The Battle of Seville

The Prelude

OK. You can’t make this shit up. If I could, I would be one of the greatest fiction writers of all time. It was a hot August day in 1982. The number one song at the time was “Eye of the Tiger”. That may seem irrelevant, but it may have been a foreshadowing of what was to come. See, that song was from the movie Rocky III which was about preparing for a huge fight. The only twist is that my family made no preparations. None were needed. We were always ready to fight.

A Family Wedding

“People’s personalities get tweaked at weddings.” – Peter Dinklage (Tyrion Lannister)

It began with another routine wedding in my family. Weddings were a frequent occurrence due to the sheer size of my family and a number of accidental pregnancies. Nothing extraordinary occurred at the ceremony. A couple was married, family and friends drank, danced, ate, laughed and celebrated. Everyone enjoyed themselves, no one got in an argument and for the most part everyone kept their clothes on. It was a beautiful, perfect day. Bored yet? Well don’t forget…it was MY family.

Uncle Bill

“Little Jerry…One day you will look in the mirror and say, I want to be just like Uncle Bill” – Uncle Bill at my wedding

For those of you who knew my Uncle Bill, you KNOW I speak the truth. My Uncle Bill was one of the most confident, generous and funny men I’ve ever met in my life. He was extremely entrepreneurial and loved his family more than anything. He was unbelievably confident and in his mind, was correct about everything. He was always willing to remind you how wrong you were. I wouldn’t say he was a vain man, but that would just be me being nice. He was the self-proclaimed Casanova of the family. He never met a mirror he didn’t like and never missed an opportunity to stop at one, pull a comb out of back pocket and slick his hair back and say “Damn Bill! You are one good-looking man!” He always entertained us at get togethers and loved to be outrageous. One day, at a wedding reception at his house, he performed an alcohol-induced striptease for our entire family. He stripped down to his blue Froot-of-the-Looms that revealed two large holes in the rear. Egging him on, we began stuffing money in his underwear as he danced. He claims when he woke up the next morning and went to the bathroom, fifty-eight cents in change fell out of his ass. It was Uncle Bill that was the unintentional catalyst for what was to happen next. In his generosity, he invited family members and friends to a post-reception party at the Seville Lounge in Slidell, LA (which he owned). Drinks were on Uncle Bill!

The Seville Lounge

I have a vision and I know I’m right – Lech Walesa

My Uncle built the Seville Lounge from the ground up. He wanted to bring “class” to Slidell and only HE knew how. His original concept was to build a large, beautiful fountain at the front entrance and name it “BILLY C’S FOUNTAIN LOUNGE”. When he found out the construction costs of the fountain, he quickly scrapped that concept and changed the name to “THE SEVILLE LOUNGE”. He felt that “Seville” would conjure Spanish images of flamenco dancing, bullfighting and beautiful women. He wanted to bring a little bit of “Spain” to Slidell since the only things we had that were Spanish was a La Quinta Hotel, Taco Tico and Old Spanish Trail road. He wanted his club to be the Copacabana of rural Slidell. His original vision never quite came to fruition as when the Seville was completed, it looked like a residential home where someone had stuck a neon beer sign in both windows. Apparently the cost of a paved parking lot was too much as it was also scrapped in favor of gravel. Regardless, it had a bar, pool tables and a dance floor. That was all my family ever needed.

The Intrusion

“Uninvited guests are often most welcome when they leave” – Aesop

The party was in full swing and everyone was having a great time. Given it was regular business hours and the parking lot was full, several patrons were stopping in to have a drink and were turned away due to the “private party.” One of those patrons arrived on his motorcycle along with his “old lady” on the back seat. He was dressed as a typical biker would with the name of his biker club emblazoned on the back of his leather vest. The name of his club was the same name of his rather large extended family from Pearl River, LA. For legal reasons and fear of thirty-eight years later retribution, let’s call them the “Knox Brothers”. My cousin Clay (who was a beast) politely engaged him and informed that we were officially closed. The gentlemen understood and was about to leave. That’s when his “old lady” engaged my cousin Ricky in conversation. What she lacked in beauty and youth, she made up for in missing teeth. She offered to perform an oral act on my cousin and he started laughing. When Mr. Knox heard what was going on, a scuffle ensued. Shoves were traded, threats were exchanged and then they left. While it was a brief, unfortunate occurrence, it was time to get back to the party.

The Invasion

“The excessive increase of anything causes a reaction in the opposite direction.” – Plato

The first time I noticed there was a problem is when a biker dude with a long pony tail tapped heavily on the bar room window and told me to come outside while referring to me as an intimate part of the female anatomy. The Knox Brothers had returned in full force to exact revenge for their brother’s exile from the Seville Lounge. At the time I was 18 years old, fit, drunk, loved to fight and just happened to have a pool cue in my hand. Invitation accepted. As I tried to run out the front door, I was met by a line of a dozen or more family members trying to run out the same door. They too had been “invited” and one of the Knox Brothers made the fatal mistake of making an unkind comment to one of my aunts. Unforgivable. They would pay dearly. Fortunately, there was also a back exit with no line. I sprinted out the door, cue in hand and rounded the building ready for battle.

Have you ever kicked an anthill, whacked a hornet’s nest with a stick or opened a bottle of Diet Coke just after you dropped it? That’s what happened at the Seville. As my family tells the story, there must have been 30 motorcycles, several vehicles and 40 Knox Brothers waiting for us. In reality it was about 6-8 bikes, 2 sedans and about 12-14 of the Knox Brothers and their associates. What they didn’t know is they had whacked a hornet’s nest of about 30+ codependent brothers, uncles, cousins and friends who were primed with alcohol and ready-to-go. We poured out of the doors in pairs and the battle began.

