It was February 23, in the year 1852; the place, Lafayette City, the
independent municipality on the Mississippi River, just above the
thriving city of New Orleans. The hazy sun was turning a chilly morning
into one of the unseasonably warm late winter afternoons typical of the
semi-tropical climate. Throughout the spacious back residential section
of Lafayette City, known as the Garden District, the azalea bushes were
covered with swollen buds, ready to burst into their annual blaze of
glory.
A morning rain had sent a tiny fresher gurgling along the deep,
weed-lined gutters, carefully retained between street and banquette by
stout "gunwales", long planks from broken up flatboats. The neat
herringbone pattern of the red brick banquettes was set off by the
doily-like border of the white pickets fencing the fine mansion of John
Layton on Jackson Street.
Tall jalousies guarded the front door of the Layton home. Suddenly they
parted, and John Layton, Esquire, himself, walked out, followed by John,
Junior, a lad of 12 years. Emerging from the darkened interior, they
both squinted at the afternoon haze. Obviously, from their winter
finery, hats and light topcoats, this was a more-important-than-usual
sortie.
"There she comes, John, c'mon!" shouted Father, grabbing John by the arm
and hustling him down the wooden stairs of the gallery, out the swinging
gate and into the street to hail the passing omnibus mule car, bound in
Jackson Street toward the lively commercial center of Lafayette City,
near the river front.
Father physically scooped son aboard the double-decker omnibus "Governor
Johnson", the pride of Lafayette and product of its own Hart, Thomas and
Company. It was crowded this day, top to bottom, and all passengers were
dressed in unaccustomed finery.
"But, Father...," panted young John, "... why are we ... where are
we...?"
Both struggled into the packed lower section of the "Governor Johnson"
and sandwiched into seats. Blowing hard, the elder Layton withdrew a
large linen handkerchief and mopped his brow. In February! Then he
answered his son.
"It is a day in history, lad. You'll see. 'Tis a memory of it I want you
to have. Whew!" It was close inside the "Governor Johnson".
The rocky ride on the mule car compounded the effort of John Layton,
Sr., to regain composure. Someone opened a window, but little breeze was
generated by the four-mile-per-hour clop, clop, clop of the two scrawny
mules. Father knew he still owed son an explanation.
"You see, my boy, we live--or have lived to this very day--in Lafayette
City, a distinct and separate city of our own people, our own mayor, our
own police, God bless 'em all. But this day, as I said, boy, is
historic. The mayor and city fathers in their wisdom, have seen fit to
join us to the city of New Orleans by law, as we have long been in fact.
Nothing but an imaginary line on the downtown side of Felicity Road has
divided us before. Now we will become one. You will see. A wedding you
will witness, a wedding of two cities.... 'Til death us do part." Layton
_père_ was warming up to the occasion and rather enjoying the attention
of the crowd which smiled benignly at his efforts.
By this time the mule car had come to a stop at Magazine Street where
several people got on, further packing the omnibus until passengers were
hanging on the stairs outside. As the car started up again, faint sounds
of music, a brass band, were heard, coming from the center of the city's
activity.
"It's a great day, isn't it, Mr. Layton?" said a red-faced man from
behind a well-starched collar, sitting next to them, "becoming the
fourth district of New Orleans, and all that."
"That it is, sir, now that we can be sure the new city government will
treat us properly. That's why we held off before, you know. They assume
our indebtedness, $504,800, I believe, and we share in their expenses
and in the McDonogh fund--all in proportion, as it should be. No one can
complain now."
As the omnibus crossed Laurel, young John glanced anxiously to the
right, looking up the street between Jackson and Philip at the quiescent
Lafayette Public School building, making sure there was really a
holiday. No sign of life there relieved him immensely, for the
Principal, Mr. Lewis Elkin, brooked no absentees without due cause,
which usually meant near death.
The tired mules, knowing the end of the line and a well-earned rest were
imminent, slowed to scant mobility, just as the "Governor Johnson"
passed the Orphan Asylum buildings between Chippewa and Rousseau. Young
John steeled himself for the standard lecture from Layton _père_ on
counting his blessings that he had loving parents, et cetera.
Surprisingly, it didn't come and then John realized that was because
everybody was getting ready to disembark.
