Gulfport, Mississippi

Gulfport, Mississippi.... I have such fond memories of the place.

It's the spot where I started to feel like an "adult".

When I was in high school I lived about an hour North of Gulfport. To date myself a little, at this time there was not a casino in the area.

In fact, years later when my husband and I drove there on the way to somewhere else, I thought I had lost my mind. I couldn't find the beach where I knew it was. My husband started giving me "The look" and finally I realized that these giant floating casinos were all pulled up to what used to be the spot I'd turn into a crispy critter every summer.

When I used to visit, it was all beach, and tacky strip centers and one big mall. This mall was 4 times as big as the one I had to drive to Hattiesburg for so I loved going to it. Gulfport did have some beautiful antibellum homes quite close to the beach, most turned into hotels and a few as tourist walk-thrus. In the 80s it still had a bit of old world charm to it. It was a small town that happened to be near a navel base and the beach.

The beach was not the best in the world, in fact it tended to have cinder blocks underneath the water and that made it a little tricky. The water was always just a bit murky so you couldn't see what you were banging into - or what was banging into you.

But it was there I felt so terribly independant and grown-up. The reason was that it was the one place that was "away" from home, but that I could drive to without my parents. I could go there and spend the day as my own person, not a teen-ager asking to go places with Mom and Dad. You'll remember from my memory of Dauphin Island, Mom and Dad hated sand.



I felt, at the ripe old age of 16, so dern "mature" as I piled my friends in my car and proceeded to drive for an hour South. Then we'd get to the beach, pile out onto the sand, slather with tanning oil and watch the Navy Men (!) on leave as we crisped up on the beach.

Afterword we'd all pile back into the car, head for pizza hut and onward to the mall to spend whatever pittance we had leftover from gas and lunch.

Finally, we'd pile one last time into my un-airconditioned car and head onward - home to the woods. Until the next weekend.

I hear that Gulfport is nearly destroyed now by the hurricane and I mourn this as it was a place with such great memories of the transition from being a child to becoming adult.

Bourbon Street, Beignets and Almost Being Run Over by a Trolley

I have many memories of New Orleans. Even though I never called it home, I spent many hours there during my college years.

I came of age in New Orleans, saw my first voodoo shop in New Orleans, saw a new year/new decade come in in New Orleans and hit my college football coach (by accident, I swear) in the Super Dome during the 1989-1990 Sugar Bowl.

Those are but a few examples. Let me explain.

I was a member of the Million Dollar Band in the late 80's and early 90's and one of the many benefits of being a band geek was traveling to the away games and performing at half-time. Every other year, we would head down to Baton Rouge, LA, and invariably, New Orleans for one night of partying. If my mamma had only knew...

Now Pat O'Briens was a frequent stop. The Hurricanes were tasty, loaded and very popular. No one could resist Paddy O's. If you are reading this, Andy, you remember that trip.

The Cafe du Monde, near Jackson Square had the best beignets, the only beignets, that I had ever tasted. I remember their powdery-sugariness melting in my mouth and the ambiance was unlike anything I had experienced. It tasted of jazz and the slow moving Mississippi. It tasted of Cajun and French. And it tasted like life.

Speaking of hitting my football coach at the Jan. 1st, 1990 Sugar Bowl game...it was an accident, I swear! We were doing the pre-game routine (I was in the colorguard and "spun a flag") when out of the blue, I hit something hard and solid that made my flag fly away from me. As I looked up I noticed Coach Bill Curry and his police guards running past. Now, technically, it could have been on of the police I hit....but...it could have been Coach Curry as well. I will never know for sure, of course, unless I find some video footage focused on...me?

Back to New Orleans...

Jackson Square is situated above the banks of the Mississippi River. It "lies at the heart of the French Quarter or Vieux Carré (pronounced "v-yer ka-ray"). This rectangular section of the city marks the site of the original settlement of New Orleans in 1721." (courtesy of UNC School of Information and Library Sciences) I remember the cathedral, the swollen Mississippi, the artists set up all around the square.

