Several weeks ago, I began to write about the experience of living through the last two weeks of August each year of my high school days. I have no idea who was actually smart enough to realize that the training process needed to be started as early as August 15th of each year; a time when it was so very hot and humid, and the last thing in the world, any sane person would think of, was trying on a football uniform.
However, in spite of all of the discomfort, everyone I am aware of survived the ordeal. I can, however, remember the sight of Marion "Squirt" Landry resting on one knee as he heaved out everything that was left in his GI tract each and every day of the morning workout. I recall admiring him for having the guts to do it every miserable day, and I can still remember the sight of his guts spilling onto the ground, like clockwork, day after day, ad nauseum. Hell, I would have quit, if I had gone through his experience even once, much less every day.
Through this experience we all seemed to gain a healthy respect for one another. On second thought, I don't really know if it was respect or support for our mutual lack of common sense. Most other kids were swimming, boating, or trying to impress the girls while we were out trying to kill one another.
My experience with football goes back to the mid '50s. This was a time in Franklin, Louisiana history when many boys from an earlier generation were ending their high school days by playing for either Franklin High School or Hanson Memorial High School. Most of these kids had the advantage of playing against schools of similar size. When our generation's turn came, our school had just barely grown out of class A and just slipped into AA…Not exactly the ideal position to be in by anyone's standards.
One day, while I was in the third grade, the principal came to our classroom and called Mrs. Guillotte out into the hall. I could not help but overhear her say, "that cannot be; he is home sick." Apparently her son got to feeling better during the day, and he decided to pick up Gerald Poimboeuf to go for a ride with him in his '49 navy blue Ford. He had apparently lost control of the vehicle across the bayou near Verdunville and wrapped it around a telephone pole. Gerald was critically injured in the crash, and he moaned and groaned at the Aycock Clinic for at least 24 hours before he finally succumbed to the gravity of the injuries that he had sustained. Wow, I had such great respect and admiration for him, and I think it was the first time in my life that I actually saw a young person go through the process of death.
I can still see his well-built body and handsome face as he broke up a fight between Keith Dubois and myself one day after school. Keith and I had apparently made some sort of pact to fight to the death after school that day. I don't even remember what the dispute was over, but we tried like hell to carry out our promise to each other. Neither he nor I was big enough to hurt the other, but we damned sure tried. I remember Gerald running up to us as we flailed away at each other, and he quite simply separated the two of us. He immediately took charge of the situation, and neither of us made any serious threat to disregard his admonitions.
As I think back on that experience, I realize how mature Gerald Poimboeuf was at the age of only 17 or 18 years. Most boys his age would have just stood by and cheered us on until someone really did get hurt.
Mrs. Euna Poimboeuf had the awesome responsibility of raising two boys at the time of Gerald's death. Her husband had passed away at an early age, and she was left alone to finish raising their two sons. Her younger son, L. J., went on to become one of the finest field goal kickers in Franklin history and also in the history of USL. L.J. was even drafted by the Dallas Cowboys; however, he was cut before he was able to make an impression on their coaching staff. I think it was simply a case of not being in the right place at the right time, because I have since seen far less talented kickers make it in the NFL.
There were many fine athletes in Franklin during those years, and football was an activity that everyone in town looked forward to. The '50s was a time of well being, and that was especially true in Franklin, Louisiana. Real white boys from Texas were joining the native Dagos and Cajuns as Oil and Gas and Carbon Black industries began attracting these fine people to the area. Meanwhile, the Willow Street Rattlers became a fine recruiting pool for Coach Eddie Robinson at Grambling State College.
I can recall some of the fine athletes at Hanson, who all played under the finest coach in Franklin history, Dick McCloskey. I have dedicated a page to Coach, the…New…Page, and I only wish that I could do more to show my appreciation for such a fine man. Whether or not a kid attended school at Hanson, Coach was there if that individual needed a place to stay, something to eat, or transportation to anywhere. I can think of many names at the moment, however, I think it would be a grave injustice to name the ones I can think of and omit the ones that I cannot. If anyone would like to help me put together a roster, I would appreciate e-mails from you, and perhaps it could happen.
Robert McDonald is a good example of Coach McCloskey taking in a young man and giving him a place to stay. Robert played football at FHS, not Hanson, and he would have been forced to move if it had not been for the kindness of Dick McCloskey. Mac went on to play Cornerback for LSU under Paul Dietsel's "Chinese Bandits!"
