Time Moves On . . .

We subscribe to the weekly newspaper from New Roads - the Pointe Coupee Banner. It is a source of news that can only be gotten there, like obituaries. And sure enough, this weeks Banner had the obituary of an old neighbor, Louis B. Morgan. He was a veteran of WW-II, son of very well known family and a true family man.

I can remember his father-in-law, Leroy Major, shooting Comorants in his back yard. They seemed to cover the sky at times. And they were not controlled in those days, so there was no limit or season to worry about. It always impressed me but I am sure it must have upset my mother with all the noise and such. Just think shooting a BB gun in town today may be a crime much less a 12 gauge shot gun.

Louis also had a pier and boat house jutting out into the lake. I caught my first fish off that pier, a hefty cat fish that my father skinned and we ate. He had built a boat house for his Higgins boat and Evinrude 25 horse power motor. The walk way to the boat house was lower than the pier and made it easy to get into and out of the lake - False River.

As I recall we were swimming with the other kids, one of which turned out to be Leon Harris (I did not recall he was there but he reminded me he was). At any rate, I was bent on cleaning up the trash off the bottom of the lake. Being a fresh water lake and located in the deep almost tropical south, the water is not clear, it is full of life, much of it microscopic. So it is cloudy and only a couple of feet of it is enough to obscure the remaining depths.

So I was feeling around with my hands, it was quite shallow there next to the boat house walkway, for trash. Old bottles (mostly beer bottles from bass fishermen), limbs and other ditrimous of time. I picked up what I thought was a top to a tin can, at least it was round. I started to throw it toward the shore, then stopped as it was quite thick and heavy. And I knew tin can tops were quite thin and light. So I kept it and put it on the walkway.

Later I took it up the hill and gave it to my mother to evaluate. Little boys trusted that their mothers would not take their treasure not matter what it was. I went off to play and returned to later find that my mother's friend, Lucy Roberts, had cleaned it up (a no no but . . .). It was a Spanish "piece of eight," a silver doubloon dated 1803.

There had always been rumors that there was treasure buried around False River but none had ever been found. Well I found it but it was only one piece of eight. And it was silver to boot, I always thought there were gold (they are not).

Turns out one of the kids swimming with me was Leon Harris. I had seen his sister-in-law Lea Ray nee Mougeot Harris at Nickie's funeral. She told me Leon was in Grants Pass, OR. So I did a Internet search and located him. I sent him a letter and he responded with an Email. He said that he had just told an local friend about me finding a piece of eight in False River.

Time has caused our paths to come near again. Louis' back yard and pier, my piece of eight and contact with an old school buddy. Life is dynamic and the constant is us, the people of the world.