I started playing Dads ukulele with a folk group we formed along with Dave and Mary, Sue and I. Frank was the leader. Mary was one of Frank's castoffs that turned to me for comfort. She was my first kiss. Our group performed all around town for many weeks into the fall. We soon lost interest in this world of performances after our one big talent show win.
This was around the time of the Kennedy assassination which changed everything. Bobby was killed a few months later. Then Martin Luther King was shot as well.
The talk around the neighborhood was a nuclear attack was coming soon from the Russians. People were panicking and actually starting to dig bomb shelters. I remember clearly as designs were discussed. I witnessed the insanity up close and personal. New Orleans has a very high water table. You dig down 2 feet and the hole starts to fill with water. Slowly, people returned to sanity and a reasonably normal life. They were still feeling threatened by the national tragedies that were soon to envelope everything and everybody.
Those tragedies really changed everything. We all thought this meant war. The draft was a reality in those days. The only thing going for us was higher education. So we buckled down and tried to make the grades that would keep us out of the draft. The world was against us. Vietnam was heating to red hot and it was looking like we would be called up. When your draft number is called, it is time to go. Staying cool with school was our primary goal. Graduation from high school was a bust for me. 1967 was the very worst of times with the constant worry of being drafted if you fell from grace. This is 2.0 for your college GPA. Mine was at 2.3 and falling. They called me in for the pre-induction physical. My eyesight was bad. I had macular damage from watching welding without a helment. I was malnourished and skinny. I was given a 4F deferment. God must of shined upon me for this actually made me happy to have failed my way to success. I was now officially a beatnik.
I became a lifeguard and instructor at YMCA East. I taught many kids to swim. I trained star athletes for the Olympics. This put me on the golden throne of sorts. I had the opportunity to regain my health through swimming and diving and generally playing my way through life. This did not last as I thought it should have. The girls were fabulous and wanted me to meet with them behind the fence for some loving after work or during break time. Funny how this was always interrupted.
I had to change my major to be able to get away from the hard sciences like Chem 2B. Dr.Bongiorno did not speak good English. He struggled to communicate a very difficult topic which nearly everyone failed miserably even on the curve. I finally dropped out of the University completely discouraged. I began working at a Creole Restaurant on Bourbon St. That is the time I met Sheila, a Jewish Goddess.
I found out that Bobby Kennedy had dinner with her family the night he was shot at the hotel by Sirhan Sirhan. What this had to do with me I did not know. The shared collective guilt was overwhelming. Sheila invited me to LA. I said I'd come as soon as Spring made it possible to travel there by thumb. In those days, you could go anywhere in the country by thumb, I am jumping ahead somewhat.
I was going to Capdau during those years. I was hanging out with the librarian because he was he best chess player and brutally intelligent. He became my mentor. I was good at art. I made a poster for the library out of burlap covered cardboard lined the frame with bamboo. Confucius says READ in Chinese characters with the English translation below was all it said. I learned how to hook rugs and made a metaphysical design that was 'avant guarde' because it used chess shapes to illustrate a moonscape. This was the year of the moonshot.
Capdau was a different kind of junior high that took football very seriously. The varsity jackets were wine red with black sleeves. Our physical education classes consisted of touch football games that were as exciting as any pro game on TV. Since I was small and skinny I could run a route, stop and turn to get the defender stopped and looking then make the mad dash to the end zone where the ball would be spiraling towards me. Many times, this worked perfectly until the opposing team started double teaming me. We always came up with a new routine. BJ Keifer was always the quarter back because he was disabled in one leg thus he could not run very well. He made up for it by clever ball handling and accurate passing.
The talk around the neighborhood was a nuclear attack was coming soon from the Russians. People were panicking and actually starting to dig bomb shelters. I remember clearly as designs were discussed. I witnessed the insanity up close and personal. New Orleans has a very high water table. You dig down 2 feet and the hole starts to fill with water. Slowly, people returned to sanity and a reasonably normal life. They were still feeling threatened by the national tragedies that were soon to envelope everything and everybody.
