Wednesday, November 22, 2017

What Ever Happened To Jelly Elliott?

Jelly Elliott
For 3 years during the 1950s, Americans across the country would tune into their favorite radio program and hear the jingles created by a wild, wilderness lover residing in north Louisiana.   His music and crude antics over the air attracted those listening to the dangers of forest fires.   His downhome approach to fire prevention was broadcasted throughout the country warning people of fire safety.  Then suddenly, his voice vanished from the airwaves.  What every happened to musician and storyteller, Jelly Elliott?

 Joseph Rodney “Jelly” Elliott, Jr. was born in Crowville, Louisiana on June 3rd, 1911.2   He was the son of a farming family, James R. Elliott and Winnie Lu Poland of Georgia.  Originally from the Elliott family of Mississippi and South Carolina, they came with their parents around 1900 and settled in Bossier parish, not far from Shreveport.  His early life was shaped by his family constantly moving throughout the state.  By 1920, the family, James, Winnie, Jelly and his brother Guy, had left their farming community in the Shreveport area to find work in the oil fields of Calcasieu, however this didn’t last.  By 1935, Jelly had moved back north around Haynesville and married Delora Minnie Jinks from Lillie, Louisiana.  Her mother, Nellie, was a native of Arkansas.   His parents moved to Shreveport briefly working as farmers until they settled in Oak Grove in 1940. 

Jelly Elliot (right)

By 1940, Jelly and his wife made their way to Blackfish, Arkansas, where his daughter Shirley June was born and he was looking for work as a ”showman and blackface comedian”.  He moved to Alexandria soon after 1946, running a honky-tonk bar, playing odd engagements and broadcasting from Alexandria’s KALB.  He formed a group, Jelly Elliott and his Singing Cowboys, opening up for acts such as Doug Autry; Gene’s brother.10 By early 1947, he was traveling all over the state to perform, even as far south as Abbeville.9  In May of 1947, he led his group, playing at the Menard Memorial High School in Alexandria for a Navy Reserve program.  By July, he was on the radio with the help of station manager Willard Cobb and program director Jerry Sperling.    His show opened with his jingle:  “Sing, cowboy, sing, sing, cowboy, sing, you’ll be happy all day long, if you start it with a song—sing, cowboy, sing.”6   He stated, 
“If I wasn’t on when you turned on your radio, I would be in a few minutes.”1 
Jelly's Club

When asked how he got his nickname “Jelly” he responded: 
“They call me that because I used to get in so many jams!”.1   
He even bought a place called the Old Desoto Club and sponsored a contest to find a proper name for it.   The name Jelly’s Club was selected.  Jelly had started the place with a bang.6    When the radio station and Oddfellows lodge considered producing a Saturday country music show, they received letters of support for it.  Jelly was chosen to head the program at the Jimmy Thompson’s arena.   On opening night the house was packed with the best musicians and entertainers.   The Hillbilly Jamboree was a success for a few months, however, on one occasion, the promotors forgot to pay the musicians.   They boycotted the show and the jamboree was over for Jelly.6 

Jelly Elliott, 1947

Still traveling, he’d be called to play bass fiddle on radio shows on KALB, KWKH in Shreveport and KTRM in Beaumont.  He traveled around the area, playing music, selling baby chicks, garden seeds, farm implements, and used cars, and occasionally made his way down as far south as Lake Charles.4   There, he met Cajun fiddler Abe Manuel and together, Jelly’s group traveled with Abe to New Orleans that year in order to record two songs, a Cajun French tune, called “Ville Platte Waltz” and a string band song called “Devil’s Blues”.  They were issued on the vanity label called Magnolia and the release was available by October that year.  

