Sharing Memories (Week 39): Big Courage in a Small Package

Frank Dalton Powell Jr

Frank Jr. was about 7 years old in this photo. He was small in stature (my Uncle Elton called him "Peanut" back then) but BIG in courage. He wasn't afraid of anyone. Sometimes his courage got him into some rather precarious situations with bigger boys. Particularly two brothers who lived just two houses down from ours. They were Kevin and Darrel, the neighborhood "bullies". There were many disagreements between them and my younger brother. Time and again the bullies sought reasons to pursue a fight with Frank Jr., and he would not back down. He knew he might get beat up, but he would not back down. Time and again I would have to intervene because these bullies were not going to bring my brother down easily. There have been punches thrown between all of us and I have even suffered a bloody nose by one of the punks, but we still stood up for ourselves. Like most siblings, we may have fought each other like cats and dogs, but when someone else bullied one of us, the others were there to help out. Mom always taught us to defend ourselves and we were brought up that way. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall", she used to say. I probably spent more time defending my siblings than I did defending myself.

Sharing Memories (Week 38): 9 Years Old and Learning

This photo was taken when I was about nine years old.  I hated this picture of me.  I remember whining about my freckles and my hair bangs, how thin and short they had been cut.  Poor Mom, she did her best to curl my hair and fix it, but still I whined. 

At that time, I had become friends with a girl whom lived just a few streets down from me. I learned that her mother was a Girl Scout Leader, so I joined the group. I was officially "bridged" from the Brownies to the Junior Girl Scouts, a group consisting of girls ages nine through eleven. Mrs. Lana was our leader and she was wonderful. She was very involved with the troop and planned several great outings for us. I particularly enjoyed these two years with the troop because we explored so many different areas of interests and learned so much. We went to summer camps, backpacking, created leather goods and other fun activities. Mrs. Lana was very laid back and kind of zany, so she was a load of fun. It was a memorable experience for me. 

Although I still had a lot to learn, by the age of 9 years I had learned a few lessons:
1. I can not have everything that I want, when I want it.
2. Some things are worth waiting for.
3. When Mom says "NO", she usually means it.
4. It pays to know when to avoid crossing the line with Mom and Dad.
5. Sometimes it's easier to get Mom's approval when she's distracted, such as talking on the telephone or watching one of her favorite tv shows.
6. Sometimes those you think you can trust will deceive you.
7. The prettiest girls attract the most attention in social settings.
8. There are greater expectations from the oldest child of the family.
9. The youngest children in the family are usually spoiled the most.
10. Younger siblings can be a royal pain in the butt.
11. Cute boys can be total jerks sometimes.
12. Trying to be a daredevil can have tough consequences.

Sharing Memories (Week 37): Remembering Desegregation

The year was 1970. I was entering 6th grade and would be attending a different school. There had been a lot of turmoil concerning desegregation of the public school systems. I remember hearing adults speak of their concern about their children being forced to attend a different school in order to create racial balance within the school systems. Some threatened to remove their children from school entirely and keep them at home. Racial tensions had been escalating during the 1960's, especially in southern states like Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. Riots and racial disturbances were often the main topics of televised news.

Fear and rebellion against new ideas played a role in the concerns among our white neighbors and family members. These were my first encounters with the concept of prejudice as I watched it reveal its ugly presence among those whom I knew. Until then, I paid no attention to racial differences. I was unconcerned with what was happening in the world outside of my own. Now I had become curious. I was watching and waiting to see how the unfolding events were going to affect our schools and community.

Mom and Dad talked about sending us to a private school across the river. They were greatly concerned about how the desegregation was going to affect us. Mom was driven by fear, partly because of her own misconceptions because of the way she was raised. She worried that her children might be injured because of racial tensions within the schools. She worried about how her children might be influenced by the racial blending. She hated the whole concept of desegregation and felt angry because she could do little to change the course of events. After realizing that the costs of a private school was beyond their means, Mom and Dad decided against it. They would just have to deal with the changes, whether they liked it or not.

Before desegregation, Lincoln Middle School had been an all-black school for grades 6-8. This was a new experience for me... attending a racially mixed school.

At first I was nervous because I didn't know what to expect. I only knew what I had heard up to that point... and it wasn't very good at all. However, my fear over the situation dissipated within a few days. After all, even though the school was now racially blended, we were still separated by our different cultures. The white students continued to stay amongst themselves as did the black students. There was little social mingling among the two groups.

Like the majority of students at Lincoln Middle, I was more concerned with "fitting in" with my peers and less concerned with racial issues. We were at an impressive age when it was important for us to feel accepted by our friends. We were still a little young to understand the concepts of racial equality and desegregation in its entirety. Therefore, our parents were more affected by the changes occuring in society than we were.  

