Travel Trailers and Huey Long

 

I had never seen nor really heard of such a strange house that could be moved on wheels to a different town, or even state, until my first glimpse of one in a magazine Mama had picked up. She and I thought they were cool and wanted to see one up close, inside, and out, hoping we could one day.   Daddy was now a politician, elected to the Louisiana state house of representatives and traveling back and forth to Baton Rouge.  Our family was experiencing a new lifestyle.  Mama would often spend days with him at the Heidelberg hotel while we free ranged around the farm with Annabelle in charge.  Annabelle lived in a shot gun, with her family, next to our barn.  She was as much a part of our family as anybody and well trusted to take care of the four of us. We were as comfortable in her home as her children were in ours.

Occasionally, mama would allow one of us to travel with her to Baton Rouge while the rest stayed home.   I remember, vividly, one occasion in the summer of 1953, when I was 10 years old. I got to see a whole parking lot full of these motor homes.

   The history of travel trailers dates to the beginning of cars and motorized travel on highways, but not until the early 1950's were they being marketed as an inexpensive form of housing.   People were still recovering their lives after World War II and were reluctant to spend large sums of money, so the trailers were described as an option to renting apartments, a cheaper form of housing.  They were rectangular in shape and only eight feet wide.  Not until around 1956 did they become 10 feet wide.  They were an alternative to site-built homes the ads would say.

Mama and I had gone to Baton Rouge and settled in our second home, the Heidelberg hotel. 

The hotel was built in 1927 and was a favorite haunt of Governor Huey Long who stayed there in the 30's when he was overseeing the construction of the state capital building, four blocks from the hotel.  The hotel had an underground passageway that led to the hotel across the street where Huey would meet his flamboyant mistress.  During the 50's this hotel was THE place for politicians to stay and so we did.  While Mama attended sessions at the capital or luncheons with politicians' wives, I would roam around the hotel with legislator children spending time at the pool on the third story roof overlooking the Mississippi river, or roaming through the underground passageway to the hotel across the street, unaware of the history of this underground tunnel, but fascinated that I could come out in the lobby of the King hotel across the street.  It was just a great way to play with friends.  When we tired of this game, we would play ball or hide and seek on the capitol grounds or climb on the statue of Huey Long, gazing toward the capital, when guards weren't watching.  One day while playing around the statue my friend said his daddy was buying a house trailer and they would bring it to Baton Rouge, staying near the LSU campus, instead of at the Heidelberg, to save money. Not to be outdone, I told him that I already knew all about those trailers and how my mama and I had already seen one and they were thinking of buying one, too, and keeping it near LSU.  This was partly true.  We had seen some at a dealership in Baton Rouge and Mama and I had planned to visit the lot on the way home. 

One afternoon, Mama decided we should visit the trailer lot posing as millionaires and have fun with our little adventure.                                        

She had me dress up in my Sunday clothes, a suit and bow tie, while she dressed in a pink shirtwaist dress, pill box hat with a short veil, gloves and chinchilla stole.  We had a Buick station wagon at the time, and it probably didn't look like the fanciest car, but we didn't care.  Off we went to the trailer dealership, laughing and practicing our story.   Our adventure had begun.  Mama concocted a story of being a state representative's wife and a distant cousin of Huey Long and that we were interested in purchasing several trailers ourselves for our family to stay in for home games at LSU.  The man practically fell over himself showing us the finest trailers on the lot.  Mother inspected the insides with a fine-tooth comb, swiping her gloves over surfaces, lifting mattresses, checking out all the cupboards, inspecting every inch of this new house on wheels while talking nonstop in a snobby attitude of a voice.  She carefully wrote down every detail concerning prices and handed me several brochures for us to choose the kind we wanted, explaining that we would be back the next week or two to purchase three trailers to be delivered to our land near the college campus.  This salesman must have thought he had a great deal going with his new venture in trailer sales. As other people explored the trailers, we talked about our trips overseas and mentioned the Governor's name several times. The salesman was all excited for his sales to be, but suddenly mama straightened herself, abruptly thanked him for all the information and the tour while ushering me quickly toward the car, mumbling loud enough for everyone to hear that we had to hurry for she had forgotten her meeting with the governor’s wife for tea.  Leaving the salesman high and dry.

While driving back to the Heidelberg, Mama said with a wink, “Now wasn't that better than just going to look at those old trailers, like ordinary people?” That poor man is going to be sad we we don't return. Of course, I couldn't wait to tell my friends of my great adventure.  Note:  Ironically, years later when daddy became a state senator, he did buy a house trailer and keep it near LSU.  It was convenient to stay in after home games and not fight the crowd heading back to Alexandria.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.