Jelly Elliott, Gene Autry, Doug Autry

By 1948, he was working at Jones Bar in Lake Charles at night and playing on KPLC during the day.  Moving back north, he formed a musical group out of El Dorado, Ark. called the Singing Cowboys with Slim Watts and Robert Shivers.   There, he met country music star Lefty Frizzell and the two seemed to hit it off.  Lefty continued to work with him for a while in 1948, traveling in and out of Louisiana and Arkansas.  Throughout the years, he’d perform in tent shows and his group would continue singing on the radio.  He had played with the likes of Gene Autry, Hank Williams, Tex Ritter, and Bob Wills.3 

Suddenly, things changed in later 1948.  He states: 
“I was working at a nightclub in Leesville.  The owner and I were friends and we used to like to go bird hunting, which wasn’t easy with my schedule.  We would play until 2 a.m. and then race into Alexandria to change into our hunting clothes and get our dogs and guns.  And we would always take a pocketful of seeds to plant for the birds.”4   
Jelly Elliott

But upon arriving at the woods for the hunt, Elliott was shocked to discover that one of his favorite spots had been torched by arsonists.   He ranted and raved about the injustice all the way back to KALB for one of his shows.   
“I got on the air and started raising hell about the woods being burned up.  What I didn’t know was at that time, Clint Davis, who was the head of the U.S. Forestry Commission, was touring the area, inspecting forest fire damage.  He had his assistant Jim Mixon with him looking over the woods.”4  
Davis and Mixon had been trying to come up with a concept to help promote anti-forest fire sentiment.  Although around the same time the “Smokey Bear” concept was born with the rescue of a bear cub from a fire.  Officials considered it too Madison Avenue-based for rural folk and farmers.  So when the two officials heard Elliott squawking about the fire, Davis told Mixon, “There’s the answer to your fire problems.”  Elliott moved the band to Beaumont around the end of summer 1949 and most of the band would stay with Slim Watts in Beaumont.11 He occasionally made radio appearances throughout the year. 

Jelly Elliott and band

Jelly was also feeling the stress of his lifestyle affecting his health and his family.  Life was rough on the road, particularly with the fame the national exposure brought Elliott and his family.  There was a strong temptation to go to Nashville and try to make it big on WSM, which broadcast the Grand Ole Opry.   Already having played at the Opry, he lamented: 
“I would have been a little fish in a big pond”.4    
The roadshows continued, with Elliott often working seven nights a week.  He was his own manager, press agent and advance man.  The strain started to mount.  One day in Bunkie, Elliott said, he finally gave in to a crony who was always trying to get him to down a shot of booze.  
“Then it was a half pint, then a pint, then before long a fifth a day. It took me a long time to shake that but I finally did.  You’ll find that a lot with musicians.”4   

He suffered from a nervous breakdown and developed an ulcer.   He retired from the music and retreated back to the area around the Ouichita river, farming and raising hogs.1   Once asked when he was going to come back to work, Jelly drawled:
“Just as soon as the fish stop abitin’”.8   
Jelly Elliott

At this point in 1950, it seemed that Jelly had quit playing music, however, records show he would still occasionally appear on radio shows. Meanwhile, Davis and Mixon worked out a plan and wrote up a contract for Jelly.  Henry Whede Jr of the Advertising Council, relates that Elliott agreed to help by turning his talents to forest fire prevention the way he sold merchandise.5 He would create unique, short audio jingles which promoted safe forest living and survival.3   He stated:
“Everybody loves the woods. It’s funny but it’s true.  I guess it’s the animal instinct in us.”8  
Ad for the Knotheads

Every year, radio technicians from the Department of Agriculture would visit his rural home and make these records with his group he called “The Three Knotheads” in order to broadcast them national wide.   He had himself with Deacon Anderson on steel guitar, Slim Watts on rhythm guitar and Robert Shivers on fiddle.4  At one point, it included guitarist and singer Lou Millet, Herman Populus and Jack Youngblood.7   From the start, the show was a hit in the southeast, where the program was aimed.  But, his fame spread rapidly and Jelly Elliott became popular in all parts of the country.  Davis added that the ”tone of letters from listeners indicates that Elliott’s down-to-earth, somewhat salty approach to the forest fire prevention campaign really is getting across.”  

