Added: Services tentatively scheduled for January 8 at 1:00, St. Joseph's Catholic Church. Please spread the word with anyone who knew Stuart and please feel free to comment or consider this post as a guestbook to share with the /family.
One of the funniest, most fun-loving people I've ever known left us yesterday, on Christmas Eve.
Stuart Shannon was a friend of mine for almost thirty years. If you ever went to T.S. Station on Shreveport-Barksdale Highway, you probably knew Stuart. He was the manager of the place for many years. He would have been the tall, fit guy in slacks and a tie with the big mustache, with the brisk, purposeful walk.
Stuart was born in Melbourne, Arkansas on November 5, 1952. His parents, Josephia and Karr Shannon moved to Shreveport and Stuart attended Catholic schools, eventually going to LSU and to Centenary to obtain his MBA. He had one brother, Karr Shannon III, who lives in Coral Gables, Florida.
Stuart was the life of any party or gathering with his dry wit and infectious laugh.
Intense concentration on the Tyson fight.
Everyone loved being around Stuart. He could debate with you on almost any subject and his knowledge of sports trivia was unbeatable. We always made crazy bets: we'd bet on the Masters golf tournament, the over-under on a football game, the outcome of a prize fight and how many rounds it might go. And let me tell you, Stuart would never let you out of a bet if you lost. Never. One of my daughter's teenage friends made a bet with Stuart and lost, and Stuart made him pay up: he considered it a life lesson for the young man. "When he's a grown man," Stuart said, "and tries to get out of a bet, he could get really hurt!" It wasn't that much money. It was the principle of the thing. He might have seemed gruff sometimes, but he had a heart of gold.
Deck night debate.
We used to have "deck nights" on Friday and Saturday nights; friends and friends of friends would
Those chili pepper pants...
wander to our backyard where the twinkly lights were always on and the music playing from the CD player on the deck. Stuart would walk in wearing his "chili pepper pants" and the party would come alive. Our neighbors had a game room with a pool table and since we have a joined driveway it was easy to move back and forth between our houses. Stuart was a sharp pool player and tough on the ping pong table, too. He'd tuck his tie in his shirt so it wouldn't get in his way and proceed to decimate his opponent.
Mardi Gras was one of his favorite weekends and the home where he lived with his mother on River Road backed up to the bayou. We would park at Stuart's, he'd mix a tall drink in a plastic cup, and we'd all go walking the parade route. Walking would be slow going because he knew so many people that he had to stop and talk every few yards.
I worked for Stuart for a year or so at T.S. Station; he let me come wait tables there and he never cut me one bit of slack because of our friendship. He expected me to show up for my shift just like anyone else. One time I had fever and tried to get out of work; he checked my forehead, told me I didn't have a high enough fever, and sent me out on the floor. I was mad about that for a long time, but I got over it. Everyone that worked for Stuart respected him as far as I ever knew. In the restaurant business where turnover is usually high, people generally stayed with Stu.
The Christmas outfit.
Stuart was a great cook; I remember him going to the restaurant in the middle of the night just to get the prime rib going. He loved to read, and he was a great golfer. Stuart was fearless; he was always up for anything.
I can still hear his laugh; Stuart had the most infectious laugh I've ever heard. To me, that is what I will always remember about him; that and those crazy chili pepper pants. And his friendship. If he was your friend, he was your friend for life.
We lost touch in recent years in that we just didn't get to talk or visit as often, but I always knew he was there. Stuart was one of those people that if you were in a bind and had just one phone call, you'd call Stu. He'd be there for you.
At this writing, I don't know what sort of funeral arrangements there are for Stuart but as I hear of anything I will update this post.
He was a good friend and I will miss him.
Crawfish on the deck.
Added: Since I wrote this I keep thinking of stories. For example, one night, one of those deck nights, we were all outside on the deck, music blaring, conversations among small groups, and I guess about fifteen or sixteen people were here. We kept wondering when Stu would show up, but we never saw him.
The party started to wind down and a few of us went inside to turn on the television. At the time, we had a huge television in the bedroom which was right off the deck, so it was a natural landing space on those nights, for people to hang out in there and watch tv.
During a lull in the conversation we kept hearing snoring. It was the strangest thing. Eventually someone looked under the bed and there was Stuart, fast asleep.
Maybe you had to be there, but man, we thought that was hilarious. It became part of the "Do you remember the time..." repertoire for a long time!
Added: Thanks to Timmy Mitchell for sharing this great photo with me! What a great group of guys.
I've been thinking about this blog post since June 1, 2017 and I still don't think I have enough tissue to get through it, but it's Christmas and it's on my mind more than ever, and I can't just not write this one.
When we lose people in our lives that we love so much we have to find a "new normal" and move on. We all know this and we know it is just the cycle of life. Different things help us through this process: for some it is a strong faith and prayer. Others stay busy and active, some create, some simply live one day at a time until the raw pain abates.
My friend Milly Rose left this world in June 2017. She suffered from diabetes and the side effects of that ravaged her body through the years to the point where she simply could not fight it any longer.
But when she was alive, boy was she ever alive.
Milly Rose was one of the most vibrant, funny, and generous souls I have ever known in my life. You often hear the expression "he would give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it," but in Milly's case it was absolutely true. She gave of herself so much that she literally had nothing left for herself in the end. It did not matter to her, she would simply smile, say "Precious Jesus will always provide,"and she believed that with her whole heart. She might sing a song, do a little dance, and move on to the next thing.
