Ragin' Cajun and Flaming Britches

Old friends Ray and Kathy dropped by my office today and took me to lunch. They live on a scenic old farm just outside the Edmond city limits. It was the first time I’d seen them since the book signing for my murder mystery Big Easy and their visit brought back many memories.

When Anne was alive, Kathy was one of her best friends. The four of us went out at least once a week. Ray, an accountant, was in the oil business before he got better sense and we did lots of deals together through the years. We also took many trips together, perhaps the most memorable a weekend in Dallas.

After work one Friday, we took Southwest Airlines into Love Field, rented a car and drove to Fort Worth where we met Mike and Sara, friends of Ray and Kathy’s. They took us to dinner at a Mexican restaurant that occupied an old house in a former housing development that had gone commercial. I can’t remember the name of the place but the food was good.

The Ragin Cajun Doug Kershaw was giving a concert at the Fairmont Hotel and the six of us left Fort Worth and returned to Dallas. Those of you unfamiliar with Kershaw’s musical performances are missing out on a national treasure. He has a limited touring schedule these days but if he appears anywhere near you, I urge you to get a ticket. You won’t be disappointed.

The Fairmont venue was small (probably less than two hundred fans) and intimate. Anne and Kathy winked and flirted with Kershaw though the first performance that lasted about an hour and a half. After the show, we introduced ourselves and got some autographs, and some hugs. It wasn’t unusual that I was also from Louisiana since after all we were in an adjacent state

“Stay through the second show. I never have anyone to drink with after a performance.” he invited.

It didn’t take much to convince us to stay, although Mike and Sara had a babysitter and had to get home. The four of us stayed, drinking in the bar between shows and continuing to drink during the performance and intermission. We waited in the hotel bar for an hour, drinking and beginning to think Kershaw had stood us up. He didn’t.

Doug Kershaw is as friendly as he is talented. We had talked for an hour or so when he invited us up to his room to hear “Some raw tapes.”

Kershaw’s tapes were for his next album. The main song was titled It’s All Your Fault – and the song rocked, not just because we were all half-looped. We had him replay it at least half a dozen times. Kathy and Anne were exhausted and rested on Kershaw’s bed, listening as he made a phone call to his friend Glen Campbell.

Finally, we departed to let him get a little rest. We meant to stay at the Fairmont but soon learned there were no rooms available. At about three in the morning, we coasted into the Anatole Hotel where we thankfully found two available rooms.

I felt like hell the next morning, my stomach churning, head banging, ears ringing and the inside of my mouth feeling as if it had endured an acid wash. Ray and Kathy had just knocked on the door and Anne was letting them in when I reached in my pants pocket and got a big surprise.

I had a pack of souvenir matches from the Fairmont, complete with Doug Kershaw’s autograph. I hadn’t bothered closing the flap and all the matches ignited when I put my hand into the pocket.

An entire pack of matches can cause quite a flame. I began yelling, jumping and swatting at my leg, finally coming totally out of the burning britches as Anne, Ray and Kathy watched, aghast. Sulfur smoke filled the room, along with their laughter as I stood in my shorts, trying to massage the pain away from my burned thigh.

Breakfast and the rest of the day were fairly uneventful. After visiting one of Ray’s friends that owned the Texas Schoolbook Depository (no, I didn’t see the actual window from where Oswald shot Kennedy, but we did get a personal tour of other parts of the building), we flew home with no further incidents.

Back home in Oklahoma City, Anne and I were ready to hit the bed for a little well-deserved sleep when we got a call from Ray.

“I have four tickets to the Bahamas and rooms when we get there, all comp, but we have to leave in four hours. Are you game?”

We were, but that’s another story. Actually it’s about five other stories. As Doug Kershaw would say, “Stay tuned.”

Louisiana Mystery Writer