Mass was terrible, but in hindsight it was a fitting way to begin a day that would be the worst day of my young life. Elise and I had decided that we would attend what was likely to be the final mass in New Orleans by Fathers Claude and Jacques. I don’t know what we expected, but what we found was two old men in a nearly empty church, going through the motions of something resembling a mass.
The cathedral had never been much. I would expect it to hold maybe a hundred people. Some private chapels are larger. And most private chapels are more opulent. This one had square windows, no stained glass, a water-stained ceiling, and an overwhelming smell of mildew. The fathers noticed us right away – how could they not, since there were barely a dozen parishioners. Besides, we were the only people under seventy in the place.
We came in the main doors and looked for holy water, but found none. Had they packed it away? Or had they just forgotten? We walked to one of the front rows, genuflected, and kneeled on one of the most battered pads I had every seen. Then we sat back and waited for the service to begin. Ten o’clock came and went and the two priests continued to stand by one side of the altar and talk. Finally Father Jacques stepped down to the center aisle and walked up to us.
“Our organist has left for Green Bay and the woman we had hoped would play the piano for us has not come in this morning.” I had no idea why he was telling us this. I sat nonplused, but Elise offered to help.
“Father, my piano playing is very poor, but I think I could lead us through a couple of the more simple hymns.” And while Father thanked her profusely, Elise walked back through the church to find the stairs up to the choir loft and the piano. Father Jacques waited for her below the loft, while Elise ran through a few songs, and then gave him the numbers of hymns she was comfortable with. I learned one more thing about Elise – she could play the piano. But unfortunately, she could not salvage the rest of the mass. Father Jacques returned to the altar, spoke some more with Father Claude, and then began wandering around looking for his Bible.
It occurred to me these were very old men who had spent many nights preparing to move. They had the stress of all the packing, the disorientation of the move to a new home, plus the disappointment of having their parish closed down after all these years. I wondered how much sleep they were getting. From the look of things, not too much. Finally Father Jacques found his Bible and placed it on the altar. He then began a ten minute search for the passage he wanted. Meanwhile, Father Claude found a seat and dropped into it like a man who might never stand again. Finally Elise started playing a hymn in the background, and it began to at least feel something akin to a mass.
The service consisted of brief interludes of activity separated of long pauses while the fathers looked for one thing or another, or tried to remember what came next. Father Jacques read some scripture, asked Elise to play a hymn, and asked us to join in, but he never told us the number of the hymn so I and the others sort of nervously mouthed words and hummed along with the piano. Then there was another long pause and more scripture, and then I think Father Jacques was expecting Father Claude to deliver the homily, but when it became clear Father Claude was not getting out of his chair, Father Jacques talked for a while about the founding of the church. He jumped around quite a bit, but the main chronology seemed to center on their arrival in 1957 and some of the first families they had met. The duTemps family was important to him. He named all the members of the family and talked about their first year in the church and gave details of all the children. Then he went off on a story about a church picnic. Finally he just seemed to wind down.
There was another long pause, and then he started back to the place where the communion materials are kept. I am sorry, but I was never an altar boy and I can never remember the name of that little door churches have with the wine and wafers behind it. As it turned out, the door was jammed somehow, and Father did not have the strength to open it. He struggled for a while, and then I went up and pulled it open for him. I am not sure if I committed a sin by doing that, but I was worried that Father would give himself a heart attack pulling on the door. I then got out of the way quickly while he said his blessings.
Eventually he carried the wine and the wafers to the altar and invited us to come forward for communion. He took the time to bless each person individually, and to raise a shaky hand and place it on our heads. Elise climbed the stairs back down from the loft and stood next to me as we accepted the wafer and the blessing. Then she was back up the aisle and back up the stairs. I sat back down and hoped the fathers remembered how to end the service. Mercifully they did, and people began to file out of the cathedral while Elise played another hymn.
She and I stayed and helped the fathers fold up and pack away everything on the altar. Then we helped the men back to their residence. Once we saw what their kitchen looked like, we immediately guessed it might have been days since they had eaten anything substantial, so Elise asked Anton to go out for some food. In the meantime we sat around the kitchen table, the fathers obviously tired, but happy to have Elise with them.
