Bonnie and Clyde Trade Days

Bonnie & Clyde Trade Days; Arcadia, Louisiana

I grew up in Northern California.  My wife grew up in Northern Louisiana, and didn’t set foot in California until after she graduated from college.  The two places could not possibly be more different.  We make it work.

Occasionally, my wife will meet someone new; they’ll notice her Southern accent and ask, “Where did you live before the Bay Area?” To which my wife will truthfully reply, “Southern California!”

I have been down to the Bayou State numerous times in the twenty years we’ve been married, of course, and I don’t mind visiting, as long as it isn’t during the summer. 

Her family couldn’t be friendlier or more accommodating, you can buy a nice home on a big plot of land for what would be gas money back here in California, and the food is quite tasty.  I just loves me some hush puppies!

Every once in a while during my visits below the Mason – Dixon line, I’ll have a little Yankee/Southerner encounter that illustrates the huge divide between parts of our country that I find quite fascinating (it boggles my mind that a person could run for President in the South and then come out West and campaign in California), but which usually produces cringes of embarrassment for my wife and her sisters.

The strangest of these was about 20 years ago, when the political situation in South Africa was still fresh in everyone’s minds, as we drove out to Arcadia, Louisiana to visit “Bonnie and Clyde” Trade Days. 

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow met their untimely demise in a hail of bullets in Arcadia.  In commemoration of this landmark event in local law enforcement, a huge flea market has come to life in the area. 

Dozens of local vendors at the Bonnie and Clyde Trade Days are happy to sell you a bullet pulled from Bonnie and Clyde’s car on that fateful day, beautifully mounted in a wooden cabinet.  How they are able to continue to sell hundreds of “authentic” bullet fragments a day, from an event that occurred over 75 years ago, is beyond me.

But that wasn’t the oddest part of the day. 

I strolled over to a vendor who was selling toy wooden cars that had a metal shaft that came up about three feet from the front axle, and had a steer wheeling at the end.  A child, presumably, could hold the metal steering wheel and push and steer the toy car around on the ground.  I hadn’t seen anything quite like it before.

Killing time, I asked the local gentlemen who was selling these toy cars if he made them himself. 

“Oh, no,” he cheerfully replied, “they’re made in South Africa.” 

“Hmmmm,” I thought.  

Sure enough, as soon as he said that, I noticed the words "Made in South Africa" printed in black letters on each box containing the cars.

“South Africa?  Don’t we have an embargo on goods from South Africa?”

“Don’t know nothing about no embargo,” the man replied, “but you can buy one of these cars and support apartheid!” 

“I’m sorry?,” I reflexively blurted, thinking I had misunderstood his accent. 

“Sure, buy one of these toys and you’re supporting apartheid!” he pleasantly offered.

“Oh…” I uttered, as I slowly backed away from his stall.  How charming.

I walked back to my wife and pointed out the toys and informed her we could buy one and “support apartheid” in South Africa, a retail selling point that I seldom heard back home in California.  She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

I often wonder when I’m down there if anyone can hear my accent and determine where I’m from.  My wife and her family tell me locals can only tell I’m not from the South, but wouldn’t be able to place my accent.

On the car ride home, I was reflecting on the day's adventure when I realized I had been wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap on my head the entire day.  The distinctive  “SF” logo emblazoned right on top of my head.

Logo of the San Francisco Giants

The Giants star player at the time, Will “the Thrill” Clark, was actually from New Orleans, so even a casual sports fan from Louisiana should have been able to discern that a Yankee wearing a San Francisco Giants cap, indicating I was likely from California, would hardly be a prime candidate to work the “apartheid” angle to close the sale.  It was just plain weird.

Now if you’re reading this story while sitting in California, or you’re a Yankee somewhere else, I wouldn’t get too smug and label this an "only in the South" tale, if I were you.  Arcadia, Bienville Parish, Louisiana may or may not have been the home of some ardent supporters of apartheid, but ignorance and racism will always be the most inclusive of national pastimes across America.

Now who wants pie?