Shootings, More Work, And Babies
Last week at the corner of Dumaine and Dorgenois a man was shot and then that man walked a mile to the First District police station at N. Rampart and St. Louis. The man was described as being reticent about the location and circumstances surrounding the incident. He said he had been shot somewhere near Orleans Ave. Police later interviewed the few neighbors existing in the area and found four or five shell casings on the ground at the Dumaine/Dorgenois corner, two blocks from Orleans. Perhaps only one of the bullets entered the man's side.
About ten days ago I reacquainted with Fermin after he came sauntering out of the Dumaine backyard with two of his little buddies. I have known Fermin since he was nine-years-old. He is now a few months shy of his twentieth birthday. A graduate of Clark High School where he played baseball and football, Fermin in his senior year in front of several thousand fans at Tad Gormley Stadium returned a kickoff for a hundred yards.
Did anybody touch you?
Nobody touched me, Mr. Jim.
Fermin was also in marching bands, playing the closest thing to a french horn most marching bands will permit, the mellifone? and also plays trumpet, if he had one, and is self taught on the keyboards, and would play that too if the six D batteries we purchased at the beerless Spur on N. Broad had been enough to make the the portable keyboard in M's Dumaine foyer work. But they weren't.
Fermin also likes to drink dacqueries (which I can't spell) at the lake with his girlfriends.
I don't drink 'em myself, Mr. Jim, I just get them for the ladies and then...
That's more than I need to know, Fermin.
That hairstyle I referred to the other day as long braids is not actually braids. The individual braid-like locks are called twists (which I know thanks to the diligent efforts of my research assistant; I can only ask Fermin so many direct questions about fashion).
The same day I reacquainted with Fermin I saw Snow. He was sitting on the steps of Esnard Villa crouched in the same way I showed him pictured up in the top left corner of this page where the cat sits, when I briefly ran revolving pictures up there. He has always a fathomless expression marked by black unblinking eyes. Jailhouse tattooed teardrops spot his black skin just below his left eye. I paused in the truck that day and called out to him.
Hey Snow.
(Nothing.)
You don't remember me, do you?
The faintest nod.
How you doing?
(Nothing.)
You doing all right?
(Was that a nod?)
All right man, I'll see you around.
The first Saturday I put Fermin to work on the Dumaine house I took him and my friend Laureen to Mother's for breakfast.
Sitting at one of the two tables by the kitchen and knowing that Fermin spent most evenings with his buddies somewhere on St. Ann, I said, Hey Fermin, did you hear about that shooting at Dumaine and Dorgenois?
He said, Oh yeah, that was Snow got shot.
Holy cow, who shot him?
Don't know.
Everybody that ends up on Dumaine wants to know when Mandy coming back. Yes, it's nice to see you, too. Mario (who, by the way, minding his own business, was also shot near the Dumaine/Dorgenois corner a year or two ago) and a few other well behaved boys I recognize but don't know that well, were gathered around Fermin as we finished up work the other day and they all want to know when Mandy coming back. I don't tell them not to lose hope, I'm sure she'll be back soon enough, and when she gets her house fixed up I'm sure she'll welcome you all back so you can have a safe house that people don't shoot at, yet, and you can all go about tearing the house up, again.
Somebody called out to me from over by Phillis's house on Sunday and I turned around to see a woman I did not truly recognize, walking across the street towards me. I went out to meet her in the middle of the street as she said, you don't recognize me, do you? I said, not really, and she said, it's Myrna (Shelton's mom). I kissed her on the cheek and told her she looked good and she said, when Mandy coming back? (nice to see you, too). I really been hoping to see Mandy to thank her for everything she done for me while I was in jail. I said, I'm sure she'll appreciate that, I'll tell her you were asking about her. She looked like someone who could really accomplish what she stated as her goal--not going back to jail.
Phillis's baby boy, D, is walking now, and is the king of Dumaine, next generation.
Oh, and Fermin told me this too--Erica had a baby. I haven't seen Erica since she was nine-years-old. I just loved that girl, but her aunt adopted her and took her off Dumaine because she felt the influences over there were not conducive to uprightness. Wow, what? she must be...? Thirteen or fourteen, Fermin said. Even as a one-year-old she had a remarkably mature bearing, and just amazing eyes, very worldly, as if she'd been here before, and seen the world turned asunder. I bet she'll be a good mom, probably very strict.
Erica Lewis a mom, that would just about make you unclemisterjim
I am sorry for your loss. I lost my Dad to Alzheimer's 2 years ago. He was in advanced stages & in an assited living facility that specialized in dementia care. I think your letters to your Mother are a gift to many. Thanks for sharing.
Oh... and about March Madness: GEAUX TIGERS! I'm living in Austin currently so it would be great if LSU could kick some longhorn hide!
Apologies... I meant to post that comment in the comments above... reagrding the letters to your Mom...
anyhoo-----GEAUX TIGERS!