Sharing Memories (Week 36): Man's First Step on the Moon

The date was July 20, 1969.  This day made history in the world of space exploration.  The people of America and the rest of the world tuned in to watch... 

At 4:18 P.M. EDT, Neil Armstrong of the Apollo 11 crew made history by becoming the first man to set foot onto the moon's surface.  His words were captioned in newspapers and magazines nationwide: "That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind".  

I was about ten years old then and remember watching the details of their moon landing on television. I remember thinking of how awesome the event was... how these men must feel, walking on the moon's surface, so far away from home. I imagined what it was like... the thrill and excitement of exploring the unknown, the fame, the fear.

That event occured over 40 years ago. Since then many advances have been made in space exploration. However, as I look back at those very first steps that were made in 1969, I feel proud to be able to say "I remember that"...

Sharing Memories (Week 35): Ice Cream, the Old-Fashioned Way

Just one example of an old-fashioned
manual ice cream churn

One of my favorite childhood memories is the making of old-fashioned vanilla ice cream.  The making of ice cream was a summertime family affair, one in which my siblings and I could participate in together along with our parents.  I recall Mom getting the ingredients all together and spreading them out on the kitchen counter- eggs, vanilla flavoring, condensed milk, pet milk or whole milk and sugar (maybe additional ingredients but I'm uncertain).  She had to first beat all the ingredients together before pouring them into the bowl of the ice cream machine.  Often, my siblings and I would gather around in the kitchen and watch her while asking a thousand and one questions.  Dad would next pour ice and rock salt into the tub, surrounding the center bowl which held the ice cream mixture.  He then laid a large heavy towel across the top of the machine.  Then the churning began.  We each took turns manually turning the crank, forcing the center bowl to spin, while listening to the grinding of the rock salt and ice mixture in the outer tub.  As the mixture began to freeze, it seems the manual churning became harder, and that's when Dad would take over until the ice cream was ready.  

There's nothing quite like the taste
of good, old-fashioned homemade
ice cream- delicious!!!

I don't remember how long preparation time was- perhaps a couple of hours in all, but it seemed to take forever to us kids.  The best part of the project was gathering around together and devouring our bowl of delicious, homemade vanilla ice cream.  What a tasty treat to have on a hot, summer day!  Mom and Dad later purchased an electric ice cream maker which took the hard labor of hand churning away and Mom even became creative with ice cream recipes- I remember she once did some peach ice cream and blueberry ice cream, and from time to time we would have some extras for topping such as chocolate syrup or cookie bits.  I also remember a few ice cream socials with my Stogner family.   Not only was homemade ice cream a cold, delicious way to celebrate summer, it was also a way to celebrate family time and togetherness.  It has been many years since I've had a bowl of the old-fashioned home-churned ice cream but the dessert remains one of my favorites to this day.  I am particularly fond of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream because it at least comes close to the old-fashioned taste I loved as a child ;)

Sharing Memories (Week 34): Bring on the Rain!

While most kids these days can be found indoors during rainy weather, my siblings and I loved summer rain. Not only did rain bring relief from the sweltering heat in southern Louisiana, it brought an opportunity for us to play in the water.  Since the streets in our subdivision would flood with even the slightest amount of rain, a big rainfall was even better for us kids.  Neighborhood kids gathered on the corner curbs where the water was deepest.  We often filled plastic jugs with water and poured it over each other's heads, or we filled balloons with water and bombed each other.  Sometimes we would ride our bikes through the water, making waves.  Speaking of which, we loved it when a pick up truck would pass by, creating even bigger waves.  Of course, if the weather was stormy, along with thunder and lightening, we would have to wait the storm out indoors.  Fortunately, most of the downpours were just simply rain, and they passed through the area as quickly as they came, but the downpours were enough to give us some relief from heat and some summertime fun!

