Being close to the lake wasn't particularly good when hurricanes visited New Orleans.  More than once our neighborhood flooded.  Dad would always put canvas strips across the bottoms of our outside doorways.  Would the canvas really stop water from getting in?  I'm not sure.  The floodwaters of Hurricane Flossy and others went all the way up to our porch but never inside the house.  Houses in that area were raised on bricks about three-feet off the ground.  Now I think I see why.  Floodwaters didn't do the floor furnaces much good, but it was always great fun to go outside after the winds died down and play in the floodwaters.  Once I stepped on a two-by-four and drove a nail through my foot, but hey, it was worth it.  (I'm not sure the Tetanus shot that came later was worth it, though).

Childhood friends in the neighborhood, that I can remember, include Ronnie Plauche, Jimmy and Stanley Elmore, Harmon Holloway, and Ralph Treadway.  Harmon lived in the house behind us, and from our bunk beds in the back bedroom, Tom and I would send Morse code signals with our flashlights at night.  Ralph was a scruffy sort that unfortunately was killed when hit by a car crossing Franklin Avenue.  He was the first person that I knew who got killed.

My first girlfriend, Sandy Saikley, lived across the street and two houses toward the lake. When I was going into the first grade at McDonough 39 Elementary on St. Roch Avenue, Sandy moved to Texas and I didn't see her again until I was in the 8th or 9th grade. She came back with her Mom to visit. I remember her being the most mature 8th grader I've ever seen. What a great looking girl!  Of course, anyone who remembers me in the 8th grade knows what a goofball I was. Oh well, it was good seeing her.

The 1950’s were a great time to be a kid.  My Mom would release us in the morning and we would run the neighborhood all day long.  Today, kids are kept inside houses and not allowed to explore their surroundings because of all of the dangers.  My parents never had those concerns in those days.  We rode bikes everywhere, crossing major thoroughfares to get to friend’s houses, going to the park on Peoples Avenue, or even better yet, playing in rat and snake-infested Peoples Avenue canal.  We would spend days burrowing tunnels in the side of the canal, which was more like a giant drainage ditch, only to come home at dark covered with dirt, head to toe.

Next to the park at the end of Hibernia Avenue, where it dead ended into the Peoples Avenue canal was Mike and Billy Frick’s house.  Mike was my age and Billy was Tom’s age.  I have a mental image of their dad sitting around nude in a big leather chair of the living room of their house.  Maybe he wasn’t nude.  He could have had his underwear on, but I remember him as nude.  It was hot in those houses, but I think I remember this because my Mom and Dad would never sit around the house nude or partially clothed.  It’s the first time I ever thought about other people living differently than we did.  Mike Frick was a free spirit.  I last saw him in Junior High.  I don’t know what happened to him.  Across Hibernia Avenue from Mike Frick’s house was a vacant grown-over half a city block with trees and dirt piles.  We probably played more in this lot than on the playground across Hibernia Avenue.  In the first or second grade, Mike and I were playing with matches next to a fallen tree.  We would start a fire, then throw dirt on it to put it out.  Great fun, huh?  It was real fun until we couldn’t put the fire out and the whole tree was aflame as we threw dirt everywhere.  It kept getting bigger and bigger.  We couldn’t put it out, so we did what any other kid would do…RAN!  I don’t’ know what happened to Mike, but I ran and hid behind our garage and stayed there with my heart beating out of my chest for the longest time.  I heard the fire trucks racing to the scene a few blocks away.  For weeks after that, I waited for firemen to come to my house and arrest me.  They never did, but I learned my lesson about playing with matches.

The area around Lafaye St. in New Orleans was generally a working-class neighborhood.  We knew most of our neighbors because people spent more time outside on porches, due to lack of air conditioning.  Most houses had attic fans that pulled in the night air to our open windows.  My brother Tom and I positioned our bunk bed in front of one of the windows to get a breeze.  I don’t remember the heat or sleeping to be a problem as a child, but by today’s standards it was probably pretty uncomfortable.  As I mentioned earlier, because of the open windows we got to sample the sights and sounds of the amusement park on Lake Pontchartrain. 

It was a more carefree, simpler time. I started Kindergarten at a brand new elementary school on St. Roch Avenue named McDonogh #39.  Many schools in New Orleans were named after John McDonogh, a wealthy businessman who gave money to school systems in Baltimore and New Orleans.  In recent years, it was uncovered that at one time Mr. McDonogh owned slaves, so now there are movements in the cities to remove his name from schools and change them to names like Louis Armstrong Elementary and Aretha Franklin Jr. High.  (I’m not joking.)  Forget the millions of dollars and land donated by this man for public schools.  Anyway, I had Mrs. Whatley in Kindergarten, somebody in 1^st (I can’t remember), Mrs. Baschman in 2^nd, Mrs. Eberling in 3^rd, and Mrs. Laurent for 4^th grade.  I remember our principal, Mrs. Strovan, who used to come on the intercom system throughout the school and begin each morning with the playing of the National Anthem (Are they still allowed to do this) and then the announcements for the day, which she started, with "Good Morning, Little People…" Strange how you remember such peculiar things.