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Last week at the corner of Dumaine and Dorgenois a man was shot and then that man walked a mile to the First District police station at N. Rampart and St. Louis. The man was described as being reticent about the location and circumstances surrounding the incident. He said he had been shot somewhere near Orleans Ave. Police later interviewed the few neighbors existing in the area and found four or five shell casings on the ground at the Dumaine/Dorgenois corner, two blocks from Orleans. Perhaps only one of the bullets entered the man's side.
About ten days ago I reacquainted with Fermin after he came sauntering out of the Dumaine backyard with two of his little buddies. I have known Fermin since he was nine-years-old. He is now a few months shy of his twentieth birthday. A graduate of Clark High School where he played baseball and football, Fermin in his senior year in front of several thousand fans at Tad Gormley Stadium returned a kickoff for a hundred yards.
Did anybody touch you?
Nobody touched me, Mr. Jim.
Fermin was also in marching bands, playing the closest thing to a french horn most marching bands will permit, the mellifone? and also plays trumpet, if he had one, and is self taught on the keyboards, and would play that too if the six D batteries we purchased at the beerless Spur on N. Broad had been enough to make the the portable keyboard in M's Dumaine foyer work. But they weren't.
Fermin also likes to drink dacqueries (which I can't spell) at the lake with his girlfriends.
I don't drink 'em myself, Mr. Jim, I just get them for the ladies and then...
That's more than I need to know, Fermin.
That hairstyle I referred to the other day as long braids is not actually braids. The individual braid-like locks are called twists (which I know thanks to the diligent efforts of my research assistant; I can only ask Fermin so many direct questions about fashion).
The same day I reacquainted with Fermin I saw Snow. He was sitting on the steps of Esnard Villa crouched in the same way I showed him pictured up in the top left corner of this page where the cat sits, when I briefly ran revolving pictures up there. He has always a fathomless expression marked by black unblinking eyes. Jailhouse tattooed teardrops spot his black skin just below his left eye. I paused in the truck that day and called out to him.
Hey Snow.
(Nothing.)
You don't remember me, do you?
The faintest nod.
How you doing?
(Nothing.)
You doing all right?
(Was that a nod?)
All right man, I'll see you around.
The first Saturday I put Fermin to work on the Dumaine house I took him and my friend Laureen to Mother's for breakfast.
Sitting at one of the two tables by the kitchen and knowing that Fermin spent most evenings with his buddies somewhere on St. Ann, I said, Hey Fermin, did you hear about that shooting at Dumaine and Dorgenois?
He said, Oh yeah, that was Snow got shot.
Holy cow, who shot him?
Don't know.
Everybody that ends up on Dumaine wants to know when Mandy coming back. Yes, it's nice to see you, too. Mario (who, by the way, minding his own business, was also shot near the Dumaine/Dorgenois corner a year or two ago) and a few other well behaved boys I recognize but don't know that well, were gathered around Fermin as we finished up work the other day and they all want to know when Mandy coming back. I don't tell them not to lose hope, I'm sure she'll be back soon enough, and when she gets her house fixed up I'm sure she'll welcome you all back so you can have a safe house that people don't shoot at, yet, and you can all go about tearing the house up, again.
Somebody called out to me from over by Phillis's house on Sunday and I turned around to see a woman I did not truly recognize, walking across the street towards me. I went out to meet her in the middle of the street as she said, you don't recognize me, do you? I said, not really, and she said, it's Myrna (Shelton's mom). I kissed her on the cheek and told her she looked good and she said, when Mandy coming back? (nice to see you, too). I really been hoping to see Mandy to thank her for everything she done for me while I was in jail. I said, I'm sure she'll appreciate that, I'll tell her you were asking about her. She looked like someone who could really accomplish what she stated as her goal--not going back to jail.
Phillis's baby boy, D, is walking now, and is the king of Dumaine, next generation.
Oh, and Fermin told me this too--Erica had a baby. I haven't seen Erica since she was nine-years-old. I just loved that girl, but her aunt adopted her and took her off Dumaine because she felt the influences over there were not conducive to uprightness. Wow, what? she must be...? Thirteen or fourteen, Fermin said. Even as a one-year-old she had a remarkably mature bearing, and just amazing eyes, very worldly, as if she'd been here before, and seen the world turned asunder. I bet she'll be a good mom, probably very strict.
- jimlouis 3-17-2006 3:07 pm
Erica Lewis a mom, that would just about make you unclemisterjim
- johnsch (guest) 3-18-2006 7:58 pm [add a comment]
I am sorry for your loss. I lost my Dad to Alzheimer's 2 years ago. He was in advanced stages & in an assited living facility that specialized in dementia care. I think your letters to your Mother are a gift to many. Thanks for sharing.
Oh... and about March Madness: GEAUX TIGERS! I'm living in Austin currently so it would be great if LSU could kick some longhorn hide!
- anonymous (guest) 3-24-2006 9:56 pm [add a comment]
Apologies... I meant to post that comment in the comments above... reagrding the letters to your Mom...
anyhoo-----GEAUX TIGERS!
- anonymous (guest) 3-24-2006 10:04 pm [add a comment]