Ascendance to Elysium Fields

By Bennie Taylor

This is the story of a man and his extended family and their lifelong fight for racial equality in the Jim Crow era of the South.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889602859

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Ascendance to Elysium Fields

Bennie Taylor

Copyright © 2023 Bennie Taylor

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88960-267-5 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88960-285-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Leaving Lucy

Part 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Author

Preface

In 1994, while living in Tacoma, Washington, I was concluding my doctoral work. The committee of instructors and students had a meeting to confirm the completion of all course requirements before the submission of our first draft for our respective doctoral theses.

It seemed that in my haste, one section had been overlooked—the psychological aspects of death and dying. I was able to take some solace that seven other candidates had skipped this required section of the course requirements. To attain the satisfactory and expedient completion of the work, we were asked to complete sixty hours of interviews that would include the patient and their family members. The location for this service would be at Fort Lewis Hospice Center. We were given the contact information, and after contacting the director of the program, Dr. E. W. Lowe, we were given an appointment to sit in on a group session to select the clients that we would be working with through the completion of our project. However, on the day of the group session, the van would not start, and I was late arriving. Dr. Lowe informed me that the only person left was Brenan Mutha. He was a twenty-five veteran with no family and with terminal bone cancer. Little did I know that my tardiness would produce the most enlightening interview.

Dr. Lowe had Mr. Mutha summoned to his office, and we were introduced. I extended my hand to Mr. Mutha, and he had an iron grip with green eyes and closed-cropped red hair. He stood about 5'8" and weighed about 160 pounds. His face was a weathered and leather look. Above all, he was 100 percent a military soldier and warrior and was a man that had fought for his country in World War II, Korea, and the Vietnam War.

After some small talk with the lieutenant (he wanted to be called this), he asked me, Where did you call home? My reply was New Orleans, Louisiana.

What part is uptown or downtown? I replied uptown.

The lieutenant settled back into his chair and began to cry softly. My inquiry about his tears was rebuffed. He then stated that when I said uptown, it brought back memories of his childhood.

Are you from New Orleans? I asked.

Yes, he replied, but I was born in Lucy, Louisiana. Are you familiar with that town?

It seemed that we had a connection that would run deep. I asked Lieutenant if he remembered a little town called Edgar, on River Road. Lieutenant sprung from his chair and grabbed my hand and then my arm and embraced me as tightly as he could through his tears.

He said, My brother, have I got a story to tell you. Lieutenant set the praters of our interview.

The subject was death and the preparations for the end of life as he knew it. While Lieutenant was accepting of his mortality, he vowed to go quietly down the dark tunnel. He was a very spiritual man who possessed amazing insight into life and death.

Lieutenant stated, Death comes, but life continues forever if you believe in all might. God. Born and raised a Catholic, he felt that he had a leg up on the other religions after serving in World War II. He gained a greater appreciation for the truth about all faiths.

Chapter 1

Brenan Mutha was born in 1926 at his grandparents' home in Lucy, Louisiana, on the Rochon Plantation. His mother was a mulatto woman named Corine Rochon. She was married to Brenan Mutha Sr., an Irish carpenter who came to this country as a sailor on a ship exporting cotton back to Ireland. He liked the land and the country, so he immigrated to Louisiana.

While doing repairs to the Gaspard Plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana, he met Corine, who was a college educator and worked as the manager at the largest commercial store on River Road in St. John the Baptist Parish.

Everybody went to Rochon Store for supplies, and they began to talk and became friends. But when he asked her if they could go on a picnic, Corine told him that he would have to first gain favor with her father, Bimbashi, the head man on the plantation.

On the second Saturday in April 1925, Brenan arrived at the home of Bimbashi Carrier. He was brought into the study of an immaculate home whose exterior did not match the interior. The home was very high-end.

The men met with a handshake, and Bimbashi grabbed Brenan and looked into his eyes, and there was no fear that was located. They sat and had lemonade. Brenan was asked what his intentions were. He spoke clearly and said that his intentions were to court and marry Corine.

The two men took a long walk to the sugar mill, and this allowed them to clear up any problems. Brenan was advised that Corine was not White but mulatto—a mixture of Black and White. Bimbashi appeared to be White, but he, too, was a mulatto married to a White woman. Corine looked White, but looks could be deceiving.

By the time they reached the home, Brenan told Bimbashi, With your permission, I shall return for Sunday dinner and make the announcement.

Every story has a beginning. This one reached back to a time when men could enslave others to enhance the bottom line.

There was a little town in Louisiana called Lucy, along the Mississippi River near New Orleans, in an area called the German Coast. This was rich and fertile land good for farming, and many large plantations sprang up along the area. The average plantation was about five hundred acres. Each plantation was its little world, with the landowner free to govern his land the way he wanted, often without outside interference.

