Like many of my Facebook followers, Allyson wished Ruth and me “happy anniversary” this past Wednesday. We only met a few times over her 40 plus years. Our last communication was on-line a couple of years ago when her dad passed. We have only one thing in common, her parents, and especially her dad. So this blog is for Allyson Smith (and my Aunt Ruth).
Mike Smith and I were fraternity brothers. We were members of Lambda Chi Alpha at Western Michigan University. While we were “brothers” for two years, we ran with different guys and lived separate lives. It wasn’t until after I graduated that we really connected.
I landed a job in Plainwell in the fall of 1969 and returned to Kalamazoo looking for a roommate. The two guys that I’d lived with for the past two years, Gary and Jim, had graduated and were off on their own. I stopped in to meet with some fraternity brothers while I sought new housing and connected with Mike. He was looking for a roommate too. He still had a class or two before graduation, and all of the older guys had moved on. We decided to look for an apartment together and our friendship blossomed. We shared a lot of good times.
Our first adventure took place in November of that year. I had “won” a free stay in New Orleans, so we decided to take advantage of the free room. We just needed to drive down, attend a land promotion presentation, and the room was free. We looked for a third guy to share the travel expenses but had a difficult time finding anyone with the time or inclination to make the drive.
My youngest sister, Jackie, was dating a guy named Bob, and we asked him if he’d like to go. He jumped at the chance. He had recently graduated from high school, and I expect he wanted to “run with the cool guys”. I had the Thanksgiving week-end off of work so we began our trip on Wednesday after school was dismissed. We drove my Mustang convertible and agreed to pay for our own food and drink while we split the “gas bill” three ways.
The drive down had two hiccups. The I-465 loop around Indianapolis was under construction. The on and off ramps were still being developed and there were few opportunities to access either. We got on without incident, but missed our off ramp and ended up circling the city. This increased the length of the trip by almost an hour.
The plan was to arrive in New Orleans in the morning so we’d have the entire day to explore the city. My Aunt Ruth knew of our plans and she advised me to “go to the Two Jacks restaurant for dinner”. We knew nothing of New Orleans except its name, its reputation for bargaining with shiny beads, and the single dining destination suggested by my aunt.
We made a stop for gas somewhere in Tennessee, and while we were there “young Bob” had to use the restroom. His job required him to be seated. After buying gas and using the facilities we were off on our way. About forty-five minutes down the road “young Bob” discovered that he had lost his wallet. “It must have fallen out while I was in the John.”
His money and his drivers license were in the wallet so we turned around hoping to retrieve it. We found the station, but not the wallet. Another late night traveler must have found it when he took a seat. Young Bob’s misfortune became another’s opportunity to make some fast money.
We set out again, a full two and a half hours behind schedule, knowing that Mike and I would have to fund young Bob’s trip until we returned to Michigan. We had hoped to cut costs by taking young Bob along, and now they were going to be temporarily increased. We’d have to monitor our cash flow with greater scrutiny.
The balance of the drive was uneventful. We arrived much later than we had planned, checked into our hotel, took advantage of the traditional Thanksgiving dinner they were serving, and watched the Lions lose to the Vikings while we ate.
After dinner we set off into the city to explore the French Quarter. I saw my first panhandler, elaborate French antiques, assorted saloons and honkey-tonks, and a genuine, honest to goodness, petrified whale penis. (At least that’s what the sign said.)
We stopped into a bar on Bourbon Street where I experienced my first “table dancing” girls. They were fully clothed but entertaining just the same. We explained that Bob had lost his wallet with his ID, ordered three beers, and were served. Three seven ounce bottles arrived at the table and the server asked if we wanted to “run a tab”. We declined and received a bill for $4.50. Holy moly! $1.50 for a beer! We were used to paying fifty-cents for a twelve ounce draft in Kalamazoo. Mike and I covered the tab, drank slowly, and settled in to enjoy our “table top service”.
Later, we found a little out of the way coffee shop where the local hippies hung out. Mike and I played chess, while young Bob ogled the young hippy girls. We made one last stop at Café Du Monde. We drank their delicious chicory-blended coffee and ate a couple of orders of beignets before heading to our hotel.
We had driven all night on Wednesday, so we retired for the evening rather early that first night in town. We had our sights set on new discoveries the following day. We had two must sees for Friday. I had to attend the promotional activity that provided our “free room”, and we wanted to follow the advice of my Aunt Ruth and go to Two Jacks for dinner.
TBC