Date: Fri, 15 Nov 2002
12:09:07 -0600
Hi Bud,
Nice to hear from you.
Well, I probably knew Bennie
Hudnall's parents and relatives, as for a long time my grandmother and I
lived next door to Mrs. Portman and Mrs. Hudnall. We were living there
when I left there in 1953 to move to Shreveport and push hard on the
Louisiana Hayride. Those little houses were later taken by the Cheniere
cloverleaf of the new highway I-20. At the time, two of my friends ---
Bryan Ritter and Harry Liner --- had a trio, the Rhythm Harmoneers,
playing the Hayride each Saturday night. Shortly after than I went
single as a soloist. Was doing pretty good, fronting for Jim Reeves,
Johnny Horton, etc., three records out, several of my songs recorded by
leading artists such as Jim Reeves, Webb Pierce, Johnny Horton, and Red
Sovine, until the Army dug me right out of there in June 1954 and that
was the end of the Country-Western career. That cat called Elvis came
along (he started there on the Hayride, for goodness sakes!) and for
the next 5 to 7 years only the really well-established Country & Western
artists could make a living, as the entire younger generation went
bazonkas over rock and roll. I saw recently that Horace Logan, the
Program Director of the Hayride back then, has died. Hoss Logan saw
lots of Country-Western music history unfold, and helped make lots of
it. I was on the Hayride when Hank Williams died, while operating from
there. Hank's widow, the former Billie Jones, then married Johnny
Horton, and of course Johnny later got killed in a car wreck. Acts like
the Maddox Brothers and Rose, Billie Walker, the Carlisles, etc. were on
there. Marty Robbins made one appearance, and the Opry snapped him up
before the Hayride folks could get their act together. Floyd Cramer
(pianist) died a while back also. Red Sovine, Jim Reeves, Rose Maddox,
and many others I knew from the Hayride have been dead for some time
now.
And yes, you perfectly
describe what was the old Cheniere Creek and lake area, first called
Puckett lake before all the damming. When I was a kid, there were three
lakes there: (1) Puckett Lake, the main one which everyone knew, (2)
Middle Lake, which a few knew (it was hard to get to), and then there
was (3) Little Lake, which few persons knew about and which was the
devil and all to get to. That was where the gators denned and where
there was a beaver dam. There were bear, some panthers, and even some
wolves in the woods back then. And plenty of bobcat.
One of the real experiences
of my life at 12 was to be stalked through the woods for about two miles
by a panther, trying to spook me into bolting so he could jump me from
the rear. In such cases, a panther puts his muzzle down between his
paws, and coughs. In the little bushes, that sound just seems to come
from everywhere, so you cannot tell the direction of the panther, but if
you've ever heard it, there is absolutely no mistaking the sound. That
way he spooks his game into fleeing, and then can leap on it from the
rear. I knew instantly what it was, and that I was in serious trouble
if I panicked. I knew also that I must not leave my back exposed very
long at all. I had a very stout club and a hunting knife, and that was
all. So I would walk about 10 steps, then turn all around beating the
bushes with the club. It was night, and so that made it more tricky.
Anyway, I eased on along, doing my spinaround and beating routine about
every 10 steps, until I finally came out into the clearing (a big cow
pasture) with our house way on the other side. My grandmother has
placed a kerosene lamp in the back window, so I could see it when I came
out of the woods. After I got about 75 yards out in the clearing, I
sorta "turned it on" then until I ran up the back steps and into the
house. I was fortunate because apparently the panther was not too
hungry, just curious and considering whether to jump me or not. Had he
been really hungry, that story would have had quite a different ending.
I would have used my knife and club, of course, but the odds are
overwhelming that the panther would have won easily.
When one met a bear in the
woods, one learned very early to just get out of the trail slowly and
quietly, and not disturb him. Likely the bear will then see you are no
threat, and continue on. However, bears are like humans: sometimes they
get up on the wrong side of bed and in a real fit of temper. When you
meet one of those and he's in a bad mood, you had better have your gun
with you, because he is just spoiling to jump something, and it's easy
for you to get elected. I was fortunate and never had to shoot one, but
I did have encounters with several including one of those spoiling for a
fight. That one I was fortunate enough to just ease on aside and keep
easing out of his way far enough that he lost interest as I continued to
slowly depart.