The land was worked by a cadre of slave labor often numbering up to woo slaves. They lived in an area called the slave quarters. They were at the mercy of the often-cruel masters who felt that the Africans were only good to work within the confines of his imagined kingdom.

The slaves were controlled through brutality by the chief overseer. He would beat them into submission with a daily beating for poor production or any perceived or contrived reason to utilize his authority to break the will of the proud Africans.

However, another side of plantation life was hushed and kept secret. The master and the overseers often took advantage of the female slaves. As a result, many light-skinned children were born on the plantations throughout the area. They were called high yellow. The fair skin and dark hair, decidedly Germanic features, would and later pass as White. What an irony.

The Rochon Plantation was such a place. The owner, Paul Rochon, ran his plantation much like the others in the time.

However, he expressly prohibited public whipping of slaves because he felt bad for the conditions and worked hard to improve the lives of his slaves. He did take advantage of one of the high yellow house servants, who bore him a child that he named Blaze.

Blaze was raised in the main house with all the trappings of a White child of that time. He was educated and taught to be compassionate to the needs of the slaves. Because Blaze was the only male offspring, he was raised and trained to take control of the land and the slaves. Blaze had two sisters upon the death of his father. The property was divided between the three children, who were not adults.

In December of 1864, Blaze, following in his father's footsteps, also fathered a child with a high yellow house servant. He named the boy Jovon Blaze Rochon. As the war ended and the slaves were leaving the South with freedom, a gathering at the Rochon Plantation's slave quarters caught the attention of the owners with Blaze in attendance. An agreement was made between the slaves who stayed on the property. They would be respected and called workers. They would be given a plot of land where they could grow produce and raise livestock for not only the homestead, as it was now called, but they could also offer it for sale in a farmers' market, with one-third going to the homestead and the other two-thirds going to the workers.

The shacks were raised to the ground, and new houses were built for the thirty families who decided to remain on the homestead. A school was also built so the children of the workers could improve themselves. A small meeting house was also built, and preachers could hold services on the homestead for the workers. A dormitory was built for the single men and outside laborers that came in during the harvesting season. Things would change, and change was good. Now the homestead would continue to grow sugarcane and some cotton. A new steam-powered sawmill was erected a run in a highly successful manner, always turning a profit. The sugar mill would still be operated with the profit going to the owner who paid the workers' wages and allowed them to keep and handle their money. These practices were frowned upon by other landowners, but due to this being reconstruction of the South, most landowners had problems of their own and refused to follow Blaze's example.

At the height of activity, Rochon controlled nearly seven hundred acres of land and employed a hundred workers with many living on the property. Those who worked at the homestead called Blaze Bimbashi, and soon the name became sonorous with fairness and treatment and compassionate understanding. The words of Bimbashi became law within the area around Lucy.

This was Lucy, Louisiana. High yellow women and boys were everywhere. A school was set up to educate the children, along with the Whites of the area. This was done through the Catholic Church.

Religion, reading, writing, and math were important. The young men were taught commerce, leather tanning, shoe and boot making, and carpentry. The young women were taught to run a home, nurse, cooking, and sell.

The biggest store on the River Road and in the river parishes was Rochon, where people would flock for supplies. The boats would stop at the dock, and people would do their shopping. The high point was when the sounds of the Calliope would fill the air in the fall as the showboats would stop for a few days. This was the world of Blaze Rochon. Many did not like him, but they had to envy his success. Blaze, like his father, married a mulatto, and they had one daughter named Corine Claire Rochon, a striking beauty with a business head. She would grow to run the daily store with complete autonomy. She was an astute businesswoman who made a few mistakes.

However, conversion was coming…

A fire hit the Gaspard Plantation, and after, the owner was to sort the advice of Bimbashi Rochon. He wanted to rebuild his home, but being strapped for cash, he had a hole that he had dug for himself. High living, gambling, and mistreatment of his workers had led to a bad situation. His land was poor, and he was strapped for cash. He sold out to Bimbashi.

After acquiring the Gaspard Plantation land, Blaze began to expand the empire by opening a sawmill and harvesting cypress trees from the swamp near the sugar mill. The cypress wood was sought after by builders of the time. But Gaspard's house continued to deteriorate. So Blaze sought out a carpenter who could renovate and repair the damaged building. A young man who had just completed some work on the venerable Evergreen Plantation main house was recommended for the job. Blaze brought the young man in for an interview. The young man showed up with a house wagon pulled by two mules. The wagon contained all the tools that the young man used. His name was Brenan Mutha, twenty-six, a 6'2" redhaired Irishman who was a carpenter born in Donagale, Ireland. He stated that he had come to this country three years ago. Working as a ship's carpenter, he became ill and was left behind after a brief stay in the hospital. He began to look for work and found his abilities fit in wheel with the current building boom in New Orleans.

