By Harold Keller / L’Observateur / Febuary 24, 1999

There is an old saying that when adversity comes into our lives, we either become bitter or better from the experience. My personal observation isthat most people become bitter. However, I had the pleasure of meeting ayoung man last Friday night at a basketball game that used a very bad experience to get his attention and made his life better.

As I was watching a biddy basketball game in the Harry Hurst Middle School gym, a young man tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Remember me?” I recognized the face but couldn’t remember the name. “I met you ata drug treatment center,” I answered (hoping I was guessing right). “No,”he said. “In the St. John jail.” The young black man was 44 years of age.”I’ll never forget you coming to the jail,” he said. “It was alwaysrefreshing to hear you speak. You were always positive, with anencouraging word for us.”His name is Larry Jacobs. He is now living in Houma and has been out ofjail for a year, after spending six years incarcerated for a drug violation and forgery.

As we talked, he pointed to a pretty lady who was his wife, Gail, and introduced me to her. We continued to share and, with as much pride asI’ve ever had for any of my children or grandchildren, he said, “That’s my son, No. 15. His name is Joshua.” I also found out that Larry and Gail havetwo other children in college.

Larry said that he had no regrets for getting caught and spending time in jail. He continued, “God’s been good! If I hadn’t been caught, I might bedead. I have a chance now to be a good father and husband.””How’s Sheriff Wayne Jones doing?” he asked. “He’s doing well,” I replied.”When you see him, tell him Larry Jacobs said hello. He’ll remember. I wasthe first person in charge of his original work-release program. Man, wecut some grass and did some work. Best thing that ever happened to me.That program taught me a lot about living. Tell the Sheriff that I want tocome back and talk to the inmates. Maybe you and I, together,” he said. Iagreed that his idea would be neat.

“I’ll never forget Za Maurin and Dane Clement. How are they doing?” heasked. “Great!” I answered. “Those guys were something special to me,” hecontinued. “Tell them I said thanks for everything.”As we parted that night, Larry gave me a hug. I kissed his wife and wishedthem well.

I asked his permission to write this article about our conversation. He hadno problem with that and asked that I send him a copy.

“Don’t forget to tell the sheriff hello, and thanks!” Larry said. “Also tellhim I’m going to drop by to see him one day soon!” What an attitude of gratitude!

Harold Keller is a regular columnist for L’Observateur

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