In the third grade, my class performed some skit, in full costume, before the school.  I played some sort of trumpeter, wearing a short, little blue puffy silk outfit with a silk cap and a big white feather in it.  Somehow, one of the school officials coerced WDSU-TV, Channel 6 to let us do the skit on a noontime show with host Terry Flettrich.  The whole event would have been pretty uneventful, except for the fact that the day before my first major television appearance, Tom and I were out in the front yard of our Lafaye Street home goofing off.  Somehow, Tom got hold of a baseball bat and a wooden croquet ball.  As I found out, this is a dangerous combination.  I screamed to Tommy to hit me one.  He refused at first, but I kept yelling for him to hit it to me.  "I can catch it!" I yelled.  Tom smacked an awesome line drive right to me.  I put my tiny 3^rd grade hands in front of my face to make the catch, but the croquet ball went straight through them and into my left eye, taking me off my feet and putting me on the ground.  Tom thought he had killed me.  Heck, for a while there, I thought I was dead, too.  At the next day’s TV appearance I had the biggest, ugliest black eye.  They placed my bad eye away from the camera, but I felt like everyone in the world was staring at my huge "shiner".  Too bad there was no videotape back in the black and white TV days.  I’d like to see my performance.

On Lafaye Street our phone number was FAirview-0034.  I don’t remember if the "Fairview" was named after Fairview Avenue a main artery about 4 blocks from our house, but Fairview was our exchange.  I think you just dialed the FA-0034.  By the time we moved to Music Street the number was 282-0034, and that was our number until Mom sold the Music Street house around 1971.

My best friends in the early years were both members of my Church and School.  Al Jolissaint, Alan Lichtenwalter, and me spent many fun hours together all the way through Junior High.  In High School, Al went to New Orleans Academy, a semi military school, but Alan did go to John McDonogh High with me. Looking back, I find my experience growing up in the Church to be very important in the person I have become.  Most of the people who became my closest friends are from Church.  My Mom had a Methodist background, so during the first few years we attended a Methodist Church near the intersection of Franklin Avenue and Gentilly Boulevard.  My Dad couldn’t get comfortable as a Methodist and asked my Mom to switch to his boyhood church, the Episcopal Church.  She agreed with the stipulation that we would go to the Episcopal Church as long as he attended.  If he missed, she would take us back to the Methodist Church.  We joined the Church of the Holy Comforter, at the intersection of Elysian Fields Avenue and Mirabeau, and never left.  My Dad and Mom became very active in the Church with Dad becoming head of the Vestry and Mom organizing most of the Ladies groups.  Mom remained a member of the Episcopal Church until her death, over 30 years after my dad died.

I am so grateful to my Mom and Dad for getting us involved in Church life.  Even though I’m sure I gave them fits about going from time to time, the benefits I’ve derived from my association with Church have helped to make me a better person.  Can you imagine what I’d be like without it?  Let’s not. There was one other person whom bears mentioning from my early years.  After Sandy Saikley moved in the 1^st grade, I did have a crush on Ruth Claire who lived near St. Roch and Hibernia Avenues.  I remember going over to Ruth’s house to play one day.  She reminded me a lot of Sandy.  She moved away, too.  Maybe I had bad breath or something.  All these people kept moving away!  There were other girls I’m sure that I noticed and befriended, but until the 7^th grade, they are the only two I remember having feelings for.

At Franklin and Hibernia Avenue intersection there was a strip shopping center with a grocery, corner drug store (with soda fountain), Mike’s Barber Shop, and the Eight Sons Lounge.  The Eight Sons would be a popular spot for my Dad until he died.  I’ve often said the people who worked and frequented the Eight Sons probably knew Jack Flaherty better than we did.  They should have named the place "Flahertys" for all the money Dad probably dropped in there.  For the most part over the years, we didn’t feel the effects of Dad’s daily/nightly visits to the Eight Sons, but I do remember a time when Tom and I were with Dad and he parked the car on Hibernia Avenue, told us he was going to get a pack of cigarettes, and disappeared into the Eight Sons for what seemed like 2 hours.  Actually, it was more likely around 30 minutes, but when you’re 7 or 8 and stuck in a hot car in the summertime, it feels like forever. 

Across Franklin Avenue from the Eight Sons was the "House of Pain".  Our friendly neighborhood Doctor and Dentist had converted a house (much like ours) into a Doctor/Dentist office; housing two of the scariest men I have ever met.  I had nightmares about these two for years.  Dr. Bowers was the MD, and Dr. Guidry was the Dentist.  These two men had absolutely no bedside manner and did nothing but inflict pain on me and everybody else who stepped into that office.  The first thing that greeted you when walking through the front door was the strong smell of ether that they must have piped into the air conditioners.  Then there was the giant scary medical symbol (that snake thing) that was formed into the floor tile.  I disliked Dr. Bowers.  Once he used this machine that shot out sparks to burn off a wart on my elbow.  It probably didn’t hurt that much, but the thing looked and smelled awful.  I’m sure my screams are still echoing somewhere.  If I disliked Dr. Bowers, I surely hated Dr. Guidry.  This man did not know the meaning of "painless" dentistry.  I’m told that Novacaine or similar painkillers were available back in the 50’s, but this would have been news to Dr. Guidry, who looked like actor Hans Conried (I never like him either).  Dr. Guidry would drill directly on your tooth.  I couldn’t stand the feeling.  If I think about it long enough I can still remember the sound and feel of the drill grinding into my tooth.  I was terrified of Dentists for years because of this man, and finally when I did get my mouth overhauled years later, I was amazed at just what a good Dentist could do.  Both of these men are dead now and I’m sure they are missed by someone, but not by me.

Another scary thing.  There was a widow that lived in the house on one side of us on Lafaye Street.  I can remember watching the "Mickey Mouse Club" on her TV set.  I don’t think ours picked up UHF at that time.   She was a nice lady, but the talk amongst the neighborhood that she had just spooned up a bowl of ice cream for her husband in the kitchen of their home and turned around to put up the ice cream.  After putting the ice cream back in the freezer, she turned around and he was face down dead in his ice cream.  It worried me that there was once a dead person in that house, but I didn’t mind watching the Mouseketeers in her living room.

