As the summer becomes to an end, we must accept the inevitable, school is about to commence. But you mustn't fret, that also means high school football. Nothing says high school football more than rivalries. Jesuit and Holy Cross, Ruston and Neville, Rummel and whoever. But they all pale in comparison to the Destrehan Fighting Wildcats and hahnville rivalry. Rivalry as old as tyme and just as cruel. To this day no other competition brings forth the same excitement as does this yearly exhibition of wills. Well maybe the Saints' Superbowl, maybe. One year my friends and I lent our talents to the scene, and not as mere spectators or even as mighty combatants. But we played a role and it nearly cost us dearly.
Teachers at our local Junior High School loved me.
Loved me so much they couldn't bear the thought of me moving along to high school, so they set out to convince me to stay one more year. I, having a warm and compassionate heart, stayed with them for one more year. That decision turned out to be of a great benefit to myself.
Assumptions have been made, and quite understandably might add, that I was a widely popular student at Destrehan. What I lacked in volume, I made for with quality. Many a friend from that bygone era is still very much in my life today. (For better or for worse, you know who you are) Now do not get me wrong, I wasn't a social leper either. I was… I was me.
One of the great advantages of spending 3 years in a 2-year school was that I was able to double my friend count with minimal effort. It was with a few of these rag tags that I embarked on a rival week mission in the fall of' 94.
For those of you not in the know Destrehan and hahnville are separated geographically by America's greatest river, The Mighty Mississippi. They,Hahnville, just happen to live on the wrong side of it. They are also inferior socially, academically, and by far too many other ways to list here. (I will give anyone an itemized list over beers. Your tab) There is one thing that they have been.. well, I hate to say equals so I will say somewhat competitive with Destrehan, and that is football. Football and rivalry week.
Over the years rival week has caused the destruction of property, loss of sleep, and in many cases bruised pride. There was a tyme, before the Luling Bridge when the losing team's school could not go to the other side of the river. There have been many of story told about a group of hahnville boys taking the ferry over to Destrehan in hopes of a po-boy at St. Rose Tavern or a dance at the Pink Potato or maybe just a good ol fashion dust-up at the Spillway bar. And if they had lost that year's game, they were sent back to their side of the river, sometymes without the aid of the ferry boat.
So that's how it went for a long tyme, hanhville always wanted to come to the east bank and we wanted them to stay put. Once the bridge connected the two banks, that part of the rivalry was unceremoniously ended.
By the tyme my comrades and I entered the tradition, it had become mostly light vandalism, well that was until hahnville burnt their initials in our field. That was when we heard our call to action.
"There will be no retaliation" the principal declared over the PA system. He said it with authority and conviction, but my friends and I heard the wink, wink that was ever so slightly in his voice.
For the rest of the story, I will change the names of my merry band to protect them from any liability and or embarrassment.
Franklin Oddo was the mastermind and first driver.
Christopher Lawman was the second driver and support.
Jayson Weaver was tactical development.
Jameson Cooper provided support and lookout.
That leaves me, Meredith Baxter, providing support.
The plan, rendezvous at 2230 or 10:30 pm if you prefer, at Bridge Park. Jaysom was the final team member attained that dark night. He expertly performed a combat role out of his window. Then darted this way and that way, always staying in or near the shadows. He was clad in black and his face was covered in meticulously applied cameo paint. The rest of us did not get the memo and were not nearly as prepared, but we were equally enthused, especially Franklin.
Franklin led the way over the great American waterway and into the heart of the enemy territory. Once in hahnville, excitement mingled with fear and we became drunk on an adrenaline cocktail. Because of fear of retaliation, cops had been placed on hahnville's campus, so parking in their parking lot was out. Directly north of the school is Highway 90 and directly west is a community of houses and shops, but south and east are undeveloped swamps and woods. So, our plan was to park at a boat repair shop roughly 2 miles west of the school.
As we entered the woods, loaded with toilet paper, shaving cream, eggs, and other assorted light vandalism accessories, we realized what we forgot. Flashlights.
But the gods were with us that night, my friends, the moon was full, and the skies were clear. Plenty enough light for Jayson to read his trusty compass.
Franklin led point in a Diamond formation. Jayson took the center because he did have the compass.
Christopher and I flanked him to either side, and Jameson took up the rear. Franklin would look back periodically to ensure he was staying on path, and he did, Jayson made tiny corrections. Almost halfway there we met our first obstacle. The spider.
Hanging from trees were an assortment of spiderweb cocoons of various sizes. They ranged anywhere from the size of a Nutra rat to that of a small child. They were also in differing stages of decay. Skeletons remains of large and small animals littered the grounds. And while the moon was still high above us and the sky was clear, darkness loomed.
We took care not to disturb any of the large cobwebs strewn about. Many of which were as large as a school bus. They looked as though the webbing consisted of a quarter-inch piece of rope instead of a traditional spiderweb.
Christopher saw her first. Halfway up a cypress tree sat a spider that would have made the Mirkwood spiders look lyke babies. We froze.
Scared does not begin to describe our collective feeling at that moment. I don't know how long we stood, sometymes I feel as though part of me is standing there staring at death, but finally Jameson whispered, "Unless one yall are planning on asking that ugly broad out, I suggest we keep on moving."
So Franklin began us back on track and on our mission.
We continued in perfect silence until we finally made it to the edge of the woods that would open to the backside of the school.
We sat there scouting the target area lyke Marine Corps Snipers in Vietnam. Once we were confident the police were not patrolling the quad, we set about our mission of "light vandalism".