 

                    THE DAY MAMA STOLE THE FIREWOOD...

                                 A THANKSGIVING MEMORY

   I wish there were a photograph, a little instamatic black and white would do, so I could frame it for future generations to enjoy. But there isn't and memories are all that remain.  It was a beautiful fall day; the leaves were at their brightest. The sky couldn't have been any clearer. You could see your breath in the early morning light. It was the mid 1950's. I was 14 and my brother 10. Thanksgiving morning. The family had plans to visit some German friends of my parents, in south Louisiana, later in the day, to share the Thanksgiving meal.

My brother and I were waked up early with Daddy's shrill whistle. He had a way of doing that when he wanted something done immediately. We hopped out of bed and were given orders to hitch a trailer up to the truck and then go with our mother to pick up a load of firewood. 

 Daddy was sending - yes, that is the operative word - the three of us to get the firewood from a place in Buckeye, a small community outside of Alexandria because he had business to take care of. The man owed Daddy money and since he was unable to pay, suggested Daddy take the firewood for payment in exchange. We were to do this before we left for south Louisiana.

After some verbal communication, between the two of them, the three of us set off with an attitude. Mama still had not finished cooking the dish we were to bring, and Buckeye was out in the country with lots of winding roads. She didn't know the area like Daddy did, but could he go? Oh, no.  He had to send her! My brother and I listened to this tirade all the way there.

            We wandered the roads in the country, looking for the house Daddy described.  It was taking too long. Mama, in her madness, had forgotten the exact directions.  (This would not be a problem, today, because of cell phones, but we didn't have that luxury in the 1950's. 

The more we drove the more Mama thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley. The more she thought of things she had to do, the more upset she became. The more upset she became, the louder she got. We moved to the backseat as we listened to her tirade against Daddy. She began driving recklessly.

Finally, she spotted a huge pile of wood stacked against a pasture fence, newly cut, close to the road.  “That’s the place,” she said.  “He said the woodpile was not near the house, but close to the road.” 

The house was a good 100 yards away and Mama didn't see the need to knock on their door since we were in a hurry. She backed the trailer up to the pile of wood and ordered us to hurry and load it on the trailer.  

We protested. She yelled at us, “The man knew we would be here today, so no need to knock. Daddy called him, I’m sure.”

 When almost all had been loaded, a woman came out of the house, shouting at us.

 “Who do you think you are?  My husband just cut that wood this morning.  You're stealing our wood,” she shouted. 

Mama snapped.  “I am Mrs. Cecil Blair.  We are not stealing your wood. Your husband owes my husband money, and we are taking this wood for payment. We were to pick it up today.”  

Mama told us to keep loading.  The woman ran into the house saying she was going for her gun. “This woman’s nuts. Hurry,” Mama said and ordered us to finish loading and quickly get in the truck. 

As Mama started the truck a man came roaring down the road, trying to block us. Mama thought he was going to explain things to his wife, but he wasn’t. He was angry. He had a gun. Mama managed to maneuver around him, and we weaved about the road heading for home. We heard shotgun fire. She drove faster.

We arrived home and began unloading the wood while Mama hurried into the house, mumbling bad things about my Daddy, who wasn’t home.

 Suddenly a Sheriff's car drove up. The sheriff got out of his car and asked my brother and I some questions. He sent us inside to get Mama.

We told Mama he wanted her to come outside, but she refused because she had too much to do before we left. The sheriff followed us inside. She told them they could talk with that sorry husband of hers when he returned. 

The sheriff asked how she got the wood. She explained that some man named Mr. Wilson owed her husband some money, that she had to go get it and we didn't have time for this because we were going to Crowley for Thanksgiving with some friends and she still had to finish the dish she was making, bathe and change clothes and make sure all four of us children were getting dressed and ready. 

The sheriff tried to interrupt her, but she didn't hear him and shouted for us, boys, to hurry up.  There was too much to do. 

Finally, the sheriff said, “Mrs. Blair, I understand your frustration, but what did you say the man's name was where you took the wood?” She said, Mr. Wilson out in Buckeye.  He looked at his tablet and said, “Mrs. Blair, you were not at Mr. Wilson's house. You stole that wood. I’m afraid we must arrest you.” 

Thankfully, Daddy arrived home before they took her away.  And, yes, we had to take the wood back before leaving for Crowley. Thank goodness Daddy was friends with the sheriff. I'm sure glad the meal was not planned for the noon time.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.