Justin Wilson - 

𝓑𝓸𝓾𝓳𝓸𝓾𝓻! 𝓔𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 Ç𝓪 𝓥𝓪??

                                                                                                            © KENNETH E. HALL APRIL 27, 2019 HOUSTON, TX

There once was an entertainer who became famous for his humorous faux-Cajun accent, his quirky humor, his broad smile and quick wit, his constant flow of malapropisms and, of course, his well-known Cajun cooking.

☺His name was Justin Wilson.

No, he was not Cajun; he wasn't even full-blooded Créole, by his own adnission, but he was born in Louisiana near the town of Amite - at least that. He was a well-known raconteur — a storyteller, a spinner of yarns who took delight in telling ordinary and sometimes very corny, over-told jokes with his made-up "Cajun" accent, throwing in lots of malapropisms into the gumbo. It wasn't the story itself that was funny... It was the storyteller.

To herd dis' man talk, you'd swear you had passed youself raaat down ta dem bayous of La Louisiane, I ga-ron-tee!

Justin Wilson cut many comedy records and had numerous appearances on TV and radio - including his own cooking show. I enjoyed his cornball sense of humor and listened to him every chance I got when I was a young adult. Like some wannabe amateur Elvis impersonator, I wound up by getting good at imitating Justin Wilson, sometimes even being asked to tell some Cajun jokes in his style at work when we had otherwise boring out-of-town sales meetings

Funny thing, though: I never heard a real Acadian speak that way, and in my life I have travelled extensively throughout Acadiana - even living a couple of years in Lafayette.

BUT.... my Great Uncle Léon Yuratich from way down in Buras spoke just like him!! He used to come over to my grandparents' and tell the funniest shaggy-dog storier I ever heard.

If one were to have visited the little orange grove River town of Buras, La. in around 1900, French would have been by far the dominant language, followed by Croatian. English came in at a distant third place, Chère! Haw 'bout DAT!?

My grandmother, also a native French-speaker from Buras, would do a double-take when I'd do my Justin Wilson imitation around her, and she would give me a sideways glance of doubious appreciation.....

The truth is, she did not like it, because she remembered moving up to New Orleans as a young lady in the 1920's, and being terribly ridiculed for her thick French accent by the locals. In those days, speaking English with a French accent meant to many that the person was from the country, hence ignorant and backward. Sad but true.

Imagine someone coming into a big-city place of business looking for a job and speaking like Justin Wilson!

My grandmother spoke true French, not Acadian (Cajun) French as her only language until she learned to speak English in school. So cruelly was she mocked that she eventually learned to speak proper "American" English, and thus landed a job as a telephone operator at the United Fruit Company in New Orleans. One had to have perfect diction to become an operator. Though she never said it, my MonMon wound up by speaking better English than many of the New Orleanians who laughed at her as a young girl.

Entertainer Pinky Vidacovich, another native of Buras, also did a Cajun shtick, but, like my Uncle Léon, he spoke that way in real life, too! He became famous with WWL radio's "Dawnbusters" program long ago, some time in the 1940's, and went by the stage name "Cajun Pete" — but, like Justin Wilson, there wasn't anything "Cajun" about him, either! Mais NON!

Decades ago, some people actually took offense at this style of humor, much in the same way some blacks decried the TV series "Amos n' Andy," accusing it of ridiculing the way blacks spoke. and my grandmother would have agreed.

I think most people who are themselves true Acadians, however, took Justin Wilson's tall tales and "Franglish" speech with the good-hearted spirit in which it was done.
Happily, his popularity was never diminished by any of his detractors.

Justin Wilson, by the way, was not the only Cajun humorist, nor was he even the first. Numerous others have done Cajun Humor like Dave Petijean and Marion Marcotte, the latter actually doing his stories in Cajun French!

I met Justin Wilson in person once up in "Yankee country"... way, WAY up north ... in West Monroe, Louisiana... at a hardware show. By then I knew most of his material and mannerisms by heart, but that didn't stop me from laughing at those jokes and enjoying the once-in-a-lifetime privilege of hearing him live. I went up to him after the program and got in character: "I'm mos' please to meet choo!" I told him.
"Well, I'm mos' please to meet choo, too!" He said with a firm handshake and a mile-wide grin. 

"Ya know, " I told him, "Me, I'm sure glad you brought youself way up yere! We're da only folk in dis place what don't talk wit an ACCENT!"

"I GAR-ON-TEE!!!" he said loudly.

Many people have said that what Justin Wilson did was "just an act."

Just an act? What difference does that make? Justin Wilson was an entertainer after all - an illusionist, of sorts, as ALL actors are. One could say the same about Clayton Moore, who played The Lone Ranger. He portrayed that self-appointed lawman for so long and was him so much that he eventually BECAME the Lone Ranger even off-screen, and was almost never seen out of character or without his trade-mark mask.