The mule car stopped at the Jackson Market. Here the street parted to
pass on each side of the two-story, whitewashed building which extended
almost across Rousseau Street. Passengers poured out of the omnibus,
Laytons included, and all joined a large assemblage of noisy citizens,
ready for a convivial occasion.
On Jackson, toward Levee Street, at their left, a big United States flag
hung from the editorial offices of the Lafayette _Statesman_, where J.
G. Fanning, its indomitable editor, was holding a sort of wake as his
days as "official city printer" came to an end.
[Illustration: Asylum for Destitute Orphan Boys, established in
1824, occupied site on Jackson between Chippewa and Rousseau where
hospital stands today.]
Up Rousseau toward Philip, from where the Laytons stood, they could see
banners and bunting swathed all over the Lafayette Courthouse, for the
city still would have its court, that of the Fourth District, and would
still be the seat of Jefferson Parish, too.
In the next block between Philip and Soraparu, a drab note was added by
the still uncleared ruins of the burned out Lafayette Theater, directly
across the street from the equally charred remains of Terpsichore Hall,
both victims of the same night's conflagration. John had mixed emotions
about the loss of the hall. He had delighted at the antics of the
remarkable General Tom Thumb there; but he had also paled before the
saber tongue of Monsieur Pierre Clissey, dancing master who taught "the
latest dances now in vogue, with special classes for children". His
father had attended a fete for General Zachary Taylor in Terpsichore
Hall; so, despite M. Clissey, its memory still held certain charms for
John's young imagination. What he _did_ remember vividly was the great
fire in March, 1850. Everybody in Lafayette, it seemed, had rushed to
the scene. The fire began in the Lafayette Theater and took the entire
block with it. Sparks jumped across the street and claimed Terpsichore
Hall and several houses next door. A boy doesn't forget a sight like
that!
The crowd now gravitated around the towering flagpole at the river end
of Jackson Market. If there was any place the residents of Lafayette
City instinctively considered the center of town, this spot was it,
under the 135 foot high flagpole. Although one block from the
courthouse, it represented the heart of Lafayette out of pure sentiment.
Within the memories of almost everyone, the seat of the city fathers had
been the rooms above the market stalls. To this day some citizens still
maintained that new quarters for the Council should be found further out
on Jackson, mainly because of the ... well ... civic pride prevented use
of the word ... "smell".
Even though most of the slaughter houses had been moved to Jefferson
City landing, above Lafayette; and even though the breaking up of
flatboats with their objectionable odors had several years before been
relegated to comparatively secluded sections along the river, there
still wafted in from the water's edge certain disagreeable olfactory
assaults. These seemed to be at their worst whenever the city council
was in session, giving rise, among the jocular Irish and German senses
of humor, to all sorts of unfortunate jokes concerning the odor of the
particular politics under discussion.
The _Southern Traveler_, published by the Rust brothers, Richard and W.
E., had moved into a new building just around the corner of Levee
Street, and that, some people felt, might help to sweeten the
atmosphere. They were in the process of giving this a fair chance when
the amalgamation of Lafayette and New Orleans was proposed. So now, it
appeared, the matter was moot.
Anyway, on this particular day, at this particular hour, the two
Laytons' attention was diverted by the arrival, from opposite
directions, of two parades. One, headed by top-hatted horsemen, red
bands across their chests, issued from lower Rousseau Street. The blasts
of the familiar brass band were the unmistakable label of the merry
Germans, who for this occasion were arm in arm with their neighbors of
the Irish Channel section of Lafayette, the streets closest to the upper
limit of New Orleans and nearest the river, Felicity, St. Mary, Adele
and Nuns. The German families congregated for excitement at the
Lafayette Ballroom, St. Mary corner of Bellechasse. This day produced a
delightful excuse for excitement at the Lafayette, not that an excuse
was generally necessary. The merriment there was known to last as long
as the poker game in the back room, which was eternal. William Toy, the
blue-nosed editor of the _City Advertiser_ and ardent temperance
crusader, often thundered in print about these "sounds of revelry by
night" and by morn, too.
The Lafayette was in contrast to the more sedate ballroom run by Mr.
Jacob Kaiser, Josephine corner of Chippewa, across from the back of the
Orphan Boys' Home. This was more of a coffee house, where political
meetings were held, and only on Saturday night did its hall echo loud
and long. Early Sunday morning the good ladies of the Roman Catholic
Church congregation barely had time to clean out the hall before early
Mass. This was before St. Mary's Church was built by the Redemptorists.