LIFE Magazine, 1952
Jelly Elliott

Elliott stated that his programs are “unrehearsed and unpredictable” and uninhibited.  Known for cursing on the radio station during his programs, the recordings had to be edited now and then.5   He was considered the “Number One” propaganda vehicle for public education about the danger of forest fires.  In fact, in 1951, he was awarded first prize in the annual award given by the Institute for Education by Radio-TV.  In 1952, while living near Haile, Louisiana, LIFE magazine visited the radio and TV personality and wrote an article about his career.1  By 1956, his radio records were pressed on LPs and appeared on Radiodisc Electrical Transcription records.   Some were entitled “My Pal, Smokey Bear”, "When Forests Burn" and "Burning and Grazing the Woods Don't Pay".  These were 16 inch clear red vinyl studio master records, too big to play on a conventional turntable.  

They are stamped with the face of Smokey the Bear.  About 20 or so records were created and they were broadcast from as many as 4000 radio stations.3   Elliott was becoming so popular that often when he provided entertainment for political campaigns, he would find candidates pulling at one of his trouser legs from below the stage.  “Tell them it’s me running for office, Jelly.  They think it’s you” stated a worried Avoyelles Parish sheriff candidate. Today, many of these recordings can be found at the Texas A&M in the Forest Service Radio Broadcast Collection. 

By January of 1956, he quit recording all together and moved to Plaquemines Parish where he worked as a boat operator.  Eventually his entire family moved there and yet, he found time to work as an entertainer at La Louisiane Club near Canal Street.   During the day, he raised nightcrawlers for this forays to secret Plaquemines fishing spots, with building birdhouses and other projects.3 Delora died on July 4th, 1991 in Monroe after living for years in the New Orleans area.  Jelly died on January 24th, 1996 and is buried in Oak Grove, Louisiana along with his wife and his mother.2     

Flyer for the Knotheads

  1. LIFE Magazine.  May 12, 1952. 
  2. Kilbourne Cemetery
  3. “Jelly Elliot” by Lawrence Zeilinger.  West Bank Guide.  August 10th, 1983. 
  4. “A Man Named Jelly Fights Forest Fires” by Wayne Oliver.  Post.  May 31st, 1951.
  5. “Cajun Dancehall Heyday” by Ron Yule
  6. “Jelly Elliot…Puzzling Figure in Cenla Music” by Troy DeRamus.  Alexandria
  7. “Hillbilly Records to Aid In Forest Fire Prevention”.  Monroe Morning World.  November 15th, 1951
  8. Magazine article.  February 1950.
  9. Abbeville Meridional.  Feb 8, 1947
  10. Hopestar.  Mar 25, 1946
  11. Billboard Magazine. October 1, 1949

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Adolph Hitler's Horse in St. Charles Parish

In St. Charles Parish near the entrance to LaBranche Plantation in St. Rose, Lousiana, just off 11244 River Road, marked by a small stone and brass plaque, is the final resting place of the stallion some believe was the horse of Adolf Hitler. There is a story of a horse named Nordlicht - a racing champion that belonged to a ruthless dictator of the Third Reich, known as Hitler.  After the war, it was sold as a stud. Blogs, books and even the plantation’s owners would say for years that Hitler’s horse was buried in St. Rose, Louisiana.  

La Branche Plantation in St. Rose is the place to go if you’re a history buff and irreverence is your thing.  The plantation was owned by Jean Baptiste La Branche, a planter in the region. From many accounts, LaBranche Plantation in St. Rose, Louisiana, was one of the grandest on the German Coast until it was destroyed during the Civil War. All that remained was the dependency house, also called a garconniere (French for bachelor quarters).

Nordlicht, "Northern Light", was Hitler's horse. He raced the Nazi circuit in 1943 and 1944 and won the German and Austrian derbies. Undefeated, he was named horse of the year in 1944 and had his image placed on a German postage stamp. Baron Thyssen, a onetime Hitler supporter, left the horse to his manager and trainer when he fled to Switzerland. 

The US Army claimed Nordlicht as a spoil of war and brought him to the United States, where he was purchased by New Orleans surgeon and horse breeder C. Walter Mattingly, who brought him to La Branche Plantation in 1948. Nordlicht was obviously a horse of some renown, as he spent the last twenty years of his life siring numerous offspring at La Blanche.  Dr. Mattingly sold the plantation “with its exceptional Federal woodwork” to the Lentini family in 1983.

