Pointe d'Eglise Stopover

October 16, 2014
Houston, TX


Nearly forty years ago, I had a job which required me to make sales calls throughout the entire state of Louisiana, as well as Southern Mississippi.

I began to work in my territory, getting to know the state one small town at a time. My first few weeks I worked in what is known as "Cajun Country." This consists of a number of counties - called Parishes, whose predominant ethnic group consists of people who claim ancestry in a faraway place called Acadie, in present-day Nova Scotia, Canada.

I was excited to get acquainted with these folks, whom I had only read about in books. I knew they spoke French, and so did I, so I figured we'd get along just fine. I'd show up at a lumber company early in the morning, and sit and have a cup of nice, hot, strong coffee and listen to those old guys speak a dialect of French that hasn't been heard in its mother country in nearly 300 years! It was a pleasure to hear it. However, by the time 9am rolled around, these men were gone off to work, and it was English-only for the rest of the day. The city of Lafayette had become a predominantly English-speaking city.

One day much later, I ventured deeper into the area, and went to a place called Church Point, also known by locals as Pointe d'Eglise. I called on a company called Evangeline Brokerage.  Everybody there spoke French, but the man I needed to see, a Mr. Brouillette, was not there. So I sat down and wrote him a note, IN FRENCH, saying I was sorry to have missed him, and if he didn't mind, I'd be passing that way in a few weeks and I'd like to see him.

Well, I was true to my word, and when I walked in, the ladies all remembered me. They smiled and one of them got up. She returned a few minutes later with an older, well-dressed gentleman, who came up to me, and with a smile on his face as big as Texas, extended his hand and gave me a firm, honest handshake - the kind I rarely got out in the business world. We exchanged pleasantries, and he stopped and excused himself for a moment, then returned with a piece of paper in his hand; it was my note.

That mile-wide smile came across his face once again, and he asked: "Before we continue, could you tell me what you wrote here?"

I was stymied. "Well, just what it says." I replied, matter-of-factly.

"Would you mind reading it to me?"

I agreed, and did so.

"Ah, HAH!" he exclaimed, chuckling a bit.

"I don't understand..." I commented, as I saw a look of great satisfaction come across the gentleman's face.

"You know," he explained, "my mother tongue is French. But, " he added, "we were never taught to read or write it. We were only taught to read and write English. So when I saw this note, well, I just didn't know what to make of it! I had no idea what it was all about until you read it to me just now."

We had a nice conversation, that old gentleman and I. He told me that when he was a boy, it used to take a whole day to get from where the Interstate Highway runs to where his place of business stands. That trip took me only ten minutes. To hear him talk, well, it was just like being there in those long-ago days.

The business concluded, it was time for me to go, and that was the last time I was ever in that town.
I don't know - or remember the man's first name, but I do have some very pleasant memories of a man whose smile was wide, whose handshake was firm, and whose character as honest as can be found anywhere.

They don't make people like that any more.