Those of you who may have been following the construction of this site might have noticed that I included the song "Dancing in the Dark" as part of the audio component. I would think that most of you wonder why I suddenly shifted to music more upbeat. Well, that's another story in itself.
On December 15, 1978, Mrs. Elda Martin (or Mrs. Frank Martin, Sr.) was being waked at Ibert's Funeral Home in Franklin, Louisiana. That particular night led to some aberrant happenings, and I have not been able to get this song out of my head since that night!
I guess the activities of that time could be interpreted as part of a mid life crisis! Mrs. Elda Martin or "Maw" as she was known, to those of us who were privileged enough to know her well. "Maw" would have probably been appalled by what happened to me that night. However, it was she in the casket not me!
By this time, my soon-to-be ex-wife and I were beginning to experience more and more ill feelings toward each other. We went to the funeral home together to pay our final respects to a fine lady, and we left the kids with her mother while we were out. When we had paid our respects, we went back to her mother's house to pick up the kids. I let her out of my truck, then, I backed out of the driveway and took off like a rocket. I don't really remember why I was particularly irritated with her that night, but it had become a familiar feeling by then. I think my "Dearly Ex-Beloved" was genuinely shocked when I took off without her! The behavior was so uncharacteristic of me, and I truly think that she had a genuine delusion that she could do no wrong!
This was "Duck Season" in Louisiana, and any man, who was a "MAN", was at the camp getting drunk! Each of these gentlemen got totally stoned and got up before dawn and simply went through the motions of hunting for ducks. Amazingly, some of them actually killed a few which bolstered their manhood! Now I certainly do not mean for this to sound condescending, but I had given up "Duck Hunting" when I was about twelve years old. No, "Duck Hunting", was not grossly unattractive, that is unless you had lived through the two experiences that I had had as a so- called "Duck Hunter!"
When I was about ten years old, my brother got a single shot 16-gauge shotgun for Christmas. He and I looked at the picture in the Montgomery Ward catalog so frequently that I still remember the price, $23.55. Quite a bit of money back then, but not a bad deal today. Shortly after Christmas that year, he and I went hunting without a dog (or so I thought). Strangely enough, I had a pair of hip boots, but I did not own a gun. I don't know why, but there was an abandoned sugar cane field somewhere south of "Foster's Woods" or "Stewart Field," as it was known, that was flooded. Someone had built a "Duck Blind" out in the water, and this particular afternoon, it was uninhabited. We waded out to the "Blind", and as we crossed over the flooded rows, the water reached the very tops of my hip boots. We sat in the "Blind" for quite some time before a couple of ducks landed on the surface of the water. He fired a single shot, and I'll be damned if he did not kill one of them!
Little did I know that I would serve in such a vital capacity! He told me to go get the duck. It suddenly dawned on me that he had worked fairly hard on me to accompany him. I was the "retriever!" I walked the 30 or 40 yards very slowly and cautiously, because each time I went over a row, the water reached not more than ¼ inch from the top of my boots. After having walked about two-thirds of the way to the duck, I suddenly stepped right into what would normally have been a drainage ditch! Oh Shit! I totally unexpectedly went under and completely out of sight! I came up soaking wet, snorting out water from my "gills", and colder than a witch's tit! I instinctively kept on going toward the duck with a pair of boots full of ice cold water. I fetched the duck, and tried to remember exactly where that damned ditch was, I would not get caught off guard again. When I got to the ditch, I attempted to jump across the damned thing, but, again, I landed squarely in the middle of it! This was beginning to become one hell of a good time; no wonder everyone loved to go "Duck Hunting!" When I got back to the blind, we must have waited for another hour and a half before my warmly dressed and dry sibling finally conceded that he would kill no more ducks that day. As a matter of fact, the one that he killed was not even a Mallard! I was so damned cold, soaking wet with a pair of boots full of water, I had no proclivity whatsoever to even think about "Duck Hunting" again!
The experience I just described took place, as I said, when I was about ten years old. When I was about twelve years old, I had another opportunity to go on a "Real Duck Hunt!" Berwick Chauvin, and his two boys, Mike and Buddy, invited me along on a hunt across six-mile lake. WOW, now this was really a big deal! This is where the real hunters went, because they were knowledgeable, experienced, and highly skillful! We got up that morning well before daylight and towed the boat to the Verdunville landing to be launched so that we could hunt on the north side of the lake very close to Baton Rouge. So what if it was 25 degrees, the wind was blowing from the "North Pole" at about 25 miles per hour, and the lake had four to six foot swells? This was the big time, and a little rough weather was just perfect for ducks! Ducks, maybe, but people, Not NO, but HELL NO!