The Square has many civil war cannons decorating it's lawns and sidewalks. I perched myself on one and watched the New Year ball go down on the Jax Brewery building, ringing in a new year and a new decade. It was a special time for me. Needless to say, I didn't realize then that it would be the last time I visited New Orleans.

I remember paying $20 to use the bathroom in the French Quarter. You have to understand, at the time there were no public restrooms, and probably still aren't any. So, if you need to use the facilities, you either go back to your hotel, or you park yourself in a bar or restaurant. And there is a cover charge. No one allows people just off the streets to use their restrooms.

I was no exception. I held it as long as I could that New Years Eve, but after drinking so much bourbon and Coke, going to the bathroom becomes a quest. During New Years, the crowd almost equals that of Mardi Gras, so I basically swam against the current of people to reach a door leading into, God-Knows-Where, paid a $20 cover charge just so I could go to the lady's room.

Oh the things we do for bladder relief!

I have to admit, I drank a little too much, so I was feeling happy at the end of the evening. On the way back to the hotel, I remember tripping over something in the road and falling down. I looked up and saw a large light coming right at me. (imagine a rabbit in the road staring down a car) My friend, Lee, pulled me up just in time to avoid being run over by a trolley.

My earliest memory of New Orleans, and purest, is of a locket. My father went to New Orleans on business one year when I was young. He brought back two lockets; one for me and one for my sister. They were made of ivory and were hand painted. Mine had an owl on it. I wonder what ever happened to that locket.

Some day I am going to go back to New Orleans. One day when it is rebuilt, when it is in it's glory again, and I am just going to soak in it's joy and it's uniqueness.

Dana Sieben
Southern Gal Goes North

Dauphin Island, Alabama

When I was a young girl, I lived in Mobile, near Dauphin Island. This was back when they still had the draw bridge to the island, not that new, fancy bridge.


I used to adore going to the island for the day, but I always had to beg for hours to do so. My parents, you see, didn't seem to enjoy sun and fun and sand. I also didn't discover until years later that Daddy didn't really like to drive that much and the long bridge with the break in the middle for ships was quite daunting to him.

I loved driving on that long bridge. Watching dolphins, sharks, stingrays and whatnot swimming around. Watching the barges and ships pass by. Just watching the water lap gently at the rather low in the water bridge. A lot of the "bridge" was actually causeway and so at times, I was pretty sure if high tide came in we'd be stuck on the island. Not that I would have minded.

When we used to go it wasn't really populated. I hear tell that before this last hurricane it had 1,200 residents, which boggles my mind. I've been down to Mobile several times in the last few years, but never went over to the island. I now regret this bitterly.

On those sunny days, way back when, Daddy and Mom and I would pile into the car, generally dragging along whatever dogs we had at that time. I believe we once took a guinie pig for the day. My memory of this is somewhat fuzzy, but I'm assuming the guinie pig didn't enjoy the sand all that much!

We would drive for what seemed like hours to me over that causeway and bridge. It would be a big treat to me if the bridge had to raise up for a ship. Mother would flutter her hands about and talk about us sliding backwards or the ship crashing into us until it finally passed by safely. Dad would sit there, lighting handrolled cigarettes and telling her to stifle.

Finally we would get to the actual beach. I don't remember any homes being anywhere near where Dad would park the car. I think he would always look for the most isolated spot. Then we would pile out of the car. Rather, Daddy and I would pile out and mom would open the door, take off her socks and shoes and place her feet gingerly outside the car. She opinioned that she could receive enough Vitamen D just through her feet for good health.

Dad would charge into the ocean and swim for all of 5 or 10 minutes, making so much noise and movement that I'm sure he scared anything hungry out there away for the rest of the day. He would then head back to the car to continue smoking.

And being great parents, they would then proceed to sit in the car and do nothing for 2 to 3 hours, watching me play. Finally they would call me over to eat a picnic lunch, still in the car, and we would drive home.



I look at this picture here at the island after the hurricane. Oh how I wish I had taken the time to show my family this great island the last time we were in Mobile. I don't know how long until it's back to it's beauty, or if it will be at all.