The other retinue, made up mostly of squeaky two-wheeled carts toting
frosty barrels of conviviality for the celebration, snaked along
Rousseau Street toward Jackson. This parade had no brass band, but it
had collected more of a crowd than if it had. Mr. Kranz had thoughtfully
supplied the refrigerant from his popular ice house on Soraparu, just
off Rousseau, and the Lafayette Rum Distillery on Levee, between First
and Second Streets, had provided the rest of the refreshments.
Young John Layton was taking all this in while trying to keep from being
squeezed by the crowd. It was indeed another sight he'd never forget,
even though all of it was not very clear to his tender understanding. He
was much more interested in the Kaintucks from upriver with their long
rifles and in the be-medalled guardsmen.
Then things began to happen. Mayor Francis Bouligny, his sash of office
loosely tied around his corpulence, made his way through the crowd to a
small wooden stand beneath the flag pole. He was followed by the other
city officials: the treasurer, comptroller, city attorney, surveyor,
harbormaster, commissary of streets, commissary of day police, captain
of the night watch, tax collector and the 10 aldermen, all performing
their last independent functions as officials of the city of Lafayette.
Michel Musson, prominent Whig Party leader, was everywhere in evidence.
Traditionally, such an occasion would call for hours of oratory. But the
skies were darkening early and a nippy breeze was stirring in from the
river; so comparatively short work was made of it. Appropriate words
were said over the city of Lafayette, its nineteen years of life, by
members of the clergy. Mayor Bouligny read the ad of incorporation into
the City of New Orleans as approved by the Louisiana Legislature and
signed by Governor Joseph Walker. Lafayette City thereby ceased to
exist. The fourth district of the City of New Orleans was now in
business, and on with the drinks, boys!
From the levee bells clanged, signalling the departure of the Bostona,
Magnolia and several other popular packets at the wharves across from
the Bull's Head, the lusty tavern at the cattle landing, foot of St.
Mary Street. The two John Laytons, father and son, made their way toward
the soda water establishment run by Mr. M. Michell on Jackson, near
Levee, where a cup of hot chocolate, sweet and tasty, would reward the
youngster's patience during the ceremony which he had but scarcely
comprehended.
[Illustration: Michel Musson was prominent in Whig politics and
served as New Orleans postmaster. He built fine mansion at Third and
Plaquemine, now Coliseum. Edgar Degas was his nephew and visited
Musson in the Garden District.]
His father found friendly conversation inside the tiny shop, fragrant
with aromas of vanilla bean and chocolate. As John blew on the steaming
cup, he noticed his father chatting with a fine-looking gentleman who
was followed by a liveried footman, hat in hand. Layton, Sr., called his
son over.
"This is my son John, Mr. Robb. This is Mr. Robb, son." James Robb! The
name was magic to any youngster in Lafayette, especially those living in
the garden section. This was the celebrated New Orleans millionaire who
was, they said, going to build a real palace right in their own
neighborhood. They had walked over to Washington Street one day to see
the workmen clearing the space for it. It was to take up a whole square!
"Mr. Robb has kindly offered to drive us home in his carriage,"
explained Layton, and the three proceeded out the door, followed by the
footman who stepped nimbly ahead outside and lowered the step.
The conversation between the two men immediately jumped to a name
familiar to the boy: Poultney. It was familiar because it was the
subject of so much "grown-up" talk.
"I hope the Federal Supreme Court will now settle the matter once and
for all time," asserted Robb. "One's sympathies may be with the Poultney
heirs, but the magnitude of the property, so much of Lafayette City is
involved, that one must consider the injustice of dispossessing the
present owners who bought their small lots in good faith."
Layton agreed, adding that should the decision be otherwise, a friend of
his, Captain G. T. Beauregard, might realize a sum, as he was one of the
heirs.
Mr. Robb directed his carriage out Jackson to the river, turning right
at Levee Street with its Belgian block pavements, made of granite blocks
dumped on the levee from foreign ships which brought them as ballast.
The river front as far as the boy could see was lined with flatboats,
the ugly but extremely practical box-like floating storehouses, their
"broadhorns" shipped and nestling so close to each other that one could
walk for miles along their cabintops.
[Illustration: Flatboats lined riverfront in early days, awaiting
sale of cargoes.]
