Page Johnson

As told by Mike Deville

I was fortunate to grow up in the small town of Patterson, La, in the 1950’s and ‘60’s.  Patterson High School, where I attended school, was deceptive in its name.  You actually walked in the front door on the first day of first grade and you walked out the back door on graduation night of your senior year.  I graduated with more than half of the same group as was in my first-grade class.  We knew each other.

Many of us in Patterson were “oilfield trash”, not from there, coming in for work in the oilfields.  Several families worked for the same oilfield service company, attended the same school, and were members of The First Baptist Church of Patterson.  None of us had extended family in the area, so we made a “family” and became very close.  My family included: the Deville’s, but also the Cope’s, the Richardson’s, the Stewart’s, the Newkirk’s, the Fryar’s, the Johnson’s, and many others.

The Johnson family consisted of Mr. Tommy and Mrs. Dorothy, daughter Lynn, and sons, Page, and Jeff.  Mr. Tommy was the school photographer for all the high school ball games.  Lynn was active in school and always looked after us useless underclassmen.  Page graduated in 1967 and was an all-around good guy, played sports and just seemed to get along with everyone.  I always thought he was fun to be around and as a senior, treated us sophomores well.  Jeff was much younger and another decent kid.

Page Johnson was not a big guy, was of medium height and had a wiry body.  He had a lot of soul and did his best and was a pretty good athlete.  Page was the type of guy that would pick you up or bring you home if you needed a ride.  In high school, all of us were in the same Sunday School class and by then, all of us were driving.  One of the adults I knew, Mr. Joe Walker, said he wouldn’t get in any car we were driving, as he had seen us all driving around town.  Mr. Joe felt that the only good driver out of the bunch was Page.  Someone in the class told Mr. Joe that he might want to check with Mrs. Mary Lou Stewart on that point.  Page bought himself a little sports car and talked Mrs. Mary Lou into going for a ride. Page drove Mrs. Mary Lou out to the airport on Hwy. 182, then onto the runway and opened it up.  It scared the heck out of Mrs. Mary Lou so much, she never got back in the car with him.

Back then, a popular hangout for teenagers was the Shell Pile. It was across the Rizzo St. Bridge, on the other side of the Bayou Teche. (Lower Atchafalaya River) There was a boat launch and it was where shells, sand and rocks would be offloaded from barges. Page had been hanging out at the Shell Pile, and later when he was walking across the bridge, he was somehow hit by a car. It threw him about twenty feet in the air and messed him up badly.  He lived through it and mended up without a problem.

I can’t remember if Page volunteered and joined the Army or if he was drafted.  In January of 1969, Page Johnson was sent to Vietnam.  He was a scout and would go out in front of the other soldiers.  On one of those missions, Page did not return.  His remains were found later.  The only way they knew it was Page was from his dog tags.

It was told to us that Page had been attacked by a tiger and his body was torn to shreds.  I know Mr. Tommy, Page’s dad, had wanted to open the casket and the military had to go into detail and explain, that it was just body parts left.  The United States Army recorded Page’s death as August 9, 1969, only two years after graduating high school.

Even today, I don’t know if the real story of Page’s death has ever been shared with anyone.  At that time in the Vietnam Conflict, we were actually in Cambodia, a place we were not supposed to be.  A lot of his friends and fellow soldiers have always said that Cambodia was where Page was killed.  We will probably never know.

Our little town of Patterson suffered so much tragedy during the summer of 1969.  This was so many years ago and yet, it is just as fresh in my memory today.  Page was only twenty years old when he died. Twenty.  Rest in Peace, my friend.