If I had not become a historian, I think I would have pursued a career in archaeology. It has always been a favorite subject, and I even chose it as my outside field of study for my doctoral program at Texas A&M University.
I also worked part time conducting historical research for one of the university’s archaeologists, and spent many hours in the laboratory learning how to conserve a variety of artifacts (no mean feat for someone who had never had a chemistry course).
It was during my Aggie days that I had my first archaeological misadventure. One of my course requirements was to stabilize and conserve a nineteenth century Springfield trapdoor rifle that had been discovered encased in concretions on San Padre Island.
After carefully removing the concretions with a pneumatic drill, I had to melt paraffin wax on a huge cast iron stove to cover the rifle in a protective coating. When the wax reached the critical temperature, I gingerly slid the pot away from the heat, but it sloshed onto the hot stove.
WOOSH! The wax ignited in a rather spectacular fashion, and the room began filling with smoke. I ran to get the fire extinguisher, put out the flames, and opened the windows to air out the room.
I then had to explain the incident to Dr. Donnie Hamilton, my professor who happened to have written the textbook we used. Apparently, I was not the first person to set his lab on fire because he took it in stride, and the only repercussion was having to fill out some paperwork to explain why the fire extinguisher had been discharged. Surprisingly, I passed the course.
When I moved back to Louisiana, I continued to pursue my archaeological interests and was fortunate to become friends with Dr. Joe Saunders when I joined the faculty at ULM. Joe was the state archaeologist responsible for northeast Louisiana and was stationed at the university.
Sometimes when I was out and about hunting and fishing, I would discover an archaeological site. Part of Joe’s responsibility was to record such places, so I would take him out to the spot so he could collect some artifacts, take photos, and record the location. Joe appreciated my interest and graciously named a couple of the sites after me.
On one occasion, Joe wanted to examine a small Indian mound located deep in the woods near Catahoula Lake. I happened to know its location and offered to take him there.
We got to the site in my four wheel drive truck but found it had grown up in a huge briar patch since my last visit. The mound was not visible so we split up and began stomping through the briars to find it.
After a fruitless search, I came back out on the road and looked to my right. There, about thirty yards away, was a game warden crouched in a quick draw position with his hand on his pistol.
“Hey!” is all I could think to say, and he tersely asked who I was and what was I doing in the thicket. About that time, Joe walked out and we quickly explained ourselves.
The agent relaxed and said that a marijuana patch was reportedly in the area and that he and his partner were looking for it. When he heard us thrashing about in the thicket, he thought we were the “farmers” checking on the crop. He then radioed his partner that he was coming in and we gave him a ride to his truck.
A more embarrassing moment came when I took Joe on a river excursion to show him some archaeological sites I had discovered. We used my jon boat to motor from site to site to record them.
Whenever I run an outboard motor for any length of time, my left leg inevitably goes to sleep because of the awkward position in which I sit. On this particular day, it was dead as a log when we got back to the landing.
Not wanting to admit what had happened, I took my time getting my gear together, hoping the feeling would return. When I thought I was good to go, I stepped out of the boat, but the moment I put weight on the leg I lost my balance and fell back into the water with a huge splash.
Soaked to the bone, I then had to explain what was going on. Joe found it funny, but I’m sure the bank fishermen nearby thought I was drunk.
Sadly, Joe passed away in 2017. He was a good man, and I miss our time together out in the field.
Dr. Terry L. Jones is professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe who has received numerous awards for his books and outdoor articles.
.jpg)