While sitting on
the front steps of a very modest home in the small Cajun community of Church
Point in Louisiana, Nolan Lavergne talked to his son about the happiness
and hardships of growing up on a tenant farm in rural St. Landry Parish.
His son was a rookie high school American History teacher who asked a seemingly
simple question: "Who was your grandfather?" The father did not
know. "Well, Daddy, I'm going to find out for you," said the son. Thus began a fourteen-year-long project culminating in
Lives of
Quiet Desperation, a look at the ancestry of Gary M. Lavergne,
a Louisianian of French descent. In addition to a substantial genealogy
with over 1,200 names, Lavergne includes a series of concise essays placing
generations in historical context. Special treatment is given to the forces
that helped to determine the migrations of various groups of French-speaking
people, and the pioneers who helped to build new worlds in Canada and French
Louisiana. Particular emphasis is placed upon defining and describing the
differences between Cajuns, Creoles, and other Louisiana French cultures. The vast majority of the ancestors were simple, poor, tenant farmers
with large cohesive families. the uncommon were pioneers of note. they
all faced considerable odds and led lives of quiet desperation.
This page is an excerpt from LIVES OF QUIET DESPERATION and is made available to the public.
However, Gary M. Lavergne retains copyright and
all rights are reserved. GROWING UP CAJUN from Lives of Quiet Desperation: The Ancestry
of a Louisiana Frenchman My mother, Helen "Bobbie" Richard Lavergne, was in many
ways a quintessential Cajun. She was verbal and very open to those persons
she knew, and quiet and reserved with those she did not know. She seldom
criticized or complimented individuals or groups, preferring instead to
mind her own business. "Mrs. Bobbie’s" ultimate compliment was,
"Those are good people." In the eyes of a simple Cajun woman,
money, prestige, and position really didn’t amount to much; there was no
greater honor than to be a good person. The descendants of Acadian exiles, Cajuns, are one of America’s most
watched ethnic groups. During recent times, the apparent free-wheeling,
carefree lifestyle of Cajuns provided relief from the "me generation"
mentality of the 1970s and the "greed generation" mentality of
the 1980s. Laissez les bons temps rouler and the Cajun mystique
provided fodder for an American establishment searching for a simpler way
of life. Good music, good food, lots of drink, waltzes and two-steps, broken
English and unique accents have become an antidote for the pressures of
a technological era. Cajuns epitomize carefree lifestyle that most Americans
admire, but would never lead themselves. Most stereotypes have some basis in fact, and as a Cajun boy growing
up in Church Point, Louisiana, I witnessed and experienced the food, drink—lots
of drink—music, dances and broken English. (Since English corrupted French
and French corrupted English, some cynics claim that Cajuns are illiterate
in two languages.) The Cajun people I know work hard and are poor; but
that has never stopped them from having a good time, and it has never prevented
them from being good people. Glenn R. Conrad correctly asserts that many contemporary articles
and works of history tend to homogenize the Louisiana French into a single
"Cajun" culture. Such a simple view does not do justice to the
Acadians or other French speaking peoples of Louisiana. My hometown, Church
Point, once called "Bayou Plaquemine Brûlée," is decidedly Acadian,
and growing up Cajun is a singular experience. What I am most proud of
is the security and resilience of the Cajun people. By security I mean
that, unlike many ethnic groups, Cajuns are very quick to laugh at and
make fun of themselves. Most Cajun jokes and stories originate from and
are repeated by Cajuns themselves--with genuine glee. It is very difficult
to insult a Cajun. "Cajun" was once a pejorative term. It was
adopted by the Acadians and now appears to be a term of endearment. "Coonass"
is considered an insult by most people, even by Louisiana’s Legislature,
which passed a resolution declaring the terms "Cajuns" and "Acadians"
to be official. And yet, I can not remember a single instance where anyone
ever burned with rage at being called a "Coonass" (unless, of
course, they weren’t Cajun). One of my father’s favorite LP records was
a French comedy album by a "Nonc Helaire" called "For Coonasses
Only." Governor Edwin Edwards often used the term "Coonasses"
on campaign stops throughout Southwest Louisiana to the glee of hundreds
and thousands of voters who flocked to the polls to put him in Congress
and the Governor’s Mansion."Coonass" is less common now, more
because of a sensitivity afforded all minorities than a concerted effort
from Cajuns to gain respect. Growing up Cajun was fun, and it still is fun to be Cajun. During
unguarded moments I catch myself speaking "Franglish." Franglish
occurs when a Cajun thinks in French but speaks English. More specifically,
Franglish happens when French usage and mechanics and English verbalization
are combined. For example, in 1983 in Church Point I heard the following
Franglish sentence: "Mr. Bacilla, him, he got two of his teachers
pregnant at his school." In English the sentence is, "Mr. Bacilla
has two pregnant teachers at his school." In French the adjective
(pregnant) follows the noun (teachers); in English the adjective precedes
the noun. Franglish often confuses civilians who don’t know any better.
