Thursday 02.21.02
Seeing The Old Haunts
Early light crept ashore in a rushing fog. As morning passed to noon the mist rose some. Late in the day, I took Bucky for a ride from the Back Bay to the beaches. The tops of water towers and high rise casino hotels hid themselves aloft in a fast moving haze. On the beach, Bucky charged the sands, through the sea grass, and halted at water’s edge. We both smelled the wind— salt air both crisp and sticky. Above the mist were broken cumulus clouds, above those high cirrus.
Like God’s breath, clouds just out of reach raced in from the ocean. At sunset, Bucky and I strolled a thousand feet out to the end of the public pier juxtaposing the Ocean Springs inlet. Occasionally, multi tiered strata forms opened to the sun, turning the cool on shore breeze a warm golden orange. Then as if pulling the plug, the closing sky swept aside radiant heat from the purple haze.
I drove along the inlet through the inner harbor; five years ago home to a hoard of working shrimp boats. Today there are pleasure boats. The fishermen’s’ ice house still stands, though the old office, now sporting a lovely mural and new roof serves party needs. Beyond it, a handful of old shrimp boats are backed into slips; one sunk at its dock. I wondered if there were now less shrimp in the Gulf, or just less shrimpers.
My father and I spent many winters here— he more than I. Before the casinos the coast was quiet with two lane roads and empty strip malls. There are no empty malls today. I pulled into a large lot where Pop and I often parked. When diagnosed with Parkinson’s, Pop was encouraged to walk. So we parked at the far end of the lot and walked arm in arm into the store. I faced the heavy night air gazing across Highway 90 toward Pop’s favorite old watering hole. I felt alone.
Riding again toward the Back Bay I looked in at a bar I liked; a place on the bayou with great Cajun music. Like a man thirsty in the desert I could hear accordions and guitars playing in my minds ear. The Bayou Bar had also flourished in my gone years. The old two-lane road coming from town now has five lanes with broad shoulders. The parking area over flowed with fine cars. Inside I ordered beer. About that time I noticed all the men were good looking and there was an absence of women. The bartender handed me change with a sweet ‘thank you, babe.’ The place no longer had music. On a television above the booze I watched Ohio State’s basketball team cream Michigan.
Outside, clouds collapsed in the cooling air. I followed Lamoyne Road back toward Biloxi. One New Year’s Eve in the mid 80s, I walked that dark two lane road to the next county searching out an open bar. It too is five lanes now; five lanes that now showed the tracks of the cars ahead, though not yet any moisture on my windshield. We were reaching temperature. Arriving in the Back Bay a few moments later, we had achieved dew point. A mild rain melted against my metal roof for most of the night.
