A Louisiana Story

            Every two years, my family and I travel south to Grosse Tête, Louisiana, which us Yankees pronounce “Gross Tet” but which the rest of the clan, with a deep gutteral drawl, calls “Gross Tate.” The occasion is a Kleinpeter family reunion and the attendance is upwards of 100, which, given the 2010 census that put Grosse Tête’s population at 670, means that our family constitutes about 15% of the entire town on these days.

            I always look forward to these reunions because there is something truly magical about my grandmother’s old house. There’s the tire swing out front, made all the more exciting by the fact that the huge tree from which it hangs rains down tiny red fire ants. There’s the swamp across the road where alligators crouch in the muddy water to seek refuge from the stifling heat. There are the train tracks that literally run through the back yard; as kids we would beg our parents for pennies to line down the track so that we could return home with smushed souveneirs, which our cool older cousin whispered was “illegal.”

            But really, what makes the place so special is its continued ability to bring the family together despite the hurricane that washed so many Kleinpeters out of Louisiana. It’s a place where people from all over the country eat fried food (my Californian mother calls it a vegetable-free zone) and laugh about the fact that we all, in some way, came from here. It’s a place wrought with love and history, and I’d love to write a story about it.

 

            Sydney Kleinpeter and his wife Ida raised five children at this house in Grosse Tête starting in 1910: Kay, Jinx, Jerry, Kenny, and my grandmother Rita. They weren’t rich, but they were happy and content, making money off cattle and timber farming. In 1920, the Mississippi River flooded, destroying parts of the old house and threatening to destroy the family’s lifestyle by drowning the cattle. Sydney walked the cattle across the river to the highlands, which took weeks. As the cattle would stomp across people’s yards he’d yell, “My name is Sydney Kleinpeter and I promise to pay you back.” When the water subsided, he went back exactly the way he came and made up for the damage he’d caused in whatever way he could.

            The 1930s brought the Great Depression. Money was tighter, but the Kleinpeters managed to remain economically independent with their cattle and timber. Men would pass by on the train and literally jump off in search of food or work. Sydney always offered them something to do, and Grandma Rita remembers meeting lots of friendly men when she was a young girl.

            These are the things I know, which means there’s so much I don’t know, and I think an awesome story lies in there. My great grandfather seems like a pretty cool guy, and I’d love to explore his history and character and how he came to be the way he was. Furthermore, I just think this old ranch house makes for the perfect setting, since physically it’s such a cool place and it’s also borne witness to some great American history. Maybe next year, when we head down to celebrate my grandparents’ 70^th wedding anniversery (isn’t that beautiful) I’ll do some more digging into the Gross Tête history.