Gibson: a Louisiana town with tigers on a gold leash

To me, this is Cajun country and pure beauty.

Did you know that Gibson in Terrebonne Parish used to be known as Tigerville because tigers once roamed the woods outside the bayou town?

A religious statue inside the former St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Gibson. The church was open on a recent weekend, allowing me to wallow in childhood memories. 

Actually, it's not at all true that tigers once roamed Gibson, Louisiana. The fact of the matter is that Cajuns can't tell the difference between a tiger and a bobcat. Sorry, but there were no tigers on a gold leash in early 1800s rural Louisiana.

This home had to have been gorgeous once upon a time. Now it's falling apart.

Still, there are two towns in Louisiana that once were named Tigerville: Gibson in Terrebonne Parish and the still-named Tigerville in St. John the Baptist Parish. Silly Cajuns. One Cajun says "Sha, there's a tiger in the woods; then another Cajun says "Sha, there's a tiger in the woods." Then the town is named after the "tiger" in the woods.

Up this 'hill' used to be a house that my mother was convinced was haunted. We were surprised on a recent visit to find the house gone. Where did it go?

The "Tigerville" that I know is the one in Terrebonne Parish, just down the road from Houma. It's been called Gibson for as long as I can remember. I have a fondness for Gibson that probably is a little strange given that I never lived there.

Granny's house in Gibson before the screened in porch was added. Here's Granny with one of her many, many dogs from over the years. Granny's house was bought and moved by another family.

Gibson was where my Granny lived in the bend of Mary Street. She lived in a three bedroom trailer with a screened in porch on the side and a yard big enough for a garden. The refrigerator - for decades, it seemed - was a brown, side-by-side model that always had popsicles in the freezer. The couch had pictures of the grandchildren in graduation gowns lined across the back. There were many, many grandchildren (let's see if I can get this right): Gerlinde, Greg, Helen, Mark, Anthony, Shannon, Mitzi, Rick, Scott, Sheila, Kim, Nick, Michelle, Linda, John and Jesse.

Uncle Albert and my cousin Mark in front of the built in cabinet that was in the corner of Granny's living room.

My mother once told me that Mary Street was never supposed to be Mary Street. It was supposed to be Carroll Street, which intersects with Mary Street. The sign got turned around, and no one thought to turn it back in the current direction. So the street with the church on it became Carroll Street, and the street with the homes on it became Mary Street. Given that the church was called St. Patrick, I'm not sure this story is true. But, trust me, it could absolutely be true.

This used to be the post office. It had an entire wall of postal boxes. No one had a mailbox by their house in Gibson. Later, after a new post office was built across the bridge, this became a beauty shop. Now it's someone's home. 

There isn't much to Gibson these days except for decaying houses and tons of trailers. My Nanny's house is neat and trim, but other houses just are falling down. Carroll Street used to be the main street of the town. It had a post office, grocery store, beauty parlor and church. Now only the church remains, and it's a Hispanic Catholic Church instead of the Catholic Church of yore.

Gibson Elementary School. I've always wondered how old this building is. 

When I say there isn't much to Gibson these days what I mean is there isn't much of the Gibson that I remember from my childhood. Most of the people that my Granny knew are dead. For the most part, their homes are abandoned. Some lovely homes remain. Gibson is a town in which people like to build piers along the bayou. Very often, an alligator will swim up to your pier.

The best house in Gibson! This is my Nanny's house. Nanny, by the way, is Cajun for godmother. Can you spot the dog in the window? My cousin's British twin lived underneath this house. Inside story.

The town itself is pretty country. For the longest time, you only had to dial four numbers to reach anyone else in Gibson. There was no need for the prefix.

The old bridge has been closed for years. It's owned by the parish which put it up for sale. It didn't draw a buyer. Because of its design and engineering, the bridge is considered eligible for the National Register of Historic Places. 

Gibson has a bridge across the bayou that you used to be able to drive across. As a child, that bridge was so cool to me because you could drive or ... (wait for it) ... walk across it. It had a pedestrian walkway right alongside the driving portion. How cool is that? You can still walk across the bridge (did so on a recent Saturday!), but you can't drive across it. The parish closed the bridge years ago and recently put it up for sale. Bye to another piece of Gibson history.

The Walther house. The Walthers came from France and owned a general store in Gibson (not the store on Carroll Street but a different store). Unlike most of the residents of Gibson, the Walthers were Methodist, which made them an exotic species. 

