Hester Ladner

Newspaper clipping describing Hester Ladner as a military policeman.

Hester Ladner was born on March 29, 1920, in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi to Sylvan (Jack) Ladner and Ellen Elizabeth Wainwright. He married Josephine Geis on January 24, 1942. By the end of that year their first son, Hester Kenneth, was born. They went on to have ten other children Carol Diane, Gerald Henry, Karen Ann, Wayne Robert, JoEllen Dale, Roy Brent, Barbara Sue, Barry Louis, Bryan Keith, and Terrell Edward.

Hester was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints at the age of eight on April 8, 1928.

Hester died August 17, 1981, and was buried in the Bayou LaCroix Cemetery.

Hester Ladner as a teenager.

Hester Ladner in 1972 in front of the house in Lakeshore, MS, that his sons built.

Hester Ladner in Lakeshore, MS, 1972.

Bryan Ladner sitting next to his grandfather Hester Ladner's headstone in the Bayou LaCroix cemetery, October 2005. Bryan was born the same day Hester died, August 17, 1981.

Wage leger for Hester Ladner.

Death certificate for Hester Ladner.

Obituary for Hester Ladner published in The Daily Herald, Biloxi-Gulfport, Miss., Thursday August 20, 1981.

Memories

Gerry Ladner

Hester's son, Gerry, shared the following memory:

Back when we were all young my dad would take us hunting and fishing. I can remember the time we were hog hunting with his dog Sarge. We were in Bayou LaCroix on Mr. Crump’s land and we came upon a big hog that nobody had been able to catch. We were out in the marsh when here comes Sarge with the hog hanging onto him. There were no trees to climb so I had to dive into the bayou. The temperature was about 18 degrees. Sarge finally did get the hog that we took to Pappy’s house. He built a fire in the wood stove to help thaw me out.

Sarge also played another role. Daddy chained Sarge on the front porch with a length of chain just long enough so that someone visiting could make it to the front door and be just slightly out of reach of the attacking Sarge. I remember when my sister Diane was dating Jordan Bradford. Every time Jordan came to the house, Sarge would try to get him.

Ken Ladner

Hester's son Ken Ladner shared the following memory, Rabbit Hunting, in November 2000

Rabbit hunting with his dogs on Saturday mornings during the winter was one of my dad’s favorite past times. His dogs were known throughout the region as the best rabbit dogs that could be had. I often got to go along, though many times reluctantly. The hunting day usually started around 3AM but waking up at that time in the morning was almost impossible for a young boy like me who stayed up very late on Friday nights. However, “Daddy” was my snooze alarm on those mornings and it would only take him three or four pulls on my big toe before I could finally, but not without much murmuring, drag myself out of bed. The drive from Bay St Louis, where we lived, to my grandparents, Ellen “Mammy” and Sylvan “Pappy” Ladner who lived in the little community of Bayou La Croix and where my dad kept his dogs, took about a half hour. I usually slept most of the way there.

Once we arrived at their home, my day would begin to brighten considerable because Mammy always had a great breakfast prepared for us. I’m not sure how she even knew that we would be coming since neither she nor we had a telephone, but somehow she knew. I can still vividly recall being greeted by the aroma of frying bacon emanating from the kitchen as soon as I got out of the car. Awaiting us inside, neatly laid out on a table covered with a clean white table cloth, would be a pot of hot grits, and a plate stacked high with bacon or sausage. In my mind’s eye I can also see a plate of fried eggs, a basket of hot biscuits, a dish of butter and several jars of various jams and jellies, as well as a pitcher of fresh milk. It was indeed a breakfast fit for royal rabbit hunters.

After breakfast it was time to fetch the dogs from their pens and head for the hunting area. It would still be dark as we walked through the woods, my dad in the lead showing the way with his headlight, followed by me being pulled along by the dogs who were much more excited than I, by the anticipation of the hunt. It would be around daylight when we arrived at the hunting spot; a strip of marshy area bounded on one side by tall pine trees and brush and on the other side by the Bayou La Croix River. I would un-lease the dogs and off into the marsh, with noses close to the ground, they would run. Usually within a few minutes the sound of their yelping would signal the detection of the scent of a rabbit trail.

Hunting rabbits with dogs is a unique experience. After the dogs are let loose and pick up the scent of a rabbit, the hunt begins in earnest. As the dogs gain on the rabbit the scent becomes stronger and they begin to bark louder and more often. High pitch yelps soon gives way to deep throated barking and the morning becomes alive with the symphonic sounds of hunting dogs. Since the rabbit tends to run in large circles sooner or later it exits the marsh and presents the hunter with a shot.

One particular morning stands out especially clear in my memory. My dad had stationed me at a spot by the marsh about fifty yards from where he positioned himself. As I stood there looking at the sun rising over the Bayou La Croix River my teenage mind began to wander and soon I was a world away and oblivious to the sounds of the approaching dogs. It was a little movement that I caught out of the corner of my eye that snapped me out of the daydream; a cottontail rabbit. It hopped out of the cover of the marsh into an opening just to my right and about twenty feet away. He and I looked at each other for several seconds then it turned and ran back into the marsh. A short while later the dogs rushed out of the marsh into the clearing where the rabbit had been, then turned and followed the strong scent on a route that took them back toward the way they had come. The rabbit had circled back on them.

Later I told my dad that everything had happened so quickly I didn’t have time to get off a shot at the rabbit. I didn’t bother to confess that I hadn’t been paying attention to the task at hand, but I suspected that he must have known. He was upset, not only because the rabbit had gotten away, but also because the dogs had lost the trail of the rabbit and picked up the trail of what was probably a fox and were now being led farther and farther away. My heart sank as the sounds of their barking became fainter and fainter. It would be late in the afternoon before we would finally retrieve the dogs.

That evening as we drove home, I expected Daddy to fuss at me for not shooting the rabbit. But after ten or fifteen minutes of awkward silence he asked, “Did you notice the sunrise this morning?” I wasn’t sure if he was really asking me if I had noticed the sunrise or if he was getting ready to reprimand me for daydreaming and not paying attention to the hunt, so I mumbled something like “yeah, I think I sorta saw it, maybe.” “Well,” he said, his voice initially loud then trailing off almost as if he was thinking out aloud rather than talking to me, “I don’t think there is anything more beautiful in this world than the sun rising over the Bayou La Croix.” A minute or two passed before he continued, “You know, its one of the main reasons I like to hunt there. Sometimes I get so caught up in the way the sun reflects off the water I don’t even hear the dogs barking.” His knowing smile told me that he understood what had really happened. Neither one of us spoke another word during the rest of the drive home. I don’t know what Daddy was thinking but my mind took me back to Mammy’s breakfast, the deep throated symphony of the dogs barking in the marsh, the little brown cottontail rabbit that hopped into the clearing so close to me, and the glorious vision of the fire-red sun rising over the Bayou La Croix.