Biloxi People...

PEENIE

August, 1948

The sun had faded a half hour earlier leaving behind a jagged orange slashed sky where it was last seen hanging out. Within minutes, the sweltering August heat began to break – one degree at a time – transforming the muggy air into one of those blue gray evenings that somehow – almost magically – made you feel cooler in the fading dusk. Overhead, the sky shown velvety black, and hidden within its dark folds errant flocks of twittering sparrows swooped playfully to and fro – trying to stretch the day a little bit longer – before settling in for the night. From out of nowhere lightly salted Gulf breezes stirred and twisted – creating little dust clouds that meandered like drunken sailors along the parched streets. The air was laden with the ripe aroma of freshly opened oyster shells piled mountainously high at the end of the block. This was Biloxi’s Point Cadet – or as the locals called it “The Point”. On the eastern tip of Biloxi, the Point was home to the seafood factories – the sole provider for the underpaid laborers – men, women and children. But these were more than just factories – they were the community life blood that supported the small mom and pop stores, the fishing net makers, boat builders, social clubs and churches that made this part of Biloxi unique. Here was an unlikely mixture of peoples and cultures – Spanish, Croatians, Slavonians, Frenchmen, and Italians – people who worked hard and played even harder – each group melding their customs, languages, and religions into one another – creating a neighborhood unlike anywhere else. The Point was all “new territory” to me. I was barely four years old.

Sunday night was movie night…

Mom, dad and I stood waiting in the ticket line outside the Roxy Theater – across from the Point’s East End Firehouse. The Point had a reputation for being one of the roughest places in Biloxi with the most colorful characters to be found anywhere – hardened women, transient laborers, tough-boy-grade-school dropouts, grungy factory workers, and even more that appeared after dark. Soon I would encounter one of the Point’s most beloved and unique characters – Peenie.

He was standing at the edge of the curb – an elfish-looking man sporting a short “crew” cut and a deep tan so common among the fishermen. He wore a white Tee Shirt and new jeans with the cuffs rolled up at the bottom of his stubby legs. His black and white hightop Keds were smudged and streaked with dust and mud. Without a care in the world, he danced wildly and shouted cheerful obscenities across the street to the firemen sitting in front of the station. One of the older men yelled back to him - half scolding and half taunting, “Peenie, my boy, I told you not to use those words. Your mama’s gonna give you a good swattin’ if she hears about this.” But, Peenie shouted back all the louder, laughing, and carrying on. The fireman shook his head helplessly, while his buddies chuckled and began talking among themselves. People outside the theatre were also beginning to take note of Peenie’s antics and “colorful” language. Yep, it was clear, Peenie knew he had an audience, and he wasn’t about to let them go without a show.

“Mama,” I asked, just a bit freighted of the gnome-like creature with the wild expression and buggy eyes, “what’s wrong with that little man? Why does he talk so funny?”

“Hush,” she answered, “That’s Peenie. I’ll tell you when we get inside. And with that she took me by the hand and pushed me closer to dad, just ahead of us in the ticket line.

I turned around and stared. Peenie began waving wildly and appeared to be in danger of leaping into the traffic that moved along Howard Avenue. At a break in the traffic, one of the firemen trotted across the street to “tend to the matter”. He was a tall blonde young man, wearing a tee-shirt, khaki-colored pants, and – of course - the traditional red suspenders. Approaching Peenie, he leaned over and rested his dark tanned arms across his knees – his face almost touching Peenie’s. He spoke very softly, almost in a whisper. Peenie’s defiant grin melted into a scowling grimace, and he lowered his head – ashamed. The fireman continued talking to him. Then without warning Peenie’s face lit up. He smiled – flashing several missing teeth and began nodding his little graying head up and down vigorously saying, “Yes – Yes!” With their private little talk over, the fireman rose and took Peenie by the hand and led him to the front of the ticket line and into the theatre lobby. A few minutes later the fireman came out alone and crossed back to the firehouse.

“What’s wrong with him, mama – why is he that way?” I asked again.

“Hush, I’ll tell you later –“, she replied.

The line was longer than usual - everyone wanted to see The Al Jolson Story – staring Larry Parks. The long line curled down the sidewalk passing in front of a dimly lit bar-room that reeked of pungent cigarettes and stale beer. Inside a much too loud juke box skipped across a worn record trying to play a Mill’s Brothers tune. The music competed hopelessly with the sounds of billiard balls cracking and the weekend revelers shouting and cursing as they raced to squander the last of their weekly pay. Every now and then there an argument would get out of hand, and the volume pitched. It was pretty clear how Peenie came by his colorful vocabulary!

Soon dad had the tickets, and he held the door open for mom and me. After our usual harangue in front of the concession stand … “I want…”… “No, you don’t… you just had a big supper…” … “But -- “… “No, the show is about to start… Ok, just a small box of popcorn…” – we entered the darkened auditorium, and took our seats. It was crowded down front so we had to settle for a seat in the rear.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could see Peenie about ten rows ahead. He was impossible to miss. He sat up high on the seat – both legs curled beneath him. His head tilted at right angles to his seated body, way over the edge of the seat. He held this position and stared along his nose at the screen just above his lips. I know it makes no sense - but it was just the peculiar way Peenie liked to watch the movies.

“Why is he doing that?” I asked mom.

“Honey, that’s just Peenie. He’s simple-minded.”


After that evening, I began looking for Peenie whenever we were down at the Point. It was like a game “find Peenie”. And sure enough he was usually there … walking along the street or standing in front of a shop – trying to tell a story in his slurred speech to anyone who would listen – always smiling, and enjoying the moment. If you honked your horn and yelled “Hey, Peenie” - you were sure to get one of a torrent of obscene greetings yelled back at you – followed by one of his hearty chuckles. Occasionally, Peenie would wander out of his neighborhood – to downtown Biloxi. But there was always a friendly neighbor or cop car watching out for him – ready to give him a ride and saving him the long walk back to the Point. He was a free spirit – never bothering anyone. Although they could have, his family refused to institutionalize him. He was happy – he was Peenie – with friends everywhere he wandered. Why ruin a good thing?

The years passed, as years are prone to do – and I saw less of Peenie, till one day, he just sort of disappeared altogether from the scene.

I wondered: “What ever happened to Peenie?” My mom told me just last week.

Well, it seems that Peenie’s parents were getting up in age, and they found it harder and harder to care for him. At last the family decided that he would be better off with his older sister – living in California. And so it was, one fine day they packed their bags and boarded the Louisville & Nashville Hummingbird bound for New Orleans – and then onto Los Angeles.

Now Peenie had grown accustomed to having people look out for him – as people were wont to do in small towns like Biloxi – back in the early 50’s. But LA, well there’s quite a different culture – everything and everybody moving at a frantic pace. Peenie had been living there for less than a month when one day, he took off on one of his typical explorations. He was less than a half mile from home when he crossed a street and was fatally struck by a car that he never even saw coming.

Mom said it broke his sister’s heart.

I can still see Peenie’s funny crooked smile and his buggy eyes rolling wildly. I wonder if he would have had a better life if he had just stayed in Biloxi. I guess we’ll never know. Regardless, he enjoyed his time on earth, taught a few young kids on the block how to cuss like a sailor, and left some good memories behind with everyone who was fortunate enough to meet up with him.

You know something? I really believe there was nothing wrong with Peenie. He had it right – in his own way. The problem was with the rest of us and all those times we looked at him – the wrong way…

Update:
January 2, 2012
I recently received an EMAIL with these pictures of Peenie beside his siter,Peenie decked out as Grand Marshall for the Fireman's day parade and his mother in her nurse's uniform.