I first met Milly Rose on April 5, 2010 when Steve and I drove over to Minden to get our marriage license. The courthouse was one block from Main Street which looked charming with its brick streets and there was Second Hand Rose Antiques. The building was old, dark red brick with large display windows filled with antiques: a blond mannequin dressed in vintage clothing and a fur coat, a wooden sled with large dolls sitting astride dashing across the leftover Christmas snow, Disney cookie jars and toys, and many vintage Coca-Cola items, including the iconic large red button Coca-Cola sign hanging on the wall. There were white twinkly lights hanging in both windows.
We went inside and my life changed.
The heavy door had a large glass panel almost covered with photographs of Milly with various
friends, family, and celebrities as well as with flyers of various Minden activities. A set of sleigh bells jingled as we walked in and immediately two Boston Terriers came running up the aisle to greet us.
"Helloooooo Welcome to Second Hand Rose! Come in, Come in! Everything in the shop is twenty percent off today! I'll make you some great deals!" we heard from somewhere in the shop.
When you walked into the shop it takes you a minute to acclimate yourself. It was a long, narrow space. There was a second story which was mostly open in the center so from the bottom floor you could look up and see the second story. There was a balcony rail that went all the way around it and the stairs to get up there were all the way in the back of the shop. Then there was a third floor, sort of attic space, accessible by a long narrow staircase. And then there was a basement. Every single inch of space in that building was filled with "treasures." Milly once told me that she wanted to have "one of everything" in the shop and I really believe that she did. There were beautifully illustrated maps, a full set of dentist tools, and at one point she even had a baby alligator in formaldehyde.
Both of the dogs at our feet that day had bandannas on and one, Heidi, was dragging a red leash behind her, and both were delighted to see us. We pet them for a few minutes then I stood up to look around. Heidi and Rosie were as much a part of that shop as Milly Rose was and she never came to work without them.
There were two "pig trails" Milly would call them, going deep into the shop. I was surrounded by display cases filled with depression glass, cookie jars, action figures, baseball cards, kitchen kitsch, a cast iron stove, furniture, costume jewelry, and enough Coca-Cola memorabilia to open a museum. And that's just what I could see without moving.
In the very center of the shop was a counter with Milly's cash register ("Use the 'No Sale' button, sugar - can you ring those people up for me?") and a million plastic bags and newspapers for wrapping up purchases. The counter was filled with trinkets, photographs taped to the front, notebooks where she wrote down everyone's name and contact information if they would share it, random pieces of jewelry she was either having repaired or saving for someone special....That day there was a vintage cast iron black bank standing there, ("Give me a penny!") which I eventually bought and still have.
To the right of the counter was a display case with sliding glass doors filled with the REAL treasures - really fine pieces, things, that she wanted to keep close where she could keep an eye on them. The case should have been locked all the time but it seldom was. Inside this case could be found lovely,
fine Cameos, art deco vases, sterling silver jewelry, Murano glass, carved ivory pieces, some unusual pipes, just trinkets. "Smalls," she called them. From that case, through the years, I bought a sterling silver cross inlaid with emerald green stones, an amethyst bracelet, some blue glass birds, and various other pieces of Americana figurines. Steve found things he wanted too, like a miners lantern and occasional baseball memorabilia.
The things I brought home from this shop through the years aren't the point (but seriously my house kind of looks like the shop now, and Milly is everywhere in my house!). Sometimes I would find things at estate sales that were really great deals and Milly made me her unofficial "picker" and I would bring things for her to put in the shop, but the best thing in the shop was Milly Rose. We became instant friends. Milly, Steve, and I were all born in the same year. She and I had the same wedding anniversary. We shared a love for antiques and unique things. She loved hearing Steve's stories from when he was a policeman and she laughed her head off and clapped her hands with glee at the silliest things.
Milly would talk your head off. We spent hours there every time we went but it was so much fun. She would spontaneously burst into song at any moment. I never had a birthday that she didn't sing some silly rendition of Happy Birthday to me and then hand me a gift bag filled with things she had collected for me.
She loved the dancing, singing Santa figures at Christmas, those toys where you pushed a little button and the toy would dance and sing a song. She would dance and sing right along with it. And let me tell you, Milly could really sing. She had a voice that was a gift. It was beautiful.
She had no inhibitions whatsoever. During the Mardi Gras parades in Minden, or the Fasching celebrations, she would literally dance in the streets in front of the floats. She loved a good parade.
When the Mexican restaurant opened next to her shop they sometimes had live music and she would sing and dance there, too.
Milly drove to Minden everyday from Magnolia, Arkansas to run her shop. That shop was her life. She loved the people it brought to her and the joy it gave her when someone found something in there that made them happy or recalled a memory for them. She would drive over in her little silver HHR no matter the weather or how poorly she might feel that day. Sometimes she was worried about getting home safely and would call me just so we could talk while she drove. The little dogs were always with her.
The shop also brought many celebrities to her. When Louisiana had the tax credits that temporarily made us "Hollywood South," lots of movies were made in this area and so Milly met Jessica Simpson (who signed a publicity photo for Milly that she framed and hung on the wall) as well as Ice Cube who bought a Boston Terrier from her. Milly would tell these stories to everyone who came in. Nearly every television station, newspaper, and local magazine did a stories on her, including Rick Rowe from Channel 3, Doug Warner from Channel 12, LA Riders television show, and various tourism promotion videos.
One day I suggested to Milly that she needed a Facebook page; she was not very adept with technology so I started the page for her. She had an old Dell laptop on a desk in the shop but she never really used it much and never really figured out the fancy printer someone talked her into buying with it. So whenever I went to see her, which was about once a month, I would take photographs of everything I could and then we put them on the Facebook page. She let me have free reign with that but sometimes she would have something special come in that she wanted me to put on the page.
