The epiphany from the other side of the tracks

By Peter Finney Jr., Clarion Herald Commentary

When Beth Mouch was growing up in Franklin (near Morgan City) as the only daughter of a surgeon, there weren’t too many things in life she could wish for that she didn’t already have.

There were two sides of the tracks in Franklin, and Beth definitely lived on the correct side.

“I grew up in that era – the poor people lived on one side of the tracks, and most of them were black, and the white people, middle class and up, lived on the other side of the tracks,” she recalled. “We didn’t associate in church. The schools were segregated completely. Both sides were isolated.”

Her father, a captain in the U.S. Army Medical Corps during WWII, employed black people to clean his office, and he hired black maids for his wife and daughter at home.

“They had ‘their’ cup that they drank out of and ‘their’ bathroom that they used,  and I was never allowed to go in their bathroom or drink from their cup,” Beth said. “The bathroom was actually outside. It wasn’t an outhouse, but it was a toilet and a sink that you had to go outside to get to it.”

The unwritten rules were never discussed among the three, but those rules were immutable.

The epiphany for Beth Mouch started with a few random tugs in Catholic elementary schools, where the Marianite sisters taught her boldly between the lines that there was more to life than English and math.

Things like caring about those who didn’t have a surgeon for a father.

“The sisters were just so good – they were really great,” Beth said.

At Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, Beth recalled a conversation she had once with her Hispanic suite mates.

“We were talking about prejudice one day, and I said, ‘I’m not prejudiced,’” Beth recalled. “They said, ‘Just tell us.’ I said, ‘For example, we just celebrated the sesquicentennial of Franklin, and we let the blacks have a booth and march in the parade.’ They told me, ‘Did you hear what you just said? You “let” that happen.’”

  And then Beth took a deep breath.

“Oh, my God, it hit me in the face,” she said.

Beth ultimately entered the Marianites of Holy Cross.

“Entering the Marianites has been my salvation,” Sister Beth says. “They opened my eyes to things I would never have opened my eyes to.”

Since Katrina, Sister Beth has been in charge of the St. Jude Community Center across the street from Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, where she sees everyone most people see through – the homeless and the working poor.

When the College Football Playoff national championship game came to New Orleans last week, the city did its Chamber of Commerce, pre-tourist whitewash of the homeless tent camps beneath the interstate.

The St. Jude Center feeds 200 homeless individuals and the working poor breakfast and lunch, Monday through Friday, and a hot lunch on Saturdays.

Somehow, the food never runs out.

“I think the budget is managed by God,” Sister Beth said.

The center also provides another 300 meals a day (breakfast, lunch and dinner) to the city’s low-barrier shelter that accepts people from the streets for as long as they need to stay. The center also houses out-of-town groups who come here to rebuild New Orleans and provides homeless women and children with shelter.

Sister Beth looks at the tent villages and admits she does not have the answer. She will never forget the man, a hard-working truck driver, who lost his entire family in a car accident and never recovered  from the emotional downward spiral, ending up on her doorsteps.

“He tried going back to work, and he just couldn’t do it,” she said. “I mean, he was just so angry, and he had no community to help him. I think that’s one of the reasons they are under the bridge. They need that support.”

One thing is for sure, she says: The city is crying for more mental health beds. Most of the people living on the streets have drug or mental health issues – or both.

“If I were mayor of the world, I would open up Charity Hospital again as Charity Hospital,” Sister Beth said. “When Charity Hospital closed, it was disaster for New Orleans. You can print this: ‘Sister Beth says Bobby Jindal did us in.’”

She’s read where Charity is slated to make a comeback.

“I heard they’re making condos out of it,” she said. “That’s just what we need – condos.”

Peter Finney Jr. can be reached at pfinney@clarionherald.org.