In 1802, Spanish commandant Martin Duralde shared the story of a dead elephant carcass swarmed by vultures in southwest Louisiana with Indian agent John Sibley, who passed it on to the American Philosophical Society.
The society published the story in 1809 and has since been associated with the City of Carencro.
Duralde, meanwhile, was a native of France who was serving as commandant of the Spanish post of Opelousas preceding the Louisiana Purchase. The Attakapas Indian tribe also lived in the area, and Duralde spent time learning its language.
And it was through the Attakapas that Duralde learned the elephant story. Tribal members described the carcass as enormous — so big that it attracted a horde of carrion crows, the black scavenger birds that feast on dead animals' decaying flesh.
Martin Duralde, a French-born commandant for the Spanish post of Opelousas, documented the Attakapas Indians' legend of the mastodon and carrion crows in a letter to Indian Agent John Sibley. Sibley sent the letter to the American Philosophical Society, which published it in 1809.
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Think of Alfred Hitchcock's 1963 horror classic, "The Birds." That was the size of this bayou gathering of vultures. The Acadians call them carencro.
The birds are the namesake for Bayou Carencro, and its subsequent city.
Is it true?
So, did Duralde believe it? Or did it matter?
Dee Jeffers would like to know.
"I grew up in Branch, and Carencro was only about 25 miles away," the Baton Rouge reader said. "I know the name, 'Carencro,' comes from the French word for vultures, but I've heard stories over the years about the city's name being connected to a dead mastodon. Is it true?"
Jeffers is right. Historians and folklorists have interpreted the description of the large creature as being a mastodon, which would make more sense than an elephant. Elephants are in no way native to Louisiana, but mastodon remains have been discovered in the southern part of the state through the years.
A carrion crow. Legend has it that Bayou Carencro and the City of Carencro are named for the bird.
PROVIDED PHOTO BY ALEXIS LOURS
Mastodons didn't go extinct until 10,000 years ago, meaning they coexisted with humans. But these were humans that would have predated the Attakapas. Even Duralde pointed this out in a later report.
"Duralde later wrote a more detailed letter describing the discovery of the remains, which was published in the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society in 1809, but he only briefly alluded to the Atakapa legend," the Encyclopaedia of Cryptozoology states in its "American Elephant" entry. "According to Duralde, the bones had been discovered shortly after 1760."
The encyclopedia continues, pointing out that "'Father of palaeontology' Georges Cuvier (1769–1832) also discovered more mastodon remains near Carencro during his tour of the United States in 1804. Cuvier referred to the discovery and the mastodon tradition as 'curious and interesting.'"
The story of a mastodon in the area is plausible, though not during the Attakapas' time. But what about the carrion crows?
Why were the birds there?
Author Clare D'Artois Leeper, in her book "Louisiana Place Names: Popular, Unusual, and Forgotten Stories of Towns, Cities, Plantations, Bayous, and Even Some Cemeteries," simply states that the bayou and settlement "probably owes its name to the fact that vast numbers of buzzards often gathered in that vicinity."
Bayou Carencro as it appears today along the border between Lafayette and St. Landry parishes.
STAFF PHOTO BY LESLIE WESTBROOK
Author Buddy Stall, in his book, "Louisiana Potpourri," concurs, stating that "Carencro is the French designation for the turkey buzzard. The area was inundated with turkey buzzards, hence the name Carencro."'
However, neither author examines the reason for the gathering of carrion crows. This is where yet another Native American legend enters the story, this time crediting the name to a "fish die-off" on the bayou.
This makes more sense than a mastodon carcass. Still, the mastodon makes for better folklore. And as for the Stall's reference to turkey buzzards, there's an explanation for that, too.
In some accounts, the birds were called "carencro tête rouge," or red-headed buzzard. Either way, they were a type of vulture.
Clare D'Artois Leeper, in her book, states that a move was made in the late 1800s to change the town's name.
An attempt was made to change Carencro's name to St. Pierre in 1874, but the town stuck to its original name when incoporating in 1905.
STAFF PHOTO BY LESLIE WESTBROOK
"Because the name Carencro does not have a particularly pleasing aura, an effort was made to change it in 1874," she writes. "Pierre Cormier donated ground for a church to replace the chapel on the condition that the name Carencro, which he deemed offensive, be changed to St. Pierre in honor of his patron saint."
Cormier was a prominent planter in the area and quite active in the Catholic church.
"The villagers agreed but soon drifted back to the familiar appellation which the town still bears," Leeper writes.
That happened on July 6, 1905, when the town was formerly incorporated.
And the city has borne the name of the carrion crow since.