In those early days I did all the posting for her but eventually she figured out how to sign into the account and do her own posting. She posted there even after she closed the shop and loved the comments people left for her. It kept her connected to people she couldn't get to see any longer once she became so sick.
Thank God we did that. We still have Milly's "voice" on that page. She's still there for us.
Milly Rose was the most unselfish person I've ever known, hands down. She worked with abused women, she did prison ministry working with the families of incarcerated people to ensure they had their needs met and that the children had gifts at Christmas. During the holidays, after the shop closed at night, usually around seven or eight, she would stay and gather things for these ministry projects, stuffing them in the back of her HHR, and then hosting an annual event to spread her own holiday cheer. She would take in every lost soul that came into the shop, letting them work there to help her move things, clean, whatever she could come up with for them to do. There would be some days when the shop had made no sale at all, nothing, but she wold still find a way to pay her "helper" something from the register.
Most of these people became close and loving friends with her. One or two disappointed her but she would just shrug it off, pray for them, and know that it would be alright.
I always worried that she would place herself in a vulnerable position doing this but she never worried at all. She had strong faith.
Milly loved Christmas. Every year she would have her husband come and hang the white lights from her outside overhang and around the windows. She would decorate Christmas trees in the windows and outside the shop and she would create beautiful displays in the big windows. She always had a candy dish and Christmas cookies for her customers.
You never left the store, Christmas or not, without some "lagniappe" whether you bought something or not: everyone got a red Milly Rose pen that she ordered and gave away ("Here! Have a pen! These are GREAT pens!"). I've got a couple of them saved away so I can always have a Milly Rose Pen.
As we move into the Christmas season this year, the first Christmas without Milly Rose, I think about her daily. She made such a positive impact on so many people in her life. She loved her family, her friends, especially her grandchildren, without limit. I've never met anyone with such a capacity for unconditional love all of the time.
I've never met anyone in my life that loved living more than Milly Rose. She lived every single moment of her life and I will miss her every single day of mine.
I don't have any words or anything profound. I saw the Eagles once, in 2002. They were here, in Shreveport, this past summer and I didn't go. The tickets were sky high.
My brother went and they blew his socks off. I'm glad he got to go.
Every song comes with a memory and I can't single out one single one of them.
Incredibly sad news. C.B. was kind to this blogger back when I was political blogging more heavily. I was always a fan of his straight talk and clear assessment of issues. This is a terrible loss.
Local legend Bill Bush died yesterday. You can go to the very nice Shreveport Times article for the official write-up, courtesy of the talented John Andrew Prime. In fact, I'll copy/paste some of it here because it won't be there forever:
Bush was elected to represent Council District D in 1982 and was unopposed in a re-election bid in 1986. He chose not to run for re-election for a third term in 1990, opting instead to run for Shreveport mayor in a 12-candidate field. He placed third in that primary, which wound up pitting Hazel Beard against Dr. C.O. Simpkins. He ran unsuccessfully for state Senate District 38 in 1987.
Bush’s first race was in 1978 against local attorney John B. Hussey, who praised his one-time opponent.
“We were both Democrats,” recalled Hussey, who served as mayor from 1982 to 1990. “It was kind of an open primary. There were four of us running, and Bill and I got into the runoff. I beat him in the runoff. But unlike a lot of political campaigns, we got to be friends.”
And:
A Byrd High School and Centenary College graduate, Bush was involved with alumni associations, the Progressive Men’s Club, Local 116 of the American Federation of Musicians, Holy Cross Episcopal Church, the Shreveport Regional Arts Council, Downtown Shreveport Unlimited, Historical Preservation of Shreveport, the Louisiana Restaurant Association, the Shriners and the Elks.
He was known for his work with the Bill Bush Combo, an entity he first formed after being asked, as a football player at Byrd High School, to perform at a pep squad talent show his senior year.
“Before each Byrd game,” a Times profile of Bush in 1968 read, “the football coach warned players ‘Don’t step on Bush’s fingers,’ because he played for the post-game dances.”
He also encouraged younger musicians, taking them under his wing for stints in his combo, or hiring them for gigs at his downtown nightclub, Bill Bush’s Moulin Rouge, which he owned and operated from 1971 to 1990.
I, along with hundreds of others, called Bill a friend. Of course we all knew Bill from his days as owner of the Moulin Rouge on Common Street in Shreveport, and his political days, and for the past few years Steve and I have been going to The Anvil restaurant on Tuesdays to hear Bill play. I'm going to have to change my Anvil night - I don't think I can do Tuesdays anymore.
There are so many stories and reminiscences about Bill that people have shared in the past 24 hours. Mine are trivial in comparison, I suppose. Honestly, there was never, ever, ever a time that he didn't come sit at our table with us and visit about something. We talked about baseball, politics, music, travel, just about every subject under the sun.
I was always amazed at Bill's memory: he could tell you who wrote nearly every song you threw at him and who recorded it and what year. And more than likely, he could play it. He had the kindest heart I've ever seen in a human - for both adults and children. Many nights we saw him sing "The Wheels on the Bus" for a kid at the restaurant or he might pull a child up and hand him a cowbell or a tambourine to play along with him.
One night his mother was in town from Texas and he had her come up to the keyboard and play. They did a couple of songs together and it was the sweetest thing I've ever seen. And Bill's sister Becky, who worked at The Anvil, stood by smiling from ear to ear.
And Bill laughed: he had the funniest stories. One night he told us about a trip he made to France when he was on the City Council. He was trying to set up a "sister city" deal and was in a club one night; in visiting with the staff he told them that he lived in the US and that he was the owner of The Moulin Rouge. Language barriers being what they are, they thought he meant the Moulin Rouge in Paris. They questioned him and he produced his AmEx business card which said, "Bill Bush Moulin Rouge" and he said he got the best service of his life after that!