Sharing Memories (Week 33): My "Tagalong" Sister

My sister, Sandy
c. 1967

My sister, Sandy, was about 4 years old in this photo.  Just look at those big, beautiful blue eyes.  She was such a sweet little girl, so humble and eager to please others.  She would go out of her way to do whatever it was her older siblings told her to do, and Frank Jr. and I took advantage of her good nature, too.  We constantly used her as our "gopher" to get this or that and she would do it without complaining.  Children can be mean to each other sometimes, and I was no exception.  I recall those times when my Mom would force me to take my baby sister along to play with my friend Lisa, who lived across the street.  I would get so angry at Mom for making me take her along.  Sandy was about 4 years younger than I, and I felt she was just "in the way".  She didn't know how to play Barbie dolls or board games, and she didn't want to listen to music or watch the same programs on television that Lisa and I watched.  I would make Sandy sit across the room so as not to disturb my friend and I.  She would just sit there and watch us play.  She didn't cry or even whimper about it.  When Lisa and I walked through the neighborhood, I made Sandy walk several feet behind us.  I remember looking back at her and saying, "Tagalong, tagalong, you're nothing but a tagalong".  How mean was that?!!!  Maybe I felt the way I did because I was around my baby sister too much.  We shared the same bedroom and we often had to bathe together when we were young.  It wasn't Sandy's fault, yet I still resented having to "babysit" her when I wanted to spend time with my friends.  As we grew up, Sandy began making her own friends, and, as teens, we rarely spent "sister time" together.  Fortunately, after my children were born, Sandy was often at our house, spending time with us.  My children loved their Aunt Sandy when they were young.  She wrestled with them, took them swimming and spent a great deal of time with them.  During those years, I appreciated my "tagalong" sister and welcomed her presence.  The passing years once again placed distance between us and we didn't spend much time together, that is, until the past couple of years.  Now that we share the same household, we spend a great deal of time in conversation together.  I'm thankful for our relationship and for this opportunity given to us to get to know each other again.  Though we have an occasional dispute or disagreement, I appreciate my "tagalong" sister and I love her dearly.

Sharing Memories (Week 32): Lily White Ruppel Elementary School

I attended the Lily White Ruppel Elementary School in Marrero, Louisiana during the fourth and fifth grades.   I was one of the "new kids" in class when I entered the 4th grade.  I had previously attended first through third grades at Westwego Elementary School.   It was a little difficult for me to make new friends because I was quite bashful during these years. During breaks and lunch, I stayed mostly to myself.  I felt a sense of loss being away from the friends I had come to know in Westwego.  

During 5th grade, I joined the 4-H Club and the Bowling Club. This gave me the opportunity to get to know some of my classmates better and gave me some extracurricular activities to enjoy. The Bowling Club was really fun. One day each week, bowling club members were driven to the bowling lanes in Gretna, Louisiana where we competed in small teams. Of course, most of us didn't bowl well, but we had fun trying!  

Since then, Lily White Ruppel Elementary School changed their academic programs and now it is a school for the "academically gifted".   

Sharing Memories: (Week 31) It's the Ice Cream Man!

This photo is a rather exaggerated version of the ice cream truck that came into our neighborhood, but I just thought it was cute.

How many of you remember the ice cream truck that made neighborhood rounds during the summer?  Oh boy, do I remember those days. Those sweltering, humid, hot days of summer in southern Louisiana when there was not even the slightest breeze blowing. Those days when my siblings and I would turn on the garden hose and drink water from it while soaking ourselves to cool off. Those days when we would have a blast playing under the lawn sprinklers.

All of a sudden, one of us would hear it in the distance... the familiar tune that we knew all so well. We would stop whatever we were doing at the time and start running toward our house. "Mom! Mommmmmmm!!! Here comes the ice cream man!"  "We need some quarters Mom, pleaseeeeeeee!!!"

We would wait impatiently while she dug through the various things she kept her change in... a cup in the kitchen cabinet, her purse, a ceramic dish on her dresser.  "Hurry Mommmmmmmm, he's coming, he's coming".

"Okay, okay, patience please", She would retort back.

Once we had the silver pieces of change in hand, outside we would dash looking for the ominous sign... the bright-colored truck with the speaker on top of it. We would stand on the curb of our driveway, waiting, thinking... trying to decide what we wanted ahead of time.

When the ice cream truck pulled over beside us, we would look at all of the bright pictures on the side which depicted what was available. Mom usually wanted us to bring her an ice cream sandwich. I liked the "Sidewalk Sundaes" or the "Fudgesicles".

After getting our goods, we would sit down on the lawn and enjoy... yumyum!

This was only one of the few things that I found great about the summer :)

Sharing Memories: (Week30) "Mounds" of Fun

 I was probably about eight or nine years old when my family moved from Westwego to Marrero, Louisiana.  As mentioned in my previous Sharing Memories post, the subdivision in Marrero was fairly new when we moved there.  Several vacant lots were available on either side of our house.  

When a lot was sold and ready to built upon, dump trucks unloaded red clay dirt for the foundation of the new house.  With a huge mound of fresh dirt nearby, my siblings and I became pretty creative in ways to use the dirt for our playtime benefits.  For example, the dirt mound made a perfect hill for jumping our bikes. We posed ourselves several feet from the mound and quickly pushed our pedals as we gained forward momentum then rushed up the mound. At the top of the mound, we sternly pulled up our handlebars and popped our wheels to make a crash landing on the dirt pile below. It was all fun until the day I had my first bicycle wreck. I lost control while gaining forward speed. My bike slammed into a wooden crossbar, causing me to flip over my handlebars and land on the concrete sidewalk below. Big Ouch!!! I was dizzy and hurting. I could barely stand up. Of course, I went crying to Mom, blood oozing from both my legs and elbows.  As she cleaned my wounds, the damage was visible... I had terrible open abrasions on each knee and each elbow. She put ointment on them and bandaged them well. I could barely walk for a few days without a great deal of pain. Needless to say, I was much more careful on my bike afterwards.