The Battlefield

“Battle is an orgy of disorder” – George S. Patton

As the first wave of combatants engaged the enemy, several of us came from around the building to flank their forces and beat the living crap out of them. The collective “Oh Shit” look on the faces of the Knox Brothers was evident, but fight they did. They had mistakenly opened Pandora’s Box, and Pandora was PMS-ing big time. It was pure mayhem. There were 40+ people in the parking lot wailing on each other. Punches were being thrown and landed at anyone or anything that came near us. At one point, I fell on top of my cousin Mike in a ditch and started punching him! People were running, cursing, tackling each other and getting knocked out. It was like a scene from Braveheart but instead of oppressed Scotsmen fighting the British it was a bunch of drunken Irishmen fighting the Rednecks. Throughout the pandemonium, my 80+ year old Great Aunt Claire was standing in the middle of the fighting throwing holy water on everyone while shouting “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”. She strategically kept a large bottle of it in her purse for just such occasions. It wasn’t her first rodeo showering my family with holy water and she was remarkably accurate. I swear this went on for what seemed like 10 minutes, and then it got better.

Here Comes The Fuzz!

“I wasn’t planning on going for a run today, but those cops came out of nowhere!” – Unknown

Someone called the police. I know it wasn’t any of us that were fighting and I know it wasn’t any of the Knox Brothers. Hell, we didn’t even have cell phones back then! Two St. Tammany Parish Sheriffs arrived and jump out of their units. They start shouting commands and orders to everyone and were completely ignored. They were totally outnumbered and overwhelmed. Everyone just continued fighting. Being the smart-ass that I was, I believe I may have said something unpleasant to one of the officers that pissed him off. He starting chasing me, playing a running game of catch-me-if-you-can around his police unit. The other officer joined the chase and came from the other direction to trap me. Just as he rounded the front of the unit, my Uncle Richie hit him like a pro linebacker and sent the officer onto the hood of the car. I had escaped. The police, realizing the situation was out of control, called for backup. While waiting for other units to arrive the two officers tried to subdue whomever they could. Sometime during that period my cousin Tommy decided to pull a tactic straight out of the movies. He removed a hand-gun from his vehicle and fired 3 shots into the air to stop the riot. No one reacted and everyone kept fighting…except the two officers. They had Tommy face down in the gravel parking lot, a knee on his back and cuffed in seconds. While he occupied their time, we all continued the brawl. Then we heard the sirens…Lot’s of sirens heading towards us down Highway 190.

Retreat!

“Retreat, hell! We’re not retreating, we’re just advancing in the other direction.” – Oliver P. Smith

Upon hearing police approaching, the Knox Brothers had enough of getting their asses kicked. Those who weren’t unconscious or being pummeled by several of my relatives jumped on their bikes and escaped. Two of them jumped in their white Ford LTD II and began spinning their wheels in the gravel one their way out of the parking lot. While they were attempting to flee to safety, my Uncle Richie was punching the driver in the head through his open window while my Uncle Walter held on to the rear bumper. As he water-skied across the gravel parking lot he continued to scream “They’re getting away!” Everyone ran in different directions. At one point there was a St. Tammany Parish Sheriff chasing one of my cousins on foot down the middle of the highway. To their credit, not a single officer drew his weapon during the conflict. Many of our family members ran back inside the Seville and pretended nothing happened. Some got in their cars and took off. The police were too busy handcuffing people, taking statements and breaking up fights to chase them. Somehow in all the turmoil, I managed to escape.

Rescue Efforts

When it was finally over, several of my cousins went to emergency room to get stitches and be treated for minor cuts and bruises. A couple went to jail. A few went to the hospital then to jail. We all left the Seville and congregated back at my parents’ house to take a head count, see who was missing and wait for phone calls from the emergency room and the police station. Once we accounted for everyone arrested or hospitalized, we realized several of the wedding attendees were still missing. As the military saying goes, “Leave no man behind!” We decided to go back that night to the scene of the crime given the police were gone and the doors to the Seville were closed. When we pulled into the parking lot, it was like a scene from Children of the Corn. To avoid arrest, several friends and cousins had chosen to run into the woods and hide when the police arrived. When they saw us pull up they started emerging from the woods, battered, bruised and bloody like zombies from the Walking Dead. Once the extraction was complete we headed back to have a few more beers and regale about our victorious conquest of the Knox Brothers forces.

The Aftermath

“Life can only be understood backwards: but it must be lived forwards.” – Soren Kierkegaard

We made both of the Slidell local newspapers! We were famous! The headlines read something like “Sheriffs Break-Up Riot at Wedding Reception” and “Nine Arrested As Rival Gangs Clash”. We’d never made the papers for any reason except other arrests, wedding announcements and obituaries. The Seville Lounge stayed open for many, many years with my Aunt Mary at the helm as manager and chief bartender. It hosted many other less dramatic family get togethers over the years and holds tons of great memories. Many of the warriors who fought that day have passed, but the legend of our famous battle lives on. After my Uncle Bill’s passing, the Seville was sold and changed names and ownership several times. It always made me sad that none of the patrons who walked through its doors knew what had happened in that very parking lot so long ago. But there was one very important lesson everyone learned that day. Don’t screw with my family.