As we got near the middle of the lake, we saw a boat that was towing a pirogue. Both the larger boat and the pirogue were capsized. I don't remember for certain, but I think there were four men who had tied themselves to the capsized boat. There they were, in the water, and about to freeze to death! Of course, we could not ignore their predicament, so, we began to fish them out of the water, one by one, and get them safely into our boat. Once we got all of the men on board, we headed back toward the landing to rush these guys to the hospital. To hell with their boat and their pirogue, they were allowed to just drift away. I remember we had to slap them around to keep them from falling asleep, as they were extremely hypothermic and very near death. As we were slowly heading back to the landing (over loaded) we began taking on water over the stern. When we finally got there, our boat had nearly been swamped several times, but somehow we managed to arrive safely, and the men were quickly driven to the hospital in Franklin. That was the end of my "Duck Hunting Career." I had just had too damned much fun to even be tempted to ever go "Duck Hunting" again in my entire life!
Now that the background is somewhat clear, this is why the following events of the night of "Maw's" wake seem logical (or at least to me). I first went to "Vee's Lounge", and found that five or six of my friends' wives' were out on the town. Their husbands' were at the camp, and the ladies were just out to have a good time. I don't know for sure how it progressed, but we all wound up in my truck (probably six women and myself); I don't even know how we all managed to fit into the cab! We left "Vee's" and next stopped at the "Copa", where a live band was performing. People were dancing and drinking, and we simply joined the party. This was fun, and the thought of my "Ex" faded from my conscious mind. We stayed there for a while, and then we, again, loaded into my truck and headed for the "Matador!"
Upon arrival at the "Matador", the place was packed and "Dancing in the Dark" was playing on the Juke Box time after time. I still remember how Skippy Hebert seemed to keep rhythm with the song as he served drinks at the bar. The women got scattered into the familiar crowd of people, and occasionally I may have danced with one or more of them as the night progressed.
Shortly after midnight, a guy in a blue suit entered the club and came straight for me. I'll be damned if it wasn't the "Ox!" His real name was Craig Moore, but we had always called him the "Ox" in school. He was somewhat of a clown, and his awkward and boisterous ways made the "Ox" an appropriate nickname for him. He was just the kind of guy one could not help but like! We exchanged greetings and hugged each other like the old friends we really were. It really was good to see the "Ox" on such a special evening; everything else unusual was happening, so why not see the "Ox?" He seemed to make a real point that everyone saw him buddying up to me, and that I responded to all of his friendly gestures. I think he even ordered a round of drinks for me and all of my "one night" friends! However, you will just have to take my word for what might just be a faulty memory.
The "Ox" was so unique and entertaining that when he played basketball in high school, the fans for the opposing team would chant "We want the "Ox" when he was on the bench!
Now, I have been married three times, and I have never once been unfaithful to any one of these three women. Fortunately or unfortunately, whichever side one takes, if daylight could have been held back for another 20 or 30 minutes, I may not be able to make that statement today! I suppose I am glad that things worked out the way they did.
When I arrived home shortly after dawn, my "Ex-Dearly Beloved" was sitting on the bed, and she was pretty well "Pissed!" Thankfully, she took the kids and left for the day. To say that I needed the sleep is in no way an understatement! Damn, what a hell of a wake!
About six months later, a man and a woman came into my pharmacy and asked if I had seen Craig Moore on a specific night in December the year before. I remember telling the woman, "Lady, I have been trying to live that night down for the past six months!" The last thing I needed was to face an inquisition from two perfect strangers! I told her that I had seen the "Ox" sometime close to Christmas, but I did not remember the exact date, and yes it was very likely after midnight. The man and the woman were private investigators hired by the "Ox's" family. She informed me that he had been incarcerated in the Lafayette Parish Jail since shortly after the night in question. She asked me if I thought that the "Ox" was capable of raping a woman and hitting her in the head with a tire tool. Slightly shaken, I remember responding, "Maybe!" The "Ox" was always somewhat of an enigma and I thought it was entirely possible. That would also explain why he so handily used me as an alibi! How could anyone have not seen the two of us exchanging greetings? He had also made a phone call back to Lafayette from Polito's Bar and Grill at a specific time so as to establish a telephone record of his whereabouts at that time.
Two or three weeks later, the "Ox" was found in his jail cell hanging from a loop that he had crafted from his bed sheets! I have no reliable way of knowing whether he was guilty or innocent, but I suppose the prospect of life imprisonment was more than he could possibly bear.
I had had one hell of a night, but I guess "The Ox's" night was one that he could NEVER live down!
