A TESTIMONY

By Karl Marx

On August 10th 1936 I was born, at 7:30 pm in Crowley Louisiana. My address was 315 East Oak Street. Born at home was a fine thing for me. You see the I was conceived in was the bed I was born in. That same bed was in my family for many years. In fact I believe all four of my children may have been conceived in that bed. I know for a fact my first born Twain was. Just three months after his mom and I were married He was conceived. But I'm getting ahead of my self.  My life in the early days was proberly normal as Cajun children go. I crawled from the back yard under our house all the way to the front yard and ran away from home, at age three.  I don't really know what significance that was concerning my future, but I seem to have been running away all my life.

When I was five years old my mother's new husband drove all the way from Port Arthur Texas, to get me and bring me to live with them.  Life was not so good during those days. My step dad was in the Merchant Marines as a Navigator I think. Because of this we moved around from Port town to port town. This posed a problem for me in keeping up my education. Changing schools so often really did something to me mentally. I was always the new kid in town. That, as those of you know, who have experienced the emotions in these situations really stinks.
When I was eight years old we were living in Lake Charles Louisiana, I was attending Landry Memorial when my dad was called back to Texas. This was the beginning of a tough row to hoe for me. Realizing that my education was in danger, my parents decided to leave me there in the boarding school. Believe me that didn't do my esteem much good.

I don't know why I felt so deserted and left behind by my parents, they were only doing what they thought best for me. Technically they were correct. However my eight-year-old child's brain didn't see it that way. I was I think kind of a momma's boy. I had lived with my grandmother for a while with no male role model, and then my step dad wasn't around much the first few years. When he took a job, as foreman I think in the Shipyard in Orange Texas is when I felt I really had a dad. He was great; he took hunting and me fishing and was a good dad to me. My Mom didn't agree and after about 7 years she divorced him. That was a crusher to me. Of course that put me back living with my grandma. In all this time I had never really experienced love. My mom was off to nursing school and was taken in my Uncle and Aunt, for a little while.  Then she was expecting her third child and I had to leave.

I was working my way through Catholic School, Shining shoes, making Rosaries, and working as a Soda Jerk and movie concessionest. I even rented a room from a family because no one in my family could take me in. My next home was in Cottonport Louisiana. Don Basco Boy's Home was a kind of last chance, before Reform school. This was a great place. I learned how to keep my area clean, mop, and dust correctly no halfway chores. Everything had to be right. Then as I was able to defeat another kid who was in charge of slopping the hog's, I got his job. Everything was determined by the survival of the fittest at this institution. I learned to care for and how to raise hogs. My big snooter was a Louisiana State Fair Blue Ribbon winner.  I hated this place but at the same time I really felt like I had a family. I learned to take care of Pig's cleaning dirty smelling hog stalls, and the consequence if one of the baby piglets let out a squeal while I was in there. Man even if mommy Pig is a friendly loving friend, she will protect her babies even against the daddy Hog.

I even learned how to milk a cow, as that was my third job. Keeping one's pants clean from cow manure or the liquid expulsions was quite an ordeal. That is if you didn't want to miss the bus to school because you had to change clothes, HA! The three-mile walk wasn't so difficult but being late for school had its consequences.  I even learned how to pick cotton, now that was a thrill. Bleeding hands every evening after work was common, but when I graduated from 8th grade at St Mary' Middle school, I was practically already a man. I learned a lot at that Boys farm. Survival was the top of the list. Living with around 30 boys from 12 years old to 17 was a life experience. I was living the good life. Of course as an eighth grader with the brainpower of a lightning bug what did I know? I actually hated the place at the time. The cat of nine tails that we were spanked with was a farce if I remember correctly. I made it for our director and actually was the first one to have it used on. Talk about irony. I am not sure but I think they used it just in the direction of frighten the rest of the kids. I wasn't mistreated; I only got what I deserved. But I made out like it was the most horrible beating in the World. Just three wracks were enough and it did hurt like all get out. But that was better than 7 real hard swats with a leather belt.

One year with no early release for good behavior didn't give anyone there a lot of encouragement to behave. However we were self governed and held our own court for infractions of the rules. I must say I think we were harder on ourselves than our adult authorities.  I conned my way out of there by convincing the Bishop that I wanted to enter the Seminary and become a priest.  Talk about getting out of the frying pan and into the fire. Man what goes around, comes around is a real truism.

What was a tough to live in situation at the Boy's Home, turned into a super straight and strict life style at the seminary?  I put a harmless little garden snake it this great big fellows classroom desk.

He was really frightened and everyone had a good laugh except the big fellow. I received a lot of demerits for that. There was this one priest who was the director or something way up on the staff. He took a fast disliking to me. He was our Math teacher and one day everyone in class missed our homework problem.  He was really upset with the entire class, and spent another 30 minutes explaining how to find the answer.

I wasn't paying attention to the student who was following the teacher's instruction and working out the math problem.  Father what's his name looked over at me and said something to the effect that " I suppose you mister Marx understand and can work out this problem.

I was caught completely off guard and muttered a stupid "yes sir". Were upon he immediately commanded the other fellow to erase the blackboard and for me to come up and work out the problem. In all the excitement the other student forgot and erased the question along with the work and answer. Our teacher by now was really torn and then something weird happened. I walked up to the black board and out of the blue I had somehow memorized the entire problem, question and answer. Someone said it was a photo static memory flash. Here our professor was all in the mood to embarrass me for making a fool of myself and instead he was the one eating crow. He really hated me after that. To add gas to the fire he grabbed his forehead and complained of having a headache. Unthinking I just happened to have some aspirins in my desk and I offered him one. That really set him off. In return, he flunked me, and I had to repeat the ninth grade. I  found out after repeating my freshman year back in Lake Charles  what he had done but with half a year already past I just went ahead and stayed in the 9th grade.