My Cajun Roots Run Deep

Parlange Plantation near New Roads, Louisiana


The family history says Sarah was a Civil War widow by 1862, her late husband a true son of Louisiana and Dixie. He left her with two small children, a milk cow, and a leaky roof over her head.

One day a raggedy and hungry bunch of Confederate soldiers showed up on her doorstep needing a meal and a place to bunk for the night. There was talk among them that evening about stealing the lone cow and whatever else they could find in the dark and slipping away. The soldier in charge was furious at their intended mistreatment of a poor Southern widow's hospitality, and threatened to shoot any looters. The next morning, Willis thanked Sarah and told her he would be back.

He kept his word. Sarah and Willis were married in 1864. These were my great great grandparents. The full geneological history does not reveal if Willis had been an occasional AWOL soldier, but I suspect it was entirely possible. Many otherwise honorable men felt the pull of hearth and home especially when it was obvious the South was not going to win the war.

Of grandfather Willis' family I know very little. More than a few hints abound of Indian blood from the Georgia Cherokee, but I have never discovered anything more than the random passed down story, certainly no paper trail to validate such beliefs.

My research on grandmother Sarah, on the other hand, has turned up a rich old Creole history with long long French bloodlines. Her great great grandparents were immigrants from Hainaut - now southern Belgium. These Hainaut families have been likened to the Mayflower of Louisiana. Lovely old names such as DeCuir, Mayeaux, Montpelier, Nezat, and Dupuy. Some settled in New Orleans, some near the towns of present day New Roads and Cane River. My notes reveal these now very familiar parish names: St. Landry, Opelousas, Catahoula, and St. Tammany.

The recent tragedy in New Orleans and the Gulf coast has reawakened my love of my French ancestral connection. An email today from a distant DeCuir cousin* assured me that the area around Marksville did not sustain great damage. I am grateful.

(*The cousin also told me that Lt. General Russell Honore, the "Ragin' Cajun", is a distant DeCuir relative as well. Good thing ole Cuzzin' Russell is kickin' butt and takin' names!).

The picture above of Parlange Plantation was taken about 4 years ago. It, too, has a link to my past. I have not heard any news about its survival, but I am hoping the old Spanish moss and the lovely ancient trees escaped the kind of destruction I see on the nightly evening news.

That old mantra of "the South Shall Rise Again" keeps whispering through my thoughts this evening, and I certainly hope its true. My great great grandparents would have wanted it no other way.

Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans?

Written by: Kenju
http://justaskjudy.blogspot.com

I visited New Orleans in the 90's, attending a convention of people involved in the party industry. We had five wonderful days in the city, enjoying all that it had to offer: good food, great scenery, partying heartily, a ride on the Delta Queen Paddleboat, fabulous antique stores, Hurricanes (the drink), beignets dripping powdered sugar, and coffee with chickory!These are various postcards and pics from that trip. One of the most interesting places we saw was the warehouse where they keep most of the Mardi Gras floats. In fact, they had a party for us in that warehouse, and it was an excellent experience. If you have never attended Mardi Gras, you can have no idea of the size of the floats, most of which are huge. Imagine how fun it was to stroll, drinks and hors d'oeuvres in hand, between the floats and large puppets, imagining what it would be like to participate in the Mardi Gras parades. I could picture myself standing on a float, throwing beads and candy to the by-standers, or being a by-stander and yelling "Throw me something, Mister!" to the guys on the floats. (I would not, however, be showing them anything!).

Speaking of the foods, we ate alligator sausage that night (andouille, I think) and crayfish (crawdads) were found in abundance, as were shrimp and other seafood. The buffet tables were replete with delicacies of nearly every description and the floral decor was to die for; such as tall palm trees whose trunks were made from the hulls of pineapples. It was very creative. Of course, when you are putting on a party for people who put on parties nearly every day of the year - you have to be creative and over the top with your decor!

New Orleans bent over backwards to welcome us - as well as all the other tourists who came there each year. I mourn the loss of this very special city with its distinctive architecture, no less than I mourn the loss of its people, who practiced a brand of hospitality not found everywhere. I cannot imagine how it feels to be one of the displaced, and I hope they can find peace and understanding at some point. Vaya con Dios.