The origin of the life of your humble writer: Part XLVII

By: Preston Aucoin

The 1955 red and white Ford carried us back to Ville Platte from the Supreme Court Building in New Orleans where I had been sworn in. It was huffing and puffing, but it made the trip.

I had an office, which was located at 402 W. Magnolia, the present Community Action office, run by Gervis Lafleur and his crew.

The office was brand new and belonged to the Estate of Gus Miller, Jake Ardoin’s grandfather. The estate was being managed and administered by M. Leslie Ardoin, Jake’s papa, and he had the office built especially for me, the condition being I had to rent it for a period of 10 years at the rate of $48 per month to pay for its construction, which was $4,800. I was very grateful to Leslie Ardoin, who we called the “Chief,” for having done this for me.

It was ideally situated because at the time, all of the lawyers wanted to be around the courthouse. The idea was it was conducive to legal business. I think it was. So, I had “Prof” Perron, an excellent sign painter, paint a shingle for me reading “Preston N. Aucoin, Attorney at Law,” which I proudly hung in front of my office. And on the front door, he painted not only my name and profession, but my address. Besides having all of his sign painting equipment in his car, Prof also had his fishing tackle. And if he, on his way to a job, saw a likely stream or bayou where he thought fish were biting, he would stop and fish a while, the length of time depending on whether or not the fish were biting.

While he fished, the customer waited to get his/her sign painted. Prof, who was Eddie and Gil Perron’s brother, was always, at least most of the time, noted for being late, but since he was such a good sign painter, he was forgiven. When Prof, Gil and Eddie became widowers, they formed a little social club where they fished, drank from those little half pints the Point Blue citizens loved to drink from and cooked every night. Not only did they call themselves the “Three Musketeers,” they had t-shirts printed with that logo on them. I used to see all three of them wearing the t-shirts while shopping at the Winn-Dixie for their supper provisions. They all lived to the century mark. Guys like that leave a pleasant legacy. I loved all three of them.

So, the next morning, I arose early, put on my $75 Steinburg suit and Florsheim shoes, whose soles were so thin if you stepped on a coin you could tell if it was heads or tails, got in my battered 1955 Ford and motored to the office, which was only about four blocks from my house. I got there before my secretary, who had come the day before when I was in New Orleans.

I had purchased third or fourth-hand (not second hand) furniture from Cheap Store consisting of two little plastic sofas (one red and one green), an assortment of chairs, mostly dining room chairs to outfit my office. Nothing matched and the chairs were extremely uncomfortable. However, I had bought a nice desk from Tony Reed, which was, of course, in my office. The office had two rooms, my office and the waiting room/reception office in the front.

The restroom was in my office, behind my desk, so if one of my clients (assuming I would have some) in the waiting room needed the restroom, they had to come in my office and squeeze in behind my desk to get to the restroom. This would occur even if someone was in my office consulting me. Quite inconvenient to say the least.

There was no air conditioning and each of the rooms had a window. The window in my office was right behind me. There was a wall heater which heated both rooms adequately. When it got hot, momma loaned me an oscillating fan, which merely stirred up the turbid air. I vowed the first case I would make money on, I would buy two window units, one for each office.

When I walked into my office on the first morning, the first thing I saw on my desk were some legal papers. I anxiously picked them up, and much to my surprise, it was a court order signed by Judge Cleveland Fruge, who was the District Judge then, appointing me to represent a black man who was accused of stealing hogs. This order, my dear readers, was signed the day I was sworn in. Nothing like starting off with a bang!

What would the higher courts do with that today, appointing a lawyer in a felony case the day he was sworn in? True, I’m not the Prophet Daniel, but the handwriting is on the wall. It would have been an automatic reversal. But this was 1959, pre-Civil Rights era. And to top it off, the trial was set in about a month. I guess you could say I was flabbergasted, i.e., staggered, dumbfounded and bewildered.

I suppose a positive way to look at it was I had a case. I had been practicing one day and already had a felony case to be tried before a jury. Of course, I was not going to be paid one red cent, not even my expenses because in those days, there was no such thing as an indigent defender board. There was no provision in law mandating a court-appointed attorney to be paid. The theory was it was an honor to be appointed and was part of the privilege of the profession. That was supposed to be the way a lawyer gained respect and esteem, a dubious honor to say the least. I will return to this case before long.

There was a telephone on our desks (mine and the secretary’s) that had not yet been connected. That reminds me of a little joke about a new lawyer and his telephone. This guy had just gotten sworn in (like me) and was setting up his office. His phone had not yet been connected (like mine). He was pretending to be very busy to impress whatever clients came into his office. A fellow came in and the new lawyer immediately grabbed his unconnected phone and told this man to have a seat and he would see him in a minute, right now he had a defense lawyer from New York on the phone and he was settling a big case.

He continued this pretense, speaking into the speaker of the non-operative phone to nobody, talking thousands of dollars. He finally completed his fabrication and hung up and said to the patient guy, “Well, what can I do for you.?” The man replied, “I’m here from the telephone company to connect your phone.”

Well, I didn’t resort to that type of trickery, although it may have been tempting. But I probably would have gotten caught. That day, a man did come from the telephone company and connected the phone and gave me a phone number. I was ready for business.

You will hear about it in my next column, and I will refrain from telling corny jokes. I think it will please you.

I invite the readers of this column to listen to my radio program on KVPI 92.5 FM or 10.50 AM at 12:30 p.m. every other Wednesday.