This begs the question: Was Clayton Moore the "Lone Ranger"?.... or was the "Lone Ranger" actually Clayton Moore?

The same, I believe, can be said for Justin Wilson. He created a persona which he eventually became, but since that persona came originally from him, it's difficult to separate the person from the persona.

MY question is: do we really need to pay attention to the man behind the curtain, when the illusion is so good?

This jovial lover of good cooking finally passed away at the ripe old age of 99½!!

Justin, ma frien', wherever you are, in Heaven or Perculatory, I hope you pass youself a good time, yeah!"

*Photo of Justin Wilson courtesy of Wikipedia:

By Source (WP:NFCC#4), Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45201592

When Dawn Turned to Daylight at 3 A.M.

                                                                                        KENNETH E. HALL      HOUSTON, TX        MAY 2, 2019

3:37 A.M.

I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, but I had no idea why. There was nothing to explain my waking jump, but something was amiss, that was for sure. I sat up in bed in the pitch-dark blackness of the bedroom, listening - - -  but there was only silence.

Our windows were these crummy aluminum things that wear out quickly and rattle whenever so much as a pickup truck goes by on the street. Every single house that was built in the 1970's had them, and they were great when installed, but after only a decade or so, they were no longer the same as when they were new. For example, the window by the dining room table in my house had a broken latch, and I had cleverly wedged a bamboo chopstick in tightly by the lock so it could not be opened unless we wanted it opened. That was my idea of keeping my home safe - a chopstick wedged into a window lock!

Ours was a quiet suburban neighborhood after sundown, and tonight was no exception. But then the predawn silence was broken by the sound of that chopstick falling to the dining room floor. My eyes opened wide in the pitch black darkness. The hair stood up on the back of my neck! 

SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO GET IN!!!

Next to my bed, leaning against a corner wall, was my buddy, "Mitch" -  a large, real machete (cane knife) I had bought as a souvenir in Guatemala nearly 2 decades ago. I sprang out of bed, grabbed the large knife and drew it from its ornate leather sheath. Then I sneaked into the hallway and headed toward dining room, ready to do battle with whomever was trying to gain entry into our house through that living room window.
My heart pounded in terror, my face flushed red; I had never confronted an intruder mano-a-mano before and even though I was well-armed with my machete, thoughts now hit me: what if the other guy is ARMED - as in with a GUN??!! What if there were two or more people looking to break in?? What if....??

These and a few other scary thoughts raced through my mind as I neared the place where the hall opened up into the kitchen / dining room area. I made no noise at all as I crept closer and closer, ducking down to keep a low profile. The blue-white light from the streetlamp outside filtered in through the window and since I was coming from the dark, I found I could see well enough to find a burglar, even in the shadows. Of that I was certain. I stood there with my eyes scanning every dimly-lit cranny of the dining room fully expecting there to be someone, weapon in hand, crouching, waiting, lurking in the shadows.  

After looking around thoroughly I entered the living room / dining room area. I saw no one, much to my relief, but I then figured whoever it was was probably still outside, still trying to jimmy the window open. 

I had to have a strategy. Not to have one would have me go off "half-cocked" as my grandfather used to say. Going out the front door would expose me, I thought, and I would be vulnerable to attack, so I decided I could use the door on the left-hand side of the garage and exit to the front of the house through the alley and take the culprit by surprise. Quietly, or as quietly as the lock mechanism would allow for, I made my exit through the side door. Cautiously I looked all around me before proceeding, lest the intruder or intruders take ME by surprise. It was then, while I was in the side yard, that I noticed the sky was a bright yellow-orange. I scratched my head, wondering why the heck it was so bright - it couldn't be dawn yet, could it?  But never mind; I had my house and family to protect.

Just as I came around the side of the house and approached the front, fully expecting to see whoever it was, I heard a car start up two doors down from our place, and tires squealed loudly! The car raced down the block and around the curve at the end of the street and was gone in an instant. Wow! My heart was pounding with excitement. 

I did well, I thought to myself! I had surprised whoever it was, and he or they beat a hasty retreat. Much relieved that the immediate threat was apparently gone, I went inside, more than a little rattled but happy and relieved the incident was behind me.

But that SKY! It was dawn already....

I went back to bed, and despite my adrenaline rush and near-encounter with some nefarious person, I fell asleep soon thereafter. 

THE SMOKE

I suddenly awoke with the alarm clock, got dressed and ate a bite, then drove to work. I lived in a modest brick house in LaPlace, LA - a former sugar cane town turned bedroom community for New Orleans and nearby petrochemical plants. All up and down the nearby Mississippi River was an unbroken stream of oil refineries and chemical manufacturing plants - so many that the River Parishes area was nicknamed "Cancer Alley" - and it was so-named for good reason.  Today, it was not cancer that was on everyone's mind.