Bill loved his trips to Mexico and he had a song he always played for me; he said he wasn't sure of the name, that a friend had played it for him, but he thought it was "La Bochina." I've never been able to find the same song recorded anywhere, but I have a recording of Bill playing it for me on my iPhone.
I listened to it last night and cried.
I can't believe I'll never hear him do that song again.
He always played Route 66 for Steve and me because he knew we loved taking that trip in the summers.
He was such fun; one night last December his friend Jeri brought him a Santa hat to wear while he did his Anvil gig and of course he wore it all night:
One night he slid into our booth, scotch in hand, and we got into a discussion about politics. Well, you know that Bill and I were polar opposites on politics, but it just didn't matter to him. He was so good natured about hearing differing opinions. This was shortly after Obamacare had passed and of course Bill was all for it. He simply couldn't understand what we all thought was bad about it and genuinely listened to our position. And then he began to explain his position, and my jaw dropped. I said, "You really believe that?" and he looked at me as innocently and intelligently as anyone I've ever seen and said, "Well, yes, I do."
If ever a liberal made any sense at all to me, Bill could. He so whole-heartedly believed what he believed but he would always, always listen to the other side without animosity or hostility.
He was as good a man as I have ever known and I will miss him every single day. He was, by all definitions, a gentleman.
I know that Bill missed his wife Judy deeply after she died earlier this year. He grieved for her. When she was in the hospital he took her dinner and held her hand before coming to his gig at the restaurant.
I like to think that now they are sipping a cocktail together and he is singing love songs to her once again.
I think the first time I met Joy Morgan was the night she jumped over the bar at Hangar 2 to pull some "GI" off a table before he hit his head on the racks of beer mugs hanging from the ceiling, thus confirming her title of "Bar Guard."
That's Joy on the left.
She's a little bitty thing with a huge heart.
Hangar 2 is located on Barksdale Air Force Base and is where many a "GI" has been fed, mothered, and whipped into shape by a feisty Thai lady with a heart of gold. It doesn't matter what branch of service you were in, how long, or of what rank, you were "GI." Oh, the ranking officers were certainly shown proper respect and decorum, but Joy taught all the younger ones the ropes.
Steve and I used to go to Hangar 2 nearly every Wednesday and/or Friday night; Wednesday was steak night and Joy would make her famous Thai beef salad -- if you didn't overcook your steak.
If you cooked that baby too long she would ream you out and take no responsibility for the condition of your Thai salad. But the Thai salad, with a rare piece of steak sliced very thin, was just fabulous. Joy brought fresh tomatoes and mint from her garden to dress it up, and cucumbers in season. All you had to do was cook your steak on the grill outside, bring it into the bar, and Joy would deftly slice it up, gold bangles jangling on her wrist, long lacquered nails flashing as she sliced. Then she would toss the steak with her combination of salad fixings and Thai seasonings, set it on a bed of fresh lettuce, and put it all on a helping of steamed rice. Just heavenly.
If you didn't order your salad "spicy," Joy felt some pity for you. One regular ordered hers "mild" every week and Joy would say, "She can't handle the hot...poor thing!"
Friday nights were always crowded and often filled with good music from Larry the DJ, dancing, and good times. We would often sit outside the back door with Joy and some other regulars while Joy would smoke and have a shot of something. We'd listen to the kids yelling from the pool next door, hear the big B52s roaring overhead, and talk, just shooting the breeze, laughing, joking, and feeling fine. Good times.
Hangar 2 sponsors Joy's Mug Club where you can buy your own large beer mug, have it engraved with the design of your choice at the Hobby Shop on base, and hang it at the bar. I can promise you, up to her final days, Joy could tell you where your mug was hanging. There are hundreds of mugs hanging in that place, and she knew exactly where yours was. Always. No matter where you were from, how long you had been gone, or how many times you had been to the bar, she knew where your mug was. You were special. You were home.
A couple of years ago Joy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Steve and I went in the Hangar
one night and the gloom was palpable; it was like the life had been sucked out of the place. Everyone was sad. Soon after, a jar appeared on the bar for donations for Joy, and it was always full. She recovered and returned to work. Amazing.
Steve and I sat up there many nights with her, trying to help out, insisting that she sit down, bucking her stubborn streak to try and lift kegs or bags of trash. Her friends stepped in to help; Tay took over helping on steak night. Rose organized visits and dinners to Joy's house to keep her spirits up. Steve vacuumed that bar I don't know HOW many nights so Joy could leave and go home earlier.
Once there was a litter of stray kittens under the deck at the Hangar. There were some who were determined to call the pound, trap the cats, and get rid of them, but not Joy. Joy slipped bowls of food under the deck and bowls of water for them. The cats were feral and wouldn't let anyone near them, but they eventually let Joy take care of them.
Just like the airmen.
And the naysayers caved; nobody wanted to cross Joy. The cats stayed.
She was a nurturing soul.
Heart of gold.
Heaven got a new angel last night. Her wings and halo were waiting on her; she'd already earned
them.
If you knew Joy, her funeral service will be at 2:00, Saturday, at Hillcrest. No flowers; her husband request all donations will go to St. Jude Children's Hospital.
The local music industry mourns the loss today of Shreveport's own George W. Clinton. (He was actually from Helena, but worked here for many years.) George died in Nashville yesterday after a lengthy illness.
