Devil in the Details

Where you comin’from?

My frien’s, we often hear the statement, “I don’t see where you are coming from.” People have remarked on my “interesting” version of ordinary activities. So taking the first sentence rather literally and trying to elucidate on the second, I will try to explain where I come from.

There’s not much to record from the early years of the Guraedys. Charles Alfred Guraedy (great grandfather) is said to have jumped ship (New Orleans) somewhere around 1870. This method of entry (understandably) fails to leave much in the way of a paper trail. Family legend takes up with him sitting on the side of a street, hungry, crying and wondering what he should do (we French are somewhat emotional when our plans overlook inclusion of the next meal). Emphasis has been placed on the fact that a man passing by spoke to him in French. This certainly indicates taking advantage when an opportunity to jump ship arrived (or became necessary) and a definite lack of planning on Charles’ part. French is still a fairly common language in New Orleans. Had he actually planned jumping ship in this area he should have known that French was the lingua franca. Anyway, the man took him home (nice), fed him (most important) and got him a job as a clerk (future meals insured). However, he quickly departed the bustling city (and potential return to a seafaring career) for the quiet (anonymity) of the swamps and amalgamated through marriage into the Cajun culture by marrying Annie Brazil. Now, my frien’s, I have used a common spelling of Annie’s last name. The truth is that we don’t know how it was spelled as there are a whole bunch of ways the Cajuns do this. We also doubt her name was Annie; maybe Ann? Maybe Annette? Maybe Antoinette????

And so my frien’s ends legend and this epistle as recorded history begins.

The devil you say!

If family legend is to be believed, history repeated itself. The son (Frank) duplicated the Father’s action (figuratively jumping ship), ran away, severed contact with the past and started a new life for himself in a new place. He ended up in southern Mississippi, married with four kids and working as a blacksmith in a logging camp when the Guraedy recorded history begins.

The family of six lived in quarters (provided by the company) known as a shotgun house. This appellation came from their architecture. Generally, consisting of three rooms, all doors (including the front and back) were lined up in the middle of the house. It was said that you could fire a shotgun through the house without hitting a wall.

Although certainly not wealthy, the Guraedy’s did have one modern convenience, an icebox. Frank even had it rigged so that the melting water drained through the floor of the house and did not have to be carried outside via buckets. Unfortunately, this made nice cool mud for the neighbor’s hogs. They managed to squeeze into the low crawl space beneath the structure and blissfully sleep away the sweltering Mississippi heat.

In the interest of community peace, Frank asked that the hogs be kept up, pointing out that they were creating some interesting odors under his house. The neighbor, perhaps deceived by the politeness of the request and unaware of the seriousness, and certainly not subjected to the intensity of the aroma, failed to restrain his hogs.

Frank analyzed the situation, concluded that the hogs not the neighbor were really the source of the problem. What was needed was training. Now, my frien’s, full grown hogs are big (indirect interaction is preferred), stubborn (behavior is not easily changed), can be temperamental (down right mean) and when not readily accessible (up under the house) an increased level of difficulty is added.

But, Frank had allowed for these little bumps on his road to hog training. You simply have to have the right tools for the job. In this case a brace and bit and a bottle of highlife. Now, I don’t know what purpose was intended for highlife, but its effect on skin was not dissimilar to that of a red hot iron, the primary difference being that highlife takes a minute or so for results.

After a full day of laboring with a blacksmith hammer Frank’s patience wore thin. The smell of the hog wallow was too much. He bored holes in the floor (which fortunately would be unnoticeable in a company house) and poured highlife onto the sleeping animals. Day was disappearing and everyone in the community had settled in for the evening.

Have you ever noticed that the usual low grunts emitting from hogs is a rather pleasant sound? Not so the high pitch screams of animals who are firmly convinced that they are being scalded for scraping without courtesy of the usual coup de grace.

The resulting noise brought the entire community running to the Guraedy residence (which the family had wisely decided to vacate). It must be remembered that this was a largely uneducated (but God fearing) group of working people. A firm belief in God leads inevitably to a firm belief in the devil (and everyone knows where hell is located). It sounded like Satan himself had arisen from the underworld straight up beneath the Guraedy’s house. Worse still, he was trying to get out!

Slowly the house began to lift on its foundation and tilt precariously. Fight or flight? In the gathering darkness, the neighbors expressed concern, kept one eye on the house, while looking for the preacher with the other (this definitely was his area of expertise). But fear of the devil was tempered by curiosity and the potential for losing face (what good fundamental Christian truly feared the Devil?).

The fight/flight decision among the hogs was simpler. When the impression of being boiled entered the animal’s minds they definitely wanted to be anywhere else. Floor joists presented barriers, but this was quickly overcome as more animals stood to run and a form of unorganized cooperation occurred. As the screaming hogs toppled the house from its foundations, flight now seemed the order of the day, for all species concerned. The devil confined under the house was totally different to the devil on the loose in town.

Frank, alone in bewildered wonder, stood his ground. Certainly the reaction of the hogs was beyond his expectations; but, what in the world had gotten into his neighbors? Why did they take off, just when he needed them to help put his household back in order?

Sometime later ( hours?, days?, weeks?), the humor of the situation was realized, assistance was forthcoming (though the predictability of the Guraedys remained questionable). Somewhat justified I suppose, since too soon thereafter, the Guraedy boy’s were involved in another unfortunate episode and added variety, if not quality, to the family’s reputation.

People have often jumped to the conclusion that many of the family’s actions were deliberate. When they really should be considered more along the line of a scientific experiment. Maybe we do occasionally fall somewhat short in analyzing potential results and sometimes fail to anticipate our ability to control the situation.

Un-natural occurrences continued with Charlie (uncle) and David (father). They knew that sulphur was used in matches. They found a whole bucket of the stuff. They decided to find out if is this was what makes matches burn.

Safety protocols and historical memory (hog incident) indicated that it was not propitious to ignite the sulphur in town. They carried their find to a near-by field prior to attempted ignition. Which proved successful and they watched in amazed delight as a huge yellow cloud spewed from the container. Maybe we are a family of low expectations for this, too, exceeded the anticipated results.

Unfortunately, the spectacular sulphurous cloud, drifted into the company housing area (wind prediction not having been considered important¾initially). The resulting evacuation of the entire town (certainly this much sulphur smell must come from hell) was not seen with quite the same degree of humor as the preceding incident (maybe the Guraedys were in cahoots with the Devil. It certainly was becoming difficult to accept their explanations of “unanticipated results.”).

And, I end this epistle with full belief that there is some degree of personal absolution. After all, it did not start with me and my generation.