Louis, my friend.

Murphy's Island is located in the Santee River Delta. At one time before the inland waterway was cut the Island was bordered on two sides by Alligator Creek. In slavery days it was a huge Rice Plantion. The delta was home to many slave shacks. I recall in the fifties seeing dozens of brick chimneys rising out of the marsh grass, the only remains of the shacks. In the seventies I watched the last of the chimneys being taken away by antique brick hunters.

We visited the island a few times, explored some of the ruins. Right on the shore of the South Santee is the brick foundation of the "Gambling Casino" as it was called. A scary place the island is. One can almost hear the cries of the slaves.

I wrote a poem about Murphy's Island a long time ago. I read it to my friend Louis one day in our home back there on Randall road. I had run into Louis down at Nate's country store and dance hall and invited him over for a beer. Louis liked my Millers beer. Down at the dock when I had a few beers on the boat Louis would say "Man, you gots sum good stuff der" I wold give Louis a cold bottle. Louis was afraid of white people. He was very much in a hurry to leave our house. I could see the relief in his eyes as he rose up to go. I figured my poem was driving him away.

One Saturday morning a few weeks later I stop down at Nate's place, buy a beer, shoot the breeze with Nate. He says "Louis no more be cooking crabs down at the dock" "Why, did he quit?" I ask. Nate says "No, Louis be dead." That is how I learned of my friend Louis dying from a gunshot wound.

Next..I go to the funeral.

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It's kind of hard to tell. It reads like a story, but I got to thinking it might be real.

*sniff*

All of my stories are real, believe me, they are real.

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Well sorry about Louis.

are true