Stupidest thing I ever did
was at a Church opening of the Cheniere Church's new camp on Puckett
Lake. That night, after eating and singing hymns and being around the
fires and the cook racks, some of the other boys and I paddled several
row boats out into the middle of Puckett Lake and went skinny dipping,
tying the boats together in a circle and having a fine old time diving
in and out in the neat moonlight. Then I brushed a log under the water,
as did my friend Roland Carter. Then I brushed another log under the
water. Roland and I surfaced, and we exclaimed together: "Why are there
so many logs floating in this water?" The realization hit us that there
were no logs here. So we took a flashlight from one of the boats, and
shined it outward -- and we were ringed by about 20 pairs of eyes
hanging low on the water. With all the splashing and yelling etc., we
had attracted a large gathering of big alligators, who were preparing to
join in the fun. Of course we decided their crashing the party would
not be any fun at all, rather instantly. So everybody leaped into the
boats, and we all paddled furiously out of there, with the gators
following us all the way through the boat run under the trees and all
the way to the bank. Now that moonlight swimming escapade was really
Stupid with a capital S!
A gator also can gallop for a
short distance, which back then few people knew or believed. I had one
come after me, so experienced "gator galloping" first hand, on the wrong
end of the stick (fortunately they never learned to climb trees). But
folks used to think one had taken leave of one's senses if one spoke of
a gator galloping. Then of course with TV and nature programs,
eventually the animal specials showed gators and crocs galloping for a
little distance. So it was nice not to be crazy after all about gator
galloping.
The gators also learned to
hunt the wild pigs that roamed the deep swamps. A big gator would lie
in a semicircle, with some good mash etc. and other goodies favored by
the pigs in the middle of the semicircle. The gator just lies there with
his mouth already open. The pigs would come in, grunting and moving
around, with each looking for the very best mash and feed, etc. So one
would spy that good mash in that semicircle, and not even notice the
gator. He would run in there grunting and snorting and rooting and
eating, and the old gator would suddenly pop the pig with his big tail,
knocking the pig up into the gator's mouth or where e could snap him.
Often he got the pig. Sometimes he would just get a bite or nip, and
wound him, and the pig would take of really squealing and grunting,
dripping a trail of blood. The old gator would often follow that blood
trail, still trying to get that pig in case the pig was wounded enough.
It's really disconcerting to be a mile or so from where the pigs and
gators usually are, and see an old pig come running down the trail by
you, squealing and snorting, and then in five minutes to see the old
gator clomping determinedly down the trail, looking for that pig.
In one of the big swamps down
there, Singer Sewing Machine had a big game preserve and lodge for its
bigwigs, with a chain fence around it. They put in the native wild pig
(we called them "Pine Hill Rooters") which would weigh about 95 or 100
pounds soaking wet. But hunting those little wild boar was not
"sporting" enough, so the clowns imported some European wild boar and
some African wild boar, and turned them loose on their preserve also.
Great sport! The predictable happened. In storms, trees blew down on
the fence here and there, and many of those big boars escaped and
interbred with the native wild pig. Bingo! Now back in the deep swamps
-- I think that's the spelling) one would sometimes meet a 500 pound
wild boar, just like out of Africa, complete with curling tusks etc. A
much more deadly threat in the woods!
Horace Logan, Program
Director of the Hayride, was a great bowhunter enthusiast. He used to
bowhunt those big 500 pound wild boar. Another real story in itself,
how they did it.
The only old sawmill I know
about was the big one that was formerly in Cheniere community itself,
which was a bit North and West of where Dumas's store was. Some of the
buildings of the old mill were still standing there when I was a kid,
and they even had left stores of short handle-stock wood, already
rounded and ready for shaping. We used to take out one of those, and
use it to hit rocks for batting practice. There was an old millpond
there which had fish in it and some real whompers of crawdads. Used to
catch them sometimes to use for fish bait.
All the damming of the lake
into Cheniere Lake, etc. occurred after I was gone. So I really don't
know much about what all they did, except that the three lakes
disappeared as separate entities.
And yes, old records are hard
to come by. I'm still trying to locate the actual gravesite at Cheniere
Church, where my first daughter, Bonnie, is buried. All records have
been obscured and lost in the decades since then, it seems. I want to
place a tombstone on the grave, but have not been able to find it. It's
astounding what changes can happen in a place when one has been gone for
50 years or so.
A few years ago, Doris and I
were passing through Monroe on Interstate 20 from Shreveport and points
West, so I took the Cheniere exit and we went down through the place
again, at some length. Very saddening experience. Almost all the folks
I knew and grew up with are now deceased. Little streets have sprung up
out of nowhere, and many of them are named after the families I knew
(Pace, Ranier, Street, McDonald, etc.). I'm sure some of the younger
folks (the children then) are still kicking, but scattered all over.
The big sawmill was still there, and so was the store that was
Pendarvis's old store. My grandmother and I lived in a little 3-room
apartment in the back of that store for two years. Of course the old
schoolhouse is long gone. So is the little house off the road where I
was born, and another or two of the places where we lived at various
times. The place was enormously changed. Doris and I drove back over
to the double bridges on Cheniere Creek (on the way to what used to be
May Haw Flat). That was really the deep woods back then. Now there are
streets and subdivisions, brick houses, etc.
