And so it began. . .

June, 1959. After just two days and I was beginning to think that being in hot humid Houma would be good after all. At nearly nine years old I was terrified of those beings known as "coonies" (no that is not a racist comment....well maybe it is) (More on that term later). But here I was at some park and the sounds and smells were awakening something from within my soul. I was born. Then the next day came and my throat was sore I could not swallow and my neck was swollen as if it was some form of deformed squash. The whispers from my parents confirmed my worst fears. " He has the mumps". I remember rolling over and burying my face into my pillow and praying. Not the "God bless mommy and daddy" type of prayer, but the kind like " Please God do not let this be true" The following weeks were spent indoors at the Bayou Chateau ( I learned many years later the the motel served as the towns local whore house).
When I was finally "well" I was treated to a fishing trip to Bayou Black. I caught more fish than I had ever had before. As I write this I realize that was the first time I had ever caught any fish. It was thrilling to have a large bucket of fish. But I was faced with an odd choice when my father informed me that I could clean the fish and we could eat them or we could go to Dulac. Of course I wanted to clean the fish and eat them . I had no idea what Dulac was or where it was. As I was mulling the choice I witnessed,to my dismay, dear old Dad pouring my dead fishes into their watery grave. So Dulac it was.
Dulac Louisiana was (and almost is today) at the "end of the road" ( State Road 57)in south Louisiana. On the left hand side of the road and just before crossing another bayou, was a place I grew up to know as Dulac. It has been nearly 50 years but I still remember the feel of the oyster shell parking lot and it's distinctive smell after a summer rain. As we walked inside, those smells and sounds woke my soul once again. I was baptized.

"Well you learn to dance with your rock and roll ...but you learn to love at the fais do-do" .



The tables were small and surrounded by lots of people. As we sat at our table. it was quickly covered with pages from the local daily rag and followed by buckets of boiled shell fish. I sat next to a daughter of one of my Dad's fellow employees. And in front of me was my very own brown bottle of "Orange Crush". "You two need to go dance" was what I was hearing as the Cajun music filled the room. The thought of dancing with a girl was not exactly a good one. I was shown how to peel a shrimp and open a crab and then was informed if I wanted to eat anything else, I had better be prepared to peel or crack my own. I felt natures call so I was directed to the "outdoor" bathroom. I still recall the long metal receptacles that served as urinals. As I sat down again at the table I reached for my brown bottle expecting that tangy sweet orange taste. Instead I grabbed another brown bottle. I had taken a big swallow of a cold Jax. I was confirmed. Dear old Dad thought it was funny and my mother was in shock. But I liked it. From the first mistaken taste, I liked it.
That day, I went fishing, ate sea food, danced with a girl and tasted beer for the first time.
My Rating: Fishing--VERY GOOD; Sea Food --AWESOME; Dancing --Embarrassing, but cool as hell : Beer -- AWESOME* and LIFE ALTERING This Beer is no longer brewed (Thanks be to God) thus it is not available. They stopped brewing in the early 1970's. It was brewed at the Jackson Brewery located along the banks of the Mississippi in the Vieux Carre. The buildings are now an upscale shopping mall.

* Throughout the years and up until the Fabachers stopped brewing Jax-Lax my opinion of it dropped considerably, but more on that later.

And so it began.
And now with this, my very first blog, ... So it begins.

Peace, The Third