Blaze showed the burned building, and after some haggling, they agreed upon a price and timeline for the work. Brenan stated that he would stay on the site and that he would require some hands to aid him in the work. Blaze allowed him to set up a camp in the rear of the house. He introduced him to the sawmill headman and arranged for men from the homestead workforce to provide labor for the job. It was a job that took fourteen months, during which Brenan became enamored with the most beautiful girl on earth name Corine. She ran the homestead store on River Road, and she would order all the supplies needed for the construction repairs to the house. It was many months before he knew that she was the daughter of his boss. So he simply lived with his feelings, and in fact, he strengthened the finishing touches on the house to work up the nerve to ask her out.

Brenan thought the world of this little lass as he called her on the day of the final inspection. Corrine accompanied Blaze on the walk-through after a thorough inspection. The two men shook hands, and with the job complete, he asked Blaze if he had any other work that was needed because he wanted to stay in the area. Blaze informed him that his office area needed some work. While looking at the small home, Brenan asked why he lived so frugally. Blaze stated that he lived the way his workers lived. He had a big house, but his wife and daughters lived and ran the home. He preferred to live close to the people he loved so much.

For the next few months, he worked to improve the home which had three bedrooms, a large sitting room, an office, and a small kitchen outback. He liked to call it the lodge. One Saturday, in the early spring of 1920, Brenan took a deep breath and asked Ms. Corrine if he could call on her.

She smiled and replied, We have a custom here that you must ask my father first.

Brenan was stunned and began to stammer. Corrine advised him that he should come to her father's office that evening and ask him about keeping company with her. Brenan agreed. At 5:00 p.m., he knocked on the door, and the housekeeper, Anne Pearl, opened the door and showed him into the parlor. Blaze walked in. They exchanged greetings, and he told Blaze about his reason for being there. Brenan looked at Blaze, and in a booming voice, he stated that he wanted to ask Corrine out. But he was told of the customs, and he needed the permission of her father.

Blaze asked him one unexpected question. What are your intentions?

Brenan replied, Sir, I wish to court and marry your daughter, Corrine.

Blaze shook his hand and stated, It is time for a walk.

As the men walked into the warm spring air, a sense of apprehension overcame Brenan. It seemed that he might have overplayed his hand. He had never considered that he was in love with Corrine. He simply hid his time. The men walked toward the sugar mill in silence. Blaze finally spoke, and when he began to talk, the story took on the signs of religious epiphany like the Sermon on the Mount here. Bimbashi was about to impart some wisdom on a mere mortal. In Brenan's mind, he had always elevated Bimbashi to a status of a god, much the way all the workers on the homestead had. He was the big man, and his word was law.

Blaze said, "I am a man trapped in two worlds. My wife lives in the big house with my other two daughters, and I spend most of my time at the lodge, where Corrine and her mother also live. My wife is pure White, and the children are mixed, as I am mixed. My skin is white, but my heart is Negro. My two daughters, Mornell and Ilese, are not considered mixed, but this is a lie that they will live with forever. Corrine knows that her past is confusing, and she has accepted the fact. While she looks White, her heritage lives within the Black race.

This property will all be split into three sections, one for each of my children. Now you know that I am rich, and did you consider my wealth when you set your cap for Corrine?

Brenan spoke up and said, Sir, I have amassed my wealth, hard work, and frugal living. My goal in making a life for myself and Corrine outside this community.

But she is mixed race. How will you overcome the stigma of this?

Sir, I love your daughter, and if you have overcome your situation and thrive, then so can I.

Now as the two men stood face-to-face in the fading evening light, one could sense that they agreed. As they walked back to the lodge, Bimbashi placed his hand on Brenan's shoulder and said, You will embrace my world and accept that my blood, while red, had a black tint to it, as does my daughter. I will trust and allow you to court my Corrine and marry her.

As the men returned to the lodge, they could hear giggles coming from within the great room. Bimbashi called out to bring lemonade and brandy for their guests. Bimbashi offered Brenan a cigar, and they sat in the gallery, enjoying the lightning bugs and the sweet smell of the magnolia trees.

Corrine appeared, and her father took her by the hand and kissed her on the forehead. Then he placed her hand into Brenan's hand and said, Woman, behold your husband.

A loud cheer was heard from the back of the lodge.

Corinne's mother's blessing has been given, and now you must get ready for the wedding. We will have a formal party next week to announce the wedding date.

As Bimbashi showed Brenan out, he asked, How long will it take to build a house? Corrine has a plot of land already picked out.