From the tall dirt mounds, Frank Jr. and I also played "King of the Hill". I'm not sure if this was a common game among kids back then, but we sort of made our own rules up. Several of us would gather atop the mound and wrestle with each other, competing to gain control of the hill. We would push and shove, kick and squirm until one of us was left standing and this officially made the winner the King of the Hill. When we were finished playing in all of that red dirt, we were pure filthy. I wonder how often Mom scorned us beneath her breath while she was trying to remove the red dirt stains from our clothing.  

Too bad these shirts weren't available when we were
children- it would have made Mom's laundry job much easier!

Sometimes we would create sculptures from the red dirt by scooping out the clay clumps and forming them into some amusing little people. When we grew tired of doing that, the little clay people were rolled in our hands to form balls which we threw at each other. My sister, Sandy, was quite satisfied as she sometimes sat at the bottom of the dirt mound with her plastic cups and spoons, filling them up then emptying them out, over and over again.

Frank Jr. liked his "G.I. Joe" figures and accessories. He spent a lot of time on the mounds with his little friends and their GI Joe's. They would dig holes in the mound and pretend to be in a war zone. By the time they were finished playing, they looked like they had been in a war zone ;)

As the neighborhood became filled with new houses, the dirt mounds slowly disappeared. Within a couple of years, we had to find other ways to amuse ourselves. And that, we did.

Sharing Memories: (Week 29) From Westwego to Marrero

Point A, Westwego, LA to Point B, Marrero, LA
Located on the west bank of New Orleans

Point A, Dolores Drive; located off Ames Boulevard in Marrero

Mom and Dad decided to purchase their first home. In the summer of '68, our family moved from Westwego to Marrero, just a few miles across the west bank of New Orleans. Marrero was a CDP (census-designated place) meaning that it lacked a separated municipal government but otherwise physically resembled incorporated places. In other words, Marrero was a settled area with a concentrated population but it was not legally incorporated under the laws of the state.

Our little house was located on Dolores Drive in Marrero. It was only about 900 square ft. with three bedrooms and one bath. Frank Jr and Tony shared a bedroom furnished with a "trundle bed" and Sandy and I shared a bedroom furnished with twin beds. The living area and kitchen were very small, as were all of the rooms but we managed to live comfortably there for about five years. The house was located in a subdivision composed of multiple houses in the same basic design and price range. Back then, the subdivision was fairly new. When we moved into our house, there was no lawn grass yet. I remember Mom and Dad planting grass sprigs soon after we settled in. They also had a metal fence placed around the back yard. This was a big deal to us kids. We now had a yard to call our own. We had a place for a swing set and for a future dog. We had a bigger yard to play ball. We had a small patio for a barbeque grill and a patio set. We even had a covered garage where we could store our bicycles, tricycles and household junk. For the first time, I would be riding the school bus instead of walking to school. I would be missing my old school friends yet making new friends.

The bottom photo depicts Dolores Drive as it is now.  When we first moved there, many of the lots were still vacant.  South of Dolores Drive was woodlands- Jeanne Street and Carrie Lane didn't exist back then.  The area has grown vastly with many more streets and subdivisions.  I can't even imagine having to mull my way through all these neighborhoods looking for my own children when they were growing up.  It was difficult enough keeping up with them in a small town...

Sharing Memories: (Week 28) Memories of Daddy Charles

Daddy Charles, as I like to remember him

During the mid 1960's, I felt very close to my Daddy Charles. I was a young, innocent and naive little girl. I was too young to understand the complex nature of the relationship between he and I, and my Mom and Dad (Frank).  I was too young to understand why I had two fathers, yet my siblings had just one. I did not comprehend the reasons why I saw Daddy Charles only occasionally but I lived with Dad. It was quite confusing for me at such a tender age. 

All I knew then was that I was so happy to see Daddy Charles. When I was with him during my school vacations and holidays, I felt that I had most of his attention, all to myself. Not only did I have his attention, but I had the attention of my paternal grandmother, "Grandma Ivy" and my uncles, "Uncle Shelby", "Uncle Jewel", and "Uncle Hollis". They doted on me, spoiled me just a little and brought me places with them.

When Daddy Charles worked at the furniture plant, I remember hearing the screeching whistle blow at the plant, indicating that it was time for lunch. I would hide behind the front door at Grandma Ivy's house waiting for him to walk in. As he entered the door, I would pounce on him from behind. He would pretend to jump out of his skin then lift me up high into the air and put me on his shoulders. I rode upon Daddy Charles' shoulders countless times as he wandered through the house or into the yard. Every now and then he would bring me a little goody home on Fridays when he got paid.