I know that Hanson played for the state championship more than once in its history under Coach McCloskey, but I cannot remember specifics. Franklin High School played for the district championship, and bi-district championship two or three times prior to my playing days as names such a Waterproof and Ferriday come to mind.
The Franklin Hornets and the Hanson Tigers provided many a thrill for the sports fans in Franklin in the mid '50s, as far fetched as it might sound today, they even played without the benefit of having facemasks. I remember, very well, the first person that I actually saw play with a single bar across his helmet; he was a running back from Breaux Bridge by the name of Wilton Theriot. Shortly thereafter, facemasks became the norm rather than the exception.
When I was a freshman I was allowed to dress out with the varsity for home games, but I did not play a single down that year. The 1958 season had one bright spot for Franklin, however, and that was the play of Larry Markham. He was a very gifted athlete, and he excelled at Fullback and Quarterback. I really think that Larry could have played any position on the team. I have really had a difficult time trying to figure out who was the better athlete, Larry Markham or Amar Lancon. If anyone has anything to add to this discussion I would appreciate hearing from you. I think there could also be a valid debate that Butch Kunefke is another consideration.
The most important thing that I think all of the athletes gave to those of us who came later, was that each of us had at least one role model to pattern our lives after. I think I said earlier, that I completely lost all interest in high school athletics after I graduated, but I, too, hope that I left an impression on at least one person while I was playing out my years in Franklin. If I did, it was all worth it. Well, that's a bit melodramatic, I probably should qualify that statement. The person who was most impressed by the experience was myself; there are times that I have the luxury of daydreaming, and the most impressive thing about the experience is that I lived to tell about it.
I was thrust into the spotlight when I was in the tenth grade and became the starting Quarterback for FHS. This was made possible because of a knee injury suffered by Gary Snellgrove who was two years my elder and far more talented.
The first game in which I played was against Thibodaux High School, and the game was played at home. The very first play of the game nearly resulted in an 80-yard touchdown pass to Eddie Chase, but the ball just grazed his fingertips. Had Eddie been able to haul it in, there is no doubt that he could have finished getting the ball into the end zone. Now, I never saw the end of the play, because I was driven into the turf just at I released the ball. This was the 1959 season, and at that time the Thibodaux defensive line averaged 15 pounds more than did the line of LSU. Thibodaux went on to win the state championship that year, and they demolished practically all of their opponents as they chalked up an impressive undefeated season.
You might remember my talking to Thonis Buteaux about this game in which the entire right side of the defensive line came crashing down upon me. The season was pretty uneventful for me after the first game, because I was forced to play on an ankle that did not allow for me to run or to plant my left foot to throw a pass. I continued to play out the rest of the season, but only because I was the only person who knew all of the plays.
I think we may have won one game that year, but I can't remember who was pathetic enough to have lost to us.
My junior year was slightly different as Tom Ayres became proficient enough to do a good job at Quarterback. This allowed me to move to a running back slot, and I enjoyed having some success from that position. Tom and I alternated at Quarterback at times, and I can recall running for three touchdowns in the first half against Northside High School of Lafayette. I was in a groove, and wouldn't you know it, I sat the bench the whole second half.
However, it was another long season, and we faced very tough competition throughout our schedule. Roy "Boo" Chauvin and I have exchanged a few correspondences about specific incidents that happened during that year, and I can't do justice to the way he describes one of his stories. So, I think I will insert his story right here, and then Roy "Boo" Chauvin, will go on record as having been quoted on the Internet, and his words will remain here for anyone who wishes to read them. So, before I ramble any longer, please enjoy the words of, my friend, Roy "Boo"Chauvin.
Subject: Fair-Catch
Guy, The only thing I came up with, I met Gilbert Bonin ( Hill & Gully Rider) about 10 or 12 years ago. You remember him, He was short and real fat. He told me about an incident I vaguely remember and he thought it was funny. It was when the fair-catch rule was new and I was playing kickoff and punt coverage my first year under coach Mike Simmons (Clyde Beatty - animal trainer). Coach probably told us during the week that when a receiver raises his hand, don't tackle him. Well, I didn't hear about that rule. Gilbert even remembered the team we were playing, I don't, anyway we punted on 4th down and the kick was real high but not too far. I got off the line of scrimmage real fast and no body touched me and I was running real fast when the receiver raised his hand. It made me kinda mad because I thought he was waving to some of his relatives in the stands. I thought to myself, he must think I'm not going to bust his ass, so I kicked it up another knotch and hit him about at the belt line. He folded up like a suitcase. All of the referees threw flags, all of the coaches and all of the players from the other team came out on the field. They all wanted to fight. The opposing player was OK after he caught his breath. Coach chewed my ass out and sat me on the bench the rest of the game.
