Newspaper, Grass Roots & Cockleburrs, Judge Girlinghouse, LaSalle Parish, La. GRASS ROOTS AND COCKLE BURRS- Judge Girlinghouse By Jack Willis Transcribed by Pat Ezell, PatEzell@worldnet.att.net Submitted by: Kathy LeMay Kelly, P.O. Box 219, Trout, La. 71371 From the Jena Times - Olla Tullos Signal, Wed., Nov. 3, 1999, Section B, Page 13 Thank You to the Times -Signal for allowing the following to be added to the Archives. ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** JUDGE GIRLINGHOUSE The twilight of my years is approaching and more and more obituaries are appearing with alarming frequency of people you know, or in case of a death notice, you've known. One such instance lately was the formal notice in an area newspaper of the passing of a friend of many years, Judge "J.M." Girlinghouse. J.M.'s father had gotten into an altercation, supposedly over a hog, and whether that was the true case, matters not. J.M.'s father ended up dead as a result of the dispute. Ms. Naomi Girlinghouse was literally left with a house full of children. The last count I could muster, there were seven of them. Ms. Girlinghouse lived about two miles north of Jena towards Summerville. One turned left and moseyed about a quarter mile down to her residence on the bank of the upper reaches of the west prong of Hemps Creek. She resided in a huge double pin style house with a front gallery all the way across the front. The youngest son, Kirby, was close to my age and J.M. was about three years older. J.M. was the consummate practical jokester and being around him was just the same as being around a mule colt. He was always playing some sort of trick on somebody. J.M. taught me one thing - that I didn't care for practical jokes. It's been my experience that upon constant indulgence, sooner or later, someone gets hurt. This was the case with his brother, Kirby. Ms. Girlinghouse cooked on a huge wood stove with a warming safe up on the top. This wood gobbling monster required daily excursions to the wood pile. This was J.M. and Kirby's daily chore. They got into an argument one evening over who was going to use the hatchet to split pine splinters for kindling. J.M. had the hatchet at the wood block (actually an old stump) and Kirby was right up in his face arguing it was his turn to split wood. J.M. refused to give up possession of the hatchet, so Kirby stuck his hand down on the chopping block in an attempt to keep J.M. from chopping any splinters. J.M. told him to move his hand or he'd chop a finger off. Kirby wouldn't and J.M. did. Kirby went through life with the two end joints of his left hand ring finger missing. This wasn't the last of Kirby being dealt cruel misfortunes. Some years later, he and another Jena resident by the name of Joe Bert Stokes were bird hunting with sling shots. Joe Bert fired a missile at a blue jay perched on the limb of an oak tree. The rock ricocheted off the limb and hit Kirby in the left eye. He lost about 80-90% vision in that eye due to scar tissue formation in the healing process. Somehow, I never did figure out why or hoe he got inducted into military service, and made a career out of it, retiring and living in Wisconsin until his death. An event, chronicled before bears repeating, because it demonstrated just how devious and mischievous J.M. could be. Back in the late 40s where the Girlinghouse residence was, was considered to be half-way to Summerville, the boon docks supreme. Kirby had made some money one Saturday working for Ulis Floyd, their neighbor down the creek He determined to go to the 7:00 Saturday theater in Jena. About 9:30 that night, Mrs. Girlinghouse looked at the clock and told J.M. to walk up to the Jena-Olla Highway to meet Kirby and escort him home so he wouldn't be scared by the long, dark lane down to their house. Kirby was 10 years old. Before J.M. left, aware of his nature, Ms. Naomi shook her finger knowingly in J.M.'s face, and sternly warned him under penalty of death not to even consider scaring Kirby as he made his way home. J.M. left, strolled up to the gravel road, sat down on a log to await the arrival of Kirby. Before long, he heard him coming whistling as loud as he could, trying to keep the "boogers" away. It was fall of the year and the dirt road to their house was covered in fallen leaves. Prior to Kirby's arrival on the scene, J.M. took his hand and raked up a huge pile of leaves on the shoulder of the road where Kirby would be walking by. J.M. squatted down in the dark next to the pile of leaves. As Kirby drew even with him, he grabbed a double handful of leaves, threw them in the air and hollered as loud as he could. The temptation was just too great- he couldn't resist! The leaves falling on him and the yell in his ear was more than Kirby's feet and nerves could stand. He took off in a dead run, ran all the way home, jumped the yard fence and didn't stop until he was safely inside the front door. J.M. later said he got his fanny tore up but it was worth it. These kinds of yarns were what kept everyone entertained through the years. J.M. moved to Shreveport and worked for years for Pittsburgh Plate Glass. Then moved to Ball, where he operated a commercial scales service. I only talked with him by phone on occasion, but the conversation made for an interesting visit and friendship renewal. People like J.M. were rare creations, but their exuberance for life, left it's mark and kept one from getting caught up in the hum drum and doldrums of life…back when.