Marilyn Richoux, local historian and co-author of "St. Charles Parish Louisiana: A Pictorial History," said that local historians believe a Third Reich horse is buried at LaBranche and that a plaque is even in place over the grave, but they have no conclusive evidence that the horse definitely belonged to Adolf Hitler.

According to an anonymous Internet blog comment:

My mother remembers that horse. It was MEAN and had jumped the fence over and over, and was generally a bad horse. What I think was stupid was that this horse Nordlicht, whether or not it was Hitler's, was a beautiful but mentally off animal that was used a great deal for stud anyhow. So that lunacy is now spread liberally throughout the bloodlines of racehorses all through the States and Canada. 

It was by all accounts a bad horse, really, and had to be kept away from casual visitors.


Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Skull Island on the Mermentau River

One of the strangest folklore mysteries of our state is possibly one of the most haunting.   Inside Cameron parish exists a rather large lake known as Big Lake.  If you travel north towards the mouth of the Mermentau River, you'll pass along an island on the right side, listed on the maps as "Negro Island", which we'll call "Skull Island".   It's a marshy uninhabited island, not much different than any of the other ones around the parish near the gulf coast. The name given to it maybe part of a larger story.

Before 1819, much of the area between the Sabine River and the Calcasieu River was no-mans land.  The Spanish government and the United States couldn't agree on who controlled and governed the area.   For quite some time, the low lying area, dense forest and meandering bayous provided good cover for pirates, vandals, and other unwanted criminal activity.   It wasn't until after 1819 did the area finally become part of Louisiana yet it took several decades before the surrounding region was sufficiently settled and managed.   It wasn't uncommon to have illegal activities flourish until after the Civil War.

The story of this island begins with author W.T. Block's uncle telling him a tragic story that dates back to the Civil War.   In 1964, he carried his mother and some of her Sweeney siblings back to Grand Chenier for a visit. According to Block:
While there, I asked my Cousin Jim Bonsall, who owned a small store, if he had ever heard of that island. He quickly answered “yes” - that he could rent a boat and take me there if I so chose. Guidry described Skull Island as being located at the “north end of Grand Lake, where the Mermentau enters the lake...”

Skull Island located on the north shore

Back in 1949, he had heard of a story from his uncle who was born and raised in the area.  A story of a slaver captain’s inhumanity so bestial, that it is difficult for the human mind to comprehend it.  According to the story, a slave ship captain had pondered going upriver to Lake Arthur, but fearing he might be arrested there, he chose to dump his “cargo” ashore and return to the gulf.   The cargo was 200 starving African slaves abandoned on a marsh ridge on Mermentau River, where they were left to die horrific deaths.

Negro (Skull) Island
It goes back to 1820, when the United States passed the Act to Protect the Commerce of the US and Punish the Crime of Piracy.  It stated that:

"That if any person or persons whatsoever shall, on the high seas, commit the crime of piracy, as defined by the law of nations, and such offender or offenders shall afterwards be brought into or found in the United States, every such offender or offenders shall, upon conviction thereof ... be punished by death."
This included the section 5 detail:

"attempting to confine, deliver, or sell a negro or mulatto (similarly qualified as "not held to service", etc.) is also declared piracy punishable by death"

In March of 1865, Block's great uncle grandfather had sailed a sloop up the river in search of a high marsh ridge, where they might put in a crop of cotton. When they anchored at Skull Island, they found scattered among the marsh grass countless skulls, skeletons, and leg bones, each of the latter still shackled by a rusting leg iron to the skeleton lying beside it. Sensing the aura of death which permeated the marsh ridge, they quickly hoisted their sail and returned to Grand Chenier.

According to Block's uncle, a slaver captain stopped at Grand Chenier in May, 1865, and sought to buy rice or cattle from Dr. Millidge McCall to feed to his African chattels. McCall told him that there were neither rice nor cattle to be purchased at Grand Chenier; the residents of the Chenier at that time, consisting of women, children and a few old men, were only a notch above starvation themselves as the Civil War had just ended. McCall told the slaver too that the North had just won the war, and the slaves had been freed. 