On his days off, if the weather was clear and warm enough, we would go fishing. Sometimes we went "digging for bait" before leaving for our fishing trip. He would grab a shovel and off to the woods we went. He would find the right spot where the soil was dark and rich and he began digging. Soon enough, he found enough worms to fill a small tin can. Then we headed to the river, just he and I. Sometimes we would fish from the bank of the river using our cane poles and other times we would take his boat out. He always baited my hooks for me because I couldn't stand those "squishy worms". We always caught at least a few fish to bring home. I would watch him patiently as he cleaned the fish while asking at least a hundred questions about them. He would later fry the fish along with some hush puppies and we would sit at the dinner table and pig out. I loved my fishing trips with Daddy Charles. They were a barrel of  fun.

Daddy Charles played the guitar as a hobby and often he would take out his old box guitar and pick a tune on it then sing to me. These are some of my favorite memories of him. I would sit beside him and watch him as he sang "Good Time Charlie's Got the Blues" or "Bad Bad Leroy Brown". He also knew the tunes to several gospel songs. I remember a particular evening that I saw tears fall from his eyes as he sang. I felt so sad for him but he would not talk about why he was tearful.  Now, I think I understand the tears.

Daddy Charles was also very creative. He knew how to carve figures from wood. He made wooden whistles and airplanes. He enjoyed working with his hands and worked with saws and furniture most of his life. I have often thought that's where I get my creativity from.

I remember once when I was talking about my Daddy Charles to my siblings. Actually, I was bragging about how he bought me stuff and took me places. Perhaps I was in an argument with my siblings for some reason and wanted a comeback, I don't know. Anyway, I bragged about Daddy Charles so much at those moments, not realizing that my Dad (Frank) was in the next room and could hear everything that I was saying. Mom told me to hush and that's when it hit me, what I had said, what my Dad may have heard. I felt so guilty. I didn't want to hurt Dad's feelings for anything because he was so good to me. I made an effort after that to chose my words carefully.

After Daddy Charles married his current wife, he and I slowly drifted apart, for reasons I choose not to discuss here. Life went on, I grew up and married, and for years Daddy Charles and I barely kept in touch. There were moments- spurts, when he attempted to re-establish our relationship, but those times of reconciliation were usually brief. I was always happy to see him, but in a sense, it was as if we were strangers. I wish the situation had been different for us and now I feel so much has been lost, so much time has been wasted over the years. It was a situation in which we both lost. At least, however, I have the wonderful memories of time well spent with him as a child.

Sharing Memories: (Week 27) A Conversation With Granny

My granny, Susie Johnson Simmons

I spent a lot of time with Granny when she lived near us in Westwego. If my memory serves me correctly (which I can't always guarantee) Granny lived in an apartment above a bakery, just down the street from us. It was a tiny but cozy place with only enough room for a few pieces of furniture. I spent the night with her often because I just enjoyed being with her. Perhaps I enjoyed the "quiet" at her place too. It felt good to get away from the noisy atmosphere at our house sometimes.

I would bundle up with Granny in her bed and either read or color some pictures as she dozed off to sleep. Soon after I would fall asleep beside her. The next morning we would go to the bakery and she would buy us some doughnuts or rolls and milk. She would then either drive me back home or she would drive me to school.

Granny just always made me feel special. We had a bond, unlike the relationship she had with my other siblings. Perhaps it was because Mom and I lived with her for a while when I was a baby so therefore she spent more time with me. I loved her so very much. I respected her. I knew she felt the same about me. I recall once that while on a visit in Mississippi, Granny was driving me to my Grandma Ivy's house. I was probably about 5 or 6 years old at the time. On the way, I brought up the subject of death. This was normal as most children that age become curious about death and the meaning of it. I guess I was beginning to realize that death is a permanent situation.

Of course, I am unable to recall all the details of our conversation that day, just bits and pieces, but it went something like this:

"Granny, where will you go when you die?", I quietly asked her.

"Well I hope I will go to heaven to be with Jesus", she replied with a slight smile.

"When will that be, Granny?"

"I'm not sure baby. I hope it will be a long time", she answered.

After considering her answers, I remember saying to her, "Granny, when you die, I want to die too. I want to go wherever you go".

Then she tried to explain to me, "But you're still young. I am getting older. One day it will be time for me to go live with Jesus. I will be happy and I will be okay. Then one day when you are old, you can come and live with me in Heaven".  

"But Granny, I don't want you to leave me, ever." I said.  I remember feeling sad at that moment while thinking about her leaving me forever.

