Cherish Your Memories: Lessons in the Journey

By Pamela Breaux Hall

What started as a project to capture some of her funny childhood memories in writing, evolved into a conscious awareness of little nuggets of widsom she'd gained through many of those experiences. It was in the writing where God began to open her heart to specific truths she had never before considered, including her most painful childhood experiences -- the ones she never intended to put into writing. As a result, her memoirs are a mixture of humor, inspiration and faith, that will not only have you laughing but will touch your heart as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798385005246

Pamela Breaux Hall

PAM HALL is a Christian author who shares how God used her childhood experiences to teach her some of her greatest lessons in life, especially those experiences that were rooted in adversity. Her memoirs are a testimony of His faithfulness and grace and how He works all things for good when we place our trust in Him.

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Copyright © 2023 Pamela Breaux Hall.

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people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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WestBow Press rev. date: 08/17/2023

Carl Sandburg, the famous poet, once said:

"Life is like an onion. You peel it back one

layer at a time and sometimes, you weep."

The same is true of memories.

Contents

Acknowledgements

In The Beginning

Meeting Mr. Edson

The Housekeeper

Wants and Needs

Identical Twins

Best Friends

Childhood Years

Teenage Years

The Love of Pets

Quality Time with Paw-Paw Breaux

Love in Traditions

Spiritual Ears

My Beautiful Teacher

Redemption

Acknowledgements

I read a quote not long ago that said we get to keep the memories of things that were and not the memories of things that might have been. It took me back to that rainy day at a Flea Market in Gonzales, Louisiana when I had the privilege of meeting Herb Edson, the author who inspired my book with the words he penned in the front of his -- Cherish Your Memories, Herb Edson.

Thanks to all of my family and friends who encouraged me for a very long time to get this book completed, especially my twin sister, Pat. From painting the design for the cover to all she did, editing, tweaking and catching my mistakes, I owe so much to her. Not to mention the countless hours, tirelessly listening while I ranted on, trying to figure out how to put what was on my heart in writing. The laughter and tears we shared through it all have made this book more special to me that I ever dreamed it would be. Having a twin has been one of the greatest blessings in my life. I love her with all of my heart.

Special thanks to my husband, Davy, who handled all of the techie stuff required for me to get my work submitted. I have been blessed to be married to this wonderful man for forty-seven years.

Finally and most importantly, all glory goes to God. His faithfulness has never ceased to sustain me. His mercy and grace have never ceased to amaze me. Without Him I couldn’t have understood the blessing in adversity. Nor would I have experienced the peace that comes from knowing He has a purpose in all things He allows. This book is my personal testimony of how He works all things for good.

In The Beginning

On the west side of the Mississippi River, across from the city of Baton Rouge, is the small town of Addis, Louisiana, the place where I grew up. Like many small towns its roots go back to the early railroad days when a rail was constructed through the area southward to New Orleans.

In 1904, T & P Railroad constructed a depot in Addis, known then as Baton Rouge Junction. Passengers from the Baton Rouge side could cross the river and catch the train to larger cities west of the Mississippi. As a result the surrounding area began to evolve and prosper. Places of business began cropping up to meet the needs of the railroad and the community.

Six years later, in 1910, the name was changed from Baton Rouge Junction to Addis, named for John Wesley Addis, an official of the railroad. Over the course of the next several years, Addis continued to thrive. In 1915 Addis was incorporated as a village, and the rest, as it goes, is history.

In August, 1977, Addis officially became a town with a population of 1245. I was eleven years old at the time and remember the celebration. Of course, by then, many of the original structures and places of business were no longer in existence. Some had been destroyed by fire while others had sadly failed to survive the test of time and change. Yet during my early childhood years, many founding families who played a very significant role in developing the town of Addis were still alive and contributing in the community.

Apart from the railroad and post office, almost every business in town was family owned and operated. My grandparents on my mother’s side, Marion and Cecile Gassie, owned and operated Gassie’s Esso Service Station. The original Gassie’s Service Station, opened in 1939 was demolished in 1948 when my grandfather built a modern station right in the center of town. The only memories I have of him are at that station. My grandfather died when I was five years old.

I remember the station was always busy. In addition to the routine things like checking his customer’s oil and tires and cleaning dirty windshields, my grandfather did mechanic work as well. It wasn’t until my adult years when I found out he was also busy after the station closed. That’s when he opened a small room on the back side of his building where he and some of his closest friends gathered to gamble in private. Illegally gamble in private!

My grandmother also worked at the station but never serviced the customers at the pumps. That wasn’t a job for a lady. And to be sure, my grandmother was a prim and proper lady, whether at home or in public. She handled all the clerical work like answering the phone and keeping the books, including all the payables and receivables. While my grandfather dressed for the dirty work, never was my grandmother seen when she wasn’t dressed to the nines. Including at the station.

