On a Steel Horse: Where It All Began (Part 2)

I grew up in a place where kids still played outside and even more so, knew each other even though a couple of blocks or streets may have separated us. We all had one thing in common too: be home when the streetlights came on! This place of humble beginnings is the subdivision of Greenlawn in the city of Kenner, Louisiana, a suburb of the Big Easy.

Top left: Clinton’s mother, Brenda Kuss. Top right: Clinton on Christmas Day in 1995. Bottom left: Jon Paul’s mother, Aleta Burbank. Bottom right: Jon Paul and Clinton at the Holiday Inn pool in Kenner. Photographs courtesy of the Kuss family.

Jon Paul and I were raised on four wheelers, dirt bikes, mopeds, and go-karts. Well, really anything you could slap a motor on. We have been friends since before we were born. I think it was a long forgotten prophecy of sorts, like the yin-yang. Our mothers, Brenda Kuss and Aleta Burbank, were close friends before we were born so it was only natural for us to form a bond. My mother worked at LSU Health and Sciences Center and at the HIV Outpatient “HOP” Clinic on Tulane Avenue in the central business district of New Orleans. Ms. Aleta was a nurse at East Jefferson General Hospital in Metairie, Louisiana. With our mothers both gone now, we need each other around more than ever, to help balance things out and keep each other on the right course. I think the motorcycles in many ways have brought us closer together and solidified, even more so, our bond.

I was a rambunctious kid, always into something and causing mischief. I was small, had shaved blonde hair, blue eyes, and a multitude of freckles encompassing all regions of my upper body. Though on my shoulders they still remain, sometimes I wonder where the greater multitude made their exodus. The image would not be complete without the buckteeth and those overgrown ears. Though I looked a bit fragile and frail, I was prone to pursuing daring and purely adrenaline-driven activities from jumping sketchy ramps on my pieced together Dyno or jumping trash cans on my skateboard, to jumping off, or to and from, the nearby roofs of houses and sheds. I knew early on that I was going to own and ride my own motorcycle one day. Now the bike is the only form of transportation I have. There is nothing like the freedom of two wheels.

Top left: Jon Paul on his motorcycle. Top right: Jon Paul Mardi Gras day 2017. Bottom left: Jon Paul bandaged up after Mardi Gras accident. Bottom right: Jon Paul doing a wheelie. Photographs by Clinton Kuss.

In Jon Paul’ s case, only one wheel sometimes or no wheels, for that matter, depending on his balance. He actually lives that daring stunt, race, and courageously idiotic lifestyle. The one where he calls me at one in the morning needing a ride because he laid his “baby” down again. “Oh it’s just a little chunk out the knee. Where the wrap at?” Still not as bad as some of the wrecks that came before so I guess it is ok this time? I wish it were always this light-hearted. Although I ride what some people would call crazy sometimes, I do it on my cruiser mostly. I do plan on getting my own Honda CBR one day but as for now, I’ll stick to the comfort of my 48 Harley Sportster. I know that if I was on a rocket of my own, I would be right behind Jon Paul doing a tank stand or handlebar wheelie. There is nothing like the roar of the crowd or the choir of car horns as you barrel down the straightaway showing off your controlled stupidity and unmatched guts.

Part 3: Allmonaster Boulevard

Editor’s Note: This story is one of a series reprinted from the book A Guide to South Louisiana: Stories of Uncommon Culture. Each author was a student in Rachel Breunlin’s “Storytelling and Culture” course for the Department of Anthropology at the University of New Orleans in the Spring of 2017. The Neighborhood Story Project sponsored the project as part of its mission to publish collaborative ethnography in high quality books in which the authors receive royalties for their creative labor.