Fine examples of Franglish include: "Dean, there is a horse dead in the ditch by you house."
"Francis, throw the cow over the fence some hay."
When speaking, Cajuns also tend to take short cuts. Interjections
such as "Poo Yie!" "Kee Yoo!" "Cher!" "Mais
La!" and "Ahn!" are paragraphs to Cajuns. At a Cajundome
concert I heard the following conversation: Lady: "Was it you or your brother who died?"
Man: "Oh Cher, it was my brother." Lady: "An you momma died huh." Man: "Yea, her too." Better still, half sentences often suffice if meaning is obvious.
"Come see" is really "come here and see this." "You
sick" is really "are you sick?" and "an you" literally
means "the characteristic you attribute to me is more applicable to
yourself." Quite often, Cajuns corrupt or synthesize clichés.
"Mais, dats how da cookie bounces!" "Well if we lucky we
can kill two birds wit one gravel." Furthermore, it is not possible to argue with Cajun logic. My grandmother
once told me, "Gary, don’t complain about where you going because
wherever you go—you gonna be there!" The remarkable thing about that
bit of advice is that it is so obvious that it is impossible to contradict.
Wherever you go, you will be there! On another occasion my grandmother warned me not to play in the mud
"cause it will make you retarded." I could not help but question
that axiom. She quickly retorted, "Well then why do crawfish walk
backwards?" How does a person argue or even reply to such a statement?
Crawfish do walk backwards! Exaggeration is an art form to Cajuns. "Sim, did you hear dat
ole Madam Belle died." "No." "Well, Madame Belle died and look, I was sicker than her!"
Everything is fun about being a Cajun, even spankings and punishments.
Mrs. Bobbie was a classic Cajun disciplinarian. She could never say more
than one word without getting in a "lick" with a switch or a
belt. "DON’T—YOU—EVER—DO—THAT--AGAIN—DO—YOU—HEAR—ME !" I always wanted to say, "No Mama, say it again." But I
knew much better than to say such a stupid thing. My father, Nolan Dale Lavergne, was less violent but much more terrifying.
He had a George Washington stare, and as Gouverneur Morris once felt after
a famous Washington stare, I wish the Earth would open up and swallow me. One
rebuke I remember especially well went, "Boy, you had better straighten
up before I remove your eyes and take a serious look at your brain." In Cajun tradition, I too, try to make discipline a moment to remember.
Just recently I told Mark, "Do that again and I’ll shove my arm down
your throat and squeeze your pancreas." I had forgotten that my neighbors
were visiting; they were mortified until they saw Mark laughing hysterically.
Meals in Cajun homes are real events. I learned at a very young age
not to pile food on a plate and eat at one sitting. It is much better to
"eat three or four plates." The first meal I ever shared with
my soon-to-be mother-in-law is a good example. Having forgotten my earlier
lesson and in hopes of making a good first impression, I piled on the food
and ate everything. She then asked me if I wanted any more. When I said
"No" her reply was, "What, you don’t like it?" The problem with Cajuns and eating is, that while the eating occurs,
good judgment disappears. I have a first cousin who used to wrap boudin
around his arm as he ate it; an uncle who would take off his belt and unbutton
his pants whenever he ate gumbo; and frequently I myself will have to stop
eating and stand so that "my food can go down!" Once I heard
of a person from Opelousas who ate four pounds of boudin. He could barely
breathe as he sat prostrate in a chair in incredible discomfort. He was
asked, "Why did you eat so damn much boudin?" "Cause it was good!" was his reply. Another uncle of mine once ate four large servings of fried and stewed
catfish with rice. After the fourth plateful he said, "You know, if
I had some tea I could eat some more!" Finally, there is the unsubstantiated but perennial story of some
Cajun men who spent hours preparing a very elaborate supper. They drank
as they cooked and by the time the meal was ready they were too drunk to
eat. To much of the rest of the world, Cajuns remain a mystery. As someone
who makes a living making speeches throughout the United States, I am no
longer surprised at some of the silly questions that highly educated persons
often ask me about my people. In Washington, DC, while my son Charles and
I waited to enter Skylab, on display at the Smithsonian Institute’s Museum
of Air and Space, a very polished, dignified, obviously well-educated,
middle-aged lady asked, "Where are you from?" She had detected
our accent. Very politely I explained that we were Cajuns from Louisiana.