After my grandfather passed away, with help from family and friends, my grandmother kept the station running until she reached the age of retirement. Even then the station remained in the family for several years. Eventually the business was sold but it’s still the only station in town where the owner, like my grandfather, is also a full time mechanic.

Across the street from Gassie’s Esso was the Village Food Center, originally built in the early 1900’s. Through the years, the store changed hands, but during my early childhood years it was run by a local woman who had an interesting way of monitoring her customers. On the far end of the checkout counter was a single, shiny nickel, obviously presenting a real temptation. Back then a single nickel could purchase an ice cold Coca-Cola, a handful of chocolate Tootsie Rolls, or a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.

I remember one day seeing a customer place his hand on top of the nickel and slowly try to slide it off the counter. To his surprise, and also mine, the nickel didn’t budge. I knew he had to have been embarrassed wondering who had seen him. I was embarrassed for him.

As soon as the customer left the store, I asked the family about the nickel and why it was stuck to the counter. I was told it was a simple way of determining who could be trusted. That was a lesson I never forgot. To this day if I find a coin in a public place of business, I never pick it up unless I’m handing it to a clerk.

When hurricane Betsy damaged the store in 1965, it was never reopened again. Eventually it was demolished. The property is now the site of the beautiful Addis Historical Railroad Park.

Down the road from the General Store was Palermo’s Grocery, a fairly large store that was owned and operated by the Palermo family. I don’t remember shopping there much but I do remember the Caldwell family building a brand new modern store right across the street. It did really well for quite some time – until the larger national chains moved into the neighboring towns, both north and south of Addis, making it hard to compete.

Today there isn’t a grocery store anywhere in the historical part of Addis. Apart from my grandfather’s service station, the only business almost the same as it was when I was a child is the bar that was located right in the heart of town. I’m told it’s still a popular place where folks still come from miles around for an ice cold beer in a huge mug called a fishbowl.

The original owner was also the Addis Sheriff. It never seemed quite right to me that the man who sold the town its liquor was also the man who had the authority to lock people up for unruly, drunken behavior. It seemed like a conflict of interest to me though I don’t recall if that ever actually happened. More than likely, it didn’t.

A block behind the general store was the Volunteer Fire Department, established in 1959 with a $1.00 lease-purchase of an old engine from the neighboring town of Plaquemine. The engine inspired a local resident, Donna Mae Fitzgerald, to organize the first annual Volunteer Fireman’s Parade, with all proceeds going toward the building of a fire house. The first parade was in February, 1963. Local women sold homemade treats at my grandparent’s service station, raising a total of $247. While the parade was mostly small children with decorated wagons, it did have a royal float. My sister, Donna, was the first queen of Addis. The parade is still an annual event, coinciding with Mardi Gras, and the old engine, which still runs, proudly leads the way.

Attached to the building that housed the engine was the Addis Civic Center. In addition to hosting town festivities the venue was rented for special events like anniversary and wedding receptions, many of which didn’t require a personal invitation. An announcement was placed in the local paper stating that friends and relatives are invited. While the relative part was fairly clear and easy to determine, the friends part opened the door to possible unexpected guests assuming a false identity. A few attended my wedding and reception.

Around the corner from the Civic Center, facing the railroad depot was the little red brick Bank of Addis, chartered in 1919. It served as the bank until the infamous stock market crash of 1929. When the bank failed it was later purchased and used as a store and post office. The postal service continued there until 1981. Eleven years later the building was placed on the National Registry of Historic Places and presently houses the Addis Museum, a small yet amazing hidden jewel preserving the history of the town, its people and its culture. The original vault is still inside the building.

Unlike today, mail was not delivered to our homes. Most people had a P.O. Box, while others chose to get their mail by way of General Delivery (which meant it had to be picked up when the postmaster was on duty). Whatever the case, mail addressed to a resident of Addis only needed the person’s name in order to be delivered. The postmaster knew who every resident was.

In later years, for emergency purposes, homes were required to be numbered. That’s when the Post Office started making deliveries. My parents, however, refused to have their mail delivered at the road where it could be easily stolen. They continued to use their post office box as long as they were alive.

Just beyond the Post Office are the railroad tracks that divided the town into two distinct areas – front Addis and back of the tracks. The separation in no way served as a form of social distinction. But those who lived behind the tracks were daily inconvenienced. Often, they still are. Long trains would pass through town throughout the day and night, and the switching station located only yards away from the Post Office, brought the trains to a screeching halt, completely blocking access for those who lived behind the tracks. In essence, they were trapped.

From my house we could hear the trains banging as they released the cars and the roar of their engines slowly moving forward. Bang-roar, bang-roar, over and over and over again until the process was complete and the trains moved on through town. Depending on the length of the train, the process could take a very long time.