Many will remember George from his work at Sound City Recording Studio on Line Avenue. With his big Buick LeSabre ("The Shark"), parked out front, he worked with many of the best in the business and for years Sound City was the place to be! George also worked the sound board at The Louisiana Hayride on Saturday nights for a few years. He had the opportunity to meet and work with many great entertainers there.
Locally George worked with Miki Honneycutt, Tag Graves, Joe Spivy, Dennis Zimmerman, Michael Grady, Eddie Giles, Reuben Bell, Ted Taylor, Geater Davis, Little Johnny
Taylor, Shay Holliday, Tommie Young and the African Music Machine. Bobby
Patterson ran his Soul Power label there.
Even if they weren't cutting tracks, the local greats would come by to jam, to visit, or just sit in.
In Nashville, George and his business partner at Bayou Recording Studio, Joe Spivey, worked with such acts as Booker T & The MGs, Isaac Hayes, Alabama, Charley
Pride, Reba McEntire, Shania Twain, KISS, Martina McBride, KT Oslin,
Hank Williams Jr, and many others.
George was a personal friend of mine, though we lost touch through the years, and I had the opportunity to witness his talents behind the mixing board and his gift with people. He had an easy smile and a gentle manner that drew people to him.
CLINTON,
George W. Age 68, of Nashville, passed away on Wednesday, November 23,
2011 at his home. Born in Helena AR, he had lived in Nashville since
1983 where he worked in the music industry. Until earlier this year, he
owned and operated Bayou Recording with his business partner and
long-time friend, Joe Spivey of Hermitage, TN. He was preceded in death
by his parents, George V. "Buck" and Catherine Clinton, and his
granddaughter, Chelsea Suzanne Weisz. He is survived by his daughter and
son-in-law, Jill and Dwayne Weisz-Keller of Nashville; his son and
daughter-in-law, Jay and Christine Clinton of Asheville, NC; his sister
and brother-in-law, Sue and Jack Russell of Decatur, TX; his
granddaughter, Rachel Weisz of Nashville; many cousins, nieces, and
nephews; many dear friends; and his canine companion, Daisy. A
Celebration of Life service will be held on Thursday, December 1 at 6
p.m. at Brenthaven Cumberland Presbyterian Church, 516 Franklin Rd. in
Brentwood, TN. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the
American Diabetes Association
.
A large crowd is expected for the funeral tomorrow of Navy SEAL Robert James Reeves at St. Marks Cathedral. Via KTBS:
Streets adjacent to St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral in Shreveport will be closed to traffic before, during and after Saturday's memorial service for Navy SEAL Robert James Reeves, who was killed in Afghanistan.The memorial service begins at 11 a.m. St. Mark's is located at Fairfield Avenue and Kings Highway and streets around it will be closed from 9:30 a.m. to approximately 1 p.m. to accommodate people going to the cathedral.
Many streets around the church will be closed, and closed early, so if you're going, make plans accordingly.
The PGR has been asked to stand a flag line before and after the memorial service honoring Chief Petty Officer Robert Reeves. The family will honor the wish of Chief Petty Officer Reeves and give him an at-sea burial, so this is the only service currently planned in Shreveport.
The streets around the church will be closed starting at 8:30 AM with only those attending the service allowed inside the blocked off area. Motorcycle parking will be along the street in front of the church on the Fairfield Ave side of the building. A PGR staging area will be located nearby.
The students from Evangel placed 2200 flags along the outside of the cathedral.
At SIGIS, I've been wrestling with this. I'll be in the flag line. I'm not going to muscle into the service because I think people that knew him or his family should have priority. I'll be there to honor him and his service in the flag line.
SIGIS honors the service of all the SEALs in that tragic mission and I ask that wherever you are, you take a moment tomorrow to remember them as we in Shreveport take time to honor Chief Petty Officer Reeves.
Chief Petty Officer Robert James Reeves and Lt. Commander Jonas Kelsall were both killed today when a U.S. Chinook helicopter crashed in Wardak province...Reeves and Kelsall were both graduates of Caddo Magnet High School where they played soccer together, according to John Kelsall, Jonas Kelsall’s father. Both would join the military after graduation, though Reeves spent a year at LSU first, his father Jim Reeves, said.
Reeves became a SEAL in 1999, his father said, and served on SEAL Team 6. He was deployed many times in his career and earned four bronze stars among other achievments [sic], his father said.
Kelsall was one of the first members of SEAL Team 7, his father said, and received most of his training in San Diego. He attended the University of Texas right out of Basic Underwater Demolition training where he met his wife Victoria Jennings, John Kelsall said. They were married for three years.
Good manners and chivalry are alive and well in Shreveport/Bossier.
I went to a memorial service this afternoon for the mother of a dear friend. She was obviously well loved and thought of. I arrived early because that's just my thing. I was about twenty minutes early and the room at the funeral home was already filling up. As the appointed hour arrived, the pews became filled and people started lining the walls and the the back of the room.
Then the gentlemen started getting up and motioning for the ladies to come sit. Not just the elderly ladies but all of them. I thought, how nice! Manners still exist!
And then I saw our Bossier Parish Schools superintendent, D.C. Machen, get up and insist an elderly gentleman take his seat. Others followed suit. By the time the service started, the only people that were standing were younger men.
It was nice on two fronts; Moselle Thomas was so loved that her memorial service was standing room only, and that people still can show manners and chivalry when the need arises.
Shreveport/Bossier brought home one of their own today as SSgt Michael Garcia's body arrived at Shreveport Regional Airport this morning from Dover AFB.
Airline Drive was lined with people holding flags as Garcia's body was escorted to Boone Funeral Home by Patriot Guard Riders.