The Lafaye Street house is filled with memories of my Dad.  He was so strict and serious most of the time (that Navy background), that it was a real treat for Tom and I to see him be "real".  One night, Tom and I were in our bunks and Mom and Dad were in the hallway outside our room.  We could see their reflections (shadows) on our door.  Dad had moved aside the attic fan to add or extract items from the attic while Mom held the ladder to the side.  He was in the attic when he fell back through the opening headfirst onto the floor furnace below.  The shadow image of him plummeting to the floor was too much for Tom and I to stand.  We had our heads buried in our pillows laughing as we rolled all over the bed.  Faintly, we could hear Dad whisper to Mom, "Oh, go ahead and laugh."  And, she did.

Tom and I always liked to hear stories where Dad was inflicted with horrible pain.  He told us a story one time about driving up to Bogalusa, Louisiana, to see his Mom and Dad, and said he was paying attention to tuning the radio in the car and not watching where he was going.  The car ran off the road and into a drainage ditch.  Dad was riding out the bumpy ride trying to stop the car when he hit one of those drainpipes that driveways are poured over.  It threw his car into a ditch on the other side of the road.  When he finally got the car stopped his head was in the glove compartment!  (Ha!)  The mental imagery of this was too much for Tom and I to stand.  We howled!  We would ask him to tell us that story over and over.  He didn’t mean for the story to be funny and couldn’t figure out why we got such a kick out of that story.

After his death, I once asked Mom about Dad and the fact that he didn’t spend a whole lot of time with us.  I said, "Didn’t he like kids?"  Mom replied, "Not really."  As I found later, Dad related better to people above 18 years of age.

Because of my Dad's affiliation with the American Sugar Refinery (Domino Sugar) where he was Plant Engineer, I became familiar with "Three Oaks", a plantation home that was on American Sugar Refineries property along the Mississippi River.  "Three Oaks" was destroyed in the late 60's.  For more on my adventures at Three Oaks, CLICK HERE.

During the Lafaye and Music Street years, I have fond memories of Mom loading Tom, Judy, Debby, Janice and me into the car and on hot summer days heading to Pontchartrain Beach.  In the 50’s the beach was open free to the public.  Or should I say "white" public.  Another plus was the fact that the lake wasn’t polluted at the time and you could actually swim in the lake.  We spent many happy, carefree days at the beach in the 50’s.  It was a great Amusement park owned by the late Harry Batt, Sr.   Walt Disney once conferred with Batt and three other amusement park owners about his idea of building Disneyland.  They tried to discourage Walt, advising him that Disneyland was too much of a dream to actually work.  When Harry Batt, Jr. closed Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park in 1983, he said that a standing amusement park couldn’t make it anymore.  Unless you were willing to build new rides and keep changing with the times, you couldn’t survive.  Pontchartrain Beach didn’t have enough land and/or bucks to compete with the Six Flags of the world, so it closed in 1983 with the last ride on the great wooden coaster, the Zephyr.  I didn’t know I’d miss it so much.  Today, the land on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain has been developed, and the people of New Orleans have only their memories of the beach.

In 1956, my family moved from Lafaye Street to 4610 Music Street.  It wasn’t a long distance from my former neighborhood but there was a big difference in the type of people.  While Lafaye Street was mostly working class, younger families, Music Street was an older, more settled group of folks.  Of course, when the Flaherty family moves into your neighborhood there is an immediate change. The Music Street home was a giant structure that featured a formal living and dining room, dinette, den, four bedrooms and sewing room that also served as a bedroom, and three large bathrooms.  It had a detached two-car garage and what we called the "shed" which had two large rooms featuring a workshop, wash basins, shower, toilet, etc.  There was also a completely separate wooden dollhouse.  All of this in a house with 12-foot ceilings and plaster walls.  This home was the oldest home in the area and was built in the early 1900’s when there was nothing else but swamp and woods.  My parents had the house re-plastered and painted before we moved in.  It was a great, comfortable home for our family for many years.  The large living room and dining room was great for entertaining as was used for many functions over the years, including company parties for Domino Sugar, my Dad’s employer, and even king cake parties which I seemed to host more than the rest of my friends.

In the 5^th grade I was enrolled at Gentilly Terrace Elementary School that was only two blocks from our Music Street home.  I had Mrs. Cosse in the 5^th grade, and Mrs. Johnson in the 6^th grade.  I don’t remember her name but there was a girl in the 5^th grade that we used to call "Paste-eater" because of her fondness for the taste of that white paper glue we used to use.  The 5^th grade is also memorable for the first time I noticed a girl’s budding breasts.  I would eventually graduate from High School with Pat Mauderer.  It was the first time I looked down a girl’s blouse and there was something there!  On another occasion, my Mom came to school to pick me up in the middle of the day (probably a Doctor’s appointment or some such thing) and had to come into my class.  Someone commented to me, "Is that your Mom…She’s pretty!"  I remember being so proud.  I can honestly say that in all the years knew her, I was never embarrassed by or about my Mother.  Ever!  Isn’t that amazing?  She was one classy woman who was the single most influential person in my life.  I disappointed her many times, but she stuck with me.

