Boudreaux’s grandfather, Papa TeeBo Boudreaux, was a bagpipes player. He often played the bagpipes annually while marching in the Beaux Bridge Crawfish Festival Parade. When Boudreaux was just a little boy, Papa TeeBo would play the bagpipes for his grandson and teach him lessons on how to play them several times a month. Over the years Boudreaux became a darn good bagpipes player. When Papa Teebo died he left his bagpipes to his grandson Boudreaux in his will.
For many years the bagpipes set in Boudreaux’s hall closet, collecting dust. Boudreaux was simply too busy working in the shrimping industry to have any time for playing the bagpipes.
Eventually, Boudreaux found himself 45 years old, still married to Clotile, but strapped down by the financial burden of trying to raise and foot the education costs of their five children. When going over the family budget one night and seeing what a financial bind they were in, Clotile suggested to Boudreaux that he might could make a little money on the side by playing his bagpipes.
Boudreaux thought that was a good idea. While out shrimping the next day, Boudreaux asked Thibodeau if he knew anyone that might want to hire a bagpipes player. Thibodeau suggested that Boudreaux contact the funeral homes in the area and offer his services for a fee. That sounded like a good idea to Boudreaux so he started visiting all the funeral homes in a 50-mile radius of Breaux Bridge.
Boudreaux spent every weekend for six weeks trying to land a gig with a funeral home. He finally struck pay dirt with the owner of Oustalet’s Funeral Home in Jeanerette, Louisiana, Gaston Oustalet. Gaston told Boudreaux he might have a gig for him, but it would only pay $25 because the deceased was a homeless man with no family or friends. It would be a bare bones pauper’s funeral with the state of Louisiana covering the funeral expense, so the budget was small.
Gaston told Boudreux that the only cemetery he could find that would meet the state’s budget was a remote cemetery on the outskirts of Mamou, Louisiana — located 85 miles from Jeanerette. He warned Boudreux that the $25 was an all-in price, that he would have to pay his own gasoline and travel expenses. Nonetheless, Boudreaux accepted the gig, hoping this would lead to more business.
Gaston wrote down the name and address of the Mamou area cemetery on a piece of white paper and told Boudreaux the graveside service would be at 10 am sharp the next morning. He asked Boudreaux to make sure he got there about 10 minutes early so they could start the service on time.
Boudreaux decided he would leave home at 8:30 am the next morning, as Mamou was 57 miles away, closer to his home in Beaux Bridge than it was from Jeanerette. He figured that he would arrive around 9:30 am, giving him plenty of time to prepare and look sharp before the funeral home director and the pastor arrived. Boudreaux wanted to make a good showing. After eating dinner, Boudreaux walked out to his truck that night and put the note with the name and address of the cemetery on his dashboard so he wouldn’t forget it the next morning.
Boudreaux got up early the following morning, ate breakfast and was on his way by 8:30 am, just as he had planned. But it was a hot and humid summer day. The air conditioner in his 1974 Ford pickemup truck hadn’t worked for 8 years. Boudreaux cranked the windows down to help cool him off and keep him dry during the drive.
Once he got out of Beaux Bridge and got his speed up to 60 mph, the rushing wind through his open windows blew the note off the dashboard and out of the truck, leaving him without the name of the cemetery and driving directions. Not having a cell phone to call Gaston for directions, he figured Mamou couldn’t be too large, that he would have plenty of time to drive around until he found the cemetery.
As Boudreaux approached Mamou he opted not to stop and ask for directions (just like a man). Instead, he drove aimlessly around, looking for any sign of the cemetery and the graveside service. He searched and searched without any luck. The next thing he knew it was almost 11 am, close to an hour late. He was about to give up, but came around a curve, looked up at the top of a hill,and saw a big mound of red clay dirt and thought, “This has got to be the place.”
As Boudreaux drove up the hill he saw the funeral director and pastor had evidently completed their tasks and were already gone, likely in route back to Jeanerette. The hearse was nowhere in sight. There was only a manual labor crew left, their shovels leaning against several trees as they sat on the ground eating an early lunch.
Boudreaux felt very badly about arriving so late. He was disheartened and fearful he might not get hired by Gaston again. As he climbed out of his old pickemup truck, he looked towards the crew and apologized to the men for being late. They nodded their heads affirmatively but said nothing.
Boudreaux reached in the bed of the truck, took out his bagpipes and walked over to the large pile of dirt and to one side of the freshly dug hole. He looked down and saw the vault lid was already in place, shaking his head sadly. Not knowing what else to do and hoping that if he played his bagpipes he might still get paid, he started to play his first hymn, “Peace in the Valley.”
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. Boudreaux played out his heart and soul for this homeless man with no family and friends. He played the bagpipes like he’d never played them before. Visions of his grandfather, Papa Teebo, came rushing to his mind and he began to weep, feeling the spirit of Papa Teebo looking proudly down on his grandson for doing such a fine and beautiful tribute to this homeless man with no friends or family.
After playing four hymns Boudreaux decided to wrap the gig up with a beautiful rendition of “Amazing Grace.” The workers,who had been holding hands the whole time, began to kneel on their knees, all the while crying and weeping like they had lost their next of kin. They wept, Boudreaux wept, they all wept together — while played with all his heart and soul.
When Boudreaux finished playing, he shook every man’s hand in silence, walked quietly back to his old Ford pickemup truck, packed his bagpipes in the bed of the truck, slipped into his seat and closed the door. Though his head hung low, his heart was full.
His windows were still down from the ride to Mamou. He started the truck and began to slowly turn around to exit the cemetery. But the workers were walking back towards him to retrieve their shovels. He stopped to let them walk by as they headed towards the patch of trees and their shovels. As they walked in front of his truck, he overheard one of the workers say, “That was so beautiful! My goodness, woo-eee, that Cajun boy plays some mean bagpipes. I’ve never seen or heard nothin’ like this before, and I’ve been installing septic tanks for twenty-five years!”