I headed for work, getting on Interstate 10 E as usual, and put the local radio on to relieve the boredom of the long commute ahead of me. I was on the overwater section of this highway when I sighted a very thick, dark plume of black smoke belching from one of the plants. It was at this very moment that I learned from live radio that there had been a huge explosion at the Shell Oil refinery at NORCO, LA - just a twenty minute drive from my house! According to the radio, it happened at 3:37am this very morning - - - THAT was why I awoke suddenly

As I came to a break in the trees, I could now see more clearly the distant towers of the NORCO petrochemical complex, and the thick, black plume of smoke that rose from it. The familiar tall flair tower whose beacon shown for miles was obscured amid all the smoke and soot in the air.

Like residents of a mining town who heard the whistle indicating a disaster had befallen those in the mines, today, those who lived and worked in the industrial towns along the river that day awaited news - who would come home, who lay badly hurt, and who would not be coming home at all. Through the day and into that evening, grim reports filtered in about the injured and the dead. This was indeed a tragedy. Everybody knew somebody who was killed, injured or grieving. I was no exception.

I returned to my house that afternoon to find my daughter in tears. Not one, but several of her school friends had either found out that their fathers had died, were injured, or were among the missing. As for the car pealing out down the street early that morning, it was a neighbor who worked for Shell heading down to the disaster site to help out during the emergency. The falling chopstick that I took for a burglar attempting to gain entrance to my house was no doubt dislodged from the force of the explosion, a noise which I did not consciously hear but was awaken by.

The main part of the refinery fire was extinguished soon, but thick, black smoke billowed high into the air and was visible for miles. It was a stark, somber reminder of those who lay maimed in a hospital bed and for those who did not make it.

At that time, I was a salesman for a tool manufacturer, and there was a competitor of mine whom I met occasionally at trade shows. His name was Ernie Carrillo. At trade shows and conventions we would chat, and got to know him as Ernie instead of as a competitor. We all had our jobs to do and we all had families to feed.

I later learned that Ernie quit the job he had when I knew him to work in a better-paying position at Shell, so he could more adequately provide for his family. It seems that, on the evening before the explosion he had switched shifts with a fellow worker to help out a friend who needed the night off, because Ernie was always there when someone needed him. He wasn't even supposed to be working that night. Ernie Carrillo was high up in the catalytic-cracking tower of the Norco Refinery when it blew up. His body was found on May 6th.

AFTERMATH

The smoke eventually cleared, the ruins were sifted for clues about the cause of the explosion. The destroyed parts of the plant were rebuilt - hopefully to better safety standards, all the legalities were dealt with and all the checks were written. The dead were mourned, honored and buried. the injured recovered as best as they could. Life went on. 

Much has subsequently been written about the who, the why, the how, and the aftermath of this tragedy. 

But the loss of a husband or a father or a brother cannot be paid for by a settlement check or improved procedures. Those losses are written in stone.

Three decades later, the lofty flair tower that has for long been a NORCO landmark can still be seen for many miles in the distance, and it burns bright, like an eternal flame, and many say it burns to the memory of those who died there, and those who went on living with the pain and the memory of that sad day, the day when dawn turned to daylight at 3 a.m. 

 “On May 5, 1988, an explosion occurred at the Cat Cracking Unit which forever changed the lives of Shell Norco employees and the Norco community. This memorial isdedicated to the seven employees who lost their lives.”The seven are then named: Ernie Carrillo, Bill Coles, Lloyd Gregoire, John Moisant, Jimmy Poche, Joey Poirrier and Roland Satterlee.

Published on

5/2/19 12:16 PM

Edited (1) Feb 3. 2024 8:38PM

Monument dedicated at Shell to men who died Published 12:00 am Wednesday, May 6, 1998  By Staff Reports  By Leonard Gray / L’Observateur / May 6, 1998

Read more at: https://www.lobservateur.com/1998/05/06/monument-dedicated-at-shell-to-men-who-died/

  “On May 5, 1988, an explosion occurred at the Cat Cracking Unit which forever changed the lives of Shell Norco employees and the Norco community. This memorial isdedicated to the seven employees who lost their lives.” The seven are then named: Ernie Carrillo, Bill Coles, Lloyd Gregoire, John Moisant, Jimmy Poche, Joey Poirrier and Roland Satterlee.

Read more at: https://www.lobservateur.com/1998/05/06/monument-dedicated-at-shell-to-men-who-died/

SOURCES 

https://www.lobservateur.com/1998/05/06/monument-dedicated-at-shell-to-men-who-died/

"The Norco Louisiana Shell Explosion of 1988"

A first-person article by Darin Acosta can be found here:

http://darinacosta.com/2016/05/05/norco-shell-explosion-1988


WashingtonPost Newspaper article - May 6, 1988:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1988/05/06/1-dead-6-missing-as-blast-at-shell-oil-refinery-rocks-louisiana-town/a8ddcf3a-047d-4bd9-b23c-90d88a85639d/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.b5a353417168