During the 3^rd through 6^th grades, Tom and I were involved with Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts.  Mom, at times, was a Den Mother for my Cub Scout Pack.  But, after moving to Music Street, she became a Brownie leader for my sisters and I had another Den Mother who lived down the street from us.  We had great fun in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts.  I remember great campouts at Scout Island in City Park, cooking over open fires with our mess kits.  During my first campout with the Boy Scouts, they were going to initiate us into the troop.  They said they would blindfold us then put a "brand" on our leg from a hot poker in the fire.  This was not what I got in the Scouts for.  I was just about to demand to be taken home when they told me to just sit and watch the others.  What they did was wave the hot poker in front of their faces, and then put a cold piece of ice on their leg.  I didn’t see the humor in this, but others thought it was great fun. As a Cub Scout in the 4^th grade, we once took a day trip to City Park’s public pool to go swimming.  When we got to the entrance, I realized I had forgotten my 25 cents to get into the pool.  I was so embarrassed, I didn’t mention this to the Den Mothers there and just eased away from the group paying to get in.  I walked home, crossing the 2^nd largest city public park in the US (2^nd to Central Park in NY) then down Mirabeau passing the Nunnery (where Nuns are; it had a name but that’s what we called it), passed Paris Avenue, past my Church at Elysian Fields and finally to my house.  It was a distance of about 5 miles.  All because I too embarrassed to ask a nice lady for a quarter.  They called the house later and my Mom explained to them what an ignoramus I am.

In the 7^th and 8^th grades, I attended Capdau Junior High School on Franklin Avenue.  The school had a wicked reputation for having many punks and thugs who would terrify and beat up fellow students.  Somehow Tom had survived Capdau though, so I thought I could also.  Physically, I did survive.  Emotionally, I think Capdau was where I lost interest in learning and started "acting out" in class.  This was my first encounter with changing classes and teachers throughout the day.  I had befriended a boy named, Denny, and we seemed to have most of our classes together.  Most of my church friends were zoned for the new Junior High which just opened, Gregory Jr. High, so Denny was about the closest thing I had to a friend at Capdau.  As life would have it, Denny and family moved away in the middle of the school year.  I can remember feeling alone for several weeks and dreaded going to school.  Adapting to changing situations didn’t come easily for me in Junior High.

One of the few things to keep me straight during the 7^th and 8^th grades was my relationship with my friends at Church.  This close-knit group of youth not only participated together in church activities, but also socialized together quite a bit.  As I mentioned, there were king cake parties we would all attend or just parties for the sake of having parties!  Members of this group included Alan Lichtenwalter, Al Jolissaint, Joy Miangolarra, Paul Cutright, Cheryl Klepko, Sheila Wylie, Steve and Skipper Dell, Craig and Kenny Hopkins, Steve Eggerton, Ann Yoder, Lorinda Foltmar, Wade Conklin and others.  We had great times decorating houses for parties and would play games like "Spin the Bottle" and "Seven Minutes in Heaven" where you would go off with a member of the opposite sex, alone for 7 minutes. I knew all of these folks from a very young age, but it wasn’t until around the 7^th grade that I noticed Joy was a girl for the first time.  Around this time we began what would be a "roller coaster" relationship lasting all the way past high school.  We broke up and went back together so many times, our parents got sick and tired of it.  At one point, Joy’s Mom had read her diary (She didn’t have to be so graphic), and refused to let her see me anymore.  I would call her house and disguise my voice.  They would say, "You’re not fooling anybody Mike Flaherty…"

Because I mentioned Skipper Dell, I have to add this brief comment.  Skipper is the biggest and best liar I ever met.  He would lie for no reason.  Steve, his brother, was fine.  In fact, we’d often joke about what a liar Skipper was.  I don’t ever remember talking to Skip where he wasn’t lying.  At church I might ask him what he did Saturday, and he’d tell me something about Werner Von Braun, flying him in to Huntsville, to help develop a new rocket fuel for the Saturn 2.  I’d normally ignore him and change the subject.  Others would tell Skip to his face he was full of crap. I always let him get away with it.  Skip Dell was at the 20^th McDonogh High School Reunion in 1984.  What you do at these events is catch up on where everyone is, so I asked Skipper what he’s doing now and he told me something about doing research on coffee beans in South America.  The sad thing is he may really be doing this job, but nobody is gonna believe him!

My first rebellious period as a teenager occurred in Summer when I was 13 or 14.  I remember being at a meeting, possibly Boy Scouts or some such, and my mother picking me up after the meeting.  I remember because the meeting was held at the Milne Boy's Home Chapel (pictured) The old chapel was located on Franklin Avenue about halfway between my Lafaye Street and Music Street homes.  It's the first and only time I had been there.  I remember being very rude to my Mom because I wanted to stay out late with friends, and formidibly argued that I ought to be able to stay out later, because my brother Tom doing it.  My Mom reminded me that he was three years older and that I'd have to wait.  I was mean and pouted, but it did no good. Today I can say Thank goodness for my Mom.

My most serious romance in junior and senior high was with Joy Miangolarra. Our first kiss was at one of the parties I mentioned earlier. The event came at Lorinda Foltmar’s house. She had a finished detached garage behind her home where we had the party. The party was about over. Parents were coming to pick us up. Joy and I were sitting in the middle of the floor under a blanket and as we kissed, someone yelled out "Mike your Mom’s here!" I knew Joy many years before "noticing" her. For some reason, boys notice girls once they develop breasts, and Joy matured physically early. Our relationship would have never gone off and on for so many years had it not been for Joy. Any girl in her right mind would have dropped me and moved on, but Joy was always there for me. Joy lived directly behind our church. Her mother was church secretary. So, it was convenient for me to ride my bike or walk to her house after school. We’d sit in her living room, watch "American Bandstand" and make out.

On one occasion I had to go to Percy Quin State Park in McComb, Mississippi, for a week’s vacation. Before I left, Joy and I were doing great. Lots of hugs and kisses. I came back after a week of being gone expecting more of the same and Joy was super "cold". She sat across her living room from me flipping pages of a magazine like she was mad. Her mother was even in the hallway motioning for Joy to go sit by me. That was the first time I remember realizing that females did things a whole lot differently from boys. She may have had PMS, but I’m not sure if at that time she had already started.