There was silence until we arrived at Grandma Ivy's house. As Granny took me inside, she proceeded to tell Grandma Ivy about our conversation in the car. She wiped a few tears from her eyes as she talked.  I remember her saying something like, "How do you tell a child so young that one day you will have to leave them?". After I watched her drive away, I felt worried about Granny. I didn't want anything to happen to her. It weighed heavily on my mind for some unknown reason. Maybe it was just a sense of insecurity, being a child facing the realization that death might come and take her away. Fortunately, it would be a few more years before God called her home.

Sharing Memories: (Week 26) The Huey P. Long Bridge

Aerial view of the Huey P. Long bridge

Opened in 1935, the bridge was named for an extremely popular and notorious governor, Huey P. Long who had just been assassinated on September 8 of that year. It is a cantilevered steel through truss bridge that carries a two-track railroad line over the Mississippi River with two lanes of US 90 on each side of the central track.

The bridge is a favorite railfan location and is the longest railroad bridge in the U.S. Most drivers in the New Orleans area hate it because of the narrow 9-foot wide lanes without shoulders. Also, the two vehicular roadways shift inwards when approaching the superstructure on the East Bank side. The high volume of traffic on the bridge makes things worse at times considering how narrow the lanes are.

When there is a train crossing, it can become quite frightening when approaching the superstructure at the peak of the monstrous bridge. The noise is horrid and the structure becomes shaky.

I have been across this bridge countless times as a child. I despised it. I feared it. It was like a huge monster that terrorized me. A monster that I could not run from nor hide from. I had to face it everytime we crossed the riverbank. I have had nightmares about the mighty monster, even after becoming an adult. This may seem a bit crazy but it's true. Fortunately, it's been a long time since I've had such a nightmare. Although writing about it may bring the haunting back. Yikes!!!

One would just have to experience it to know what I'm talking about. If you're willing to take a dare, get in your car or pick-up truck and cross it on a weekday about 5:00 p.m., at the peak of traffic. Hopefully there will be a train going across as well, so you may experience the full effect of the entire trip across the Huey P. Long bridge. Wait... the "full effect" would also include a traffic accident on the bridge while you are stuck there for nearly an hour with a train crossing over. The "shake, rattle and roll" effect will make you feel like you've just boarded a small wooden vessel in the midst of a tropical storm (okay, just a tiny bit of exaggeration here). If it's your first time, you may want to take your Xanax at least 30 minutes prior to crossing it... or have a pint of Jack Daniels, that may help :)

Sharing Memories: (Week 25) Brownie Girl Scout

About 1966-67, Brownie GS

The Brownie Girl Scouts was an outlet for me to use some of my creativity and meet others my age. I truly enjoyed attending the meetings and going on fun trips with a bunch of other girls. The Girl Scout leader, Mrs. Betty, lived right up the street from us and she had two daughters close to my age, Theresa and Debbie. After getting to know them well enough, I was allowed to sometimes spend the night with them and we had a ball! We were allowed to stay up a little late as long as we behaved ourselves and kept the noise down. We would get a big plate out and fill it up with snacks from the fridge or the cabinets. Then we would pile up in their bedroom and watch television or listen to the radio. We played card games, board games or did crafty stuff such as creating pompoms from yarn. They had a few cats and a dog and sometimes we would play silly with them, dressing them up in doll clothing.

However, we were NOT always good. Theresa and Debbie had a few little tricks up their sleeves sometimes. For instance, they would make prank phone calls to people. Yep, the famous "Prince Albert in the can" joke was just one of them. They also enjoyed experimenting with their mothers makeup. We would try on eyeshadows, rouges, and false eyelashes. We would find one of her bras and slip it on, then stuff it with toilet paper. Next came the clamp on earrings. When we were finished dressing up, we looked like miniature hookers from Bourbon Street. We then turned on some music and danced around in their bedroom, acting like silly little girls. Oh, but what fun it was!

If we got a little too loud, we would hear their mom call out... "Okay girls, what are you into?"

"Oh nothing, Mom... sorry, we'll turn the music down", one of them would reply as we all snickered.

We went on some great field trips with our Girl Scout troop. Some of them included a trip to the the Shrine Brothers Circus and a camping trip in Slidell. Mom and Dad were very supportive of our troop, helping us out with field trips and such when they could. They came along on the camping trip to Slidell. We stayed there the weekend... swimming, learning how to build a campfire, roasting weiners and marshmallows, splitting into teams and playing games.

Those were the "good ole days"... just pure simple fun. So why did I have to grow up???

Sharing Memories: (Week 24) My Friend Lois

 The Mystery Date Game was popular with Lois and I

My friend Lois lived across the yard from us in a duplex facing ours. She was about 2 years or so older than me but only one grade above me in school. We usually walked to school together and spent a great deal of time together... until her family moved. Her father was an alcoholic. I remember that he stayed gone a lot and when he did come home, he usually had a beer in his hand and also smelled like one. Her mother drank too, but I don't think she drank as heavy or as often.

