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Place

John W. Pinkerton

oldjwpinkerton@gmail.com


I started off in the Alexandria-Pineville, Louisiana area.  I lived in the towns and in the surrounding country.  In Louisiana this is the starting point of the dullness of Louisiana, and it travels north to the border with Arkansas.  Someone, I don’t know who, commented that North Louisiana was a lot like Arkansas…without the charm.  That sounds about right.


Now, don’t get me wrong.  I loved my years there.  I really loved my high school days, and when we moved to Baton Rouge, I loved my days at LSU.  Geaux Tigers.


Speaking of Arkansas, my dad was from there and he moved back there along with the family to reside in Pine Bluff and Little Rock.  I was young then, and it seemed fine, but for some reason, I never long to move there or visit there now.  I have friends who have moved there and they seem to really appreciate it.  My grandfather Pinkerton was traveling by train from Louisiana to Arkansas.  When he awoke from a brief nap, he commented that he must be in Arkansas because he felt like stealing something.  Such negative comments do not help a state.  Shame on him.


We lived in Los Angeles for a few months.  I even got to see a mountain when the smog briefly lifted.

 

New Orleans is the greatest city of the South.  We lived there for a while when I began the ninth grade: that was a little piece of Hell, but I still love the French Quarter that Linda and I visited each summer for years.  Laissez les bon temps roulez.



I lived in Houston twice…well, if you can call that living.


After a stint in the army, I lived in Bryan for a year.  I’m reminded of the comment about North Louisiana…a lot like Arkansas without the charm.  Oh, yeah, my dad, long dead, bless his heart, was once confronted by a Bryan local in a bar who asked him why he didn’t move if he loathed Bryan so much.  His response I’m sure some of you folks who moved in as adults can relate to his response: “Easy pickins’.”


I live in the small town of Somerville and except for the occasional felony or infidelity it’s pretty quiet.  Yet when I travel toward Bryan-College Station, I become increasingly bored, increasingly depressed.  Someone asked me to describe Bryan-College Station…well, it’s kinda like Somerville on steroids.


I’ve lived and worked in Somerville for fifty years now.  I’ve probably laughed at and made fun of Somerville more than any other resident during those years.  Yet, here I am.


The things I like best about Somerville are that it’s the only place I know of that I can live and feel as though I’m rich and we have a rich mixture of races but we’re not mad at each other.  It’s a friggin’ miracle.

enough