Michael Garcia graduated from Bossier High School in 2001, the semester before I got there. He was a popular kid at school and well thought of by his teachers and administrators. Steve was there when Michael was and remembers him fondly.
SSgt Garcia was killed in Afghanistan on July 4 as an IED exploded near his unit in Logar province.
He served with the 705th Explosive Ordnance Disposal Company, which supported the 2/4 Infantry Battalion’s Task Force Warrior, 4th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division. He was on his third war deployment and had been due back in the fall.Garcia was the recipient of three Purple Hearts, the last posthumously, and had been awarded the Bronze Star twice, once with a combat “V” for valor.
A Bossier City soldier was killed in Afghanistan Monday. According to the Department of Defense, Staff Sgt. Michael J. Garcia, 27, died July 4 in Logar province, Afghanistan, of wounds suffered when insurgents attacked his unit using an improvised explosive device. He was assigned to the 63rd Ordnance Battalion, 52nd Ordnance Group (Explosive Ordnance Disposal), 20th Support Command (CBRNE), Fort Polk.
The Patriot Guard Riders have announced that they will be escorting the body of fallen soldier Staff Sergeant Michael Garcia. His body will arrive home to the TAC Air terminal Monday morning. Garcia was killed in action while supporting Operation Enduring Freedom.
Garcia will be escorted by the riders from the airport who will be taking the I-220 route to Boone Funeral Home on Airline Drive.
I posted last week on the passing of our blog buddy snaggletoothie, or as his father knew him - Chris Monson.
His dad wrote yesterday to let me know he's posted a tribute to Chris with lots of pictures and the story of Chris's life. It's a lovely piece. I can't imagine the pain of losing a child, no matter what age.
I know we've missed Chris's voice in the blogosphere and his absence will be felt for a long time.
It is with heavy heart tonight that I post the sad passing of one of our fellow conservative bloggers, the infamous Snaggletoothie.
I received an email from Chris's father this evening telling me of his son's death. Chris suffered a seizure Monday, fell and hit his head, and by the end of the week he was in a coma. He died Friday afternoon.
When I started this blog in August 2008, snaggletoothie, Chris, was one of my earliest readers and frequent commenters. Chris was one of my staunchest defenders when I was attacked by hostile commenters; I could always count on him to leave something in my defense!
On his own blog, Snaggletoothie of the Loyal Opposition, Chris posted on everything from politics to literature, fine music and the infamous fabulous car at the bottom of the page. Chris had always posted "the beautiful woman at the end of the page" and one day he put a car up there. Some classic, beautiful 1960s machine. I told him he ought to quit with the women and put those cars up there! He did. Well, sort of...he kept the women, but he kept the cars too!
Schizo-affective. Yes, I think that’s the diagnosis that most accurately captures Jared Loughner. This best describes Loughner weird amalgam of delusions, social isolation, long hours without sleep, and seeming congenital inability to connect to his fellows. Drugs were also a major exacerbating factor. But I have to figure that Obama and the rabid left welcomes whatever flowed from the drugs since they are so adamant about keeping the southern border wide open.
I am in the midst of writing a song about the shooting. It will be sung to the tune of “The Horst Wessel Song.”
Chris also had a lovely blog devoted to literature called The Chinese Jar.
Chris's last post on the 22nd was Ravel. Here's to you, Chris. We will miss you, your wit, and your wisdom.
His dad requests that any memorial or donations be made to the charity of your choice in Chris Monson's name. Or just snaggletoothie.
His dad's blog is here and his post on Chris is here, should you like to leave a message.
Prayers to the family.
Update: Sorry. My erroneous headline has been fixed.
Dick Winters, the former World War II commander whose war story was told in the book and miniseries “Band of Brothers,” has died. Dick Winters led a quiet life on his Fredericksburg farm and in his Hershey home until the book and miniseries “Band of Brothers” threw him into the international spotlight.
Winters, of course, never saw himself as a hero, but of course he was:
On October 7, 2000, the funk band Little Feat was slated to play at the Red River Revel. It was raining; not hard, but a cool mist drizzled all evening and threatened to keep a lot of people at home. I really wanted to see Little Feat.
I'd listened to them throughout the eighties and their album "Waiting For Columbus" was one of my favorites. It had "Willin'," "Dixie Chicken," "Don't Bogart That Joint," and "Oh Atlanta." Pretty much all the Little Feat classics. I wore the grooves out of that album.
I couldn't find anyone to go with me to the Revel. Nobody, none of my friends, wanted to brave the weather. I put on my off-white lamb-skin car coat and I went by myself. I drove downtown in the dark, found a place to park, and went to the Revel by myself. I made my way through the crowds, past the funnel cakes and stained glass artists to the Riverfront stage where Little Feat was to play.
I bought a big beer in a Revel souvenir cup and wandered around. You always see someone you know at the Revel. I hadn't wandered too long through the small crowd when I heard, "Pat! Hey, girl!" and when I turned around there was Rocque.
Rocque and I had the knack for showing up at the same musical events. It was no surprise that he was there, although we had not talked about it. I threw my head back, laughed and gave him a hug. "I just KNEW you'd be here somewhere!" which is what I always said when I saw him places like that. We found a seat on the sodden terraced lawn close to the front and stayed in the drizzle for all of Little Feat, singing along and yelling with the crowd. They played everything we wanted to hear and of course, the encore was "Willin," "Don't Bogart That Joint," and "Let it Roll."