There’s not really too much more to say about that morning. Anton did a nice job finding very bland Chinese food that the fathers could handle. We ate off paper plates and then practically led the fathers back to their rooms so they could nap for the afternoon. We explained that we would be back Wednesday morning very early, and they repeated that it was important that we come at five, so we could pack and leave while it was still dark. And then we left.
We were invited to President Jolliet’s home for dinner, but we had the afternoon to ourselves and decided to spend it looking around town at the various gardens. New Orleans really is a beautiful city, and even though the heat was rough on us, we had a good time walking around town. Elise took my arm as she usually did, and we strolled among flowers and grasses and along the river. Call it the calm before the storm, or the interval between rounds of a prize fight, in any case that afternoon was very pleasant and I think gave each of us additional strength to deal with the problems about to come speeding our way.
By late in the afternoon we went back to our hotel, relaxed for a bit, and then changed to go to dinner. Elise put on a sleeveless yellow silk gown, and I put on a coat and tie, possibly a bit over dressed for July, but we were going to dine with the former President of Canada. Such dinners were still a major event in my life, and I knew it was special to Elise too.
Elise had given Anton the evening off, so I drove us to the President’s estate outside Biloxi. As we drove, suddenly I was the one dominating the conversation as I explained how the highway we used had once been a wagon trail leading the Huguenots from their landing at Biloxi to their new home in New Orleans. I think I actually impressed Elise – always a good thing to do.
As we approached Biloxi, I began to look for police. How intense would the security be around the President’s house? As it turned out, there appeared to be less security than normal. A security post was set up just down the road from the President’s home, and we had to stop and show our identification. There was a cursory check of the car, but having Elise along made a big change in the way the guards treated us. They called ahead to another check point, and I saw cameras looking at us to verify our identities, but then we were allowed to continue on right up to the President’s front door. Then the president himself came out to greet us!
“Uncle Claude” Elise gave him a big hug. I got out of the car as a valet took my seat and drove the car off. Four very large security guards stood around us looking across the lawn into the trees north of the house.
“Thank you both for coming.” Jolliet was in a jovial mood. He gave Elise a long hug, grab my hand with far more force that I had expected, and looked more like a kindly old grandfather than like a minister in a government about to go to war. “Congratulations to you both. I have already marked May 28th on my calendar. You did intend to invite me, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Elise lau
ghed. “Invitations will go out as soon as my sisters can agree on a card design and a type style for the lettering. So you may not receive anything until sometime after the wedding is over.” Eventually we moved into the house, much to the relief, no doubt, of the security folks.
Jolliet led us through the house to the sun room where we would have wine and talk before dinner. The sun room faces south, of course, but we could still get a very good view of the sun setting through the trees to the west. It also lit up a line of clouds out over the water. In short, I had trouble concentrating on the conversation for the next few minutes while I looked out across the garden at the Gulf and at the sky. Not that Elise and Jolliet needed me. They had family to talk about.
“What’s this I hear that the Biloxi Cathedral was built in the wrong place?” Jolliet addressed this to me. Apparently he had decided it was time to include me in the conversation.
“I wouldn’t quite put it that way. But the more Huguenot history I read, the more important Biloxi becomes. They settled it before New Orleans, and used it as their main port of entry for generations. Something smaller or less prominently placed might have been more sensitive.”
“Since Elise called yesterday, I asked the history chair at the National University what he thought. For what it is worth, he agrees with you completely. He claims he told Cardinal Minnieu exactly that five years ago. But the diocese had the land and the money and wanted to build a huge cathedral for all the new Catholics in the area. I suppose that includes me.”
“If you look at population trends, I am sure a cathedral there makes sense. But if you look at history…”
“I have met the good Cardinal. He may look at history, but I suspect he reads it differently than you or I would.” A servant brought a tray of chilled wine into the room at that point. Jolliet used the moment to change the conversation.
“Let me propose a toast.” He raised his glass to the two of us. “To love, to marriage, to new life. I am so pleased the two of you will marry. When you first dined with me months ago and I saw you together, I knew God would smile on your union.”
“I must add a toast as well,” I began after we had each sipped our wine. “To the most beautiful woman in Canada, a woman with the courage to say ‘yes’ to a poor assistant professor.” That earned me a kiss.
