rowing up in a housing
project was fun, you al-
ways had someone to
play with, fight with or
just pal around with.
Each day we would get up eat breakfast
(if there were anything to eat), and go
outdoors to play. Depending on the
season we would play baseball or foot-
ball. In the summer a sock stuffed with
rags and covered with tape was a base-
ball. In the fall, presto a football. We
played till dark and the process was
repeated day after day.
At least once a week something
would occur that would stop our play.
An odd couple would pass by going to
the B & C Supermarket. A mother and
son holding hands, the mother walking
briskly, with the son lumbering along in
sort of hopping fashion. This would
start a chant of "Hippity-hop, Hippity-
Hop, Hippity-Hop, Hippity-Hop" till
they were out of sight. This was the only
time we
By Ernest J. Theriot
G
would
see
either
of
them. We
didn't know
where they
lived or their
names. It was
played over and
over, we never tired of
Hippity-hopping. Neither
one ever looked our way, but you
could see the mother mumbling something to her son. probably
saying " that is why l won't let you play with them. Nothing but hoodlums.”
Fast forward ten years, I am getting on the St. Claude bus on Canal street and
I see a very familiar face. He was sitting right behind the driver. I thought "I'll bet
his mother told him to always sit by the driver." I sat right across from him. "Don't
I know you from the projects?" I asked. A big smile came over his face and he said
"yes, I am Hippity-hop." I sat there stunned, over and over in my mind “I am
Hippity-Hop.” At least fifteen minutes passed. The bus stopped. It must have
made three or four stops before this without my realizing it. He got up, walked to
the door, stepped off the bus and Hippity-Hopped down the sidewalk.
This thought came to me. What we did as children was cruel, but for some
reason it turned out not-so-bad. As the bus passed him, I imagined we all were
together again. Junior, Angie, Anna, Albert, Black Charlie, Dickie, Charlie, Alex,
Larry, Tommy and me. It all came back, sight and sound, “Hippity-Hop, Hippity-
Hop, Hippity-Hop, Hippity-Hop. Had his mother allowed him to play with us, we
would have known his name. Wait a minute … we did know his name, it's "
Hippity-Hop!" He didn't live his life in anonymity, everyone knew him. He is
Hippity-Hop. No one remembers my name.
Epilogue:
•
Junior was the toughest kid I ever met. The first day I met him he proved it to
me, enough said. At 60 years old he was still punching people out. The Times Picayune
will attest to that.
• Angie was always smiling. His claim to fame was being the boy who discovered the
body floating in the river in the movie “Panic in the Streets.”
Hippity-Hop
34
SOUTHERN SENIOR MAGAZINE
| Winter 2016