I had a lot to learn about girls. One afternoon in the 9^th grade, I rode my bike over to Joy’s house as normal and as I was about to leave that day, we were talking and kissing on her front porch. Somehow we had gotten on the subject of girls periods. For some reason, I thought girls didn’t do this until after they had a baby. Joy explained to me that girls started this around 13 years old. I said, "You mean…you…have those?" I was getting on my bike at the time and when Joy giggled, "Yes", I fell off my bike into her mother’s garden. She thought it was super funny. I was just embarrassed. That was just the beginning of many "discoveries" I would have with Joy.

There was another church event that I remember pretty well with Joy. It was a youth hayride down River Road. We would ride on a hay-covered truck to and from a place out in the sticks where there would be a dance. It was a long ride and along the way someone pulled the tarp of the truck over the bunch of us. It was dark. The perfect time to get to know Joy better. I wanted her to wipe her lipstick off so it wouldn’t get all over me. She wouldn’t do it. I got so upset. We didn’t speak until the hayride back home. All of a sudden the lipstick issue didn’t bother me. This wasn’t the first or last time that I have been unreasonable. What was I thinking?

Joy was a great girl and as I mentioned earlier we would break-up and make-up all the way through high school. Joy and I were both at Mid City Baptist in the 9^th grade and we both started a John McDonogh High in the 10^th grade, but by mid-term that year, Joy’s mother had read Joy’s diary. You would think that a diary would be a place where you could write deeply personal things. Obviously, she wrote a lot about me. Her mother took her out of John McDonogh and sent her back to Mid City Baptist to finish her sophomore year and all of the junior year. Joy and I continued to see each other from time to time, but the distance allowed Joy to meet and date Willie Jackson at Mid City. Willie was a senior when Joy was a junior. When he graduated, Joy talked her mother into letting her return to John McDonogh High to graduate. We were friends our senior year at McDonogh. Joy eventually eloped with Willie after she graduated high school. They eventually divorced and Joy married Craig Hopkins who was one of our group growing up in New Orleans. We are all still friends to this day.

During football season, brothers Craig and Kenny Hopkins and I would hangout at Cor Jesu High School, which has since changed its name to Brother Martin High School.  We would play "flag" or "touch" football with other kids who hung around the playground.   There was a time they closed the playground because one of the neighbors who house backed up to the playground complained about the foul language they would hear.  This didn’t make Craig, Kenny and me too happy.  We knew who complained, so late one night bored out of our skulls, we decided to collect garbage from all across the neighborhood and dump it in their front yard.  We were convinced this would make us "big guys" in the neighborhood, and what an excellent job we did.  There were mounds of rubbish piled on this lawn.   You couldn’t even see their shrubbery there was so much garbage.  What a surprise they would get when they came out the next morning!  I got out of bed the next day and went down to the house to see our tremendous feat in the daylight.  Not one speck of garbage was on that lawn.  There was absolutely no trace of anything to indicate our dirty deed.  What a major disappointment.  Oh well, after a week or so, the playground reopened anyway.

In the 8^th grade I had a major crush on Darlene Wood, a cheerleader who was two years older than me.  She lived around the block from me on St. Roch Avenue and cheered for Capdau when I was in the 7^th grade.  But when I got to 8^th grade, she went to McDonogh High and I didn’t see her as much.  She would ride the city bus to and from McDonogh, so I would ride my bike to the bus stop in the afternoons and wait for her to get off the bus.  She was usually late because of cheerleading practice or other things.  She was real popular.  Why I thought she’d have anything to do with a geek like me, I have no idea!  But, she would get off the bus and I would walk with her the two blocks to her house inviting her to put her books in my bike basket.   Some days I would wait for the longest time and she wouldn’t come.  I’d park my bike about a block away and watch for her, then ride up to where she was.  Years later (Yep, that’s how long it took me to figure this out) I realized that Darlene was avoiding me like the plaque.  I felt totally embarrassed about what a sap I had been.  Why would she date the captain and star of the football team when she could have a short, pudgy kid with a crew-cut like me?  She needs to reevaluate her taste in men.

In 1961, when I was going into the 9^th grade and Tom was entering his senior year, we were enrolled at Mid City Baptist School, a Kindergarten through High School private facility that was formed because of growing problems in the public schools with integration.  It was rumored that Public Schools would be late opening (if they opened at all) in 1961, because of the integration issue.  So, my Mom and Dad, like many other Moms and Dads, enrolled Tom, Judy, and me at Mid City Baptist, a private school completely on the other side of town from our home.  Fortunately, Tom had gotten his driver’s license and Dad had given him his old 1950 Ford two door sedan.  Tom had customized the car with a Coronado Red paint job, Smitty mufflers (extra loud), and spun-aluminum "moon" hubcaps.  These hubcaps were popular at the time and they were constantly being stolen from his car.  One night as we were sleeping, Tom heard some thumping outside the window.  On looking down from the 2^nd floor he saw some guys running around below.  He was about to catch some thieves.  He charged outside and tackled one of the culprits, pounding him senseless only to find out later that they were friends of my sister, Judy.  They were rolling the house with toilet paper.

