My earliest memories begin on Flood Street. We lived in a house that was almost identical to the one pictured except it was white with green shutters. I was 3 years old at the time, 1956. The house was a stones throw from the levee and the Mississippi river. You could literally walk into the front yard, look up, and watch ships go by. We lived in a hughe shot gun house. A shot gun house is just that. There is a livingroom or "front room" as we called it followed by a bedroom, bedroom, kitch, back room and back porch. All in a straight shot if one was to shoot a gun through it, it would be a straight shot. Hence the name "shot gun house". This particular home had a few extra rooms tacked on the rear with and extra bedroom, bathroom and kitchen upstairs, in the back. Thre families at anyone time occupied this house. My parents, my materal grandparents and then my mothers brother and his wife, uncle Bill and aunt Dean. Memories at this house are foggy for me. There are a few though that are crystle clear now even after all this time.
I recall a few major events while living here. My sister Donna was born October 1956. She was a scrawney little thing,ha ha! Threee years younger than me. She apparently got hold of a bottle of asprin and took quite a few, necessitating a trip to the hospital and her stomach being pumped out.
My oldest brother, Howard Jr failed the 3rd grade here and got the only spanking I ever new my daddy to give anyone.
The first furneral I ever went to occured during this time. I had a cousin named Susan who needed a tonsilectomy at 5 years old. She bled to death on the operating room table. I can still to this day see her lying in the coffin. She had long brown hair and they had brushed her hair upward and outward to flow all over the pillow. Looking back she looked angelic, but throughout the rest of my childhood and teenage years I was careful to always tuck my hair firmly under my head at night to prevent it from flowing over the pillow. I guess I thought if it flowed upward and outward like little Susan's, I might wake up dead. Child hood can be a scary place.
There were some good memories here on Flood St. I remember Easter egg hunts up on the levee, running down to the corner grocery for a drink or snacks, playing outside till dark, seeing my cousins, having my Grandma and Grandpa live with us,so no, it wasn't all bad.
I was so saddend when Katrina totally and completly destroyed this little neighbood. My oldest brother, my sister and I had actually planned to make a trip back to visit all the old neighborhoods, but we tarried too long and now its all gone.
I guess the moral to the story is to not put things off. We never know when people, places or things will be changed or better yet gone. Things change...it seems a very ongoing thing with me these days and I remain thankful to God for all things.
Blessings, peace, all good,