TOKENS & TRINKETS

Even though I’ve recently cleaned house and culled out lots of junk, my life is awash with tokens and trinkets, things I’ve picked up that have no other value than to remind me of a story, of a particular day and a particular place. For whatever reason, I am attracted to stones with distinct markings that slide easly into my pocket. Neither can I resist feathers left behind by a bird that couldn’t wait; and sea shells, I pick them up as well. As a boy I helped my mother hang clothes on the clothes line to dry. I moved the basket ahead of her and handed her the next clothes pin. In the same way those clothes pins held my t-shirts and pillow cases out in the breeze to dry, my tokens pull up stories that would not have stirred a memory otherwise. 

Last week I was meandering through an old cemetery, reading what was there. Like a detective you have to find clues and put them in order, try to frame a story. You may not get it right but it’s an effort to make connection, if not knowing for sure then you settle for a feeling. I had been to Grand Isle before but never to the cemetery. A small, barrier island community on the gulf coast, it has been there well over 200 years. As I walked the path, reading names and inscriptions on crypts and grave stones, I was thumbing through the pages of a town’s history. 

As you go in the gate you come to the oldest graves first. Moving along with no particular agenda, I noticed marble monuments with detailed pedigrees and respectful, affectionate farewells. Marble doesn’t grow in south Louisiana, you have to ship it in from far away, but over time even the marble wears away making it difficult to read. The man’s name was Louis Chighizola, 1820 - 1893. I looked at it, did a double take and looked again. I was not familiar with the spelling but pronounced phonetically, the dates and the location, I thought, ‘OMG’. I know this story. I had to research some facts before I could have confidence in the obvious but it all fleshed out like I thought it would. 

Louis (Nez Coupė) Chighizola was a notorious pirate, a high ranking subordinate to the famous French pirate, Jean LaFitte. In his youth Louis lost his nose in a sword fight, thus the nick name; Nez Coupė (Cut Nose). After the War of 1812, LaFitte and his men were granted pardons for their crimes since they helped defend the City at the Battle of New Orleans. The days of pirating had come to an end and those aging sea rovers needed to find a new occupation. Many stayed on at Grand Terre and the adjoining barrier island, Grand Isle where they became fishermen, trappers and farmers. LaFitte sailed off to the west, starting another pirate colony on a barrier island off Galveston Bay but it was short-lived. Louis (Nez Coupė) Chighizola stayed on at Grand Isle, married, lived a long life with many children. His first son, Louis, was born in 1820. There I was some two centuries after Nez Coupė’s pardon, on his island, at the grave of his son, reconstructing the story. One could presume the old pirate’s bones are decomposed by now but they are certainly nearby. If he didn’t get a marble marker I’m sure there is a great story instead, if only someone had written it down. In the mid 1950’s, Paramount Pictures made a movie about LaFitte and his pirates. I saw it on VHS tape in the 80’s. Chighizola only had a bit part but then movies are about entertainment, not authenticity. 

What is so cool about the whole thing is the way it came to me, and then the way I lost it, and how it came back again as if to say, “Hey, I’m still here, don’t forget me again.” Moving on through Grand Isle’s cemetery you discover, it is full of Chighizolas. They are still there, on the island, every generation, the living as well as deceased. I don’t think I would want to live there or be defined by their story, but it is an awesome story. As a sort of follow up post script; I read that LaFitte had offended or provoked Louis (Nez Coupė’s) wife in some way that she would not let go. LaFitte gave a gold coin to the black smith to shape into a thimble. It was his peace offering and she accepted it. On the internet the legend is, that thimble is still in the hands of a Chighizola, somewhere in south Louisiana. The lady at the grocery said without hesitation, “The golden thimble is not a legend, it’s common knowledge. The lady with the thimble lives down the street, right here on the island.”

On the beach, before we left Grand Isle, I noticed something in the sand. You find everything on the beach from plastic debris to fish bones and decaying sea weed. I expect those eye catchers to be disappointments but I keep picking them up. It was just a little bump in the sand with a black dot on it. Brushing the sand away, blowing on it to get the last bit of wet stuff and I see a small, oyster half shell. It was solid black with no gray speckles or markings, no bigger than the end of my thumb. I’d never seen one like it, a new token to go in my pocket. I’ll have to throw something out now. I promised myself I’d get rid of something before I bring home anymore trinkets.