John's Birth Day

My brother John Alexander Jensen III, as he said in the previous post, was born in Franklin on June 1 1947, when I was four years old. As with my birth, my mother was staying with her parents again.

I called my grandfather Honey, because that's what my grandmother called him, and I thought that was his name. He was thereafter called Honey by all his grandchildren - and he was a Honey. He was so sweet and kind and calming. However, we called my grandmother "Grandmother", which also seemed appropriate. She was definitely the dominant, authoritarian one.

When John was born, Honey was working at the St Mary's Coop sugar cane factory, halfway between Jeanerette and Franklin, and they were living in Jeanerette. The closest "hospital" was the clinic in Franklin. I'm sure Mother was glad to have a medical facility for her second delivery.

Grandmother went with Mother to the clinic, and Honey was in charge of me. He was driving me and a little boy friend of mine to Franklin to visit Mother. The two of us were in the back seat playing. This was way before child seats or even seat belts. Somehow I hit the door handle and fell out of the car, but Honey didn't notice. For one thing, he always kept his eyes on the road, and I'm sure our rambunctiousness didn't bother him at all. There was, of course, no air conditioning, and all the windows were open, so I guess he didn't know the back door was open. The little boy stuttered, and under the stress he was unable to talk. He just kept making noises, and finally, several miles down the road, Honey looked around. I'm not sure how I got to the clinic, but I think Honey just picked me up and drove me there.

There was only one doctor at the clinic, and he was called away from Mother to take care of me. They didn't tell Mother what had happened because they didn't want to upset her. However, she kept saying she heard her baby crying - the clinic was very small, so she undoubtedly could hear me - but they told her it was another child.

I guess the doctor was worried about me. They thought I might have had a concussion, and I was covered with blood. It turned out that all that was wrong with me was that I was covered with brush burns. However, the doctor never got back to Mother, and she had to deliver another child without a doctor. I guess Grandmother was getting pretty good at assisting with childbirth by then.

John has always said that I stole all the attention away from him on the day he was born - and I never stopped.

Birth at Angola

I was born on February 19 1943 in Angola Louisiana. If you're not from Louisiana, that may seem like no big deal. However, when I tell people from Louisiana where I was born, they always react with some sign of shock. That's because they know that Angola is the notorious state penitentiary - and it's in the middle of nowhere, so there's no town of Angola. If you were born in Angola, you were born in the state pen. Usually, people don't want to embarrass me by asking why, so they just change the subject.

I was born during World War II, and my father (John Alexander Jensen) was overseas defending the country. During this time, my mother (Barbara Eileen Bolin Jensen) went to live with her parents (Dayton Cornelius Bolin and Emma Nettie "Det" Jackson Bolin).

Daddy in uniform

My grandfather was one of the first recipients of a degree in sugar engineering from LSU, which basically taught you to run a sugar cane factory, which converts sugar cane from the field into raw sugar which can be refined there or sent to a refinery. (I checked the LSU website and this degree is still offered, although as a minor under Biological and Agricultural Engineering.) This degree and experience allowed them to live in several tropical paradises, like South America, Cuba, the Virgin Islands, and South Louisiana.

Angola is on 18,000 acres about 60 miles north of Baton Rouge. Because it is surrounded on three sides by the Mississippi River, which would occasionally flood the land, it is some of the finest farming land in the South. In 1943, it was a huge sugar cane plantation. I say plantation because it was run very much like an antebellum plantation, where the prisoners served as the slaves. It was the only state prison in the country that made a profit for the state. Almost everything they needed was produced there, but the sugar cane made the money. My grandfather was in charge of the sugar cane factory there, and he and my grandmother lived on the grounds in a rather fine house, waited on by slaves (prisoners). Other than being isolated, it was a pretty nice life.

I was born in my grandparents' house. There was a doctor in attendance, but he didn't have much experience delivering babies. Needless to say, a baby was a big deal there, and I was lavished with attention by the entire population. I still have a bookcase that was made especially for me by one of the prisoners. I was referred to by all the inmates as "Miss Baby". My grandmother called me "Little Princess", which she did for the rest of her life. I lived in this royal atmosphere for three years. Many people say this early experience explains a lot about my personality!

Aren't I cute?

They say that when my father came back, I refused to let him sleep with my mother. After all, he was a total stranger. Apparently, I was not happy at all when I had to leave Angola. Later, when I became a grandmother, I appreciated how horrible it must have been for my grandparents to have me leave, after living with them for three years.