Even in Death, People Still Hate The Worst Dude in New Orleans
What kind of man do you have to be for your family to not even want to deal with selling your stuff when you’re dead? When you’re Big Lee Martin, that’s the Million Dollar Question, ain’t it?
When Big Lee caught a sudden case of the death, by way of his neighbor finally snapping and blowing him away, the murder wasn’t exactly met with outrage. People set up a GoFundMe for the Wayne Higgins, Big Lee’s killer.
The Internet was ablaze with memes, videos, and reminders of just how nice of a guy Jefferson Parish’s self-proclaimed “Tow Truck King” truly was. There were a lot of discussions on Facebook, and most weren’t looking for justice or revenge. Instead, they celebrated the guy getting got a few feet away from the eyesore he called home off Bonabel Avenue in Metairie.
The two fought for years over one another’s ugly plant choices, where a fence belonged on the property, or Martin’s propensity for life-size plywood tiger signs, until one day when Big Lee messed with Higgins’ pick-up truck, spraying water into an open window and taunting Higgins until, like some kind of modern-day Jefferson Parish cowboy, the old man pulled his trusty side iron and blasted Martin dead in his driveway, only feet from the much-contested property-defining fence.
Who could’ve foreseen the guy who once said “You think you can slander my name and get away with it? I own Metairie. The police work for me, sluts” would get blown away ten feet from his front door? Well, all of us really. And after countless lawsuits for sexual harassment, rape, assault, and allegedly hitting a Kenner woman on purpose with his tow truck, was it a shocker people wanted to help out the 78-year old Higgins?
Martin’s family had to figure out to do with all of that LSU crap. The realtor is on the record citing the reason for the sale is because the family lives in Texas, and the liquidation process would be too hard. And until one lucky buyer claims the acres of purple and gold everything Martin had collected over the years, we can all enjoy the sideshow spectacle of this ‘estate sale.’ Not only does some poor bastard get all the Mike The Tiger bobbleheads they could ever want, but they also try on the fishing shirts and visors with the fuzzy pink hair worn by the biggest asshole in the 504.
Of course, the family made it all the way from Texas to claim the trucks and the Corvette, but I guess they weren’t as devoted to the LSU beer fridge.
Because Martin was such a reviled figure, the move was to sell it all. No one in their right mind would come in for an Estate Sale except curiosity seekers anxious to paw the dead man’s things as a means of one final way of saying ‘fuck you’ — because, really, who would buy it piece by piece?
It’s a sad realization when someone’s life boils down to bad character, and in death leaves a few embarrassed survivors quietly mourning in an area where death stalks the streets, floating on a parade of well-wishers and brass. This will is Big Lee’s legacy. He’s a punchline. Those infamous Instagram quotes, the lawsuits, and the identity will forever linger in infamy.
In death, the croc-wearing, Donald Trump-loving, LSU superfan’s house is now on the market, abandoned by those who survived him, most likely destined to sit on the market for a while. Between the purple and gold tigers guarding the front door, all round the purple and gold pool table, down to the baubles dedicated to his love of all things Republican, it’s a house loaded from floor to ceiling with tacky shit — and all for the dirt low price of $349,000.
Besides, imagine being the person who buys Big Lee’s old place.
Until 85% of the neighborhood croaks or moves (spoiler: people from Metairie never move), the new owner will be forever reminded they bought the house of the biggest asshole ever to live in this corner of the greater New Orleans area. Signs can be taken down, and eight foot Al Capone photos can be removed, but that taint lingers forever.