With both the Sheriff and Fire Department located in the front of Addis, any emergency back of the tracks had the potential to be more serious based on railroad traffic. The good thing was the people who lived in that part of the town were a tight-knit group who quickly responded, helping each other until assistance arrived. Today there’s a Volunteer Fire Department located back of the tracks and numerous other crossings to the north and south of town. But more than one home burned to the ground before that came about.

I was in high school the first time I ate at a dine-in restaurant. First, we couldn’t afford it and second, we didn’t have one in our town – unless you considered the local bar which served a really good pizza. The problem was they didn’t deliver and sometimes we were all in bed before my dad returned from picking it up. But during my early teenage years a local resident opened a walk-up diner. I remember how exciting it was to have a place so close to home where we could conveniently buy a really good burger. It was located in the center of town, across the street from the bar, and did so well the owner eventually opened a dine-in restaurant on LA Hwy. 1 – the main highway linking towns both north and south of Addis. It soon became a popular place, attracting folks from miles around, both for lunch and dinner. The food was great and the owner’s were a delightful couple who prided themselves on serving their customers well. After the owners passed away, the building was purchased and renovated, and to this day is now the site of the Addis Town Hall.

As industry grew south of Addis, it also produced a growth in business all along Hwy. 1. But the heart of Addis never really changed. Most of the homes still look the same, though occupied by second and third generations. Family roots run deep in Addis and those whose roots are firmly planted proudly keep their traditions alive in spite of all the progress.

It’s not very often I get to Addis, now that my parents are gone, but when I do I purposely drive right through the center of town. From the moment I exit Hwy. 1 with all its busy traffic, I’m overcome with how quickly everything changes. The streets are calm and quiet and peaceful, true to the culture of Addis. Like a boiling pot removed from the fire, whatever was churning inside my mind instantly stops while I’m taken back to the time in my life when I walked those streets on an almost daily basis, especially in the summer.

I don’t have to drive past my parent’s house to know that after all these years the back porch light will still be on. My only brother who lives next door (and now owns the family home), has never turned it off.

When I reach my grandparents service station, still as busy as ever, even there is a quiet calmness, unlike the modern service stations you’ll find on Hwy 1. It doesn’t have a convenience store, only a couple of outdated pumps and lots of vehicles left to be serviced, their owners nowhere in sight.

Further down the road to the right, the bar is still very much the same as it was when I left home and people still come from miles around for music and dancing and cold beer in a fishbowl.

A right turn past the bar will take me straight up to the railroad tracks where I almost always catch a train when I go to visit my lifelong friend who still lives back of the tracks. The switching yard still operates which means I usually sit for a while listening to the thunderous roar of the engine moving forward and back and the crashing sound of bang-roar, over and over and over again as cars are switching tracks. Funny thing is it no longer feels like the nuisance it used to be. I close my eyes and peacefully sit reminding myself that this is what it sounds like to come home.

Home for me was a three bedroom house with a single bathroom far too small to handle the needs of our large family of eight. That one little room was a huge source of many unpleasant mornings and evenings, especially when we were in school.

I had no idea what privacy was until I moved away from home shortly after I graduated high school. Growing up with five siblings – two older sisters, a twin sister and two younger brothers, didn’t allow for the luxury of having a place of quiet retreat. Not even in the bathroom. I bathed with my twin until we no longer fit in the tub together. After that there was always someone banging on the bathroom door, insisting it was time to get out and threatening bodily harm if there was no hot water left.

The four of us girls shared a very small room with two double beds and a five foot closet only as deep as the width of a standard hanger. Each of us had a single drawer in a narrow four-drawer dresser and a built-in shelf that doubled as a headboard for our beds. That was our only personal space and each of us guarded every measured inch. My brothers shared a similar room right across the hall. I don’t recall them ever coming into our precious space – maybe because they were so outnumbered it wasn’t worth the risk. We may have been girls but we weren’t above physical confrontation.

All of my siblings are two years apart, except of course for me and my twin. I came first, which gives her the right to technically say she’s younger than me by a whole five minutes. My parents knew they were having twins, so we weren’t a big surprise – except for being girls. My dad had placed a few sure bets that he would get at least one son. That didn’t happen for two more years.

Sharon is my oldest sister. The older she gets the less she appreciates how she gets introduced. In our earlier years she paved the way for the age appropriate things the rest of us would be allowed to do. We didn’t always think it was fair but knew the privileges she enjoyed were things we had to look forward to in the not so distant future – like dances and dating and wearing makeup. (The boys had different rules).

Every year at the end of November, Sharon’s home evolves into a Christmas wonderland. From ceiling to floor, every room is replete with the spirit of Christmas, creating a happy, festive mood that even Scrooge couldn’t deny is magical.

Sister number two is Donna. She learned to sew at an early age and is now an amazing seamstress. Every year