G A R D E N D I S T R I C T • G O O D W O O D • TA R A • S PA N I S H T O W N • C A P I TA L H E I G H T S • L S U L A K E S • M E L R O S E P L A C E • B E A U R E G A R D T O W N
THE MID CITY
ADVOCATE T H E A D V O C AT E.C O M
Danny Heitman AT RANDOM
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W e d n e s d ay, d e c e m b e r 25, 2024
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AN LSU PROFESSOR’S STUDY OF WATERLOGGED POSTS CAUSES WORLDWIDE STIR IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL CIRCLES
A Christmas tree reminds me that life finds a way
BY ROBIN MILLER Staff writer
LSU archaeology instructor Cher Foster holds pottery shards that were excavated from the Yay Yi Na site in Belize. Foster was part of the LSU team researching and excavating Maya saltworks sites in Belize.
Heather McKillop’s team excavated this late classic Maya wooden canoe paddle at a Belize site called Kaak Naab. The discovery was the first-ever of its kind in the world.
Who would think that a waterlogged piece of rosewood could have enough glitz and glamor for a Hollywood telling of an archaeological adventure? In the summer of 2023, Heather McKillop and her LSU crew were never looking for something flashy while traipsing through the waters of a Belize lagoon. They were seeking out a story. The section of rosewood post stored in the water-filled, plastic container in LSU’s Coastal Archaeology of Latin American Laboratory opened the door to a forgotten story in Maya culture. (For the record, the correct adjective in the case, according to McKillop, is “Maya,” not the oft-used “Mayan.) Pottery shards The word “forgotten” are traced and is also important. The documented after story of Maya salt workexcavation. ers was well-known at the time they were extracting salt from brine during the culture’s classical era between 250 and 900 AD. It just faded with the culture’s collapse over time. But in 2023, the LSU archaeologist and her crew not only resurrected the story of a Maya saltworks site, but what is thought to be the culture’s oldest known saltworks operation. “This post is 1,200 years old,” McKillop said.
The search begins
Maya sharpened the ends of these ancient rosewood posts and pounded them into the ground as support for their saltworks structures.
Water drips from the smooth, rounded rosewood in her hands. If this were Hollywood, the drips of water would segue into a flashback to the beginning of her own story. McKillop is a professor in LSU’s Department of Archaeology & Geoscience. Her work focuses on
ä See DISCOVERY, page 2G
PROVIDED PHOTOS BY HEATHER McKILLOP
A couple of years ago, as the spread of COVID-19 subsided, my co-workers and I planted a memorial tree just outside our workplace. We wanted to remember those we’d lost during the pandemic, and it seemed that the best way to honor their memory was to look toward the future. On a bright March day, we stood in a circle at the edge of our parking lot, sharing a few words before we took shovels in hand and tucked a small pond cypress into the ground. It was bare and spindly, more like a kindling than a proper tree. But pond cypress trees thrive in Louisiana, thanks to their resilience and steady resolve in high wind. Our plucky little tree struck me as just the sort of mascot we needed to answer our grief. Soon, the cypress yielded tiny whispers of green, the color so subtle that it could only be seen up close. My daily inspections of the branches became a small respite before I started each morning’s work shift. The green gradually deepened, becoming more vivid at a casual glance. I stopped fussing over our cypress, and it quietly took up its work of angling toward the sky. Tough seasons of storms and drought brought some close calls. After one long dry spell, I noticed the tree’s brown limbs and figured it was a goner. But the cypress rebounded, announcing its return with velvety green patches. The new growth was so fine that I’d gently run my fingers across the lower branches, reading it like Braille. I couldn’t believe that a thing so ravaged was reclaiming its place in the world. By last December, the cypress had grown strong enough to hold decorations. We looped a few white bulbs around its canopy, then gathered everyone in a circle again to offer season’s greetings and light the tree. The holidays passed, and in the hurry of a new year, we somehow forgot to remove the lights. They were still in place when we opened this year’s holiday season by forming our circle and lighting the tree. Cypress trees can grow quickly, and ours had added a couple of feet this year. Those strands of lights, left for months, offered an outline of the tree as it used to be, now shadowed by the tree it has become. Thanks to that happy accident, my office mates and I got a bright reminder that our
ä See AT RANDOM, page 2G
MO R E THAN A H E ISMAN WINN E R
Billy Cannon memorabilia on display at Capitol Park Museum BY JOY HOLDEN Staff writer
Bunnie Cannon shared a major common interest with her father, Billy — their love for LSU. Although she is the youngest of five kids in the Cannon family, Bunnie Cannon is the only one who has consistently worked at LSU, and she is dedicated to maintaining her father’s legacy at the university, in Baton Rouge
and in Louisiana. She has three goals she wants to achieve to secure Billy Cannon’s legendary status: 1. An exhibition 2. A national award 3. A feature film This month, the first goal is coming to fruition at the Capitol Park Museum as the family’s massive memorabilia collection will be on
ä See CANNON, page 2G
Billy Cannon’s 1959 Heisman Trophy PROVIDED PHOTO
Whose face inspired N.O. ‘Molly Marine’ statue? BY ROBIN MILLER Staff writer
Molly has been standing in her place of honor in New Orleans’ Elks Place since 1943, so it’s probably accurate to say that most passersby are too busy to take notice of her. That’s Molly, as in New Orleans-based artist Enrique Alférez’s sculpture, “Molly Marine,” the first monument to honor women in the military. It’s easy to find in its cater-corner location across Canal Street
from the Saenger Theater. Patrons of the Joy Theatre only need to step across Basin Street to get a full view of the statue. And though most theatergoers are too busy trying to get to their shows to stop and look at Molly, Mark Jeffers did. The Baton Rouge resident’s familiarity with the statue and its story made him stop and take notice before attending a function at the Joy Theatre. A closer look at Molly’s face piqued his curiosity.
ä See CURIOUS, page 2G