There are still a few folks
my age that I grew up with, hanging in. Roland Carter is still hanging
on, but is in serious condition with cancer, hopefully yielding a bit to
some new alternative treatment. Harry Liner did well in the insurance
business and so is still around there, hanging in really well. I
started school with Roland in the first grade at the old Cheniere
grammar school. Bryan Ritter, who played the steel guitar with our
little group on the Hayride, is still kicking but he and his wife Margie
have moved out of Monroe. I grew up with about 10 cousins, and we were
all as close as brother and sister. Now half of them are deceased; the
others are still there, but --- like me --- they have gotten to be old
dogs hanging in there. One of the things old folks like me have are
memories deeply associated with a whale of a lot of folks who are
already deceased. So the Cheniere I knew (and loved) is not the
Cheniere today. To be expected, of course, but it still is a strange
feeling to see those places and so many memories associated, yet most
everybody has now departed life's stage.
But as someone wisely said,
one never steps in the same river twice. The water moves on, always.
One just remembers, then turns and gets on with whatever the activity is
these days.
Anyway, it's also gratifying
to see that Cheniere and that part of Louisiana is indeed growing. Last
time I was through there several years ago, it looked as if all North
Louisiana is slowly going to turn into one huge suburban area.
Sorry I can't be of more help
on the sawmill you're looking for. I never knew the name of that big
one that had been there in Cheniere community proper; we just called it
"the old sawmill". I do know that at one time the timber crews running
out of there were something, back in the days when logging used logging
wagons and teams of 6 and 8 log mules or log horses. My father went to
work at 12 years old, driving one of those log wagons in heavy logging
operations, which is a hard job for even a grown man. With his father
having died before my father was even walking, the family was in dire
straits and so he worked full time at anything and everything from the
age of about 10 up. When he was 24, he was foreman of the entire
logging operation with more than 100 men under him. And he never
finished first grade, could not read or write, never read a book or
newspaper or magazine, etc. But he was a helluva man. Worked like a dog
all his life, and died from his ninth heart attack in 1955, not long
after I entered the Army in 1954.
Anyway, glad to see you still
remember lots of the old stuff, and are working on some of the history.
Bryan Ritter, if you can contact him, did years of research on North
Louisiana in his treasure hunting affairs. He found out things that
were absolutely fascinating, going all the way back to when Monroe was
Fort Miro and a Federal outpost and trading post on the Ouachita River.
Jesse James, e.g., had a plantation in there, and in those days it was
still referred to by the locals as "the old James place". Bryan may or
may not know anything about the old sawmill you're looking for. His
E-mail address is: britter@bayou.com.
Stir the rascal up, tell him I gave you his E-mail address, and ask him
if he knows about the old mill. He's still the best steel guitar player
around! Tell him to play another tune for me and for old times sake.
Very best wishes,
Tom Bearden
Date: Thu, 14 Nov 2002 13:19:49 EST
My name is Bud
Rodgers & I was raised in Bawcomville/Siegle side of Cheniere . I, too,
roamed the lake in a wooden boat, from the time I was about 7 or 8 years
old ( I am 10 years younger than you.) I fished, hunted & trapped all
over the lake & up & down Cheniere Creek, upper & lower, on to the mouth
of Cheniere on the Ouachita. I camped on Pine Island, Coon Island &
Joe's Island, built a camp house (from a old cotton shed given to me by
Grover Edwards). I duck & squirrel hunted up the north Cheniere Creek
with Bennie Hudnall & his dog, Boy Dog. Not many squirrels fooled him. I
bream fished out of old Red Street's boat, a many a time. I shot
"squealers", from the pen oak flats on the north end of Cheniere Creek ,
down behind Tom Bonnetts & Mr. Bancrofts place, on to the Meadows & over
on the Little Lake side f! rom behind the old Peirce place & along Mr.
Lehighi's on to the Landrum & Brantly Place, cross the road & back home.
I really enjoyed your web site. I have been trying to research the old "Lenwil
SawMill", with out much luck, I am hoping that you may remember
something about it. It was gone, before I can remember, all that is left
is a couple of concrete "Dry Kiln" buildings. I have been to the
library, on the internet, with out any success. I did find a lady, named
Betty Bawcom, whose dad was the name sake of Bawcomville. She was
married to a big league baseball pitcher, named Donald. She has agreed
to speak with me again & fill me in on what she can remember. She told
me that she went to the old Lenwil School, when it was on the Cheniere
Dam road (Hwy 3033), before they moved it to it's present location. Do
you remember, what year they built the spillway & flooded the lake? I
hope I can find out some info to pass on, there seems to be a missin! g
peice of history, here. Thank you for your time. If you can remember any
thing to help me, email me @ Brodg82969@aol.com
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