“Now it is my turn.” Elise raised her glass to the two of us. “To men of peace in times of war.” We all drank to that. The conversation then turned to lighter matters. Elise described our tour of gardens that afternoon, and Jolliet described what was blooming in his garden. Obviously it was an inconsequential topic, but one that seemed to cheer the darkening evening. Flowers still bloomed and people still tended gardens. There was hope in that.
In time we moved to the dining room. There was less paneling in this dining room than in his Green Bay room, and more glass. After all, this was a summer home. But he also chose to illuminate it that night with candles, and as always, Elise looked even more beautiful bathed in that glow.
“Are you enjoying your visit to New Orleans?” Jolliet asked Elise somewhere during the salad course. It was a casual question, but also brought us closer to more serious discussion.
“I have visited three of the people on my list, and have not been very successful. I have several more visits to make tomorrow and Tuesday. I hope to have more luck then.” Elise was basically talking to her salad. It was clear this was not a report she wanted to deliver. Finally she took a deep breath and looked directly at Jolliet. “I wish I could tell you why they want their own country, why they want to start a war. Each person I talk with has a different reason, but none of the reasons seem so overwhelmingly important to me.”
“Maybe that’s where we start.” Jolliet responded, his voice not much above a whisper. “Maybe we just address one little problem at a time, and hope we solve enough of them that this problem cools off to something less than the boiling point. Unless, Shawn,” and now he turned his attention to me. “There is something else we are missing, some other cathedral going up without our notice.”
“I don’t know of any more cathedrals, but I fear the opposition will work just as hard to break the country apart as you will work to hold it together. Elise may have told you about the play I attended. There are people working very hard to create a culture and a history distinct from that of Green Bay.”
“That reminds me.” Jolliet sat back in his chair and searched his pockets. “Your new boss at the university has a request of you. He says the local historical society is having a meeting tomorrow evening. He faxed me a notice of it. He suggests you attend. I think it would be a good idea too.”
As he turned to pull the fax from his pocket, we heard a glass break in the next room. We looked in that direction, but didn’t think much of it, and then another glass broke. Jolliet started to call out to the servant to see if there was a problem, when we started hearing pops -- first a couple, then a whole series of them. Still it took us an eternity to understand what was happening. When we finally understood, things seemed to go from slow motion to fast-forward in an instant. I used my long arms to take a swipe at the candelabra and knock that over, while Elise and Jolliet jumped out of their seats and hit the floor. I burned my fingers on the wax but got the flames out and then jumped to the floor as well, hugging both of them. I wish I could say I was trying to shield them with my body, but in truth, it just seemed important to hug someone at that moment.
One more glass broke in the next room, and then there was a three-man security team pulling Jolliet off the floor and carrying him to some other room. Elise and I stayed on the floor for a few more minutes until another security man came and told us to follow him. We moved quickly and at a crouch, ducking into the hallway and into the library where Jolliet lay under a blanket of security guards. Were books a good barrier to bullets? Or were the walls lined? It was a stupid thing to think about at that time, but my mind was going in a million directions, and stopping bullets seemed at least a reasonable focus for the moment.
“Gentlemen, get off me, and that’s an order,” I heard Jolliet's muffled voice. The guards moved off of him but never left his side. They urged all of us to stay on the floor and asked us to be quiet so they could hear updates over their headsets.
“Let me talk to Commander Gillette.” Jolliet was sitting up now, his back resting against book shelves. He appeared out of breath, but he still uttered his commands with force.
“Please sir,” one of the guards replied. “He is in pursuit.”
“That is exactly why I need to speak with him. Now!” There was a pause, and then the guard began speaking into the microphone mounted on his shoulder. It was not easy for him to speak with his commander, and from the part of the conversation we could hear, it was apparent the commander did not want to be interrupted. But finally some agreement was reached and the guard handed his headset and microphone to Jolliet.
