BRHS Auditorium Recalls Rivalry of Long Ago

In 1963, That Auditorium Filled with 1,200 Bulldogs Was the One Place in the World I Didn’t Want to Be

by Woody Jenkins, Editor

BATON ROUGE — On Monday, Baton Rouge Magnet High School principal Nanette McCann gave me a tour of the newly-renovated and greatly-expanded high school on Government Street.

We were joined by East Baton Rouge Parish School Board president Barbara Freiberg and school board member Connie Bernard.  The school board, architects, and contractor have done a magnificent job on this $58 million project, which will serve Baton Rouge for generations to come.

I was taking photographs for a spread in the first edition of the Capital City News (see pages 1-2, 8-10) and was amazed by the masterful job they have done in creating an advanced 21st century school while retaining the character and majesty of the old Baton Rouge High.

As we walked around the 336,000-square-foot facility, Mrs. McCann, who was recently named National Principal of the Year, kept talking about the school auditorium.  She said she was eager for me to see it.  “Oh, I know that room well!” I said.

As we entered the auditorium, Mrs. McCann kept talking.  I was snapping photos and trying to listen, but my mind was swept back in time — nearly 50 years — to a hot Friday morning in September 1963.

On that morning, I was a junior sitting in my first-hour class at Istrouma High on Winbourne Avenue in North Baton Rouge, thinking about the big game that night.

A runner from the principal’s office rushed into class and said, “Mr. Brown wants to see Woody Jenkins!”  I looked at my teacher and bolted out of my desk to Mr. Brown’s office.

Our principal, Little Fuzzy Brown, was a great man, and so was his twin brother, Big Fuzz, the head football coach.  Together, they had coached Istrouma to nine State Championships in football.  They are legends today, but they were legends even then.

“Yes sir, Mr. Brown!” I said as I stood in front of his desk.

He said, “You’re going to Baton Rouge High.  You have to be there in 20 minutes.  They have an assembly in their auditorium, and you have to publicly apologize to their student body and promise them it will never happen again!”

“But I didn’t do it, sir!”

I knew what he was talking about.  Apparently, some Istrouma students had once again vandalized Baton Rouge High, this time painting a big red “IHS” on the sidewalk in front of the flagpole.

It was just another of the scores of minor pranks that the student bodies of the two schools had been playing on each other for 30 years or more.

“I know you didn’t do it,” he said, “but you’ve just been elected Vice President of the Student Council.  So I’m sending you!”

“Sir, Bobby Dardenne should go.  He’s our president!” I said.

“Too valuable! Can’t risk him!” he laughed.  “No, he’s out sick today.  Besides, let’s see what you’re made of!  You’re representing Istrouma.  Now go make it right!  The principal from Baton Rouge High will call me with a report on you, and it better be good!  Now get over there!’

“Yes sir, I’m going!”

You have to understand that Baton Rouge High and Istrouma had been arch-rivals forever and had, as far as we knew, absolutely nothing in common.

The railroad tracks along Choctaw Road divided us like red-hot steel.  To the south was Baton Rouge High where the sons and daughters of doctors, lawyers, business owners, and plant supervisors went to school.  To the north was Istrouma High, the largest school in the state with 1,800 students (10th-12th grades) and perennial state champions in football.  At Istrouma, the sons and daughters of plant workers, construction workers, policemen, and firemen went to school.  My dad was an operator at Ethyl Corporation.

Today, no one associates Baton Rouge High with football, because it hasn’t fielded a football team since 1976.  But in 1963, there was no bigger rivalry than Istrouma vs. Baton Rouge High, who together would pack 18,000 fans into Memorial Stadium.

I jumped into my 1953 Plymouth, which I had purchased for $175 with my summer earnings.  In just minutes, I pulled up at Baton Rouge High and could hear an angry roar coming from the auditorium.  I thought, “This is the Roman Coliseum, and I am about to be sacrificed to a blood-thirsty mob!”

I walked into the auditorium from stage left and immediately realized they had been waiting for me!  The principal said, “Now here from Istrouma High School is Mr. Woody Jenkins!”

Suddenly, they rose to their feet and began applauding and cheering! They wouldn’t quit.  I was dumbfounded.  The principal handed me the mike, and I was standing alone in the middle of the stage, facing 1,200 Baton Rouge High Bulldogs.  They fell silent, wondering what I would say.

On the front row, I saw some of my best friends from Fairfields Elementary School — Floyd and Loyd Giblin, Bill McCurley, and others — smiling like Cheshire cats and enjoying my predicament.

I was 16 and an Istrouma Indian through and through.  This was definitely not my crowd.  I was thinking about my friends back at Istrouma and what they would want me to say.

Here’s what I said:

“Our principal, Little Fuzzy Brown, called me into his office this morning and told me what happened to your flagpole.  He said I had to come over here and apologize.  I told him I had nothing to do with it, but he said for me to come anyway, express our apologies, and tell you it will never happen again.”  There was a smattering of applause.

Then I put on a big smile and said, “Do you remember all the countless times you painted our school green and gold?”

In unison, the entire auditorium shouted, “Yes we do!”

I said, “Do you remember when we stole your bulldog?”

“Yes we do!” they shouted.  There was lots of laughter.

I said, “And do you remember we released him unharmed after only two weeks?”

“That’s right!” “Yes!” they shouted, and there was wild applause.

I said, “Do you remember when you cut down our totem pole?”

“Yes we do!” they shouted and laughed like crazy men.

“Do you know you didn’t really cut it down, you just knocked it over, and we put it right back up?”  There was applause.

Finally, with a big smile, I shouted, “Well, as far as that flagpole, I just want you to know that we’re sorry, and it will never happen again!”

There was a standing ovation, laughing, stomping of feet, and smiles all around.  Everyone knew that something like that would happen again — either by us or by them — and they couldn’t wait for the next move!

I stood there a moment, bowed to the assembly, and walked right off the stage, out the door, and into my car.

Even in my car, I could hear that they were still laughing and acting up.  Sitting there, I was proud to be an Indian but also impressed by what I had just witnessed in the auditorium of Baton Rouge High.  Maybe this school was a “class act.”

That year, Baton Rouge High stole two of our best coaches, Coon Porta and Leon McGraw, who in 1964 led BRHS to one of their two (yes, only two) State Championships in history.  The previous title was in 1942.

The rivalry between Baton Rouge High and Istrouma was the stuff that legends are made of.  It was one of the things that made Baton Rouge a great community.  It’s funny, I don’t ever remember a fight between the boys from Istrouma and Baton Rouge High.  Maybe we had too much respect for one another for things like that.

Today when Istrouma and Baton Rouge High alums from the 1940’s, 1950’s, or 1960’s run into each other, there is invariably a warm handshake, laughter, and a knowing smile that says it all.

Few words are necessary.  We were there.  We lived it together.  So we are proud to be Bulldogs, proud to be Indians, and proud that between us we had something that helped make Baton Rouge a very special place indeed.