They do dangerous work out of love

1st August 2011   ·   1 Comment

By Jerome LeDoux
Contributing Columnist

The first time Mary Agatha “Aggie” LeDoux caught Herman’s eye, she and her sister-in-law Hilda, her brother Nat’s wife, were doing something strange with old flat irons in the front yard of the LeDoux family residence on South Lyons Street.

Mystified, Herman watched for a couple of minutes, then inquired what they were doing as they made quick steps forward holding a flat iron, then purposefully releasing it.

“Oh, we’re bowling!” came the very happy answer as they continued right on.

Questioning the sanity of it all in his mind, Herman dared to hang around long enough to introduce himself as Herman Sonnier, Jr. That was the beginning of a close, intimate friendship that spanned several decades, including 42 years in marriage.

The afternoon of July 12, 1969 seems like yesterday when I positioned a beaming new bride and groom for a photo in the front yard of the Ferdinand’s home where Aggie and Herman would rent for a while. The photo turned out to be one of the classics.

Well established as a worker in the PPG (Pittsburg Paint & Glass) plant on the west side of the lake in Lake Charles, Herman had security and stability in his life. Very soon, he and Aggie received the blessing of being able to purchase a vacant house in a blue-collar area of town where a man had built his own home to house his family.

Not a large house, it was adequate for the Sonniers and, best of all, it was not just a house but a loving home without huge notes to saddle their working days with misery.

Herman and Aggie had walked to the altar somewhat late in life, but not too late to bring forth Yvette on September 27, 1970 and Lynette on October 9, 1973. Together with a half dozen grandchildren, the girls are a joy to their declining years.

Unfortunately, neither Herman nor his employers — nor anyone else in the world for that matter — had the slightest clue many de­cades ago that mercury and asbestos were stone killers, insidious assassins that poisoned the brain and lungs, inviting diseases.

While asbestos was wrapped around steam pipes and sundry appliances to hold their heat at bay, there were other insidious killers in use at that time, such as lead that was found in many paints applied to houses, schools and other buildings.

A frequent TV health awareness ad reminds us that 3,000 people each year are diagnosed with malignant Mesothelioma, a lung lining cancer that is usually caused by exposure to asbestos. Theophile Duplechain, a dear friend who worked at one of the Lake Charles chemical plants for years, is battling mesothelioma in his left lung.

We are all acquainted with stories of the brave men who work in the face of constant danger deep down in mines, not knowing when there may be a wall collapse, a methane explosion or flooding. Also, black lung disease may be awaiting them over time.

Herman fit solidly into the ranks of those who brave the rigors and dangers of work that they may bring resources, food, shelter and security to their families. Whether they bucked asbestos, methane in the mines or mercury, they worked out of love.

Very oddly, Herman’s supervisors at the job advised him and the other workers to drink a lot of beer when they got home. Were they ignorant or deluded into thinking that alcohol would flush out the job’s poisons of ever-present, dreaded mercury and asbestos?

Describing job details, Herman would tell Aggie about having to wear a mask and having to go up a long flight of stairs to “the mercury cell” where they apparently worked with hazardous materials. No special explanations or instructions were given to them. In all, it is a chilling narrative of the health risks to which the PPG workers were exposed.

In Herman’s case, the disabilities came on very gradually as he lost sight in his right eye in his mid-sixties and lost the hearing in his right ear about the same time. His hypertension wreaked havoc as the doctor struggled to keep his pressure near normal.

In May 2004, shortly before the complete loss of sight in his right eye and hearing in his left ear, Herman straggled into the final days of 37 years as a PPG employee. His company gave him a gold watch, but his years of retirement were downhill from there.

With a jubilant crowd of relatives and friends, Aggie and Herman celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary and Aggie’s birthday on July 12, 2009. It was a highlight in their lives, featuring Herman with his sporty fedora and Aggie in festive dress.

Gradual decline gave way to rapid shutdown on May 16, 2011 when creeping senility and loss of orientation moved in alarmingly, leading to hospitalization. His blood pressure that had always been high suddenly became a low blood pressure problem.

I was privileged to visit him in their room in the nursing home where Aggie had gone to be with him. His breathing was labored and he fought to bring up the phlegm that had set in during a recent pulmonary crisis. I gave him a special blessing before leaving for New Orleans to see a friend suffering from late-stage pancreatic cancer.

Lynette called as I was nearing Baton Rouge on my way back, saying that her father had died. In two hours, I was at Aggie’s side, listening to her tell of Herman’s final hours. Working her lips and muscles of her pretty, pained face, she said, “As I massaged his hand, I didn’t even know Herman had left until the nurse searched for vital signs.”

Back in Fort Worth, the 10 a.m. Sunday Mass choir sang thoughtfully, prayerfully,

“Take courage, my soul, and let us journey on, though the night is dark and I’m still far from home; “praise be to God, the morning light appears.

Chorus:
“The storm is passing over,
“The storm is passing over,
“The storm is passing over, hallelujah!”

This article was originally published in the August 1, 2011 print edition of The Louisiana Weekly newspaper