Both knew that if a slave ship were caught with Africans aboard, the slaver captain would be tried for violating the 1820 African Slave Trade Act, the penalty of which was a charge of piracy and death by hanging.

Is there a link between the bones found on the island and the "African chattel" the captain needed to feed?   What possible ship could this have been?

In 1968, Block learned learned that the last known American slave ship to leave the Congo River in Mar. 1865 was the Huntress, a topsail hermaphrodite schooner with a capacity of 200 slaves. Hence since the voyage from the Congo River of Africa to Louisiana would require over 2 months.   This would have put the ship in the Mermentau around the same time.  According to Block:
It intrigued me whether or not the slave ship in the Mermentau might have been the Huntress.
Other records show that a Huntress type vessel landed a cargo of enslaved men and women in Cuba in 1864.  If so, without a doubt the shackled and starving Africans on Skull Island died quickly, abetted by the countless mosquito bites, and perhaps they were eaten by the numerous black panthers, which frequented the sea cane marshes around Grand Chenier during Civil War days.  

For decades the site of Skull Island was avoided like the plague by the sailors who plied Mermentau River on the schooners and steamboats. And many superstitious people often repeated tales around the camp fires, that during a full moon  the slave ghosts  danced under the live oak trees on the marsh Chenier. And surely there is no greater tale of bestiality—of man’s inhumanity to man—than the story of those unfortunate Africans who died on that island.

NOTE: The material from this article came from W.T. Block's website.


Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Should Acadiana have been in Texas?

Vermilion River
Growing up in Lafayette, I can remember taking Louisiana history in school.  We learned about the 13 colonies, the Spanish, the French, and the Louisiana Purchase.    As maps were shown of the area, there was something awfully odd about the lines that mapped the borders of the Louisiana Purchase.  An immediate question that popped up was "Why is the Louisiana Purchase not including all of present-day Louisiana?" and "Why is the line so close to where I live in Lafayette?".    Even going as far as questioning "Was Acadiana even considered part of Louisiana before the purchase?"  

Later as an adult, eating at a restaurant in Carencro, I recall looking at an old map of the town hanging in a frame on the wall.  What immediately struck me as odd was off on the left side, printed in large text, "Spanish Territory" (or something similar) pointing slightly west of the town limits.  I was intrigued.

Tracking down the answers to these questions wasn't easy.  It all begins in 1682 with the French La Salle declaring all lands of the entire area of the Mississippi watershed, including the tributaries, to be named after king Louis XIV of France.  But what that exactly meant was uncertain since not even the French had explored everything that fed into the river.  Clearly, the Ohio River valley and the Missouri River valley, but the Red-White River area and the lower portion of the river was still uncertain where the exact borders lay.   In fact, no country knew the exact borders at all.

While in school, I would routinely run across maps like this one, showing a subset of south Louisiana.

Clearly, one would ponder why The Purchase's south-western border ran so far easterly into the state interior near the Gulf of Mexico.  Here's another:

As 1800 approached, the US found out that France secretly acquired the western portion of Louisiana back from Spain; essentially everything west of the Mississippi and the area around New Orleans.  When France offered it, the surprised US bought it.  However, neither side agreed on boundaries.   At the time, Spain claimed land east to the Red River.   Given so, Spain should have controlled everything west and south of the Red River... encompassing almost all of present-day Acadiana.  

The big question is: If enforced, would we have not become part of Spain and eventually Spanish Texas?   Spain could have enforced this "Mississippi watershed only" clause.  They could have fought for all of the land that technically wasn't part of the Mississippi watershed.  I never stopped to think that there were areas in present-day Louisiana that have nothing to do with the river.

The Case For the Calcasieu

No Man's Land
Between Sabine and Calcasieu
So I looked at some maps of waterways and their connections to the Mississippi. Clearly, the Sabine River was not included.  The US knew this, yet, argued for this border.  Next, we could make the case that the Calcasieu River had nothing to do with the Mississippi or the Red and even Spain argued that case, causing a strip of land to be called "No Man's Land" for quite some time.   Neither side, however, wanted to go to war over the dispute. In order to avert further armed clashes, U.S. General James Wilkinson and Spanish Lt. Col. Simón de Herrera, the two military commanders in the region, signed an agreement declaring the disputed territory Neutral Ground. Between 1806 and 1819, neither the US nor Spain governed the area between these two rivers.  

