Marjorie Albert
August 17, 2017
Get in my BELLY!
August 17, 2017
The time span I report about includes the Great Depression, World War II, the death of a President, the assassination of another one and despite beautiful names like Camille, Hilda, Betsy and Katherine, those gals brought our area death, destruction, floods and tornadoes.
Politically, one Louisiana Governor was assassinated, two others went to jail.
Not a pleasant way to start a column, but the subject disturbed and deeply upset me. Reading about self-inflicted deaths of young people especially from our area has become an epidemic and experts nationwide are searching for causes, reasons, logic and ground for such drastic actions, and I hope they find them, because I have throughout my life carried the memory of having witnessed one when I was about 9 years old.
My Dad was a shrimp trawler and there was trouble in the industry in 1938. The price paid trawlers was about $6 per barrel. A barrel was 210 pounds and the price was set by the factory owners who had a monopoly and enforced it. I believe that would be against the law today, but that was then and the trawlers formed a union and went on strike. That story is outstandingly told in Glen Pitre’s movie ‘$8.50’ (huit piece ET demi).
Cut Off’s own also is known for other movies about Cajuns like “Yellow Fever” and “Belizaire.” (Glen used local talent and Sheriff Duffy Breaux portrayed 1938 Lafourche Parish sheriff Dr. Thomas Stark.)
The trawlers lost and it took World War II to bring them decent prices.
My Dad did not like trouble, so he quit trawling when the trouble started and took a job delivering Texaco gas and oil for his cousin, Nat Collins, Sr. Since it was not a school day, he picked me up to join on his deliveries, which he knew I loved. Not so that day. The road ahead was blocked by a crowd and I saw men trying to revive a man who had evidently drowned. He was recognized as one of Dad’s good friends and distant relative. “Roosevelt” a man shouted. “We’ve been trying to revive him for 20 minutes, but I’m sure he’s dead. We need your truck to bring him to Dr. Gravois’s office.” Dad moved oil drums and they lifted the victim and put him in the back of the truck. “Don’t look” Dad said, but I did and I saw the body and I’ll never forget how still and white he was.
As we drove we were told “we were playing cards and he asked me to tie his hands behind his back to play a game with his children. He was smiling so I went along. He had lost his job and had been depressed but commit suicide? Bon Dieu! Non, non, non. A few minutes later someone came in and said somebody just killed himself.” No one saw him so it could have been 10 or 15 minutes before we dragged him up. We been trying to revive him but he is not responding.” Dad drove to the doctor.
Dr. Gravois examined him, declared him dead and called for the coroner in Thibodaux. We were told we had to stay as witnesses. I sat in the next room and could see him whenever the door opened. A long hour and a half later three men with black suits, ties and hats entered and shook my hand. “I’m Sheriff Dr. Stark and this is Coroner Dr. Charles Barker. (He would later become Sheriff and would be defeated by Cut Off citizen Frank Ducos in the election of 1948. I learned that the third man was Dr. Stark’s chief deputy Eddie Ste Marie, who would also later become sheriff .
About six men took the body to an ambulance and were off. They had asked us a few questions but let us go. What a story I had to tell Mom, but Dad said, “I’ll tell her, she was friends with his family.”
I was unusually quiet the rest of the day as I pondered the event. I knew what death was playing cowboys and Indians, but this was real and I cried myself to sleep. It was quite a heavy burden for a 9 year old. BYE NOW!
Louisiana hasn’t always been a clean place politically, as Leroy Martin discusses in this week’s column. He also discusses a great tragedy he witnesses.