During the period 1961-64, many lifestyle changes were made which affected both blacks and whites during the integration era.  Public pools were closed at both City Park and Pontchartrain Beach.  These were great pools that were closed for no other reason than to deny access to blacks.  It’s hard to imagine now, but this was a serious issue of that time.  So, blacks didn’t get to go swimming at these facilities, but we couldn’t either!  That certainly taught them a lesson.  The carefree fun of the 50’s was ending as Harry Batt, owner of Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park put up gates at entrances to the park and started charging admission for the first time.  It wasn’t said, but everyone knew why.  He figured poor blacks wouldn’t want to pay to come to Pontchartrain Beach when they could swim free at their own beach, Lincoln Beach.  Yeah, that’ll teach them "darkies"!  Now we have to pay to go to the Amusement Park!  Hindsight shows that it was all so dumb.  Blacks paid just like whites.  Nothing could stop integration.  Lincoln Beach eventually closed, and in 1983, Harry Batt’s son, brought the curtain down on a New Orleans landmark.  The property that once held Lincoln Beach is still there empty.  You can still see the layout of the original park.  Pontchartrain Beach has the remaining parking lots.  In 2000, another Amusement Park, Jazzland, opened near I-10.  It’s not on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.  That’s a shame.

Mid City Baptist was a whole new experience for me.  As I mentioned earlier, adaptation was not one of my strong suits.  Coming from an Episcopal background, the Baptist Church was a real shock to my system.  During twice weekly chapel, our principal John T. Curtis, would do his best to save us so we wouldn’t be "doomed and damned to eternal Hell."  Since chapel fell right before lunch, I knew of many students who would "walk the aisle" to be saved, because then they could go to lunch while the rest of us sang "just two more verses of "Just As I Am".  I liked my Church and didn’t like the fact that J.T. Curtis was telling me I needed to be saved or be "doomed."  I didn’t feel "doomed", although I probably was at the time.  All these chapel visits did was increase my sarcasm and turn me off to the Baptist Church.  But, I was in the 9^th grade.  I wasn’t too serious about anything, especially religion.  My poor brother, Tom, had to graduate from Mid City.  Of course, Tom went on to get his degree in "making money", while I went on to get my degree in "do you want fries with that?"

Once, in class at Mid City, a couple of us guys couldn’t help but noticing the girls working outside our window in gym shorts.  The teacher caught two of us and to make examples of us sent us to Coach White (the basketball coach) for discipline.  When we got to Coach White’s room (he also taught us Bible), he stood the other guy against the wall with his hands above his head, and pulled out a wooden paddle.  He smacked this kid on the butt so hard I’d thought he’d killed him.  He screamed.  Then Coach White told him he needed to get the lust out of his system and hit him again.  Then again.   Good gosh, what red-blooded American boy would stare at a pretty girl in shorts?  I was terrified.  I’m sure I had tears in my eyes as the other kid limped from the room and it was my turn.  I guess Coach White felt sorry for me.  I’m not sure why, but he just told me not to do it anymore and to get out.  

It was "Senior Day" at Mid City Baptist and Brother Curtis was determined to save all the seniors before they graduated.  In an especially long chapel service, we were into about our 30^th repetition of "just two more verses of Just As I Am", when another Senior went forward (most of them went forward because that was the only way they’d get out of there).  That left three seniors to save.  One of them was a girl named Sherry, Phillip Hathaway, and my brother Tom.  If they would just walk the aisle we could all go to lunch, but these three were determined.  Brother Curtis yelled for "two more verses" and we kept singing.  Brother Curtis would pound the podium between verses and do everything he could to reach these three heathens.  After a few more verses and pleading by Brother Curtis, Phillip Hathaway, who had brought his lunch that day, sat down and started eating his sandwich in the pew.  An exasperated Brother Curtis finally relented, quietly announcing, "Go to lunch."  Chapel emptied in record time.

The most memorable thing that happened that year at Mid City was the day I went into the boy’s restroom.  In one of the stalls one of the students had scrawled the message, "Please don’t flush paper towels down the toilets, it clogs up the water fountain outside."  I peed all over everything I was laughing so hard.

For the 1961-62 school year it was back to public schools since the integration crisis has passed.  Schools were back to normal.  In 10^th grade it was John McDonogh High School on Esplanade Avenue.  Until I started riding in Scotty Fife’s Volkswagen to school, I rode the city bus like most of the other students.  The 10^th grade was my worst year in school.  I think the only subject I passed was P.E. and I think I got a "D" in that!   My mind wandered so much!  All I could think about was girls, my social life, or anything but school.  The counselor told me I’d have to pass every subject in the 11^th and 12^th to graduate.  Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do the bare minimum, and that’s what I did.  There was too much going on for me to concentrate on school.  My best friend, Paul Cutright and I would always have something to do.  I guess Paul and I drove about every street in the city.

In the 10^th grade, Paul and I happened upon the Columbia Broadcast School (not affiliated with Columbia Broadcasting System).  That was the actual name of the school.  It was a block off St. Charles Avenue in the Uptown area of New Orleans.  The school was on the ground floor of a small office building.  Not elaborate facilities, but the owner did have a small studio that he let us play in.  He told me to talk into the microphone and commented, "Man, you can really project!  You have a great radio voice."  This was the absolutely worst thing he could have said.  Although I had been interested in radio since Junior High, I was now determined to become a radio superstar, much to the shock of my parents who said, "No you’re not!"  I would finally wear them down years later.

Paul and I had a very good friendship.  I think I spent the night over his house more than he spent the night at mine, because Tom was in my room.  He didn’t have any brothers or sisters.  We would spend most of our time in one or the other’s car since we had just gotten our driver’s licenses.  One Friday night we were in downtown New Orleans listening to Dan Diamond on WNOE Radio.  Dan was doing an interview with Paul & Paula who had out the hit song, "Hey Paula."  We were only blocks from WNOE studios in the Sheraton Charles hotel, so we raced to get there to meet Paul & Paula (we were truly bored).  They were still on the air when we parked the car on the street outside the hotel and raced in the lobby and up to the mezzanine floor where WNOE was located.    We had visited ol’ Dan several times before, just to let him know how we’re doing.  He was always nice to us letting us stand and gawk while he did his radio thing.  In later years when I was doing the radio thing I don’t think I was as nice.  Anyway, the light was off over the door and we raced into the studio only to find Dan Diamond there by himself in the middle of a commercial set.  We asked him where Paul & Paula were, and he told us we must have just missed them!  Paul and I were dumbfounded.  There was no way they could have gotten past us.  It was years later that I discovered (you notice a trend here?) that record companies would send you prerecorded interviews with artists with just their answers on the disc or tape, and a script to ask questions.  The ol’ "Diamond Mine" pulled a fast one on us.  (Update to this story:  I actually got an email from Dan Diamond.  He says Paul & Paula were actually there and had just left.  Paul and I weren't duped after all.)

