Legacy

Maryland Batiste clapped his hands and shouted, “Oh, this is my absolute favorite story to tell!”

39-year-old Batiste leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide, and methodically described the confusion and uproar that surrounded his birth. “The doctor asked my mama, ‘What you want to name your baby?’

“‘If it’s a baby girl, Imma name my baby girl Marilyn.’ When my mama had me, the doctor cleaned me off and everything and my mama said, ‘I wanna see my baby! I wanna see my baby!’ And then they brought me out and the doctor said, ‘See Mrs. Batiste, you got a beautiful baby boy.’ And she said, ‘Aww, and I had already picked the name Marilyn! Well, I’m still gonna name him Marilyn. I just spell it different. M-A-R-Y-L-A-N-D.’”

Batiste’s siblings insisted the doctor was wrong about the sex of the new baby. Batiste explained, “[All my brothers and my older sister] kept saying, ‘Mama, that ain’t no boy baby, that’s a girl baby! We know a girl baby from a boy baby!’ When they pulled the blanket off of me they said, ‘Oh that’s a boy baby! Oh my god.’”

And so Maryland Batiste, not Marilyn, precariously came into the world.

If you take your cappuccino at Highland Coffees or enjoy a beer at North Gate Tavern every now and again, chances are you’ve either seen or spoken with Batiste. He’s a rather short, bald black man whose raspy voice can often be heard singing along to either the jukebox or his personal CD player. Friendly and outgoing, he likes to chat it up with countless acquaintances and strangers alike. His loud conversation and spontaneous bursts of song are difficult to ignore.

Music seems to be the easiest way in which Batiste sparks a conversation with people he doesn’t know; within minutes of introducing myself, he asked me who my favorite musical artist was. I told him Simon and Garfunkel. Batiste then nonchalantly placed his headphones over my ears and soon I was happily listening to “I Am a Rock.”

Though he doesn’t live in the North Gate neighborhood, Batiste has certainly earned the title of honorary resident. Originally from Lettsworth, a small town about an hour and half northwest of Baton Rouge, Batiste and his mother relocated here in 1992. He said the only reason for the move was that his “mama was tired of living out there.”

Batiste has experienced a slew of physical setbacks throughout his life. He told me he was born with hepatitis, which had been passed to him by his father. Because of the disease, he was unable to continue his janitorial duties at Louie’s Café, and later at McDonald’s, which had once stood on the corner of Lake and West Chimes Street. He expressed no resentment about having been laid off from the two restaurants, and as of now is unofficially employed at North Gate Tavern.

Batiste underwent brain and liver surgery as a newborn, though he didn’t dwell on the subject. He explained that when his siblings would try to play with him as a child, his body was too fragile and he would often cry out in pain. (Batiste frequently made noises for emphasis while speaking; his imitation of a young child sobbing was eerie in its accuracy.)

He smiled and slapped his head to demonstrate its present hardiness. “I’m fine, now. That’s why my head looks the way it does now, all lumpy.”

He also underwent painful surgery on his liver in his late 20s. At the time, he was working at Super Fresh, a grocery store formerly located in the shopping center on West State Street. He described how he gained an incredible 100 pounds in just one month, though he had almost stopped eating entirely because of the pain he felt in his gut. No one understood the sudden weight gain and finally Batiste told his mother, “Y’all better do something quick, or else I’m gonna bust open.” When he was finally taken to the hospital, doctors discovered a build-up of fluid around his liver that needed to be drained.

Despite these hardships, Batiste is in good health and high spirits nowadays. Though his favorite place to hang out is North Gate Tavern, Batiste doesn’t drink alcohol; he’s content with jamming to music and playing either pool or the video game console at the bar. According to North Gate Tavern manager Danny Moore, Batiste shows up to the bar every single day, but on Wednesdays he cleans the whole place for pay.

“Maryland is like everyone’s little brother,” Moore said. “People are usually a little standoffish when they first meet him, but they get to know him soon enough. He’s the most sincere person I’ve ever met. People just need to put their guard down.” Many locals have already made this discovery; during the hour I spent with Batiste, he received at least two high fives and several shout-outs from passersby.

Batiste’s relationship with the North Gate is a symbiotic one. He wanders from business to business, making conversation with customers and employees, cleaning and organizing merchandise. In return, Batiste often receives free food and drink from the local establishments.

“Highland Coffees usually gives me free stuff, Louie’s Cafe always gives me free food, Wendy’s always gives me free food,” Batiste said. “Roul’s, I go buy a burger from them, they throw the fries in for free.”

During our conversation at one of the outdoor tables at Highland Coffees, one of the employees asked Batiste if he wanted some food, but didn’t wait for a definite response before disappearing into the café. Several minutes later, a different employee appeared and set down a plate piled high with tuna-stuffed pita on the table with a quick and friendly, “Here you go, Maryland.”

Batiste described how he ensures the flow of free food. “Like if I see something that’s not in the right place, I’ll put it back in the right place,” he explained. “I’ll do that at the Circle K, too, like if somebody dropped potato chips or they got a cold drink sitting out, I’ll pick it up and put things in the right order. And then I go to Family Dollar store sometimes, and when they got their shopping carts out in the middle of the street, I’ll take them out of the street and line them up against the door where they belong.”

It is difficult to imagine anyone other than Circle K employees going out of their way to restock a bag of misplaced potato chips. But Batiste doesn’t live at the North Gate; he just loves it. “I like all the LSU students I see over here, and … I like all of the workers over here,” he said.

Batiste lives with his elderly mother and helps take care of her, but spends most of his time at the North Gate because of the camaraderie he shares with the residents. “I don’t socialize with all the people in my neighborhood because I live in a bad neighborhood,” he said. “Everybody get along with people over here.”

Each day, Batiste arrives at the North Gate by public transit, and at the end of the day, he takes the bus back home. In the evenings he’s usually found at North Gate Tavern, where he famously jams to Michael Jackson on the jukebox. (He’s been known to persuade large groups of people to sing along to “Billie Jean” and “Man in the Mirror.”)

He is also able to recall music right off the top of his head. Moore told me he once asked Batiste if he could name every Michael Jackson song ever written. Batiste’s encyclopedic knowledge of Jackson’s music didn’t disappoint. Moore laughed, “I had to stop him. I told him, ‘I believe you, man.’”

It’s not all free food and neighborhood love, though. Many people who encounter Batiste regard him with apprehension and even annoyance, shying away from his boisterous attempts at making friends. These feelings of anxiety are ironic, as Batiste is so willing to share his story.

asked Batiste if anyone had ever been cruel to him, or if he had ever faced any kind of adversity in the neighborhood. Staring at the ground, he unsmilingly pondered the question. He finally answered in a subdued voice, “No. Never.”

Batiste doesn’t waste time dwelling on life’s downbeats. Businesses and residents will come and go, but Batiste will continue to make the Northgate a more musical (and tidier) place, just as he’s done for the past 16 years.

At one point during the interview, my cell phone went off and “Ghetto Musick” blasted for an awkward stretch of time. I asked Batiste if he was an Outkast fan. He grinned, bobbed his head smoothly to his own beat, and sang out, “I like the way you move!” I took this as a yes.