Jeanne Schexnayder’s roadkill story:
“When we were first married, Wayne still had a semester of college (LSU) left before graduating and, needless to say, we were poor as church mice. Our close friends, Gerry and Sonny, were in the same financial straits.
“The guys decided to go fishing, but didn’t catch anything. The next day they decided to go rabbit hunting, but no luck.
“On their way home from hunting, they spied a big rabbit lying dead in the road and thought, ‘Here is supper!’
“I made a big ole stew and cooked that rabbit for many, many hours.
“When we sat down to eat, we began to chew…and chew...and chew until the tough meat swelled in our mouths so much we couldn’t swallow it.
“We all started laughing until our ribs hurt. We vowed that we would always remember our ‘lean’ years and that some day when we were old and rich we would still be laughing at the memory.
“We’re married almost 54 years and we do, indeed, still laugh at our ‘roadkill dinner.’”
Why crows crow
Nobey Benoit asks, “Have you noticed that roadkill never includes crows? They always hop to safety when your vehicle gets close.
“Here’s why: Whenever a crow is on a roadway, there is always a ‘lookout crow’ on a nearby wire, pole or tree.
“When a vehicle approaches, he yells out, ‘CAR CAR CAR.’ The crow on the roadway then hops to safety.
“From now on, whenever you see a crow on the road you will think of this. You will probably even look for the ‘lookout crow.’
“If someone is in the vehicle with you, go ahead and tell them why you are laughing.”
New Orleans writer George Gurtner tells of an experience familiar to parents — the backseat wars:
“On a trip to the wildlife center on the Northshore with two granddaughters, Cassidy, 8, and Kaleigh, 6, provided the usual young-girl bickering: ‘She looked at me!’ ‘I don’t want to look out of my window, I want to look out of hers,’ etc.
“Then came the whammy: In a voice dripping with show-off, Cassidy rummages through her backpack and comes up with a plastic little cell phone.
“‘Well, I’m going to TEXT you,’ Cassidy says.
“‘Go ahead,’ says Kaleigh, ‘I can’t read.’”
Marvin Borgmeyer tells how to make sure that you have a working timer for your soaker hoses:
“Getting ready for a trip, my wife asked me to make sure all the soaker hoses were working, so her flowers would get properly watered while she was gone. One of the timers was acting up, so I went to buy a new one.”
Marvin says the only one he could find was an expensive model for dual hoses. When he got home, he tried the old timer just for the heck of it, and it was now working fine. But the expensive dual timer had gone bad.
So we have Marvin’s Law: “To make a broken item start working again, go buy a more costly version.”
George E. McLean, of Metairie, answers my question about why Henry Lee III was called “Lighthorse Harry” Lee (not the “Lighthorse” part, but the “Harry” part):
“Simple; Harry is the nickname for Henry, as Bill is for William and Jack for John. And how do I know? From an old census form that lists my grandpa as Henry and his first son as Henry Jr. Henry Jr. was always called Harry. Until seeing the census, I always thought his name was Harry.”
Special People Dept.
Oceania and Jacob Scardina celebrate their 60th anniversary on Thursday, June 23.
Elizabeth Hecker Reagan says, “Dr. Jim Reagan, who came to Baton Rouge for a job at Our Lady of the Lake and fell in love with the city and a local girl (now wife Lizzie), will be traveling back to Ohio this week to celebrate a Reagan family trifecta. This month his mom, Marie, turned 95. His dad, James, turns 100. And the couple will mark their 70th anniversary.”
Say, can you see?
Phil Ragusa has another lawyer story about the dangers of questioning witnesses who might provide unexpected answers:
“My brother-in-law told me this happened years ago in a St. James Parish courtroom.
“A very much senior witness was being grilled about his eyesight when he identified the lawyer’s client.
“The lawyer asked him if he was absolutely sure that his client was the person he saw leaving the scene, and reminded him it was in the evening, asking how far did he think he could clearly see at night.
“The witness replied, ‘Well, I can see all the way to the moon!’ Much laughter!”
Bo Bienvenu, of Prairieville, says, “I saw a sign on a houseboat in the Atchafalaya Basin that must have been composed by someone who has spent time observing people at boat ramps:
“Ignorance can be educated;
Crazy can be medicated;
Stupid is forever.”