The flatboats were built to bring cargoes for sale at New Orleans, then
the boats were broken up and sold as timber. The flatboat crews, a
robust lot, went "on the town" while awaiting the sale of their cargoes,
and before returning upriver for another cargo in another boat. John had
been warned many times about becoming too friendly with the flatboatmen,
although nobody ever recalled their being out of line with other than
their own brood and the police.
The main problem the city government had with flatboatmen was keeping
them from putting out signs and selling their cargoes "retail" in
competition with legitimate Lafayette merchants.
The shiny black wheels of the elegant carriage skidded and creaked along
the uneven stones, and John was glad when the driver finally turned
right again and entered Washington Street. The conveyance ran relatively
more smoothly now. Washington had been "paved" with flatboat gunwales
laid very closely together. Just past Rousseau Street, Mr. Robb gave a
sharp command and the carriage veered left, and "Oh, no," thought young
John, "It can't be!"
But it was. The carriage pulled into the lane leading up to the most
forbidding spot in Lafayette to the youngsters. This was known as the
"Haunted House of Lafayette", and no boy or girl, no matter how brave,
no matter how dared, would approach it, especially in the late evening.
That was when "things" happened!
And there they were, driving right up to it. Frightening, that's what it
was. Haunts and ghosts, and pirate treasures, and dead bodies!
Mr. Robb slowed the carriage by command, and he and John Layton, Sr.,
looked over the state of ill repair in which the once celebrated
plantation house now stood.
"I can see no advantage to Madame Livaudais' offer," said Mr. Robb,
breaking a silence that had helped terrify the young boy.
"Nor do I, Mr. Robb," Layton replied, obviously taking up a conversation
of an earlier period of which the boy had not been a part. He listened
as Mr. Robb described the offer of Madame Livaudais to sell to the
Lafayette Council, now the Fourth District Aldermen, the entire square
of Washington, Sixth, Levee, Fulton, including the house, for $80,000,
to serve as a Municipal Hall and market. Layton commented that, since
the present location served the government's need at $1,100 per year,
and since a new market on Soraparu was under consideration, it would not
be of interest.
John Layton Jr., had clasped the seat of the carriage so hard that his
knuckles were white, and as the carriage turned around and headed back
toward Washington Street, he couldn't even summon courage for a furtive
glance back at the ruin to see if the reported red lights danced from
the cracks in the crumbling and once proud home of the family de
Livaudais.
The street lamps had been lit at each intersection as the fine pair
pulled the carriage steadily out Washington.
Chippewa Street John knew because he loved to play in Clay Square
between it, Second, Third and Annunciation Streets. The last street he
had first known as Jersey. Laurel Street, where the heavy doors and the
iron bars of the jail, just a block from his school, served as a
reminder to the little boys to stay in line. Constance Street, first
known to him as Live Oak, was familiar as the location of Holy Trinity
Church, corner of Second, where his family worshipped. The new church on
Jackson was not yet ready.
Magazine Street was next, and this held special charm for him because on
Washington, from Magazine to Camp, Live Oak Square formed a vast,
tree-shaded playground where he and his young friends staged many a mock
battle, refighting the famous engagement at Chalmette, as told to them
by some of the veterans themselves, men who had known Jackson, Lafitte
and Dominique You in the flesh! Often the boys surrendered the wonderful
grounds to real soldiers who encamped there and had military drills;
sometimes, to wagon-loads of picnickers of a Sunday. The moss-draped
oaks indeed beckoned to him even in the twilight and seemed to whisper,
"We'll be waiting."
And in the next block they saw the rough foundation outlines of Mr.
Robb's house, an Italian villa he said it would be. The granite
foundation stones being hewn, the stacks of the finest cypress and
imported mahogany, the piles of red bricks made of the best lake
sand--no ordinary house was abuilding here!
Mr. Robb slowed his carriage, but as it was too dark to make out much,
they sped onward, turning right at Chestnut Street for the final lap
back home to Jackson.
"What a day this has been in the life of the former city of Lafayette,"
thought John Layton, Sr. "I wonder," he mused that night at home, "if
the boy really grasped the impact? Maybe I'd better...."
It was too late for that night. John, Jr., had long before gone to
sleep.
[Illustration: Old drawing in Archives of building at Third and
Levee, probably a tavern. Lamp at corner was typical of those
throughout Lafayette.]