Paul Cutright and I dated most of the same girls.  When I was not going with Joy, he would be dating her.  When he wasn’t dating Gina Odom, I dated her.  This is not to say that girls were sitting around to date us. It just seemed to work out that way. The same is true of Jeannie Cunningham, Ann Yoder and others.  Sometimes we would double date with girls we had both dated at different times.  We were a strange couple of guys.

Other friends from High School included Butch Gomez and Wayne "Jungle Bunny" Maranto.   Butch and Wayne were members of a band called the "Starlites".  Butch played tenor sax and Jungle Bunny played drums.  Butch loved to play "Harlem Nocturne" on sax.  He loved it.  Wayne went to Loyola University in New Orleans and majored in Music, and taught drums for years in New Orleans.  I spent a lot of time at both these guys’ houses even though Butch went to Nichols High School and Wayne was a year ahead of me at McDonogh High.  Now that I think of it, I can’t remember how I met these two.

Another High School buddy was Ernie Novello.  Ernie was a short, stylish wild man.  Ernie was the type to wear sunglasses at night.  He wasn’t necessarily a good-looking guy, but he had lots of charisma and style.  Ernie loved music.  He was a big fan of Joey Dee & the Starlighters who had a hit with "Peppermint Twist".  ErnieErni knew all their songs.  He also liked Elvis’s "Trouble".  He could even perform them all pretty well and he did so often!  Even if it was just the two of us.  During Mardi Gras of 1964, Ernie was working at Record World, a downtown record store as a salesperson.  Ernie started there as a stock boy, but he talked to people so much about music, they let him sell, too.  Capitol Records was about to launch the Beatles in the US, and they had sent tons of promotional materials to the record store, especially stickers announcing, "The Beatles are coming!"  We had thousands of the self-sticking stickers and during Mardi Gras, Paul, Ernie and me stuck them all over the French Quarter and downtown New Orleans.  None of us were quite sure who the Beatles even were, but the sticker thing was fun.  When the "Meet The Beatles" album arrived a few weeks later I took it home and played it for my sisters and told them that these guys were going to be huge!  The looked at the album cover and laughed at how funny looking they were with their "beatle" haircuts.  Two months later, they would change their tune.  Beatlemania had arrived.

During the summers in high school, Tom and I worked at Pontchartrain Beach.  We both worked in concession stands, but I don’t ever remember working in the same one Tom worked.  Tom had worked at the Beach for a summer or two before me, and based on the good work he had done, Bud Saudelet, the man who ran concessions for Pontchartrain Beach since dirt, hired me.  Working at the beach gave me long hours and low pay, but I’m glad I did it.  It made the amusement park even more special for me.  Our stand sold soft ice cream (called custard back then), popcorn, and snowballs.  They didn’t trust us with money.  You would go to a cashier at front pay 50-cents and get a ticket.  You got your choice with the ticket.  I was in Concession Stand #2 that was right next to the "Wild Maus" ride on the midway.  When Tom turned 18, Bud moved him to the Pool concession stand. You had to be 18 to work there because they sold beer.  It was a "cushy" job for Tom because they never got in rush situations and he had a great view of all the girls in bathing suits.  I was jealous.  Pontchartrain Beach had the most amazing pool setup.  Three pools.  A kiddy pool, a larger than Olympic main pool, and a diving pool with two low boards and two high boards.  It was a beautiful complex that they closed in 1964, just in case a black person wanted to go swimming.  I’m all for equal rights, I just hated that things had to change during that period.

Closing the concession stand each night, I can still feel the warm breeze blowing off the lake and the giant loudspeakers at the beach stage, which played a variety of continuous music throughout the day, but then slowed it down around closing time at 9:30.  There was one song that normally played around closing time that I looked forward to hearing each night.  One evening I walked over the stage that was built out in the sandy beach area off the midway and asked a guy inside the name of the song.  He told me it was Wayne King’s "Dream Time".  I looked for a copy of it for the longest time, and then in 1971 at KIRL in St Louis, I found a copy of the album in their old music library.  I still have it to this day.  Every once in a while I’ll take it out and put it on the turntable.  I listen to that song and it takes me back to the beach.  More than anything else, music defines my timeline.  When I hear songs, I can remember where I was and what I was doing when the song was popular.  And, since I was in radio so many years, most of the time I can tell you the label and artist just by playing the darn things so many times.

During my high school years we had a Ring Dance in my junior year to get our class rings, plus the Junior and Senior Proms that were usually in the Jung Hotel.  I went to these events, but normally didn’t stay long.  The hot spots were the parking lots of Lenfants on Canal Boulevard or the Ye Ole College Inn on Carrollton Avenue.  Drinks were served in cars by carhops and you could park there and make out.  Lenfants was actually better for the later because the parking lot was huge and totally dark.  It backed up to a graveyard (how romantic).  When you wanted service from one of the carhops you turned on your parking lights.  These two places were always crowded.  Another place I liked to frequent was the Meal-A-Minit on Canal Street.  This place was open 24-7 and featured what they billed as the "World’s Largest Banana Splits".  They were gigantic.  Sure, it was mostly whipped cream but it was great fun.  Meal-A-Minit shut down in the 70's.  Probably went bankrupt on all that whipped cream.