The ensuing conversation went: Lady: "Oh, I know very much about you people!"
Gary: "You do." Lady: "Oh, yes, especially about your wonderful food. I enjoy
it very much, but I’ll never eat rattlesnake." Gary: "Madam, you’d love it if I cooked it for you!" Lady: "Yes, I suppose so!" I chose not to tell her that there are no rattlesnakes in Louisiana.
As a political science fellow at Rutgers University in New Brunswick,
New Jersey, a good friend and classmate of mine from Tennessee innocently
asked, "Are you a Coonass?" Our group consisted of scholars from
all parts of the United States, and as soon as he asked that question a
collective gasp was heard throughout the room and all eyes and ears awaited
my reaction. "Yes" was my answer. I figured that there was nothing
to be gained by being insulted just because I was in New Brunswick, New
Jersey, instead of Church Point, Louisiana. While studying School Law at
Harvard, a classmate of mine told me of a documentary produced by Encyclopedia
Britannica which suggested that Cajuns use their children as alligator
bait. "I know better than that!" she said proudly. "Thank
you!" I replied. Some of the questions I am asked about Cajuns are fair, like whether
or not it is true that there is a Cracklin Festival, a Frog Festival, a
Boudin Festival, a Praline Festival, a Crawfish Festival, and so on. I
usually explain that in addition to the hundreds of festivals there is
a day called Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) whose festivities can last several
days or even weeks. Moreover, there are "Cajun Days" in most
small communities. Religious holidays like Easter and Christmas, or events
like First Communion, Confirmation, and Marriages can be festivals in themselves.
"Well, you people are always looking for a reason to celebrate aren’t
you?" I guess we are. So what? We are good people. I am proud to
be a Cajun, and would never deny my heritage, if for no other reason than
because of the fact that Cajuns and many of their traditions have survived,
except for the language. My great grandparents spoke no English; my grandparents
spoke little English; my parents were completely bilingual; I speak a little
French; my children speak no French. Most elderly Acadians will readily
admit to participating in a concerted conspiracy to eliminate the French
language from Louisiana. They tell of spankings for speaking French at
school and of the irony that government and the media now struggle to preserve
and resurrect the Cajun culture they once tried to suppress and of how
teachers are frantically trying to teach what children were once punished
for. They were good people; at the time it seemed like the right thing
to do. But there is a dark side of life in Acadiana. Laissez les bons temps
rouler exacts a price. Cajun food is very likely the eighth
wonder of the world; the Cajun life style is the envy of many in the United
States, and rightly so. But Louisiana has the lowest life expectancy and
one of the highest illiteracy rates in the United States. There is precious
little to show for the "embarrassment of riches" during the oil
boom of the 1970s. Cajuns pay little or no property taxes and have deplorable
roads and schools to prove it. Many Cajuns laugh at and are entertained
by politicos who think corruption is funny; the price exacted, however,
is corruption itself. Cajuns are very tolerant people who pretty much don’t care what other
people think. The tendency is to "just let it pass." Cajuns do
battle over things that are really important; it’s just that there isn’t
a whole lot that is important. Like almost everything else Cajun, that
is a strength as much as a weakness. In the end, Cajuns have the greatest
strength of all—they are just good people.
| Gary's Bio
|Before Brown| Worse
Than Death| Bad Boy From Rosebud |
Sniper in the Tower | Cajuns
|