Lois was a very pretty girl with tan skin and long black wavy hair. I admired her long thick hair and often wished mine was like hers. She was an only child and had a bedroom of her own filled with all sorts of games and such. She had a record player and we often sat in her room playing games while listening to music such as tunes by The Beatles and The Monkees. One of our favorite board games was Mystery Date. Another was Hands Down. We shared a lot of girl talk, Lois and I. She seemed to know a lot more about things than I did. 

When I heard the news that Lois was moving, I was sad and depressed for a while. She and I had become close friends, mainly because we lived within a few steps of each other. I missed her greatly when she was gone.

A few years later, I was at another friends house... and I saw a girl playing next door whom reminded me of Lois. As I walked closer to her, I realized that it was indeed Lois. She didn't recognize me because I had grown quite a bit since she had last seen me. We talked a lot about our old times together and laughed about the truths she had exposed me to. Her mother had remarried and was doing well. Lois was attending school and doing just great. She agreed to keep in touch with me after that, but she didn't. I have sometimes wondered whatever happened to her.

Hands Down was a popular game in the 1960's

Sharing Memories: (Week 23) Fourth and Last

Tony Duane Powell

Mom stood near the door with her big suitcase at her feet. She summoned us to her.

"I'm gonna be gone for a few days but when I come back I will have a new baby", she explained while reaching down to give us a hug.

"Where are you going to get the baby?", I asked curiously.

"Well I'm going to the hospital. But don't worry, Mama will be home soon", she said with a smile.

"Is the baby sick?", I asked.

"Well, no", she replied "but that's where they keep babies until they are ready to go to a new home".

"Oh", I said. I asked no further questions but my curiosity was still hanging on.

Geez, here I was nearly 7 years old and still didn't know the truth about where babies come from! What does that say about how much things have changed in our society? We were not prepared for the addition of another baby in our household... it was a sudden announcement. We were not informed that Mom had a baby growing in her "tummy", therefore we didn't experience the touch of our hands on Mom's tummy while the baby moved or kicked. We weren't given the opportunity to participate in the excitement of choosing baby items for the nursery or making up names for the baby. Matter of fact, we didn't even have a baby nursery back then. Our new baby would sleep in a baby crib next to Mom and Dad's bed. So Mom disappears for a couple of days and shows back up with a new baby? Yes, that's the way it was back then. It was just accepted that way. I don't know if I even heard the word "pregnant" by the time I was 7 years old. I personally think that siblings should be prepared for the arrival of a new baby and should be given the opportunity to participate in the excitement of it while the mother is pregnant. This gives siblings some idea of what to expect when the time comes.  But, back then it deemed inappropriate to discuss pregnancy with children.

The next day Mom spoke with all of us on the phone, telling us about the new baby. She named him Tony. He had a little bit of blonde hair and blue eyes, just like the rest of us. She would be home in a couple of more days with our baby brother. It was February, 1966.

As promised, Mom arrived home a couple of days later with our new baby brother. We were all excited about him. The following months he would grow quickly and we spent a lot of time after school playing with him while Mom cooked supper. When Tony was eleven months old, he was diagnosed with spinal meningitis and became a patient in the pediatric isolation ward at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. I will write more about this in a future post.  Mom and Dad went through some very difficult trials during this period in their lives and their marriage. I will always believe that Tony's recovery was delivered through the power of our mighty God.

Sharing Memories: (Week 22) Flying Kites on the Levee

I remember the year Mom and Dad bought us all kites and decided to take us to the levee so we would have a wide open space to enjoy them. The strong March winds were perfect for kite flying and the sun was out, warming things up just a bit. We patiently waited while Dad put our kites together and tied the string to them just so. Frank Jr and I proudly took our kites to the levee and we started running with them, down the ragged path... until they lifted higher and higher in the air... and the breeze carried them farther away from us. Then we stopped and smiled as we watched them floating way above us, rocking back and forth in colorful waves against the blue skies.

Sharing Memories: (Week 21) The Corner Store

Directly behind our duplex home in Westwego was a small store owned by our old dear friend, Mr. Freddy. We kids thought it was pretty cool to be within a few steps from an assortment of goodies... candy, cookies, drinks. Our parents were not so thrilled about it. They kept a fairly tight reign on our budget but would occasionally give us a dime or a quarter to spend. Wow... we could buy a lot for a quarter back in those days! There were candy bars for a nickle or a dime, giant cookies for a nickle, and sodas for a dime. There was a variety of penny candy such as bubble gum, peppermints, stick candy and taffy. Sometimes I could get a small brown paper bag full of penny candy for a quarter. I remember the gingerbread cookies that came in the twin pack for a dime. Oh, and the candy cigarettes... we thought those were so cool! How many times did my brother and I sit on the steps of our porch "puffing" on our candy cigarettes? Yep, that's what started my bad habit... the candy cigarettes are to blame! Some of my favorites back then were the jujubees, the Nesco wafers, the candy necklaces, and those little wax bottles filled with the sweet colored juice that looked like miniature coke bottles.