Jameson and I set out to cover every tree, bush, and every table with toilet paper and eggs. Vaseline was applied to all the locker locks. Franklin and Christopher switched all the boys' and girls' bathroom signs throughout the school. It took the girls weeks before realizing the urinals were not some kind of weird hair-washing station. The boys never quite figured out exactly where to stick their newfound hygiene tools that accompanied their new bathrooms.
Jayson went about switching the "push" and "pull" signs on most of the doors. It would be months before those doors were opened again. It was only when a locksmith from Destrehan was called in and after he received $5,000 that he "unlocked" all the doors.
After an hour or so of dispensing unmolested mischief, we became emboldened and turned our sites to the north side of the property.
Earlier Franklin and Jayson were adamant about keeping to the south and west and hopefully out of sight. We were young and full of adrenaline. When you are young, adrenaline to the brain is akin to kryptonite to Superman.
We made our way to the school bus parking area and surprise surprise, they were unlocked. Franklin and Christopher began rummaging through what happened to be the marching band bus. Jameson, armed with two cans of spray paint, one garnet, and one grey, nonchalantly strolled to the front of the property. Completely forgetting about the posted officers.
Just as he turned the corner a light passed over him. He stiffened, then felt relieved that it didn't stop on his face. That relief was temporary as the light quickly returned and this tyme with a command to "freeze"
The gig was up.
Jayson, watching all this develop, stepped into action and yelled, "Fall back! Fall back!"
We ran lyke the devil himself was chasing us.
One problem though, we did not reenter the woods in the same spot we came through in. Nope, Jayson led us straight to the one section of woods that was a brier patch. He stopped short and was reassessing the situation when Franklin bowled him over.
Jayson's body was first used as a battering ram, and then as a walkway over the thorns and briers. One by one we trampled over Jayson and barely evaded the cops.
Jameson, who was the last one into the woods, quickly overtook the rest of us and was soon leading the pack. Funny, I had never seen Jameson run before or since that moment, and damn, dat boy is fast. Before we knew it he was…
"Jameson, SPIDER!!!!"
He skidded to a halt, did a jump turn screech, right into a web. He was suspended six inches off the ground and stuck in the spider's web. He was fast, but he still couldn't jump. Franklin and Christopher each grabbed an arm and I grabbed one leg, and we tried to rip him free but to no avail. All we managed to do was wake the demon spider.
Jameson saw her first. About twenty feet behind us she stood on all eight legs ready to attack.
She darted left with unnatural quickness. We three stood side by side in a lazy fighting stance. Then we saw a blur dart to the right. Back to the left. Back to the right. Closure.
Closure. Clo…
It was on us. She raised up on her hind legs and punched Christopher and me in our chests.
We flew fifteen feet in the air and each into a tree. Franklin was grabbed by his head and tossed twenty feet in the other direction. Fangs glistened in the moon night as she slowly approached Jameson. She shrieked an ear-splitting shriek. Jameson shrieked twice as loud. Both shrieks were then drowned out by a primordial roar.
I was dazed, and trying to stand when I saw a figure, to be honest, it looked more lyke a dark spirit than a person, running toward the spider, her web, and Jameson. As the figure roared you could clearly make out blood-stained teeth and also the blood spattering out its mouth. It was carrying what appeared to be a spear, high above its head. It then bound on a trunk of a fallen tree and catapulted itself high into the air.
The spider stood tall on her rearmost hind legs lyke an early 19th-century boxer. It did her no good. The figure came down hard and fast. The spear, which turned out to be a flag spear pilfered from the band bus, pierced the beast between the fangs and punctured out the backside between her spinnerets and into the ground.
Her arms and legs twitched for several seconds before they all fell limp, and then she seemed to shrivel into herself as she hung impaled on the spear.
We cautiously approached the dark figure, and when he turned to face us, we laughed.
It was a bloodied and disheveled Jayson. He motioned over his shoulder to the spear.
"One of you A-Holes dropped that when you trampled me." He said sounding perturbed.
"My bad" Christopher said approaching the speared spider with a hint of trepidation.
"You kabobbed that fucker" Franklin said.
We stood around the dead beast for several moments before the beating of the drum began. The marching band spear was not the only item liberated off the bus. Franklin had grabbed the snare drum and was now beating it.
We danced and chanted around the dead spider. And it was good.
In tyme, we resumed our trek back to the vehicles in quiet retrospect. Once back to the gravel parking lot it was decided that the only thing left to do was grab a couple of suitcases of beer and head to the spillway. We would have to, if not for our only taste of bad luck that night. Just as we walked out of the convenience store on the corner of Carolyn Drive and River Road a patrol car came sliding into the parking lot. After a brief interrogation and search of the vehicles (luckily, we had depleted our vandalizing stockpile at hahnville), we were instructed to sell back out beer to the store and await the juvenile cop.
The beer was sold back, at a profit somehow, and our comrades were cleared.
Only Franklin and I tempted luck again that night. We drove to a different store, found the coldest Old English 40s in the cooler, and reflected on a great night.
To this day, evertyme I see that drum, which is displayed proudly in my mancave, I think back on that night with great fondness.
*Editor's note* In this story I pick on hahnville a good bit, but believe me, it's all in good fun. When push comes to shove, we have each other's back. For instance, we will root for each other once we have been eliminated in football, volley, basketball, or whatever. The same will not ever be said of those dirty birds in the atl.
On sacred lands beyond compare
Where river echoes fall,
Stands Destrehan our school so true,
To thee we pledge our all.
Our spirit and our loyalty
For thee will never die.
Our love will live eternally,
Till stars fade from the sky