Chum

It was the summer of ‘77 and I had a job contract to construct a huge sign for a petroleum company near Belmont, Louisiana. This sign would stand six hundred feet in the air and be supported by three steel columns that were three feet in diameter. The sign would allow a person to climb a ladder up one of the columns and stand inside the sign and change the pricing for gasoline and diesel. It could be seen at night all lit up clear over in Houston, Texas nearly fifty miles away. This was before the days of large neon signs of this size. The sign was made in Utah and shipped to the site around the last week of May. When the sign arrived I made arrangements to fly down and erect the sign onsite. I had taken a helper with me and he and I managed to find our way around the busy streets of Houston, Texas and procure the necessary materials we would need to build the support structure for the sign. It took us a week to gather everything together.

When we arrived at the site the weather was a balmy 80 degrees. The location of the truck stop was just outside a small gulf side town called Port Arthur, Texas. As we begin our work the weather became increasingly hot and muggy. After several days it became almost unbearable for two young bucks from the Rocky Mountains. We couldn’t stay out in the heat longer than an hour without nearly passing out. I’ve known heat before when I was stationed for boot camp in the army at Fort Jackson, South Carolina and Fort Benning, Georgia but the Houston area heat nearly killed us both. We couldn’t drink enough water or take in enough salt tablets to help us get through the day. Looking back I have to admit it was the most miserable I have ever been in my life. Luckily for us, we only had to endure this torture for a few weeks. We were staying at a small Oceanside motel that sat right on the beach. Each day after work we would stay in the rental car as long as we could with the air on and then run to the motel for a nap. The heat was kicking our butts. I found out that everything down in that neck of the woods is hot and you just get used to it. Well, not this old country boy.

One night we were eating at a recommended café and we were famished. Being young and dumb, I ordered the Cajun catfish and hush puppies. My friend ordered some Cajun fried squirrel or something like that. The first time I noticed we were in trouble was when the waitress brought us out a platter of crawfish. In Utah I had seen crawfish while I was growing up around the reservoirs and streams, but nobody ate those bugs back in those days and you would never find them served in a restaurant. As the little waitress laid them down in front of us she must have suspected something was wrong for she asked if we were alright. I looked up and asked what she called these things that she laid in front of us. She called them Cajun lobsters and set down some sauce beside a bowl full of these little critters. After she showed us how to proceed with these little devils we went at them with vigor and our fingers. Several minutes had passed when she came over to check in on our table. We had scarcely got a mouthful in but we were worked to death. I didn’t try the sauce and it was a good thing. My friend did and he nearly blew his gasket on the stuff. When our meals came mine looked like good old fashioned fish and chips plus the hush puppies. I had eaten hush puppies while stationed in the army and found them real tasty. In Cajun country they take on a whole new meaning of tasty. I bit into the catfish and it was delicious. After slamming down some fries I was ready for a tasty hush puppy. It was about the time that this morsel found its way into my mouth that things started to catch up with me and my friend. I noticed he was the first one doing the sniffing and eye watering act. Then it caught up to me and my nose started running, eyes watering, and my mouth was on fire. The two of us just sat there and held napkins to our noses and wiped our eyes. We drank glass after glass of water but it never helped. Help finally arrived in the form of saltine crackers and a waitress. As she put them out on the table she was laughing so hard I thought she would bust. She knew we weren’t from anywhere in the area. I told her we were from Utah and the first thing she asked was how many wives we both had. I told her one for me and my friend was single. She laughed and made some kind of joke and went back to her work. We never touched another piece of that food. Later that night I was still sniffing and clearing my throat as I tried to sleep off the affects of the Cajun food.

On the day before we went home after work we decided to hit the beach and take a swim to cool off. When we pulled into the parking lot we were facing the Gulf Sea. The beach sand was five feet in front of the car. As we piled out all we could think of was getting in that water. I was boiling inside from the heat. I must have run the fifty yards to the water’s edge in Olympic time. I dove head first into the cool water and came up to see the expression on my friends face as he hit the relaxing water temperatures. I finally thought we might just make it out of there and back to Utah without heat stroke. We swam and lounged around in the water for nearly an hour. Each time we got out to lie on the beach we would heat up again to the point of being miserable so we would go back into the water again. While swimming we noticed an interesting thing. We kept getting run into by a small six to eight inch fish. These little buggers were everywhere in the water. Sometimes while swimming they would smack you in the face then jump out of the water flinging themselves around in the waves. We found it quite comical at the time but never really paid that much attention to it.

 After we finished we went back to our last night at the motel. We were leaving in the morning so this would be our last night in Port Arthur. We decided to go all out and have an expensive meal. There was a restaurant near a long dock that extended out into the ocean. We strolled over there and dined on some outstanding seafood. We stayed away from anything looking Cajun or sauce bound. The afternoon turned out really good for us. We were in high spirits and ready to go home.

After our meal we decided to walk out on the pier and watch the sunset. As we walked along there were some people fishing and others were looking through telescopes out into the ocean. These telescopes were setup for bird watching and ship gazing. They were mounted on a stand and it cost a quarter for a five minute look. I wanted to look in one of these so I walked over to a gentleman that was fishing and sitting next to one of these scopes. I asked if I could look into it and he said sure and asked where I was from. I said I was from Utah. The next words out of his mouth nearly floored me again when he asked how many wives I had. We started a conversation as I peered into the scope. I could see an enormous amount of large fish in the ocean swimming around the pier columns. I asked him what kind of fish they were and he adjusted the scope lens so I could see more clearly. As the fact of the matter reached my mind he told us they were schooling Hammerhead sharks. They come in here to feed on a small fish that are spawning in these waters that time of year. As I lifted up from the scope I looked at my friend and his face was a mirror image of mine. The old man made sure to tell us to stay out of the water for at least another week. The beach patrol had put signs out all along the beach that said,” No Swimming Allowed.” Then he said something I’ll never forget as long as I’m alive. He told us about two ‘jackasses’ that were down in the area that afternoon swimming with the sharks for over an hour. Now ain’t that something.

After we left the pier we went to the exact spot we had parked the car earlier that afternoon when we had went swimming. As we pulled up we just sat there staring for the longest time without talking. Within ten feet from where we got out and took off running for the water, there were at least three signs within easy sight of the car that told us not to swim. In fact in my attempt at the world record sprint to the water, I came within an arms length of knocking one of them down. After a while we shuffled on back to the motel.

The next day on the flight home we didn’t talk much, I think we were still in shock. Ten days after I returned home a typhoon hit the area and blew all the sheet metal and lights off the sign. The sign had a 12 inch pipe sticking out the top that adorned an American flag. This pipe was bent sideways on a 90 degree angle and the flag was picked out of the gulf by a coast guard cutter. I have never returned to Port Arthur, and I’m not a fan of Cajun food to this day. All in all it could have been worse we set out to give the sharks a new kind of chum that day, but as the saying goes they just weren’t biting.

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