Here is the complete text of the Marie Phelps article. Visit to Frenchtown by Marie Lee Phelps (Houston Post, 22 May 1955) "Comment ca va?" It was a soft voice from the Bayou Teche country of Louisiana. "Oh! Pliz scuse. How you?" Black eyes rolled in mischievous welcome. "You come into my house?" I stood on Deschaumes Street, or was it Delia, Adalia, or Lelia? Or was I in Houston at all? The air was heavy and sweet with a tropical abundance of oleanders, cape jasmines, vines. The sumptuous smell of creole gumbo sifted lazily out of a kitchen window. Was I really only a stone's throw from that roaring artery of the city -- Jensen Drive? You're farther than that, sister. You're as far away from Jensen Drive as the Evangeline country is from Houston. You're in Frenchtown. This fascinating community, the least known facet of Houston's multiple personality, has been in existence near Liberty Road on the northeast side of the city since 1922. It is about four blocks square. The heart of the settlement may be said to lie between streets with the musical names Lelia and Roland. Here in an atmosphere as foreign as French pie and rub bo'd (sic) music live about 500 people of French and Spanish descent. They come from Saint Martinsville, Lafayette, LeBeau, Louisiana. They call themselves creoles. Most of them have very fair skin, lustrous, expressive eyes, beautiful black hair. I was struck by the patrician features of those I met, the long nose, the thin, sensitive lips. What brought these people from the Bayou Teche country to Houston, where they have stuck together thick as a family clan, yet ever apart from the city? Father Cornelius Sullivan, their priest who holds mass, teaches their children at Our Mother of Mercy Roman Catholic Church nearby, says they came when jobs got scarce in Louisiana. The Southern Pacific Railroad in Houston was offering many job opportunities in the