Those tragedies really changed everything. We all thought this meant war. The draft was a reality in those days. The only thing going for us was higher education. So we buckled down and tried to make the grades that would keep us out of the draft. The world was against us. Vietnam was heating to red hot and it was looking like we would be called up. When your draft number is called, it is time to go. Staying cool with school was our primary goal. Graduation from high school was a bust for me. 1967 was the very worst of times with the constant worry of being drafted if you fell from grace. This is 2.0 for your college GPA. Mine was at 2.3 and falling. They called me in for the pre-induction physical. My eyesight was bad. I had macular damage from watching welding without a helment. I was malnourished and skinny. I was given a 4F deferment. God must of shined upon me for this actually made me happy to have failed my way to success. I was now officially a beatnik.
I became a lifeguard and instructor at YMCA East. I taught many kids to swim. I trained star athletes for the Olympics. This put me on the golden throne of sorts. I had the opportunity to regain my health through swimming and diving and generally playing my way through life. This did not last as I thought it should have. The girls were fabulous and wanted me to meet with them behind the fence for some loving after work or during break time. Funny how this was always interrupted.
I had to change my major to be able to get away from the hard sciences like Chem 2B. Dr.Bongiorno did not speak good English. He struggled to communicate a very difficult topic which nearly everyone failed miserably even on the curve. I finally dropped out of the University completely discouraged. I began working at a Creole Restaurant on Bourbon St. That is the time I met Sheila, a Jewish Goddess.
I found out that Bobby Kennedy had dinner with her family the night he was shot at the hotel by Sirhan Sirhan. What this had to do with me I did not know. The shared collective guilt was overwhelming. Sheila invited me to LA. I said I'd come as soon as Spring made it possible to travel there by thumb. In those days, you could go anywhere in the country by thumb, I am jumping ahead somewhat.
I was going to Capdau during those years. I was hanging out with the librarian because he was he best chess player and brutally intelligent. He became my mentor. I was good at art. I made a poster for the library out of burlap covered cardboard lined the frame with bamboo. Confucius says READ in Chinese characters with the English translation below was all it said. I learned how to hook rugs and made a metaphysical design that was 'avant guarde' because it used chess shapes to illustrate a moonscape. This was the year of the moonshot.
Capdau was a different kind of junior high that took football very seriously. The varsity jackets were wine red with black sleeves. Our physical education classes consisted of touch football games that were as exciting as any pro game on TV. Since I was small and skinny I could run a route, stop and turn to get the defender stopped and looking then make the mad dash to the end zone where the ball would be spiraling towards me. Many times, this worked perfectly until the opposing team started double teaming me. We always came up with a new routine. BJ Keifer was always the quarter back because he was disabled in one leg thus he could not run very well. He made up for it by clever ball handling and accurate passing.
I finally had enough of all the running and decided to do something else like be smart. I hung with the best and the brightest. Besides, the showers were always embarrassing since I was a late puber.
Coach Prince was a big man. He held his classes like a boot camp. He was demonstrating wrestling moves and pins one day. I just wrecked the Biscayne Chevrolet in a grinding crash and was still feeling pretty beat up. He called me to the mat. I was suddenly under this mass of fat as he flipped me around like a great white does a seal. It was over as I crawled back to my seat barely breathing and clutching my ribs. No one knew why except Frank P. who shouted out I nearly killed two niggers last night. Thanks Frank... you are such a helpful asshole.
Coach Prince was a big man. He held his classes like a boot camp. He was demonstrating wrestling moves and pins one day. I just wrecked the Biscayne Chevrolet in a grinding crash and was still feeling pretty beat up. He called me to the mat. I was suddenly under this mass of fat as he flipped me around like a great white does a seal. It was over as I crawled back to my seat barely breathing and clutching my ribs. No one knew why except Frank P. who shouted out I nearly killed two niggers last night. Thanks Frank... you are such a helpful asshole.
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