she married him may never be known. He was—and always had been—a man with an astounding gift of gab, and he was also a man with many secrets. He was a chameleon, changing his demeanor and attitude to suit whatever situation he was in. He always had many male friends and—this much Cheryl knew—any number of women who had loved him.
Roland usually told women that he suffered through an abusive childhood, but that may very well be only one of the lies he told to draw people to him and gain their sympathy. He was born in Donaldsville, Louisiana, on October 30, 1952, and was named after his father; he was Roland Augustin Pitre Jr. He was built exactly like his father, thin but tough as steel cable, with ropelike muscles.
Aside from his longtime friendship with Steve Guidry, Pitre’s early childhood in the New Orleans area is murky. He was born the third of six children, the second of five to survive. His parents, Roland Pitre Sr. and Emily Gros Pitre, apparently had a successful marriage that lasted until death parted them. There were five boys—Roland Jr., Danny, Michael, Rodney, and Wade—and one girl, Sherry. Tragically, Wade died at the age of 2. Roland’s father, 28 when Roland was born, was a truck driver with the Teamsters Local 207 in New Orleans and a Marine Corps veteran of World War II. His mother worked as a waitress. Both Roland’s parents were Cajun French, part of a large population that lived the rich culture handed down by their ancestors in Louisiana, enjoying zydeco music, spicy gumbo and crawfish cuisine, and folklore and ghost stories. They often spoke Cajun French in their home.
Roland would always have a trace of a French accent, although his bonds to Louisiana and his family were not particularly close. He attended St. Rita’s parochial school through the eighth grade, then went on to East Jefferson High School in Metairie, Louisiana. He dropped out of school in the eleventh grade.
Like his father before him, Roland enlisted in the Marine Corps when he was in his late teens. He flourished there and obtained his GED high school degree in the service. His fellow recruits called Roland “Pete” and admired his judo proficiency. One of his Marine buddies recalls a visit to Louisiana with Pitre in 1972.
“We went to New Orleans on a four-day weekend,” he says. “Five of us drove down from Cherry Point, North Carolina. We went to see Pete’s fiancée, who was named Debby.”
Roland had a large Marine Corps tattoo on his upper left arm and had DEB tattooed on his right arm.
“He always called her Deb,” his fellow Marine remembered. “He once told me that if he ever got into trouble and was asked about it, he would say his tattoo stood for his initials, and that his name was Donald Edward Buschere. It was a long time ago, and I’m not sure of the spelling.”
Pitre didn’t explain why he expected trouble or an arrest or why he might need an alias. The Marine, remembering Roland Pitre almost thirty-five years later, says he was impressed with Deb’s family. “We stayed at Deb’s parents’ house, a nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood. And they treated us like kings. Deb’s father was a fairly successful businessman, and her mother was a great cook. They seemed to think the world of Pete.”
Deb, who hoped to marry the dashing Marine that Roland Pitre was in 1972, was very petite and “gorgeous.” She rounded up two of her girlfriends to be blind dates for the two Marines who accompanied Pitre to New Orleans.
“We all went to the French Quarter one evening for drinks and dancing,” one of them remembers. “We visited Roland’s father—but only briefly—in this town outside New Orleans, called Metairie. We stayed at his house just long enough for Pete to show us a painting one of his girlfriends had done. It showed him in his karate or judo outfit executing a kick. I’m pretty sure he had his black belt in karate before he ever joined the Marines.”
Pitre had also
Roland usually told women that he suffered through an abusive childhood, but that may very well be only one of the lies he told to draw people to him and gain their sympathy. He was born in Donaldsville, Louisiana, on October 30, 1952, and was named after his father; he was Roland Augustin Pitre Jr. He was built exactly like his father, thin but tough as steel cable, with ropelike muscles.
Aside from his longtime friendship with Steve Guidry, Pitre’s early childhood in the New Orleans area is murky. He was born the third of six children, the second of five to survive. His parents, Roland Pitre Sr. and Emily Gros Pitre, apparently had a successful marriage that lasted until death parted them. There were five boys—Roland Jr., Danny, Michael, Rodney, and Wade—and one girl, Sherry. Tragically, Wade died at the age of 2. Roland’s father, 28 when Roland was born, was a truck driver with the Teamsters Local 207 in New Orleans and a Marine Corps veteran of World War II. His mother worked as a waitress. Both Roland’s parents were Cajun French, part of a large population that lived the rich culture handed down by their ancestors in Louisiana, enjoying zydeco music, spicy gumbo and crawfish cuisine, and folklore and ghost stories. They often spoke Cajun French in their home.
Roland would always have a trace of a French accent, although his bonds to Louisiana and his family were not particularly close. He attended St. Rita’s parochial school through the eighth grade, then went on to East Jefferson High School in Metairie, Louisiana. He dropped out of school in the eleventh grade.
Like his father before him, Roland enlisted in the Marine Corps when he was in his late teens. He flourished there and obtained his GED high school degree in the service. His fellow recruits called Roland “Pete” and admired his judo proficiency. One of his Marine buddies recalls a visit to Louisiana with Pitre in 1972.
“We went to New Orleans on a four-day weekend,” he says. “Five of us drove down from Cherry Point, North Carolina. We went to see Pete’s fiancée, who was named Debby.”
Roland had a large Marine Corps tattoo on his upper left arm and had DEB tattooed on his right arm.
“He always called her Deb,” his fellow Marine remembered. “He once told me that if he ever got into trouble and was asked about it, he would say his tattoo stood for his initials, and that his name was Donald Edward Buschere. It was a long time ago, and I’m not sure of the spelling.”
Pitre didn’t explain why he expected trouble or an arrest or why he might need an alias. The Marine, remembering Roland Pitre almost thirty-five years later, says he was impressed with Deb’s family. “We stayed at Deb’s parents’ house, a nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood. And they treated us like kings. Deb’s father was a fairly successful businessman, and her mother was a great cook. They seemed to think the world of Pete.”
Deb, who hoped to marry the dashing Marine that Roland Pitre was in 1972, was very petite and “gorgeous.” She rounded up two of her girlfriends to be blind dates for the two Marines who accompanied Pitre to New Orleans.
“We all went to the French Quarter one evening for drinks and dancing,” one of them remembers. “We visited Roland’s father—but only briefly—in this town outside New Orleans, called Metairie. We stayed at his house just long enough for Pete to show us a painting one of his girlfriends had done. It showed him in his karate or judo outfit executing a kick. I’m pretty sure he had his black belt in karate before he ever joined the Marines.”
Pitre had also
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