First day of school, and the Frazier sisters wait to walk me to school. The Boy Scout Hut is off-camera to the left. (Photo from author’s collection.)
Goose Hollow holds many of the earliest memories of my childhood, particularly of the time we lived in the last house on Erin Street. This was probably the house the DeLee’s lived in before they moved to Miller Road. It was the largest of the group of rent houses Ike and Marie DeLee owned in the Hollow. We ended up living in it when we moved back from Pearlington, MS.
Why this creek bottom part of town was called Goose Hollow I do not know. It was bounded on the east side by Asylum Creek that meandered and curved southwest, and the higher ground to the north and west. It comprised 4 to 5 city blocks counting the slopes rising out of the creek bottom. Across Asylum Creek on higher ground was the road from Highway 10 to the main gate of East Louisiana State Hospital (the crazy house), the largest employer in town. On the west side of this road was a bar known by all as the-bottom-of-the-hill. It was built on poles driven into the steep creek bank with only the front few feet of the building on ground level with the road, with a sidewalk running in front all the way to the hospital main gate. Across the road from the bar was a garage and at one time a car dealership. Between the garage and the state hospital property lay the old section of the Jackson Cemetery.
It was here, in the “big” house, that we lived whenever I started first grade. That would have been in late August or early September of 1960. Mom took a picture of me standing in the dead-end road, book sack in hand, looking back at her. I was on my way to walk to school with the two older Frazier girls, Sandra and Darlene. School was just four and a half blocks away, but we had to cross main street, Highway 10 (Charter Street).
On the south side of Erin Street and bounded on the west by the cross street and the south and east by Asylum Creek was an undeveloped block of land. It was open sage-grass land except for one huge pecan tree that stood on a small rise near the middle, and under this pecan was a small building. This may have been a small house at one time, but at the time it had one large room with a smaller room partitioned across one end for storage. Its furnishing consisted of a desk and a few rows of backless, wooden benches. There was a door facing Erin Street and a door opposite it in the back wall facing the ancient pecan tree. At the time it was being used as the meeting house for the local boy scout troop. I remember it being painted a dull red hue; or, at least that is what remained of what paint that had not weathered away. They usually kept the “Boy Scout Hut” locked. Most of the double-hung, wooden sash windows were painted shut, and no one bothered to lock them, even if they had locks or stops.
It being a boy’s club, girls just naturally wanted to know what they did in there. One day, the Frazier sisters found a window loose enough they could open from the outside. I was drafted to be lifted, crawl through it and open the door for the girls.
I believe I said “Won’t we get in trouble?”
Somehow, I was convinced we could get away with it. Probably did not take much convincing because I was curious, and aspired to be a scout someday. The bottom of the window was as high as Sandra’s shoulders and Darlene’s chin. Both girls were in their teens, and in the same grades as some of the scouts. I placed my bare feet in their cupped hands and they heaved me through the window.
The back door only had a slide lock on it that I could barely reach. I stood on my bare tiptoes, stretched up my arm and opened it. The girls immediately came through the door, having run around the building as soon as they saw I could reach the lock. My little sister Sharon was given the job of lookout at the window I had come through. I think we only found a few pamphlets on Boy Scout stuff and a well-used Boy Scout Manual. Besides the single desk and chair and benches there was an American flag, the kind you would see carried in parades, placed in a stand against the front wall to one side of the desk. I would bet it only had 48, or fewer, stars on it. To the other side of the desk was the Christian flag.
In School we learned the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag, and in Sunday School we were taught a pledge to the Christian flag. Thinking on it now, I can still remember the Pledge of Allegiance, but not the pledge to the Christian flag. I can imagine what you may be thinking about what that says of me.
We probably had not been inside five minutes when Sharon hollered, “Here they come!” Down the hill from main street and coasting fast were a bunch of boys on bicycles.
Out the back door we four ran. Unlike the well-worn path that my bare little feet had trod from Erin Street to the front of the scout’s hut, the area behind the hut had had very little foot traffic. In among the sage grasses were many a little sticker and brier bush. I made it about ten feet past the back corner of the hut before I could not stand it anymore.
They left me. The three girls were wearing tennis shoes or flip-flops. The whole time I was crying, “Please, come help me. I can’t run through the stickers. Please!” They did not even look back. I was a long time in forgiving those girls for that. Makes you think women might be the better military commanders because they know when to cut their losses and run.
The scouts found me squatted down in the middle of that sticker patch holding my feet and crying. All I could think of was, “boy, I’m in trouble now!”
But they were not angry! Most of the half dozen or so teenagers were quite amused at my predicament, and just stood around laughing. Now, I do not remember who they were, but I would be pretty sure some of them still remember me. One of the scouts scooped me up in his arms and brought me back into the scout hut. I was sat on one of the benches and they gathered around and start pulling the stickers out of my feet. Once they had done all they could at using pocket knives to dig out the broken briers, they painted the whole bottoms of my feet red with Merthiolate[1]. The antiseptic sting was mild compared to the pain of the thorns.
As they were finishing up my mom appeared at the door of the hut. Sharon had at least sent the cavalry. She looked at my feet and wanted to know if I could walk. I really could not, so one of the scouts volunteered to piggyback me home. I have often wondered if those guys got their first aid merit badge because of me.
[1]Merthiolate was an Eli Lilly brand of antiseptic. It was a mercury containing compound descended from a late Nineteenth Century compound. Every kid born in the 40s, 50s and 60s would most likely be familiar with it and its competing brands. The FDA restricted its over-the-counter use in the 1980s (they dropped its "safe and effective" label), and banned its use as a vaccine preservative by the 1990s; although, it is still used in some parts of the world as a vaccine preservative. It was said to be a cause of autism in vaccines for children, but the World Health Organization said it wasn't (as if the WHO can be trusted).
I appreciate you reading and your comment. I must admit my maternal grandmother spoiled me rotten though.
The scouts might not have done you a great favor by painting such a large area with that much old formulation Merthiolate- The active ingredient can be absorbed through the skin (let alone through punctures!) and sodium ethylmercurithiosalicylate quickly dissociates in the bloodstream, releasing ethyl mercury (Google methyl mercury, they behave nearly identically in the body). Ethyl mercury has no trouble crossing the blood/brain barrier and has a long half life once it gets there (the mercury also accumulates in your kidneys)- One of the reasons newer formulations of "Merthiolate" & other brands no longer contain thimerosal, a little bit of organic mercury goes a LONG ways in nerve damage and unknowing people did occasionally slather it on large areas.