Voodoo On The Bayou~ Part One

A ghostly, fiction tale about LaMoine Baptiste and Marie Laveau. New Orleans history wouldn't be complete without glimpses of a Creole woman who made it so famous. 1794~1881) she birthed 15 children

Part 1 ~Chapter 1

The Year Of 1845

 

  

He was casually walking one evening in a bustling place called New Orleans in the year of 1845. Nonchalantly strolling down Bourbon Street, a street lined with beautiful homes; graceful verandas; elegant parlors…

and Marie Laveau. 

 

His name was Moine Baptiste, a black, French Creole. A man who lived for his music, Quadroon balls, the blues, jazz, and places where he and Charlie would play their rip-roarin' music in the place called "The Big Easy".

 

“Charlie the Sax” was Baptiste’s long, time friend, since he first started playing the saxophone at the tender, young age of five years old.

 

Moine Baptiste, Plessy Ferguson and all the guys played their Cajun, jazz and blues music at Antoine’s Bar, The Maison Bourbon Jazz Club and the Funky Pirate; all popular clubs in the French Quarter on Bourbon Street in those "Big Apple" years in New Orleans.

 

Over on the tree lined street called Esplanada Avenue, the most elegant street in the French Quarter, was an elusive, secret Bordello called “LaBranche House”,where all the affluent and wealthier men would quite often frequent.

 

Baptiste was very familiar with LaBranche House where all the women, "knew him all too pieces”.

 

Needless to say, that was where Baptiste met all his women and spent most all of his money.

 

Chapter 2

 

The French and Creole children, also called “Gens de Couleur”, more commonly known as “the free people of color”, would casually roam the streets in the town, sometimes walking down by the graveyard near Bayou Street. They had been told many a time to steer clear of Bourbon Street, a street with a sordid reputation of burlesque clubs, all night parties and…Marie Laveau.

 

It was Baptiste's normal manner while taking his nightly walks, to keep a stealthy watch, out the corners of his eyes. Something he learned to do a long time ago when strolling along the sidewalks in New Orleans, and in particular, Bourbon and Bayou Streets in Congo Square.

 

You see he’d had a few encounters with Marie Laveau. Baptiste had a great deal of respect for Ms. Laveau, along with a healthy amount of cautionary fear.

 

This mysterious, Creole woman often used her Voodoo to manipulate, acquire power and upon occasion, bless those she liked with good luck and prosperity. She was also quite adept in conjuring up her many powers in matters of the heart. Of course all for the right amount of currency.

 

She accumulated a great deal of wealth, by using her learned skills of Voodoo and Mojo.

 

Marie's hair was long and black; she was both feared and respected. Ms Laveau had olive colored, Creole skin. Her black, piercing eyes were sharp as a razor’s edge; almost magnetic, if she stared at you for very long.

Chapter 3

Baptiste had called upon the Voodoo Queen a few years back, when he was down on his luck, and down on his luck with all the women in his life.

 

Why, it was almost to the point that Baptiste had all but given up on the possibility of being happy and contented.

 

He was a man with a few vices. However, they were vices that basically only harmed himself and his property. The rather normal vices of men in those days; too many women, too much gambling and too much booze.

 

However, in most all venues of his life, whether it be business or personal, Baptiste was a very reputable man, who wouldn't think for one minute of harming another person, be it either man, woman or a child. Baptiste never took advantage of people.

 

So in that respect, Baptiste was quite an honorable and noble man. He was always a true gentleman, when it came to his treatment of women. He treated them with kindness, respect and dignity.

 

His main problem was, he liked too many women; too many all at the same time. He spent too much of his money on his women, which left him broke, lonely and somewhat unsatisfied with the way his life was going.

 

Baptiste was a man with a robust charisma of Black Creole and French charm. Yet he had an air of reserve and dignity, with a bit of naughtiness that shone quite brightly in his chocolate, brown eyes. He was remarkably handsome, with dark brown, wavy hair; a well chiseled bone structure in his cream colored face, with full lips and a well toned, slim, masculine body. He dressed with an air of dignity and refinement; a rather dashing, self-composed persona of a true gentleman.

 

His composure, presented itself as that of quiet, self assurance imbued with an easy flowing confidence. A total gentleman all on one stick!

 

He usually carried a cloak, which if necessary was used to provide a cover for his damsels in distress. He normally wore a waistcoat or vest, the accustomed top hat or derby for men of that era.

Of course, Baptiste always carried his customary, walking cane which held a small sword he could withdraw just in case it was needed for self defense purposes.

This became the ubiquitous, popular image for a gentleman in that epoch of time.

 

As I previously said, Baptiste's main problems were that he liked too many women!

He spent much of his money on his many ladies, spoiling them with parfum, jewelry and lovely, little trinkets, but most of all with his disarming charm.

However, this left Baptiste somewhat broke, lonely and somewhat discontented and dissatisfied with his life. To Baptiste, it seemed lacking in quality.

