New Iberian Mary Wood Beauchamp Sealy has written an autobiographical booklet titled “Say, Mrs. Sealy,” which I found fascinating. I thought I’d share some of its contents with you.

She tells of the trials and tribulations of being a wartime bride. She stated, “It was June 1942, the world was at war, and I was a reporter on the Shreveport Times.” She happened to be engaged to Kerny Sealy of New Iberia, a private in the U.S. Army who was stationed at Brownwood, Texas. They planned to marry at the Army base.

She boarded a bus at midnight, rode till noon the following day, and arrived at her destination where she was met by Kerny. When he said, “Sorry, we can’t get married,” she was shocked and yelled, “What! After all I’ve gone through to get here?” He explained, he was ordered on a special detail for a week. However, they were married the next day, June 7, at the Army base chapel with a couple of his fellow soldiers as witnesses. He presented his bride with a beautiful red corsage, and she wore a sky blue skirt attached to a frilly loose top.

Advertisement

Mary said Kerny had reserved a room at a hotel, got up early the next morning, and went out on his assignment. For several days she sat alone in her room, which had no air conditioning, and was very uncomfortable. “Later, after meeting my husband for lunch, I boarded that bus again for a long trip back to Shreveport — some honeymoon.”

“I’m a product of the University of Arkansas,” she stated, “and at college, we danced all the time — tea dances, dinner dances, fraternity and/or sorority dances and student dances.” She indicated they were well chaperoned. “I’d go anywhere there was a dance floor and a nickelodeon.”

She first met Kerny at a “honky tonk” called the Howdy Club of Arkansas where they danced long hours. Their favorite song was “Josephine.” Mary’s mother, who was a probation officer with the sheriff’s department, told the deputies, “If you go to raid a place, look in the window, and if you see Mary Wood, please get her out before making any arrests.”

When Kerny became a second lieutenant, Mary quit her job and followed him around to several army posts around the nation — she wanted to be with him every minute. After he left San Francisco for 24 months serving in the Pacific Theater, she said he wrote once a day and she wrote twice a day.

After the war, Kerny remained in the Reserves and was discharged as a lieutenant colonel with a credit of 25 years. He expired on June 20, 1995 at the age of 81, and Mary still lives in New Iberia with fond memories of her beloved husband. They were married 53 years and parented five children.

n

I’ve been on planet Earth a mighty long time and I’ve never seen weather conditions as vicious as we’ve experienced in the past three years. South Louisianians living in coastal areas have suffered through four of the worst hurricanes in Louisiana history. There was a time when we welcomed a front during the summer months to cool things off or give moisture to our crops. But nowadays nearly every front carries deadly tornadoes. Our seasons are all screwed up — what’s happened to spring and autumn? Something has gone astray in our atmosphere — maybe it is “earth warming.”

n

Wow! Magna Hungerford has made it into the heralded 100-year age bracket and still looks great, alert and vigorous. Relatives and friends jampacked the lobby of Azalea Estates on Sept. 21, where a gala reception was held in her honor. Jo Ann Dahse was kept really busy as she lined up visitors to greet her centenarian mother while cameras flashed all over the place.

Magna’s late husband, Joe, was one of my best friends. Our friendship goes back almost seven decades when we worked for the U.S. Corps of Engineers in the Atchafalaya Basin and the Mississippi River. Joe had a knack for carving puzzles out of old cypress with which he entertained young and old at flea markets. Magna is also talented in that she painted beaucoup bayou country scenes on canvas, and is a fine seamstress as well. We congratulate her and wish her the best for many years to come.

n

In spite of my ailments, my wife and I made sure to attend King Sucrose LXVII’s reception on Sept. 25. King Wilson LeBlanc and his lovely Queen Bee, Betty, who are our good friends, glistened with majestic fervor. We were first greeted by Festival Volunteer of the Year Stuart Smith, and I immediately grabbed two chairs for Helen and me. My legs were sore from a long walk. The King’s son Wilson Jr., a fine young man, came by for a visit.

Across the table from us were three young ladies we didn’t know, and there were purses in front of several chairs indicating they were reserved. John Betar, bless him, came all the way from across the room to greet us, and then Will and Gladys Chapman stopped by for a pleasant chat — they looked great. A fine band played my kind of music but it was too loud. I wondered what happened to soft music.

The place seemed to light up when honorees Jerry and Harriet Shea entered the room — they’re a handsome couple. I got a kiss and a hug from the pretty Minvielle sisters Marguerite Hitter and Harriet LaSalle. Lovely Betty Voorhies also greeted us — that lady is sweeter than sugar cane. I got a pat on the shoulder and when I looked back I discovered it was my good friend Bobby Judice and his wife, Carolyn. Bobby is a former King Sucrose. The festival’s Ya Ya Queen, Dalel Ackal, who is a fine community spirited lady, honored us with a visit. And there were many more fine friends we had the pleasure of meeting.

As the evening wore on there was a constant surge of humanity. The people were packed like sardines — but they appeared to enjoy it all. Much to our delight, the empty seats at our table were reserved and filled by festival royalty. They were Louisiana Queen Sugar LXVI Paige Braud of St. John Parish, Her “Sugar Momma” Patricia Braud, 2007 King Alton Landry and his Queen Sandra, and two festival judges Mary Beth Payne and Chris Schwilling of Houston. I asked Queen Braud how she felt. Her answer was, “I feel Royal.” She had a beautiful smile.

As I grew tired, I grabbed my Queen and we ambled to our faraway car which was parked on St. Peter’s Street, drove to our sugarhouse, and retired with sweet dreams of an evening well spent with friends.

MORRIS RAPHAEL is a local author and a retired engineer.