Speaking of the bridge, Gibson is largely an island. It is hemmed in by Bayou Black, Donner Canal and Tiger Bayou (tigers again!). I say "largely" because there are sections of Gibson that aren't on the island, including the cemetery.  Where the church is used to be a small island. Once upon a time, Carroll Street was a channel. The channel was filled in.

Beautiful St. Patrick's Church. I don't know what it's called now, but take a peek inside if you're ever in the area. There's an organ loft and an actual confessional. 

On a recent trip to visit Nanny, I asked my mother to take me around Gibson so I could take pictures and hear the town's history. "OK," she said. "This is going to take about two minutes." And it did.

I lit a candle for my Granny, but I didn't have the 50 cent offering on me so my aunt says it didn't count.

I loved Gibson as a kid because everything was so close. The church, store and post office were just down the street. The school, cemetery and the one really grand house were across the bridge. At some point, a library was built in the parking lot of the school. Granny and Nanny (my beloved aunt who lived across the street from Granny) were ecstatic. They no longer had to wait for the bookmobile to swing through town.

Stained glass windows inside St. Patrick's. 

The church has a long history. It was first built in 1876 only to be knocked down by a hurricane. A second church was built in 1889. It, too, was knocked down by a hurricane. A third church was built in 1892. Guess what happened to it? Yep, it was knocked down by a hurricane.

The organ loft inside St. Patrick's. This church was greatly loved.

A fourth church went up. It was knocked down ... by a fire (surprised you, huh?) in 1940. So the current church dates to 1940, and it's not really St. Patrick. It's actually St. Rita, which once stood in New Orleans only to be taken apart, stained glass, pews and all, and taken to Gibson, where it was rebuilt like a set of Lincoln Logs.

The Walthers' store. It's since been moved and no longer is in Gibson. 

There are other churches in Gibson, but the most distinct one is the Methodist church. This little squat building is on the National Register. I've never stepped foot in it. I always wanted to, but Granny was convinced it was the Walthers' church and that mere Catholics weren't allowed inside. Or so she said.

Gibson's Methodist church. 

The little church has a cemetery with a really odd brick structure. I don't know what that thing is. It could be a tomb, but it has trees growing on the roof.

What the heck is this thing? 

Nowadays, the post office and a much bigger library are across the bridge near the Methodist church. The old post office is someone's house. The store is closed and crumbling - no more grabbing an orange soda and gingerbread planks. Even the house at the top of the hill that my mother and my aunt thought was haunted is gone. The old Melancon house still is there, but it's deserted and surrounded by campers.

The old store sold gingerbread planks with pink icing. It is really deteriorating.

My favorite house in Gibson was always Miss Teen's house. I once had dreams of moving Miss Teen's house, fixing it up and turning it into a writer's cabin. How cool would that be? Now there's a tree growing through Miss Teen's house so it's probably not going to happen! Teen was short for Clementine. She was friends with my Granny. I don't know much about Miss Teen other than that she was a widow who missed her husband very much.

Miss Teen's house has definitely seen better days. 

Miss Teen's husband died in 1966. She died in 1992. She had a long wait to be reunited with him. Her house was a shotgun shack. If you fired a shotgun through the front door, the bullet would go through the house and right out the back door. One room flowed into the next room. There were three main rooms: Living room, bedroom and kitchen with a bathroom tacked on right off the kitchen. What was sweet about Miss Teen's house were the added touches. There was decorative woodwork in the kitchen and a nice little porch swinging out on the side of the house.

Another gorgeous old home in Gibson. 

Gibson was named for Randall Lee Gibson whose family had several sugar plantations in the area. Randall was born in Kentucky but grew up in Louisiana. He studied at Yale and became a U.S. senator. It was Randall who convinced the townspeople to stop calling the place Tigerville. Maybe he knew the "tigers" were actually bobcats.

A beautiful bayou scene in Gibson. 

While visiting Yale's hometown of New Haven, Conn., Randall envisioned great things for Tigerville. "What will be the condition of our government when Tigerville becomes as large as New Haven and its citizens as intelligent?" he wrote.

Another Gibson home. By the way, this house looks exactly like the home Great Aunt Ethel lived in a few miles away. Even the color is the same. This was Mrs. Porche's house. She was a schoolteacher at nearby Gibson Elementary. 

No worries. Tigerville/Gibson hasn't yet become the New Haven of the South.

Another abandoned home: This used to be the Authement house. 

It's just a beautiful bayou town whose history is becoming lost as buildings are allowed to deteriorate.