Joe Bordelon might remember a Saturday afternoon, in November 1935, when he and Tobe Wood stood beside us at a cross-roads just outside the northern gateway to the campus at L.S.U. He might also remember two big state-troopers who wore straddling traffic at the intersection referred to.
Cars, trucks, and buses whizzed through the intersection, or pulled up short according dictates of the troopers and, presently, a seedy looking touring car, driven by a seedy-looking individual and loaded down with children, hound dogs and a chicken-coop, cautiously approached the center of traffic.
One of the big, slick troopers waved this vehicle on with hand even as the other rested upon the black leather holster which was strapped to his side.
"Get along there, Redneck,” said the policeman to the driver of the loaded car.
We were distressed and disgusted with such a show of authority on the part of the officer and for such utter disregard of human feelings. And we have carried the memory of the incident across the years. Huey Long hadn’t been in his grave but a month or two, and we don’t doubt he had a hand in the fashioning of such elite guardsmen as those who straddled the flowing traffic at LSU. Yet it was the seedy-looking man in the seedy-looking car, and his thousands of counterparts throughout Louisiana, who had put Huey on the top of the heap. And in return for such a favor, they had been led to expect a crown and a scepter, rather than insults from the storm-troopers of their kingmaker.
So we mused to ourself as we walked from the campus back to Baton Rouge, that we'd be glad when our train returned us to Mississippi which was fresh out of dictators and bullies who strode the traffic lanes in the guise of highway patrolmen.
It was Christmas week, in Greenville, Mississippi, in the year 1949, and Old Stuff, westward, along Washington Avenue, approached the Shelby Street crossing cautiously. He was in his old pick-up truck, and Mitzi, his red cocker, had her head out the left side window, with her paws resting upon the crook of her master's elbow.
The light was still red, and a car was backing away from the post office curbing, so we figured to be in luck for parking space. The light turned green, and we were easing through, in second gear, so as not to crowd the rear of the car ahead which, even then, was pulling away so obligingly.
"All right, drive that thing or get it off the street," shouted a slender, young policeman, who was standing at the intersection, and directly beneath the traffic light.
We thought for a minute that we were back in Louisiana. It was true that our needler was young, and thin, whereas the late Huey's copper had been slick and fat. But the spirit of the two incidents was identical. The parade of pistolled authority was there, and the contempt for one's feelings, even worse in this particular instance, because it was Christmas time.
We mailed our Christmas packages and drove on down the avenue. Somewhere in the last block, we heard ours and Mitzi’s name called from an eastbound squad car. Al Hollingsworth was waving his friendly wave, and smiling his warm, and friendly smile.
"Merry Christmas," he seemed to say, and all the while we were driving slowly, and cautiously, as not miss a second of his greeting and his smile.
It was a smart guy who once observed that you can always expect courtesy and kind treatment from the man at the top. Orchids to Chief Hollingsworth, made us realize that we weren't in the late Huey's Louisiana after all.
BC.