This seems to be the most eastern border Spain argued over.  Luckily, maps at the time were often inaccurate and many names were used for the same river. 

The Case For the Mermentau

If we stare carefully at the Mermentau river basin, we notice something surprising as well.   It also has no natural connection to the Mississippi River.  It is composed of 4 major bayous and a host of smaller coulees that form a watershed all on it's own.   This watershed is practically on the backdoor of the city of Lafayette.  And yet, the US would have had no claim to it at all while bargaining over the purchase of Louisiana.

Mermentau River Basin
Amazingly, Spain and France never looked upon the small area as vital enough to suggest it was Texas.

The Case For The Vermilion and Bayou Teche

As we look across east, the next two major waterways are the Vermilion River and the Bayou Teche.   While the Bayou Teche flows into the Atchafalya, which was originally a tributary of the Mississippi/Red River junction, the Vermilion is allegedly a small bayou which formed up from the Gulf of Mexico.   It has no connection to the either major rivers.  This river seems to match up most closely to the line drawn on the Louisiana Purchase maps leading down to Vermilion Bay. 

Vermilion River
Spain could have drawn the line at this river, leaving present day Lafayette and Youngsville in two different states!   If this is so, what would life have been like for people of south west Louisiana as Texans?   Would we have spoken more Spanish? Would French have faded out much earlier?  Would Cajun food and Mexican food have co-mingled into something else?    What about our political history and it's Texas influence?  Surely, more Lone Star state flags would be flying in our neighborhoods.  
Lafayette Parish and the Vermilion River
It fascinates me thinking about the "would have, could have" of history.   The Lafayette metro area could have straddled two states, similar to St. Louis or Kansas City.  It could have developed into two different cities all together. Texas would have had a much larger French speaking population, including areas such as Acadia parish, Evangeline parish, and a portion of St. Landry parish.  Everything from oil revenue, healthcare, education, property taxes to our legal framework would be different for those on the west side of town.  

I can only imagine what life would have been like looking across the Vermilion and seeing a different state all together. 

Both sides of the Vermilion

While the Vermilion gets it's water pumped from Bayou Courtableau, it wasn't always the case.  Most maps show it as a river all to it's own.  Even some suggest the Teche was too. Given the Vermilion technically falls within the description of Spanish Texas territory, even the Bayou Teche could have become the frontier border with the Louisiana Purchase.  We could be living in Lafayette County instead; celebrating Texas independence instead of Bienville's founding of the territory.
Waterway Drainage
According to author and historian, Shane Bernard:
There is a letter in which the Spanish, writing in the 1750s, complain about Frenchman Andre Masse being on their "turf".  (He was on Bayou Teche.)  But because the French were in nearby New Orleans, and because France and Spain both had Bourbon kings united against England in times of strife, the Viceroy of Mexico didn't want to push the issue.  So he let Masse stay, unable to reach him because Masse sat in a sort of no-man's land claimed by both sides. 

Luckily, the border arguments remained much further west.  According to Bernard:
As best I can tell, the Spanish just grumbled among themselves that they owned south-west Louisiana, and made maps to that effect, but never actually tried to seize it.  Of course, the capital of Texas was in present-day Louisiana (near Nachitoches) up until the 1770s, but they didn't push beyond that line.
By 1819, US Secretary of State John Quincy Adams and Spanish foreign minister Luis de Onís y González-Vara signed an agreement fixing the border between Louisiana and Spanish Texas to be at the Sabine River; known as the Adams-Onís Treaty. This left Lafayette firmly in the hands of the US and eventually part of the State of Louisiana. By 1840, Texas was independent and erected an "international border marker" between Louisiana and Texas north of the Sabine.   Even then, the exact location within the river didn't become completely settled until the 1970s when both states moved the boundary from the western landfall of the Sabine River to the center of the body of water which it remains to this day.