Mr. Freddy was a kind elderly man who always took the time to ask us how we were doing, how was school, and so forth. Since he had owned and operated that little store for many years, he knew everyone in the neighborhood. Everyone knew Mr. Freddy as well. He offered more than just goodies.. he had a meat case and dairy case as well. I can remember seeing him at the meat counter in his white apron, slicing luncheon meat while talking about the local events or weather. He always had a warm smile and jolly attitude. I have often wondered about Mr. Freddy and his store... how much longer did he keep the store open after we moved away? How much longer did he live? I wrote to a couple of historians in the area to see if they knew anything about him or had any old photos to share but as of yet I have received no answers.

Remember the Pixy Stix?

We couldn't convince our parents
to put candy in our lunches daily...

Cracker Jack was popular
with my siblings and I

It all started with the candy cigarettes...

Sharing Memories: (Week 20) Westwego Elementary School

Some things change very little over time. Westwego Elementary School still looks the same as I remember it, back in the 1960's. It was built in 1940 and still serves the same function... I find that incredible. This building is nearly 70 years old! I attended this school from first through third grades.

My first grade teacher was Mrs. Marquis. I remember her being a stocky older woman with short gray hair. She had a double chin that drooped with loose skin. Ugh.. like mine will be in just a few short years. She wore red lipstick and black eyeglasses. She was stern yet kind- she would not have allowed students to act unruly in her classroom. Of course, back then teachers were shown more respect, from both students and their parents. I remember those first grade readers... "Run, Jane, run!" "See Spot go!".

My second grade teacher was Mrs. Songy. She was a tall thin lady, probably in her 40's back then. She was very plain and also strict.  Her classroom was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.  If one of the students got out of line, Mrs. Songy was quick to get her paddle out.   She was serious about the rules in her class room, but she earned everyone's respect. 

During third grade, I had a wonderful teacher... Mrs. Marrero. She was a lively younger woman, probably in her 20's. She was also very attractive, with her blonde pixie cut hair and blue eyes. The little boys often fell for her. She was enthusiastic about teaching and went the extra mile to ensure that we understood the lessons. Mrs. Marrero encouraged summer reading programs, penmanship programs and volunteered to stay after school to assist students as needed. While in third grade, I was the Spelling Bee Queen. I looked forward to our spelling bees because Mrs. Marrero always had a neat little "prize" for the winner and runner-ups. I breezed through them, beating out the other nerdy kids every time.

Behind the school there was a huge shady playground. During our breaks, the girls would usually play hop-scotch or jumprope, weather permitting. Sometimes we would split into teams and have a hop-scotch contest. Our little hop-scotch maze was drawn out onto dirt with limbs from the nearby trees. I wonder if modern kids even know what hop-scotch is. The ropes we used for jump rope were those heavy straw-colored ones... what a good way to build arm strength! We had certain little tunes we would sing along to as we jumped. I don't remember them now. Then there were the little hand games we played. As we clapped our hands together up and down, in and out, we sang more little tunes, and the one who missed a clap lost the game. There was a "chinese jump rope" game we played as well. We used a big stretchy colored rubberband that was pulled taut between two of us while the player held the band around her ankles and performed various jumps with it. We had to follow a certain pattern and when we missed a jump we were counted out. The person who accomplished the most jumps correctly in the pattern won.

In the spring, we would have "free" days when we would gather on the playground and have lunch on the grounds. We were each responsible for bringing a boxed lunch and the teacher would number the boxes. We would draw a number and find the box that matched it. We would then sit in groups on checkered blankets and have lunch with our teachers. There were times I wished I was able to keep my own lunch though. 

Of course, we had our little crushes then. Boys would pick on the girls, and the girls would whisper to each other about the boys. Love notes were exchanged... "I love you, do you love me? Check yes or no".  I had my share of crushes... but most of the time I was too shy to let the boy know it.

One of the things I remember best about those days is the sense of respect. Children respected adults. We were expected to behave in school, or else! Teachers did not have to deal with smart-mouthed kids who made the classroom their personal two-ring circus. If someone stepped out of line, they were either paddled by the teacher or sent to the principal's office... to be paddled. Then, when they arrived home their parents usually paddled them more, or punished them. We were taught more responsibility toward our fellow students and school property. It is far different in some schools of today.

During the mid-60's, the schools remained segregated. I don't recall seeing children of any race other than white while attending Westwego Elementary. Soon that would all change.

Example of a chinese jump rope

Typical hop scotch drawing