In mid-November 2008, I ran into Rocque again. I'd seen him since the Little Feat performance of course, but the next time we randomly ran into each other outside of a club or restaurant, was at the 2008 Highland Jazz and Blues Fest. It was a clear fall day, a perfect 60 degrees with a light breeze. He was having lots of trouble walking then because of his injury and disability, but he had brought his boys out to hear the music. I think Rocque really came to see Buddy Flett who was performing for one of the first times in public since his recovery from a disastrous illness. It was tough for Rocque to mange those slopes and hills in Columbia Park with his cane but he did it. He'd have done anything for those boys and Rocque loved good music.
Again, when I ran into him at the Highland Jazz and Blues Fest, I laughed and said, "I knew I'd find you here!" I threw an LSU blanket down on the ground beside his chair and we listened to Jerry Beach, Bruce Flett and Miki Honeycutt. I don't know if Rocque stayed for Buddy Flett or not; we split up after a bit and he went to find his kids who were busy in the playground. I looked for him there last year but he wasn't there.
I first met Rocque Payne in 1991 through my husband at the time, Jim. Rocque was working for Snyder Floor Covering as a salesman. He was married to Sandy and we all hung out together for years. Rocque, Sandy, and Jim all played foosball and that's what we did a lot at first. I watched. Rocque was the only person I ever knew who loved Eric Clapton as much as I do. Rocque loved music and musicians and had a fabulous scrapbook of ticket stubs, pictures, and programs from concerts he'd been to. In that book was everyone you'd possibly want to see, and many of them more than once.
Through the years we all drifted apart, went different ways, but still ran into each other as you do in a town this size. I ran into Rocque at music events, restaurants and the occasional club. We talked from time to time about other things, too. He came by the house one afternoon to talk about Bossier Schools. He was home-schooling his two boys, Dylan and Derek (loved those names!) and since I'm a teacher, we talked about school related things. He wanted to do a good job for those kids. He wanted to do it right.
In later years I would run into Rocque a lot at Nicky's Mexican Restaurant. He took the boys there to eat fairly often, and in fact, that's where he was the last time I saw him a few months ago, during the summer. Leaning on his cane, he made sure to stop by our table and say hello.
Through all the pain of his last years, I never knew Rocque to lose his good temper or his smile. He never, ever failed to greet me with that big smile that stretched across his tanned, angular, face, light freckles sprinkled across his nose. He always had a lean, thin frame and his brown eyes sparkled with laughter and mischief when he'd lean over for a hug.
I recently marked my calendar for this year's Highland Jazz and Blues Fest which is coming up in about three weeks. I wondered if Rocque would be there.
He won't.
Rocque died Sunday, October 25. There are a lot of people hurting right now because he's gone, but I know, as much of a cliche as it is, I know he's not suffering or in pain anymore. His funeral is tomorrow (Thursday), but I can't go. I have to work. I'd cry and make a fool of myself anyway. Instead, I'll sit quietly on my deck where we spent so many hours, have a beer, and say goodbye.
He was my good friend and I will never listen to Eric Clapton, Little Feat, The Black Crowes, The Rolling Stones...without thinking about Rocque. I'll go to the Highland Fest this year, and I'll probably still look for him; he'll be there. Most people won't see him, but he'll be there and he'll be having a blast. He was my friend; I loved him like a friend, and I'll never forget him.
Local Holocaust survivor Rose Van Thyn has passed away. With apologies to The Shreveport Times, I'm going to quote their entire article here, the reason being, when Louis Van Thyn passed away in 2008, I quoted from and linked their article, only to find it a missing link later on when the article was taken down. I had lots of people find my blog by doing searches for Louis Van Thyn and surely they were disappointed when they got here to find the article missing.
So, here's the story in The Times, then I'll add a brief comment:
Holocaust survivor and community educator Rose Van Thyn, who spoke to literally thousands of local schoolchildren during her life about the horrors of the Jewish genocide, passed away Sunday at the age of 88.
"Rose was the most remarkable human being you would ever meet in your life," said Ron Nierman, a family friend. "She and (husband) Louis escaped horrors none of us could even imagine."
Van Thyn, originally from Holland, survived internment at the notorious Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland and emigrated to the United States in 1956. Both she and her husband, Louis, who passed away in 2008, met after they were liberated in Europe. They were originally married to separate spouses, both of whom died inside Nazi concentration camps.
"My mother was a very determined, very deep, very complex person," said her son, Nico Van Thyn. "She loved to speak at schools and civic clubs for anyone who wanted to hear about her experiences."
For the past 25 years, Rose and Louis were prominent fixtures at numerous community events, reminding children of the pain she and six million others had to endure at the hands of Nazi persecution. In May, she received the Shreveport Bar Association's Liberty Bell Award, given annually to a person or organization for outstanding community service.
"I'm very sad to hear that she has passed away," said Shreveport Mayor Cedric Glover. "It is a tremendous loss not just to Shreveport but to the entire world to know that someone who possessed the knowledge and experience and the history that she lived has now passed on."
After World War II, Holocaust survivors could be granted permission to live and work in the United States if sponsored by a family here. The family that brought the Van Thyns to Shreveport was that of Abe Gilbert, who owned the A.A. Gilbert Pipe and Supply company in Shreveport, which still exists today.
Nierman, who is Abe Gilbert's grandson, recalled how when the couple first arrived they could speak only a little English, and originally thought the pipes in question Louis was supposed to be working on were smoking pipes. Learning to convert his measurements from the metric system to English units took a little while, Nierman said.
Though in declining health recently, Van Thyn still obliged as many requests to speak as possible, saying that as more and more Holocaust survivors pass away, remembering each one of their legacies became doubly important so that what they had to endure would never be repeated again.
"She felt like it was her mission to try to educate as many kids and people in general about the Holocaust," Nico Van Thyn said. "She wanted to teach them about why it happened and how it happened, what happened to her, and about racial and religious prejudice."
