Boogalee

"That boogalee's been talking," he said, arranging his pillows higher. "I know he saw me this morning." "He did." "Snoopy," said Donald. "Mr. Petit ain't a boogalee," said Mrs. Candy. "And he ain't snoopy. He's right. What my roomers does is […]"

Avis Trosclair was a boogalee, a Cajun from the deepest bayous of Louisiana, a man of vast inner resources of happiness. About 42 years old, he talked with a perpetual love of humorous conversation, with a Cajun accent.

We were considered pleasant to be around in spite of—or perhaps because of—a supposed utter lack of ambition. We were routinely called “boogalees” behind our backs and “coon-asses” to our faces. But times were changing, […]

After the war some of us bought a houseboat on Vermilion Bay near Tigre au Chenier. Walter got everything organized. It was just like him to locate a cook-caretaker living right out there in the swamp and to line up some real boogalee guides.

To Bobby's schoolmates there, he was more than a non-English speaker, he was a Boogalee, a New Orleanian's derogatory term for a Cadien, or Cajun. The city boys teased Bobby about his hand-me-down coveralls […]