In 2016, after an alleged 69 years of business, a dancehall once deemed the zydeco hotspot of the world, closed. Following a change in patrons’ behavior and attendance, St. Landry Parish’s weakening grasp on zydeco, and sharp increases in band prices, Anthony “Tony” Gradney, owner of Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki, made the hard decision to close doors permanently. The bar was originally owned and operated by Tony Gradney’s parents, Arnold “Slim” Gradney and Irene Pratt Gradney, who were both persons of color. In a 2004 newspaper piece written by Stephanie Kirk, Kirk notes the origin of the name “Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki” writing, “Slims took on the elder Gradney’s (Arnold “Slim” Gradney) name and interest. The second half of the club’s name ‘Y-Ki-Ki,’ came from Slim’s interest in Hawaii.” On October 16th, 1940, Arnold was drafted into the military. It is possible, though unverified, that his military experience took him to Hawaii where he gained the interest that led to his Club’s name. In works by Herman Fuselier and journalist Stephanie Kirk, Slim’s allegedly started either in 1947 or 1949, though other evidence seems to counter those dates. In 1957, ten years after Slim’s earliest alleged start date, Arnold “Slim” Gradney, the original owner and founder of Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki, applied for a license to sell beer at the Murray Hill Club located in the same location as Slim’s. It is not until three years later, in 1960, that Arnold is witnessed applying for a license under the business Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki. The story gets even more interesting decades later, following an anniversary party and a statement from the owner. In the early spring of 1999, Slim's Y-Ki-Ki held a celebration for its 40th Year Anniversary. If that anniversary is accurate, that would put the start of Slim's Y-Ki-Ki in 1959, not ‘47 or ‘49. Five years later, in December of 2004, Anthony told reporters, "My daddy said Clifton Chenier was the first artist to perform at Slim's, in the early 1960s," and in the same newspaper column, Stephanie Kirk writes, "Slims was a rock 'n' roll club that began catering to zydeco lovers in the 1960s, just as the music genre began to thrive in St. Landry Parish." It would seem that Arnold Gradney originally opened the Murray Hill Club, a rock 'n' roll club, and turned that club into the legendary zydeco dancehall following local music trends. Though there still exists reasonable doubt, there were clearly some details about Slim's Y-Ki-Ki's origin that were yet to be fully explored. Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki was not only a worldwide beacon of zydeco, it, and its owner Arnold, were a pillar of the community. Unlike many dancehalls between the 1940's and 1990's, Slim's Y-Ki-Ki welcomed patrons of all races and had both Black and white guests grooving to the music together. The dancehall hosted public events, fundraisers, union rallies, holiday celebrations, marriage receptions, festival kickoffs, and even family reunions. These events ranged from a policemen's ball for the Colored Police Athletic Association to a Fontenot family reunion, and even included a city meeting protesting an Opelousas annexation ordinance. One consistent detail in all of these events, however, was music. Slim's Y-Ki-Ki boasted an impressive list of performers, many of which started their careers there. The sounds of Clifton Chenier, Beau Jocques, John Delafose and the Eunice Playboys, Rockin' Sidney, and so many more rocked the walls and shook the roof of Slim's. The famous dancehall even hosted multiple documentary films, including an HBO documentary titled "Finding the Grove" that featured 7-year-old Guyland Ledet playing the accordion and captivating the audience with such awe, there was a brief moment where people stopped dancing.  Eventually, Slim's Y-Ki-Ki was laid to rest. Pressure from Lafayette and New Orleans began siphoning both zydeco players and enjoyers, and the new sound that began to fill the dancehall's wooden floors and open walls was silence. Slim's, which for decades hosted a packed house three to four nights a week, was lucky to have a large crowd even one night. Yet absence and losing business was not the only nail in the coffin. Anthony, when questioned on his decision to close the hall, noted increased band rates (often around $3500 or more) and unruly crowds helped affirm his choices in shutting down. Anthony is quoted saying, "It's a younger crowd and a lot of disrespect. They'll take off their shirt and want to dance with no shirt. It's not like it used to be with the older people....You're under four hours of nothing but stress now." Rather than try to keep it running until there's nothing left in the business or him, Anthony preferred to close it sooner and let the good memories sit forefront in peoples' minds. The story of Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki is not shiny or explosive. It is not a story of particular grandeur that sets it apart from the rest of the world. Instead, Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki and its history is one of humility and community. Countless musicians, ranging from part-time players who no one knows to multiple grammy award winners to documentary subjects, played this dancehall. With every musician, Slim’s Y-Ki-Ki gained another story and gained more renown as newspapers referencing the dancehall’s legendary status. Festival kickoffs, holiday parties, wedding receptions, community fundraisers, political rallies, family reunions, all held within the walls of this historic business that now exists only in memory. To this day, people from all over Acadiana still reminisce on their personal stories related to the club, thinking back to the fun, dancing, and music that filled the air and lifted spirits.

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The Richard family possesses a sort of dynastic quality in the world of Cajun bush tracks. Maurice Richard and his wife, Celestine, bought the property in 1902 in present-day Church Point, an area once known locally as Marais des Buller.

The Richard family's involvement with horse racing goes back to the early nineteenth century. A sharecropper by trade, Maurice loved racing his horses against those of his neighbors. He considered opening an unsanctioned quarter horse track, but with eleven children, life was hectic, and he needed the land to grow crops. However, as the great New York Yankee legend Yogi Berra once said, “When you get to a fork in the road, take it.” That is exactly what Maurice did. Choosing both routes, he divided his time—and land— between the farm and the track, which he aptly named Tee Maurice. Tee Maurice grew to be a bastion of quarter horse racing in Acadiana and a major entertainment hotspot.

In the 1930s, Maurice’s son Ellis opened a dance hall that the locals named “Richard’s Casino.” Food and music became an inseparable part of the landscape. Renowned musicians such as Happy Fats, Johnnie Allan, and Blackie Forestier played at the dance hall at Tee Maurice. One night could see as many as 700 people waltzing to the music of “Doc” Guidry. 

In addition to the original ten arpent straight quarter horse track, the Richards eventually built a one-half-mile thoroughbred track behind the dance hall. A stock car track was later added. Tee Maurice became known as the grandest and most renowned bush track in the area, with the ability to attract thousands of visitors in one weekend.

The family owned several trucks and would drive to Opelousas, Lewisburg, Lawtell, Sunset, and Carencro to pick racegoers up and bring them to watch the races and dance. Others would walk or arrive in their wagons. Tee Maurice and Richard's Club closed in 1983 when Ellis Richard passed away.

A visit to the property to speak to Ellis’ son, Winston, daughter-in-law, Kathy, and daughter, Guinn, was an enjoyable experience. They knew the stories well. They sat around the kitchen table, reliving the glory days of Tee Maurice. The track and dance hall are as much a part of them as the family who came before them. They remembered people who are long gone, and exchanged stories with each other as if they were trading baseball cards. 

A stroll around the property was meaningful. I saw the old dance hall, which Winston converted into a barn for his horses. Walking into the shaded entrance on that bright April afternoon, I could not help feeling the excitement of a new day meeting old history. Mrs. Kathy must have been thinking the same thing. “I wonder how many feet danced right here,” she thought aloud.

120 years have come and gone since the first horses stepped onto the track at Tee Maurice. A slab foundation at the road serves as proof that a dance hall once existed. The dance hall is now a barn for the Richard’s horses. Its walls, which recently sustained hurricane damage, are a memorial to our ancestors who contributed so greatly to the music and horse culture of Cajun country— A perfect example of how the landscape is always changing and of how we live alongside our history.

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