“Commander, this is President Jolliet.” I had never heard Jolliet refer to himself as President before. I wondered if it was the shock, or if he was reaching for additional authority. “First, tell me if any of your men are hurt.” There was a pause and I could tell from the expressions on the other guards who were listening on their head sets that the answer was reassuring. “Thank God for that. Paul tells me that you are in pursuit of these people.” There was another long pause. “I appreciate your fine work tonight, but I want you to stop the pursuit.” A very long pause. I thought I could hear shouting clear through the headset. “All of that is true. Now tell me this. What are you going to do if you catch them? Yes, I am sure you will attempt to arrest them and only shoot if necessary. But now think of this. If you catch them or shoot them, I want to you envision the headline in tomorrow’s Green Bay Gazette, and the reaction people will have as they read that story over their breakfast. OK, let me help you. “Huguenots attempt to assassinate ex-President Jolliet.” Does
that headline unite our country or divide it? No, you are right. We cannot hide it, but we can minimize it. No one was hurt, right? We announce that a stray shot hit the house, possibly from local hunters. Security saw no one. Local police are investigating. It makes page three and disappears the next day. Yes, I understand that. If they come back tomorrow, I expect you to shoot them. But for tonight I am requesting that you serve your country in a different way. Yes, yes. Thank you. I know this is hard for you, and I appreciate your service to your country.” He returned the headset to the guard and took several deep breaths. The guards listened to some order on their headsets and then left the room, with two of them standing at the door with guns drawn.
“You want them to get away?” Elise asked
“I want no Huguenot martyrs and no French mobs. So, for this one time, these people get away free.” He was struggling to his feet now, and Elise and I went to him to help him up. Elise then wrapped her arms around him.
“Uncle Claude, you are the best man in the world.”
“And you are engaged to the dumbest.” A thought had just struck me with such intensity I thought I would drop back to the floor. “Today is July 18. This is a date I know. This is a date you told me to tell you about. On July 18th 1725, Claude Jolliet was shot in New Orleans.”
“I guess I should have known that date too,” Jolliet responded. “After all, he is my namesake. I just remembered it as being sometime that summer.”
“I was just reading about it yesterday. I am so sorry.”
“Knowing about it would not have changed anything. Although I suppose we would not have eaten so near the windows.” He tried to chuckle at that, but he was also massaging a shoulder. “I have to train those guards to haul me around without banging into walls. I am getting too old for so much protection.”
There was not much more we could say after that. The guards eventually let us out of the library, but they would not let us back into the dining room while they completed their investigation. And Elise and I could not leave until the grounds were thoroughly searched. We ended up in a small guest bedroom, and talked for a while. What did we talk about? We talked about Elise’s family, and my family, and Jolliet’s family, just about anything other than having people shoot at us. Although eventually Jolliet was joking about it. “They should have warned those people a five foot eight inch man makes a pretty small target.”
After an hour or so we were allowed to move around the house and Jolliet headed straight for the kitchen. He wanted to console the staff, all of whom had been held there since the shooting. He found them in tears, huddled in a corner away from the windows. His first comment? “First, I need to tell you this had nothing to do with your cooking.” That got them laughing. He then hugged each one of them and asked if they were all right. He tried to give them the next days off, but they were having none of it. They refused immediately, and then demanded that he eat the dinner they had prepared. So the three of us sat around the kitchen table while four women and two men served the meal they had planned for us. Periodically security people came in to report, but Jolliet made them sit and eat with us. He asked for wine for everyone, and even got the kitchen staff to join him in a toast to the security men. I know I had come to Green Bay two years earlier looking for a way to embarrass Jolliet and his family, but truthfully, at that moment I would have followed that man anywhere.
Hours later Elise and I were allowed to leave by the security team. They wouldn’t let Jolliet anywhere near the open front door, so we said our good bys in the front hallway. Elise gave him a long hug and started crying again. I shook his hand and apologized again for not remembering the date. He forgave my idiocy one more time. Then I almost walked out the door without the fax, but finally remembered to get the meeting notice from him. I would attend this historical meeting, if for no other reasons that to learn which dates would be the most dangerous.
Elise cried most of the way home. I tried to think of comforting things to say, but my mind was a blank. Finally I just started talking about Claude and about how much I admired how well he had handled events. That got Elise talking, and eventually we were both laughing. “I now know,” she said, “the best line that will never be public. ‘This had nothing to do with your cooking.’” That got us both laughing, and then, as people do in these situations, we laughed for a while, teared up, and then laughed again, alternating emotions all the way back to New Orleans.
Chapter 11
New Orleans, Economic Basics, and the World's Largest Man