The origin of the life of your humble writer: Part XLI

By: Preston Aucoin

Part of the discharge process was going before a panel of re-enlistment guys who tried to talk you into re-enlisting. Nothing was further from my thoughts but, I had to give them lip service. They began by giving me a pep talk, which included painting a beautiful picture before me, listing all of the benefits of re-enlisting, offering a bonus, choice of bases, etc. They were really gilding the lily.

I didn’t want to be ugly to those fellows because they were nice guys, diplomats and flatterers, only doing their job, but I knew they were wasting their time, but I told them in my own tactful way I appreciated what they were telling me and their courtesies but there was no way I would re-enlist.

I told them I was going to take advantage of the G.I. Bill and go back to where I came from and obtain my college degree. At this time, I still entertained thoughts of becoming a geologist. They say they were barking up the wrong tree and their overtures were falling on deaf ears; they cut it short and wished me luck, telling me as politely as possible that if my plans did not work out, the door to re-enlistment was still open. I shook hands with them and told them goodbye and moved on to the next station.

It was about as hard to get out of the Air Force as it had been to get in, except there were no lines. The final station was the best one, the financial one. They paid me what was known (and may still bear the name) as “mustering out” pay, and also I had accumulated quite a bit of unused leave time (we were allowed 30 days a year) which I was also paid for, warming the cockles of my heart.

Then I went back to the barracks which had been my home for the last eight months, packed up my belongings, put on my dress uniform for the last time and bid my remaining friends who had not been discharged yet, farewell and began my journey to the Southland to see if I could pick up where I left off.

I took a flight to New Orleans and upon landing there I decided that the easiest and quickest way to get to Ville Platte was on my thumb, i.e. hitchhiking which was still vogue then, especially if you were in uniform. It was early morning when the plane landed, so I went from flying to hitchhiking, quite a changeover. I was burdened by my heavy duffel bag containing my worldly possessions and I was also carrying a handbag.

I took the air passenger bus to the exit of the airport, which was just across the highway leading to Baton Rouge. This is the old highway which is known as the Air Line Highway. The interstate was non-existent at that time, so that meant plenty of traffic going both ways. I was strong, young, and full of vim and vigor, so I put that duffel bag on my shoulder, picked up my handbag and walked a few yards west of the exit and began flagging.

It didn’t take long and I got a ride to Baton Rouge, and then to Opelousas, and a truck ride to Nuba, where the rose garden was located and then a car picked me up and the kind driver brought me straight to our house in Ville Platte and deposited me there. You couldn’t beat that for service.

This was during the last days of January or the first days of February, just in time to begin the 1955 spring semester at SLI (ULL). So, I had to hustle to get things in order, first things first, and that was to buy a car. Somehow I managed to save enough money to accomplish that. I got a brand new red and white Ford Deluxe automobile. It cost $2,600.

The, I had to go to the V.A. office at the old courthouse in Ville Platte to get my G.I. Bill benefits started. The next step was to go to Lafayette to the college to get registered for the spring semester. I wasn’t prepared for what I found in Lafayette. Was this the same city I had left four years ago? I knew it was because the familiar landmarks were still there, but the new buildings, new stores, the new restaurants, the Heymann Center, the Oil Center which was not there when I left. The city had spread for example, the Judice Inn where we used to eat delicious hamburgers, hamburger steaks, and curly-q-french fries on Sunday evenings when returned from the weekend, used to be in the country. Now, it was in town, rather the city, presently across the street form the Grand Theater.

When I left, the college had three thousand students. Now, it had eight thousand. The medical community had begun to grow. Lafayette was becoming the Houston of Acadiana. Quite frankly, I was held in awe. Where had all these people come from? There was a Vet Village on the campus for the returning married veterans on the GI Bill. There were now buildings on the campus, but old Martin Hall was still there (and still is today) where the Registrars Office was still located. I found out when registration would begin and then set about finding a place to live.

Traditionally, a lot of guys from Ville Platte had always lived at the Stansbury place on College Drive, about two blocks form the corner of the SLI campus at Johnson and College. It was a beautiful, two story, old home that had stood there since the great Civil War. For years, it had been populated by different guys from Ville Platte, when one group graduated and moved on, a new bunch came in. It was my turn, not only mine, but that of many fellows from Ville Platte returning from the service.

Included were Gaynor Soileau, Jerry Doucet, Francis Fontenot, Phil Fontenot (who was actually from Welsh, but had come to Ville Platte to do his high school studies at Sacred Heart and lived with his Aunt Mel), Dave “Beaky the Buzzard” Reed and Gilbert “Bud” Perron. Thrown in for good measure was Patrick Rozas from Chataignier and Lionel “Bogan” Delafosse from Grand Prairie. We all lived upstairs. There was a turret structure at the front corner of the upstairs portion of the house, a small octagon shaped affair which had been made into a bedroom, and that was where Beaky the Buzzard lived, an appropriate perch for the Buzzard. All in all, we were a motley crew.

The rent was eight dollars a week. There was one small bathroom for all of us, so the reader can appreciate the howling and cussing in the morning to get in to get ready for school. We could easily walk to class. Many years after we left there, my daughter, Toni, lived upstairs in that same house for a long time. This was after college students no longer lived there. She was sort of a custodian. The house was used for weddings, wedding receptions, showers and meetings. The Stansburies sold it a few years ago and it has been beautifully refurbished.

I moved in just in time when the spring semester began. I registered and resumed my studies in geology. It was good to be back in college and, I quickly adjusted to that life. There were many veterans, some who had returned like me or others who started as freshman. In retrospect, college life was a good life. The only problem was I had a heavy schedule because I wanted to try to make up for lost time, and I had to do more studying than the average college student. It sorta crimped my style.

In my next column, I will relate to the gentle reader an occurrence which profoundly affected the rest of my life. I think you will find it interesting.

I invite the reader of this column to listen to my radio program on KVPI 92.5 FM or 10.50 AM at 12:30 noon every other Wednesday.