Van Thyn is survived by five grandchildren, Nico and daughter Elsa, and two great-grandchildren.
I was fortunate enough to hear Rose tell her story about five or six years ago during a Holocaust seminar taught by Lisa Nicoletti at Centenary College. Rose brought the entire class to tears with her story. I can only imagine the impression she left on the minds and hearts of the thousands of young people she has spoken to through the years. She was funny; she told the saddest, most tragic story you can imagine, but she still kept a sense of humor and could make you smile while she talked.
Someone asked her at the end of her story that day if she would ever be able to forgive Hitler for what he did to the Jews. She said, "It's not up to me to forgive Hitler. It is up to God."
In my sophomore English class we always read an excerpt fromElie Wiesel's Night and we also read The Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen. I have three poems Rose gave us at that seminar that I share with the class and I tell them about her. Some of the students have heard her speak before, but not all of them. I believe Rose wanted to speak to every young person she came across.
She truly did believe it was her mission to share her experience with young people today. Never forget. It can happen again. And as more and more of these survivors leave us, Rose's words are even more poignant.
Update: Via KTBS: A memorial service is set for Sunday, July 11 at 2 p.m. at Brown Chapel on the campus of Centenary College. A reception will be held immediately after the memorial at Kilpatrick Auditorium.
Update: Again, apologies to The Times, but here's a copy/paste of the obituary:
SHREVEPORT, LA - Rozetta "Rose" Van Thyn, 88, honored often in Shreveport-Bossier and the area for her commitment to educating the public about the Holocaust, passed away Sunday, June 27, 2010.
She was a survivor of the Auschwitz concentration camp, where she was a prisoner for three years as a young woman. Over the past three decades, she told her story to thousands at area schools, churches and civic groups, and was often a featured speaker at Shreveport-Bossier's annual Holocaust memorial service. As an Attaway Fellow in Civic Culture, she made regular visits to speak to students at Centenary College.
Born and raised in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, she lost her parents, sister and first husband in the camps. She met fellow survivor Louis Van Thyn in Amsterdam after the war and they married in 1946. Louis died on Aug. 27, 2008.
Rose was liberated from Auschwitz by American soldiers and vowed to someday live in the United States. In 1956, the Van Thyns and their two children immigrated to Shreveport, with sponsorship from the Shreveport Jewish Federation and the A.A. Gilbert family.
A homemaker, excellent cook and professional seamstress, she was most proud of her family, of becoming a U.S. citizen in May 1961, and of receiving an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters from Centenary in 2002. In 2003, she and Louis were recognized by the National Conference of Community and Justice for service to the city. Her most recent honor was the Liberty Bell Award from the Shreveport Bar Association.
Survivors are son Nico (wife Bea) of Fort Worth, Texas; daughter Elsa (husband Jim Wellen) of Voorhees, N.J., grandsons Jason Key (wife Ann) of McKinney, Texas, Adam Wellen (fiancee Tania Welker) of Washington, D.C. and Josh Wellen of Baton Rouge; granddaughters Rachel (husband Russell) Smith of Knoxville, Tenn., and Abby Wellen of Pittsburgh, Pa., and great-grandchildren Josephine Smith and Jacob Key.
A memorial service will be Sunday, July 11, at 2 p.m. at Centenary's Brown Memorial Chapel. She will be honored with a plaque in the Centenary rose garden and a bench at LSU-Shreveport. At her request, her body was donated to LSU Medical Center.
Memorial donations may be made to Van Thyn Endowed Professorship Chair at Centenary College and the Rose and Louis Van Thyn Master of Liberal Arts Scholarship at LSUS.
Rose Van Thyn's survival of the Holocaust meant succeeding generations would hear of humanity's capability for darkness. But her life also illuminated mankind's great capacity to heal, to find hope and purpose in the indelible marks of tragedy.
Just as the passing of each World War II citizen soldier robs us of living reminders of the nobility of sacrifice for a greater good, so does the passing of Holocaust survivors separate us from the eyewitness testimony to horrors we forget at our own peril.
"People tell me I was lucky. That is really not the word," the 88-year-old Auschwitz death camp survivor told attendees at April's Holocaust Remembrance Service. "Lucky is when you win a lottery. I did not win anything. I was given something, the most precious gift, a second chance at life."
We count it fortunate that after Nazi death camps, northwest Louisiana and businessman A.A. Gilbert were able to provide a fresh start to the Dutch couple, Rose and her husband, Louis Van Thyn, who died in 2008. In return, they gave back productive lives and friendship.
More important, they taught any who would listen the value of justice and compassion, having witnessed a society that lost both. The Holocaust claimed 11 million victims, 6 million of whom were Jews.
Despite their passing, the Van Thyns' mission will continue not just in the memories of those they reached but in the halls of academia. The Rose and Louis Van Thyn Endowed Professorship is being established at Centenary College in Shreveport, a chair that will focus on issues related to the Holocaust.
More than a half century after her liberation from Aushwitz, where she was subjected to medical experimentation and beatings, Van Thyn wrote as a survivor of that "hell on earth" that her mission was to speak for those who could not, "to educate as many people as we can so that the truth will be known."
Her work is done. Ours continues.
And finally, The Times has a photo gallery here in commemoration. I love the one of Rose and Mayor Glover; she was so tiny and anyone who knows Mayor Glover...well, he's not tiny.
and we also read 
by Jane Yolen. I have three poems Rose gave us at that seminar that I share with the class and I tell them about her. Some of the students have heard her speak before, but not all of them. I believe Rose wanted to speak to every young person she came across.