Lakeshore Drive in New Orleans was the best place in the 60's.  All of the Lakefront (except for Pontchartrain Beach) was sea-walled back in the 30's.  About 40 feet off the seawall ran Lakeshore Drive, winding all the way from the Industrial Canal to West End.  It was about 10 miles of beautiful views and parking places all along the way.  A couple of great "parking" places was at "The Point" in West End or Lover's Lane near Bayou St. John and the Lake.  Kids in cars would be lined up at these two places.  The Levee Board cops wouldn't bother you as long as they could see your heads, but if they couldn't, expect a flashlight.  In later years, expensive home would be built near (but not on) Lakeshore Drive, and one section in particular, near West End became a real meeting place for youth.  In the 80's, it was near impossible to drive down Lakeshore Drive near West End.  Some of the residents in the area tired of it.  About the same time, the overpass at Bayou St. John was torn down, and wasn't rebuilt for years.  Residents were glad, because it slowed the traffic flow on Lakeshore Drive.  It was my feeling that Lakeshore Drive was there long before these people built their fancy homes.   When I went back to New Orleans in the 80's, two things concerned me.  The loss of Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park in 1983, and the near closure of Lakeshore Drive.  The beach closed, but in the late 80's a new overpass was built and Lakeshore Drive was completely opened once again to traffic.  Things have changed over the years, but Lakeshore Drive is still in New Orleans for all to enjoy.  I spent many a night parked with a girl listening to WTIX or WNOE.  Those were good times.  To Joy, Gina, Jennie, Martha, Ann and others, I apologize for the groping and begging.

Somehow I was graduated from high school and talked my parents into sending me to "radio school".  I enrolled at the largest and most respected radio training facility I could find at the time.  It was Elkin’s Institute of Radio in Dallas, Texas.  The three-month radio broadcasting course didn’t start until September of 1964, so I spent the first part of summer working in Concession Stand #2 at Pontchartrain Beach.  My friend Paul came to visit me at the beach so I took a break and we went walking along the Midway.  There were two girls we noticed who noticed us back, so we started a conversation.  I got paired with a girl who was the cousin of the other girl.  She was in New Orleans for a visit, but was leaving in a few days.  Her name was Susie from Hurst, Texas.  At the time, I had never heard of Hurst, but Susie explained that it was a town located between Fort Worth and Dallas.  I saw Susie a few times before she left, and told her that I might see her when I go to Dallas for radio school.  Actually, I would see her a whole lot sooner than that.

A couple of weeks after that, Paul and I applied for jobs selling shoes for competing shoe stores in Gentilly Woods Shopping Center on the Chef Menteur Highway.  We got the jobs.  These people had to be desperate for employees if they would hire Paul and me.  We had even lied about our ages.   I turned in my notice to Bud Saudelet at the Beach (I’m sure the place would shut down without me and sure enough, 20 years later it did) and started at Kinney's Shoe Store.  Dad and Mom were so proud of me, going out and landing a great job and all.  Dad even talked about getting me a car to get back and forth to work.  Yea, that great job was paying about $2.75 an hour.  I certainly couldn’t afford to buy one! Because of my new "executive" position, I wasn’t going to be able to make the annual family trip to Percy Quin State Park in McComb, Mississippi.  We rented a cabin there every summer for a week or two.  So, the family left me while I started my new career in the shoe business. My first day on the job at Kinney's Shoes was a real eye opener.  One of the guys was training me at how to sell shoes.  He told me to keep pushing the shoes.  If they don’t fit, tell the customer that they’ll break in.  In general, keep pushing the product even if they don’t like it.  Eventually, the customer will buy something just to shut you up and get out of the store. On my first customer, I had a devil of a time finding the shoes.  The inventory system was a joke.  It would take me years to find anything in here.  I was really flustered when the customer got up and walked out on me after 17 pairs of shoes. On the next customer, I got lucky.   They knew what they wanted, I found the right size and rang-them-up.   But, after the customer left, I got jumped on by the manager for not pitching the accessories at the register.  Everybody wants to be "hounded" about shoe polish, laces, bows for their hair!  At lunch, Paul and I met outside.  I asked him what it’s like at his shoe store and he tells me how great it is.  Absolutely, no pressure.  For the most part he’s just sitting around talking with the guys, picking up a paycheck, while I’m a few doors down pounding on people mercilessly until they buy a crummy pair of shoes they don’t want!  And by the way, would you like some shoe polish for those ugly shoes? This was not working.  It’s the first day on the job and I hated it.  I hated Kinney Shoes and everyone who works there.  But, Mom and Dad were so proud of me, even suggesting that they’d get me a car.  I’m going to make this work for them.  I had every intention of making this job a success when I went in after lunch.  I was bound and determined to make Mom and Dad proud.   I can honestly say that I was so happy when I quit Kinney Shoes three days later.  It was years before I would set foot in a Kinney Shoe Store again.

When I quit I took my fat paycheck of $34 and change and hit the road to Hurst, Texas, in my Dad’s 1959 Rambler station wagon.  I had called Susie and told her I’d be in her driveway the next morning.  I left around sundown and drove most of the night.  This was pre-interstate days, so most of the roads were two lane highways.  It was the first time I’d ever ventured so far away from home by myself, especially without anyone knowing.  Hey, Mom and Dad would never know.  They’re at Percy Quin on vacation!  The first thing my Dad said to me when they got back from Percy Quin was "How’d all that mileage get on the Rambler?"