Researching and writing our first book, We Fought the Road, our most extraordinary experience came late in the game. I hope you all can live with another trip through an increasingly porous “fourth wall” because I can only tell the story from Chris and my perspective.
In late summer, 2016, Leonard Larkins’ son Bert found his dad’s entry on our research website. And he contacted us. Leonard’s Entry
We wanted, of course, to meet Leonard and a couple of weeks later we made our way to New Orleans. Leonard Larkins and the 93rd
The way south took us through the forests and fields of Alabama and the swampland of southern Mississippi—quiet, vaguely impoverished country, hot under the afternoon sun. Towns and places glided by us—Birmingham, Alabama; Lowndes County and Philadelphia, Mississippi… Travelling through the epicenter of the viciously racist convulsion that helped define the 1960’s, raises the hairs on the back of an old man’s neck; invests the innocent terrain with a gothic, evil aura.
Two aging white people, pursuing our obsession with the 93rd Engineers and the Alaska Highway, we found ourselves thinking about race—and the Larkins family; realized our ignorance of their world and their concerns; wondered a bit nervously about how to deal with the “elephant” that would surely be in the room when we met Mr. Larkins.
Arriving in New Orleans, we contacted Leonard’s son, Bert Larkins. And we quickly realized that he, too, was thinking about the “elephant”. On the verge of inviting two white strangers into his father’s life and home, he wondered exactly what we proposed to do there.
We met—just the three of us—for coffee in City Park. And we did the unthinkable… We talked about race, about his color and ours. We talked about our feelings and he talked about his. And we talked about the conversation we were having—how easy it was to have once we got it started. Bert is a charming, intelligent man who loves his father deeply. He’s not obsessed with the dismal history of race relations in the United States, but he’s very aware of it—very aware of the impact it has had on his father, himself, his siblings and his children.
He gave us the benefit of the doubt, forgave our ignorance and our awkwardness. And, to our enormous relief, invited us to spend an evening with his family—and his Dad.
So Saturday evening found us, nervous as a couple of kids on Christmas morning, ringing Errol Larkins’ doorbell. Errol is Bert’s brother, and, of course, Leonard’s son. He welcomed us graciously; introduced himself and his wife. And then he led us to the media room—and to Leonard.
What a shock! Leonard may be 96 years old, but he looks younger than I do! I won’t try to describe him—you have a photo. But the photo can’t show you the youth and vigor of the man. He shook my hand, hugged Chris.
We made small talk as others assembled, greeted us and introduced themselves. Besides Errol and his wife, Bert and two more brothers—Cantrelle and Leonard Jr.—joined us (Bert’s daughter, Olivia, joined us later). We were meeting, they laughingly assured us, only a small subset of the Larkins family.
Strong individuals, Leonard’s kids have pursued a range of careers—all of them successfully. But the individuals of Leonard’s family fit together; form an incredibly close whole that centers on their father. Their love for him and for each other is palpable, fills the room. And they manage almost immediately to embrace two strangers and make them a part of it all.
Chris has assembled from her collection of Alaska Highway photos, a slide show presenting the progress of the 93rd Engineers from Camp Livingston, Louisiana to Skagway, Alaska, Carcross, YT and on into the woods. Errol’s electronic wonderland of a media room features a projection TV that puts an enormous display on a large white wall. He expertly connects Chris’ laptop to the projector. A heavily laden buffet table attracts some customers. Someone hands me a coke. Perfect.
We assemble around a table, Chris at her laptop, the rest of us in position to see the screen and talk to each other. And, at Errol’s request, before Chris starts the slides, we do that—we talk. We introduce ourselves, describe the trajectory of a project that started with Tim’s photos and letters, led us to the highway, to our book and our website.
They, in turn, introduce themselves. Each tells us something of his background and experience.
And then Chris brought up the first slide–the men of the 93rd boarding the Rock Island Railroad at Camp Livingston. And, beside me, Leonard exclaimed, “Is that us?” And we were off.