It seemed that Corrine had her eye on Brenan for a long time and had plans for a modest home. After looking over the plans and making some changes, the two young people agreed on a small Creole Cottage. Then a grand party was held at the big house for the landowners and friends of the surrounding area to the formal announcement. The couple was introduced to society politely. The wedding date was set and announced to the crowd. The party began at 4:00 p.m., and after dinner and drinks, they toasted the young couple. The party winded down around 8:00 p.m., with everyone gone home by 10:00 p.m. June 6, 1920, was the date set for the nuptials. However, the after-party for the lesser known and the workers who ran the homestead was just beginning.

When the young couple entered the arena, a loud cheer went up. They danced and sang until the morning came. A good time was had by all.

While at the party, Brenan was introduced to Saul Higgins, the owner of the old Gaspard Home. Mr. Higgins was impressed by the quality of work at his new home. Mr. Higgins, a boat builder who lived in New Orleans, told Brenan that the biggest construction project in the area would be starting in September. They were about to start working the land for the new bridge across the Mississippi River. They would need a carpenter to build the forms, and he would hold a place for Brenan.

A new wife, new life, and now a new job.

Over the next four months, the cottage was built complete with a hand pump in the kitchen, along with a woodburning stove. Corrine made many trips to New Orleans to select furniture for the home and to get fitted for her wedding gown. The day was fast approaching, and everything was coming together. The wedding would be at the Catholic church near the ferry landing, completed with a white carriage to transport the couple to the reception. The reception was held at the big house on the plantation.

Brenan Mutha was married to Corrine Celeste Rochon in a splendid ceremony. The church was filled to the rafters with both Black and White well-wishers. Corrine made a beautiful bride, and Brenan, with the shocking head of red hair, made for a beautiful sight. They entered the horse-driven carriage, sharing with a black and white horse. They rode down River Road to the big house.

Lanterns were strung over the backyard for illumination. A pig was roasted in the ground, and a calf rotated on a spit over a crackling fire. The cooks and bakers worked for days preparing the sumptuous feast. A local band provided music for dancing. A hay wagon was cleaned up and covered with fresh linen and placed at the entrance to the reception area. It was soon filled with presents from well-wishers. The couple departed the reception in the white carriage and entered a wedded bliss at the Creole Cottage. They spent five days alone without any disturbance. The presents were opened, as were the envelopes with cash, including one from Bimbashi, who gifted them with $25,000 and the deed to one-third of ownership in the homestead. The total cash that was received was $70,000. More than enough to begin a wonderful life.

On February 2, 1921, I came into the world with a loud howl that caused the hunting dog to bark and howl for hours. The midwife who delivered me at the family home was surprised that I came into the world with a full head of red hair like my father. Bimbashi paid her for the services, and she assured him that the baby would be listed as a White baby boy with red hair and green eyes on the birth certificate. This was the beginning of my life that was a lie, and my true heritage was hidden. Like that of my mother before me. Our African heritage was being repressed, but for how long?

I grew up in a sheltered community where hard work was rewarded and slacking off was not accepted. When I was a child, my father worked off the homestead, and my mother ran the company store. I was kept by my grandmother. Everyone called her Grand Mere. She resembled my mother. She had a far different way from my mother. She taught me that our bloodlines ran back to Africa, and my tribe was the Bantu people. She also said while our skin appeared white, our souls were black.

One day, you will remove your mask and allow the truth to be told.

I learned to fish from a flat-bottomed boat in the swamp near the sugar mill. Catfish and shoe picks were often the catch of the day. Hanging around the workers as I grew up gave me a sense of belonging to a large family. One Saturday evening, Bimbashi was entertaining a friend from the city along with his wife as they conversed on the veranda. The ferry whistle gave a long blast, and the friends got up and began to leave. Bimbashi told him that he could not make the ferry before it left the dock. They sped off, and we waved goodbye. Lemonade was served, and we sat to enjoy the gathering dusk and the smell of honeysuckles. The ferry let out three frantic blasts on the whistle. Grandfather jumped to his feet and climbed on his horse. I stood there waiting for him to pick me up as he had done many times before. But this time, he left me, and I was confused. My mother told me that something bad must have happened on the river, and a young boy could be in the way. I fell asleep that night wondering what terrible thing had happened on the river.

The next morning at breakfast, I noticed that my father was home, but he had a sad look on his face when I saw him. What was wrong? My mother said that the family had suffered a loss. Confused again, I inquired what the loss was, and my dad said, The family that was here last evening had drowned as the car missed the ferry ramp and went into the river.

I did not know how to feel because, at five, I had no concept of death. The family was Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Picot, who lived in the city but were from Lucy. Louisiana. They had two little girls in the car with them.

Later, my father and Bimbashi, along with some of the