Homer, Louisiana (my hometown from 1954 - 1958)
Homer was named for a Greek writer that no one remembers
Homer, the first southern town where I lived, is half the size of Crossett and twice as hard to capture in a short blog. With a population of about 2,500 people this small town continues to shrink, but it is the county seat for Claiborne Parish, so there is a historical cache to the place, starting with the Greek Revival courthouse in the center of town.
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| The ante-bellum Courthouse |
Courthouse Square
Homer's court house is one of only four pre-Civil War buildings still in use in Louisiana. It anchors the town and gives it an old-fashioned gentility that is missing from suburban strip malls.
Despite the grand architecture, Homer is a poor town and unlike Crossett, this place long ago abandoned any commercial ambitions it may once have had. Most of the residents have never known prosperity.
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| City Hall is an ornate brick building with a turret |
When we lived here, there were still sharecroppers growing cotton and picking it by hand in the rich red dirt. It is weird for such an impoverished town to be named for a Greek poet and feature such stately architecture.
But back in 1954, Homer beckoned to my dad who took a job with a plastics fabrication company. The first three years were so successful that he could afford to design and build a new brick ranch on Beverly Drive.
The cost was an exorbitant $28,000. But, we only lived there for a year before he got laid off--no need to retain a production expert once the line had been fixed --and we moved 100 miles north to Crossett.
The house my dad designed
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| Built in 1958, this low slung ranch was my dad's dream home. We only lived there for one year. What I remember about those years is the family friends my parents made and the barbecues and parties that happened every weekend. Mary Michelle was born the evening of a 4th of July party at the Reeds house, just up the road from ours. The Reeds and Michaels threw a big housewarming party for Cam and Lea - and the china and glassware are still in use at the Bennington table today.  Let's go inside The house itself was a low slung brick ranch, with an exposed basement. Basements were unheard of in the south, but my dad was never one to nod to convention and he built a foundation of split rock brick to support the downstairs. It opened to a spacious backyard and adventures for my brother Cam and me. The basement was headquarters for parties, dances, and the elaborate choreography I created to accompany the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies we watched.  The W shaped foundation poles served as a prop in many musical revues I choreographed for my sisters and me. Outside the double doors of the exposed basement was a huge back yard that at the time was wooded and ripe for kid adventures. Upstairs my dad had designed an open floor plan with a large living and dining room area separated from the large kitchen and breakfast nook by a swinging door. There was an indoor patio, too.  Here are more photos of the house:     Although I didn't realize it at the time, Homer was a bastion of southern racism, with rigid Jim Crow laws and segregation that had been in place since before the Civil War. That has changed now, but the mostly black population is still struggling with that legacy. I feel fortunate that we moved on.  |
Is dad sweet talking his way into all these homes? It's very cool that you were able to go inside.
ReplyDeleteIt IS very cool that you were able to go inside these homes and that they are tended so well!
DeleteHi Donna, Thanks for the post on Homer and the photos. What I remember most about Homer and living in our house is Dad doing a crazy dance move in the basement to Chubby Checker and hurting his back. Maybe doing The Twist or trying the splits...or was that you who did the splits? I also remember hiding your shoes behind the living room drapes one school day morning. I remember Mom washing my hair in the kitchen sink, and how much I liked that, but then the air conditioning repair man came, and we had to rush to finish. Also there was a nice man, a friend of the family, who played with me in the living room, and I really enjoyed how kind and friendly he was. He enjoyed children! My few memories are personal and specific from the age of 3 or 4. I don't remember the house all that well. I thought it had a circular driveway that was kind of a big deal back then. I do remember the slope in the back yard and parties in the basement! Not sure why I have to publish as anonymous...got an invalid URL message. Thanks again for writing, Linda
ReplyDeleteHi again,
ReplyDeleteForgot to say that you should check out Hot Springs, Arkansas if you're passing anywhere near there. I enjoyed stopping there a lot...and the bath houses are really something to see if they've been kept up. Bye for now, Linda
Lea wrote: Homer was a huge move for us. Both Dad and I had been born, grew up, married, and had our first three children in Chicago. Homer was a completely different world, but an opportunity for Dad as a pioneer in the plastic coating world. Much about the culture of this racist town was shocking to me who had received a degree from Chicago Teachers College and taught in an elementary school in Chicago, where there was no segregation. But we met and became close friends with a group of families through the small Catholic church we belonged to. We did what we could to treat everyone as fairly as possible. My mother and father visited us while we were still living in a large house we rented before we moved into the home that Dad designed for us. Each Christmas Nonno Maro would visit and prepare the traditional ravioli for after our midnight mass to which all the parishioners would be invited. Mary was born there and I became the mother of four!
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