International Border Marker from 1840 between Texas and Louisiana


Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Lake Peigneur Sinkhole

The lake was a 10-foot (3 m) deep freshwater lake popular with sportsmen until an unusual man-made disaster on November 20, 1980, changed the structure of the lake and surrounding land.

River flowing backwards
River flowing backwards
On November 20, 1980, when the disaster took place, the Diamond Crystal Salt Company operated the Jefferson Island salt mine under the lake, while a Texaco oil rig drilled down from the surface of the lake searching for petroleum.

Concluding that something had gone terribly wrong, the men on the rig cut the attached barges loose, scrambled off the rig, and moved to the shore about 300 yards away. Shortly after they abandoned the $5 million Texaco drilling platform, the crew watched in amazement as the huge platform and derrick overturned, and disappeared into a lake that was supposed to be shallow.

One explanation is that a miscalculation by Texaco regarding their location resulted in the drill puncturing the roof of the third level of the mine. This created an opening in the bottom of the lake. The lake then drained into the hole, expanding the size of that hole as the soil and salt were washed into the mine by the rushing water, filling the enormous caverns left by the removal of salt over the years. The resultant whirlpool sucked in the drilling platform, eleven barges, many trees and 65 acres (260,000 m2) of the surrounding terrain. So much water drained into those caverns that the flow of the Delcambre Canal that usually empties the lake into Vermilion Bay was reversed, making the canal a temporary inlet.

Meanwhile, up on the surface, the tremendous sucking power of the whirlpool was causing violent destruction. It swallowed another nearby drilling platform whole, as well as a barge loading dock, 70 acres of soil from Jefferson Island, trucks, trees, structures, and a parking lot. The sucking force was so strong that it reversed the flow of a 12-mile-long canal which led out to the Gulf of Mexico, and dragged 11 barges from that canal into the swirling vortex, where they disappeared into the flooded mines below

There were no injuries and no human lives lost. No official blame for the miscalculation was ever decided, because all of the evidence was sucked down the drain.  Days after the disaster, once the water pressure equalized, nine of the eleven sunken barges popped out of the whirlpool and refloated on the lake's surface.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Whiskey Bay Exit

Whiskey Bay Exit

Deep in the southern part of the state, off the Atchafalaya bridge, lies an out-of-place area near the interstate.  On maps, it is shown as "Whiskey Bay", exit Exit 127, off of Interstate 10.  Other than the occasional curious visitor, "edge of the bank" fisherman, and boat landing, there isn't much to see here.   In fact, for most motorists who use this exit, there's really no where to go other than return to the interstate which can be done by driving under the pass.
Under the bridge at Whiskey Bay exitAlligator near the water's edge

The entrance and exit was built during the 1960s when the highway system was being developed.  The "bay" is nothing more than a boat launch into the larger bayou  If you decide to take this exit, you will notice there are two "entrances" to private property.   It was designed to let those property owners access to this remote area.  As the Daily Advertiser states it, "This remote exit has a ramp that curves sharply, almost into a complete circle, and leads onto La. 975. Turn left onto La. 975, go just about 40 yards, and there's a huge white sign with "NO" written in large black letters. The sign is a not-so-subtle reminder that there is no public access into the woods beyond that point and trespassing is prohibited. Visitors clearly are not welcome."  

In recent times, the location was infamous related to the Mickey Shunick murder case.  After her disappearance, her bicycle was found not far from the exit.  "It's a secluded area. Most people that go out there are going to camps or just exiting the interstate for a second and then getting back on," said Maj. Johnny Blanchard, head of the Iberville Parish Sheriff's Office uniform patrol section. "There are no gas stations and no rest areas, just the boat launch. You have to go a mile or two before you see any camps. There is traffic in and out, but there are no residents or businesses anywhere around."

Other than existing as a glorified U-turn, this highway feature is a slightly bizarre thing to have on a major interstate.  



Always wanted to share stories and places of odd things about our state.  I hope to place information regarding offbeat, bizarre and strangely unique people, places and things both historic and current about Louisiana.    All of it for fun.