--------------- Boo
"Boo Chauvin" also recalled a story about Leslie Proctor as we crossed the Mississippi River on a ferry while aboard the old "Hornet" bound for our destination in Gonzales, Louisiana one extremely cold fall evening. I was either out of hearing range when this incident occurred, or I simply just did not remember the event. "Boo,' said that Leslie told Coach as we were ordered off of the bus, for safety reasons, that this was the first time in his young life that he had ever traveled outside of the state of Louisiana.' Coach simply told Leslie' that he was still inside of the state of Louisiana, and he could get his ass back on board the bus as soon as we were given the green light".
That was one miserable night, 24 degrees, and one hell of a good Gonzales team to face. I can remember the ball either stinging my hands as it was snapped or not feeling it at all as I received it from the Center, Larry Dupuy. Damn, it was good to get home after that miserable ass kicking, on a field that, thankfully, I was not forced to revisit. That night could easily be characterized as the most personally gratifying event I had experienced since my days as a "Duck Hunter!"
As usual, I was subjected to the, now familiar, pounding that had become the norm, but I was not injured on this particular night. However, "Boo Chauvin" suffered an injury to one of his legs, and Coach Brumfield had him running it off up and down the sideline. That turned out to not be a particularly intelligent coaching decision as "Boo" showed up at school the following Monday on crutches and a cast all the way up to his groin. He had a fractured femur, and I doubt very seriously that running up and down the sideline helped matters much. Charles "The Crab" Bordelon also suffered an injury to his shoulder, and Coach had him doing push-ups to work that out. "The Crab" showed up at school the following Monday with his arm and shoulder immobilized and a fractured clavicle. Thankfully, "Sports Medicine" has come a long way since those days. Coaches are free to coach and are not forced to act as a substitute for doctors anymore.
As I entered my senior year in 1961, Tom Ayres moved back to Pampa, Texas, and I was left to fill the Quarterback slot alone. We may have won three of four games, but we did not make any great impression on anyone.
We again beat Northside of Lafayette, and I only ran for two touchdowns this time around, however, I managed to find the end zone eleven times running that season, and I may have passed for two or three more touchdowns. We earned a tough 14 to 13 victory over Northside, but I can recall carrying the ball far too many times on a very warm and humid evening. It was a far cry from the ease with which I had scored the three TD's the year before.
I can recall as we went into Berwick, they had an impressive record in class A, and we were not at all highly regarded in class AA. However, I managed to run for another pair of touchdowns, and we wound up on the winning end of that contest. I recall after the game, one of their defensive backs came up to me and told me, "They told us that you were fast, but I had no idea that you were that damned fast." I had run a 65-yard TD around him, and before he knew what had happened, I tossed the ball to the official in the end zone. I picked my way through their defense for a 13-yard TD a little later, and the game ended with FHS defeating a previously undefeated team 13 to 0.
We were victorious in St. Martinville that year also, and I ran for a pair of TDs to help ice the victory. I recall, now, that St. Martinville had a defensive back that had formerly attended Hanson Memorial High School; I think his name is either Harry Hebert or Harry Thibodeaux, but I could be wrong about that. I remember getting into the St. Martinville secondary, cutting back, kicking it into overdrive, and completely turning him around. As I hastily headed for the end zone, I heard him say "Oh Shit," and I suddenly left him behind on my way to a 42-yard touchdown run. I had Mike Burley change positions at the line of scrimmage on another drive, and he gathered in a touchdown pass after working into the open at the goal line.
We played Breaux Bridge for homecoming that year, and I scored another pair of TDs, but as the game came to an end, I wound up on their two yard line, and we lost the contest 27 to 13. This victory was the 6th in a row for Breaux Bridge. You can see a photo of my running a 21- yard TD from the "Shot-Gun" offense on the "Photos Page." This was the first time in FHS history that a play had been run from such an offensive formation. The 21 yards was a real cakewalk as the defense was so confused by the formation!
