The Factory

As much as I have always loved Point Cadet, the place had a definite, ahem, "aroma" to it, especially during oyster season. My daddy always said a blind man could find his way to Point Cadet as long as he could smell. My uncle, a shrimper, said it smelled like money to him.

And for most of the families on the Point back in the day, that's exactly what it was. Almost everyone's livelihood was somehow tied to the seafood industry, whether they worked on the boats or in the factories.

There was a factory right across the street from my grandparents' house on East Howard Avenue. I remember the ever-present mountains of white oyster shells outside with sea gulls dive-bombing for the meaty remnants. My cousin David climbed one of those oyster piles barefoot one time and had to get 10 stitches in his foot. But then David was always going to the emergency room. He was all boy.

My nona had an even more intimate relationship with the Point's seafood packing plants. Like most Point girls who grew up in the first decades of the 20th century, my nona dropped out of "sister" school after 5th grade so she could go earn money for her family by working in "the factory."

There's a picture I love of Nona and her best friend, Miss Katie, taken when they were about 16. They had saved up their money from the factory, bought themselves some pretty dresses, took the trolley downtown and had a professional studio portrait made of themselves standing side by side in their store bought finery.

For them, this was the equivalent of a senior prom. A rare opportunity to be frivolous, look pretty and have fun before they became weighed down by the responsibilities of marriage, children and trying to make ends meet.

About 10 years ago, my Leadership Gulf Coast Class toured one of the seafood factories on Back Bay. The smell brought back memories. As my class mates and I watched the factory workers, mostly Vietnamese immigrants by then, working swiftly and diligently at the long tables, we murmured among ourselves about how hard these people had to work for the money. And it hit me: This is what my nona had to do most of her life.

I thought about that teenage girl in the sepia photo with her big dark eyes and shy wistful half-smile -- so proud of her lace mitts, rabbit stole and nosegay at her waist because she had bought it all herself. How many hours did she have to stand at the tables with an aching back and sore fingertips just to create that one perfect memory of her teenage years?

And that is something that I will never know because I've never had to work that hard.

And I feel humbled.

CRAB SPREAD

1 lb. fresh crab meat, picked over for cartilage

2 8 oz. packages cream cheese

1/2 stick butter or margarine

4-5 scallions, chopped fine

1/2 T lemon juice

garlic salt to taste

pepper to taste

a dash of Worcestershire sauce.

Saute chopped onion in butter. Lower heat. Blend in cream cheese and other ingredients. Mix until well-blended.

Note: You can add 1-2 T sherry or milk if you like to thin the sauce to a dipping consistency. Serve on toasted baguette slices or with crackers.