 

Chapter 4

On one particular evening, after playing his normal gig with Santi and all the guys, Baptiste was feeling slightly tipsy from all the booze he'd drank that evening. Whiskey flowed and poured freely, in that part of town called The Big Easy, which was a part of New Orleans steeped in history, lore and many mysterious legends...and Marie Laveau.

 

Baptiste and his old friends Pressie, Erasme and Santiago had played their music long into the night at their favorite hot spot called the “Old Tin Pan Alley”.

Santiago was Baptiste’s oldest and dearest friend, that is except for Charlie, his trusted saxophone.

'Santi', as Baptiste liked to call him was 87 years young. People always talked about Ole’ Santi and his ragtime music as far back as Baptiste could remember.

Santi was also a Black Creole. He lived in the French part of town down by Canal Street, a part of town where nearly everyone played some sort of musical instrument whether it was some kind of musical horn or a worn out washboard and a pair of raggedy, taggerdy old spoons.

 

Even at the age of 87 years, Ole’ Santi could still play the ‘britches’ off almost every other man in The Big Easy.

His sweet, blues music would make you cry and smile all at the same time.

 

He would strike up one of his old favorite tunes like “Didn’t He Ramble” and all the people would leave their worries behind, particularly when he blew the last chorus in a high register. The people would clap and dance to Santi’s smooth, trusty old trumpet, that he called ‘Miss Sally’ or his jarring, rambunctious old worn out ragtime piano, and of course Charlie the sax. All that music quite literally shook the roof off many an establishment whenever Ole’ Santi would play.

 

Santi was always the ‘Biggest and best toad in the puddle’ when it came to playing his music.

Baptiste would soon learn to play a very close runner up to Santi, thanks to all the love, devotion and time he spent on and off with Baptiste.  

It was Ole’ Santi who took Baptiste under his wing when Baptiste was only 4 years old.

 

Baptiste’s Pappy always had a thirsty throat. He died of the drink when Baptiste was only 3 years old leaving he, his Mam’ and baby sister Cecile (Ce-Ce) all alone to struggle for themselves.

 

Times were very hard. Little Baptiste tried to help his Mam by doing odd jobs, but at the young age of 3 and 4 years of age, there wasn’t a whole lot that lil’ Babby could do. Ce-Ce liked to call her big brother Babby.

 

One afternoon Babby was standing on the corner of Decatur and Canal Street holding his little, wooden shoe shine kit that he’d made of an old cigar box. In his chubby, little hand he held a sign he’d painted all by himself, (with a little help from his Mam) that said:

 

“Babby’s Shoo Shin” 2 cents pleeze”

 

Even back then, Baptist, “Lil’ Babby” had such a charming, easy manner about him, it just made you want to hug him. Ole’ Santi was one of those who did just that.

He hugged Lil’ Bappy, right then and there on that very spot. Ole’ Santi put his arms around Bappy’s little shoulders and gave him the biggest, warmest hug Baptiste had ever felt. Right then and there on the corner of Decatur and Canal Streets, they became the best of friends.

 

Santi had never married nor did he have any children of his own own (not that he knew of anyway) He took little Babby under his arm and became like a loving, teaching father figure to Baptiste.

He taught Baptiste how to play ‘Charlie’, which was Santi’s first musical instrument. Santi had learned to play ‘Charlie the sax’, as a young lad of about six years of age.

 

When Baptiste turned five years old, and about as tall as ‘knee high to a jackrabbit, Santi gave him “Charlie the sax”. It was Santi’s most treasured, beloved possession. He really cared a whole lot about Lil’ Babby, to have given him such a priceless, precious gift as his own ‘Charlie’.

 

(to be continued)  

The tomb of Marie Laveau in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1... devoted followers still leave offerings at the door of her tomb!

 

 

Author's Note

PART ONE

No study of ghostly tales or strangeness in New Orleans would be complete without mention of Marie Laveau, the unchallenged "Queen of Voodoo" in New Orleans.
This mystical religion of Voodoo, is as big a part of New Orleans as jazz, Cajun food and Mardi Gras.

Before you start thinking that Voodoo is something of the past, you as a reader should be aware that the religion is as alive today as it was in the days of Marie Laveau. There has been no practitioner of Voodoo greater than she and no look at the religion in New Orleans would be complete without a mysterious glimpse of the woman who made it so famous, and the ghostly tales which keep her memory alive today.....

About Voodoo

The actual religion of Voodoo, or “Voudon”, originated from the ancient practices of Africa. Voodoo came about most likely in Santo Domingo (modern day Haiti) where slaves devoted rituals to the power of nature and the spirits of the dead. The term “voodoo” was probably adapted from the African Fon spirit, “vodu”.
For many enslaved Africans, such spiritual traditions provided a means of emotional and spiritual resistance to the hardships of life. In time, slaves from the Caribbean were brought to New Orleans and they brought Voodoo with them.

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

I love cajun patua stories from Louisianna...part of my heritage....my last name is french..Dyson pronounced- Dee Sown- I like your subject matter here..