No. 3

Mrs. Lafayette to Detective Quinn in 1940

Detective Quinn

908 E Jefferson

Louisville, Kentucky

June 13, 1940

Detective Quinn,

Thank you for letting me know what became of Julien. Thank you for giving me his last known address. I pray for your care in your climb out of this world. May you cross over and, if I can forgive Julien, me, also, so that I may find you in Heaven with those who love our Savior Lord Jesus Christ and not just sing about it in theaters and churches, as I did for years, until my heart went to stone.

Your kindness and loyalty to your work gave me an interest in climbing up the stairs, out of my basement apartment, so that I could mail this.

I am curious if I might remember your wife. So that is why I decided to stay on the line with you, so to speak, for her entertainment or comfort; whatever she needs by way of a letter—what little difference it makes—that I may serve her.

That time at Camp Taylor, during the flu epidemic, was a strange role for me to play, but by your wife mentioning it, I am writing back.

After I read your report about Julien, I called my daughter, who was away at university for a conference. I told her I was borrowing my employer’s car and driving down to Indiana and would be gone for a few days.

“Why?” she asked.

“That detective found your father,” I said. “He’s dead, but I think I can now settle something from my old singing days. That song that I wrote. He recorded. I want to get the rights from his estate, for that song I made up with your father.”

She said, “That’s so silly, Mother. Forget all that. Where are you going?”

“A little west or north of Lafayette, Indiana. I hope to meet his other family. Just to get the rights. I will try to get you the answers you want, dear, but there is no money there, I’m sure. I am going to leave now before the traffic gets bad and before I talk myself out of it. I will stay at a hotel and send word as to my progress. I’ve cleared it with David, me taking the car.”

David was my boss. I was taking care of his mother, but she had died and I was just closing up her house and cleaning it up for sale. He said I could borrow her car.

As I drove, I recalled the day I visited you at the station, in 1917, to see if we could find Julien. That night I told my children that their father was only an actor and only a maker of scenes.

I sent my children to bed that night with tears, but with the truth. Next, I stood over the bathroom sink and made my own scene. I cut off my long hair, giving myself bangs. I was mortified by my bad look. Thank goodness for my many hats.

Born in 1877, I was two years older than Julien and you’d think I would have been the mature one. I was happy to drop his name in certain musical circles. I was correct about his rising success. Then I met him in person. He heard me sing and said, “There is a promise in your voice! First, you will first move hearts, then money. Follow me!”

My father was an attorney for a newspaper in New Albany and also for The Courier-Journal where Julien, his friends easily added notices to print and stylized our musical careers for elite audiences with clever graphics and wit. We began to move more money.

Even though my father had a high place in the community, he did not flash it. My mother complained, “His frugality will not help us; he does not know how he is hurting us.”

My mother wanted to perform. “I must get my stories out; I must save souls for Christ’s sake.” she said.

She told me she was born to do this evangelization. When more children came, she felt robbed, though she never said it plain, and I could pick up on it, that jilting, and as she decided to push me up the stairs, and onto the stage.

Mrs. Laura Lafayette

Copyright 2025 Christine Friesel