I recall returning punts prior to the game that night during the pre-game warm up. I felt completely weightless as I was running, and I felt as though I could run the 40 in 4.0 seconds flat. It's actually difficult to realize that we were all in such good physical shape back then.
We played Kaplan on our rain soaked field early in the season, and I believe that was the only time I was overtaken from behind after breaking into the secondary of any team. In the first half of the game, I wore a pair of lightweight shoes with short rubber cleats, and as I broke into the open, I slipped and fell as the shoes lost all traction on the turf. In the second half, I changed to a pair of shoes with longer vinyl cleats, and as I again got into the open, I was chased down from behind because the cleats were bogged down with muddy sod. I still managed to run for two short TDs, but we were edged out 27 to 20.
Crowley High School was in our district, and they beat us 19 to 0 on their way to the state championship. Morgan City had completely run over us on their way to the state championship the year before, and Thibodaux won the state championship the year before that.
I scored another pair of touchdowns against Abbeville on their field, but in spite of the effort, a single score edged us out. I also remember playing on a field in Napoleonville that had not seen rain for an extensive period of time. I took the opening kickoff nearly to the midfield stripe, and I was met with a blow that saw me wind up on my head. Every time I went down on that field it felt like we were playing on concrete.
In the second half of the Assumption game in Napoleonville, I had been slammed to the turf dozens of times, and I was beginning to feel weary as the game wound down. I can recall running out of bounds rather than into the waiting arms of Johnny Costanza who would have slammed me down again. I heard him say, "that's really chicken shit!" The practice of Quarterbacks running out of bounds rather than getting banged up unnecessarily were not fashionable in those days, but I did not care, it beat the hell out of getting smashed again. It wasn't that I knew the trend was coming; I just didn't want to add another layer to the concrete floor. In the years to come, I would always feel better about dodging a bullet whenever I saw Joe Montana head for the sideline.
If there was anything that I learned from my football experience, it was not to run a naked bootleg play early in the season. I made that mistake, and I paid dearly for it in every game after that play was run successfully. It no longer mattered whether I had the ball, the defensive players were told to make damned sure that I wound up flat on the ground. The defenses that I faced learned that lesson very, very, well. I have aches and pains that remind me of that lesson every time we have a weather change. Scouting reports and game film are great teaching tools, but only for the individuals who saw the naked bootleg. There is no way to tell how many shots I received as a result of running a play that only worked a couple of times. The play was very simple, and it only took a bit of smooth ball handling and the guts to stand still with my back turned to the defense as players pushed off of me in pursuit of what they thought was the ball. When run properly, it not only fooled the defense, but the officials as well.
I recall while I was in business in Centerville, some of the CHS alumni were discussing the possibility of having Centerville participate in football. Prior to that time it had been a class C school, and it only participated in Basketball, Baseball, and Track. I thought the idea was completely absurd, but some of the alumni were quite determined to take on the challenge. I remember telling Pres Foster that getting your ass kicked every Friday night in the fall did not necessarily build character. Fortunately, the school decided not to pursue the flawed idea after all, and this spared the Centerville youths from complete humiliation.
As I said before, I completely lost interest in sports after I graduated from high school, but I still think it was so very important to set an example for the younger kids who looked to us for direction. I recently saw a picture of the homecoming float in the Banner-Tribune, and I could not help but notice that it appeared that there were no white boys at all on the team. The black athletes have apparently taken the place of the boys such as myself, and that may well be because the white boys no longer have role models to aspire to. I don't mean to diminish the talent possessed by the black athlete, but I think it just shows that the Caucasian no longer has the desire to compete on that level.
Of course, I must remember that I will be 60 years old in the spring, and my value system might not coincide with what is pervasive today. People are always changing, and every generation is different from the one before, and after several generations have evolved since the prime of one's life, nothing even looks familiar anymore. However, I think that is probably the way it is supposed to be, because our interests change as we get older, and things that might not have been so important to us at a younger age, might be engendered in us, as we grow older.
Football at Franklin High School had one common denominator, and if you are 59 years old at the moment or 69 years old, you will remember Bev Hayes. Bev was a very faithful "Water-Boy," and those of us who knew him well loved him and cherished him. I think that "Bev's" story probably should be reserved for Reflections XIII.
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