Malcolm Wright tells this Palm Sunday story:

“It has been a long-standing Palm Sunday tradition in our University United Methodist Church, as in many churches, to have a procession of children waving palm branches walk up the center aisle from the foyer to the altar.

“Many, many years ago, little Bryan, then about 4 or 5 years of age, was given his palm branch and explicit instruction on how to wave it and say ‘Hosanna, Hosanna.’

“Overcome with enthusiasm for the wonderful occasion, and perhaps rushing the season a bit, he walked down the aisle shouting, ‘Hey Santa, hey Santa.’

“This story was told to me by Bryan’s parents. Bryan is now a successful businessman, but he will never outlive this story.”

Suspicious specks

Sal Suer says, “My wife and I were sitting at Angelo Brocato’s on Carrollton in New Orleans this week enjoying some good ice cream (my favorite is rum raisin).

“She had a smile on her face and mentioned to me, ‘Do you remember the ice cream we threw away years back?’

“We had to laugh together, as it was a doozy.

“Little did we know that vanilla ice cream sometimes includes little vanilla bean specks. We thought we had an invasion of little critters.

“We said, ‘There must be something wrong with this,’ so out the half-gallon went.”

Eggs-cruciating diets

We’ve had a couple of stories about dogs finding and devouring Easter candy. Two more tales indicate it’s not just sweets that interest our canine companions during Easter:

— Nel Joyner says, “I had a white poodle named Shaggy as a family pet.

“I am from the era of hunting real dyed chicken eggs, not the plastic ones.

“After Easter we noticed a horrible smell, and then found the mess!

“I had put my Easter basket, filled with real eggs, in my doll bed. The eggs stayed there for weeks, until Shaggy found and enjoyed them.

“The mess, odor, mad mother and a trip to the vet for Shaggy marked a memorable Easter!”

— Cindy Black Bouchie, of Pineville, says, “A couple of decades ago, my son Chase was just old enough to participate in the Easter egg dyeing and preparations.

“After he went to bed, the Easter Bunny hid all the eggs low enough around the house for him to find them.

“Sometime in the middle of night, our cocker spaniel Minny crawled under our bed and belched loudly. The smell of hard-boiled eggs wafted up from under the bed.

“Not an egg to be found in the house Easter morning.

“Chase was too young to know or care, but the dog had a belly ache for the rest of the day.”

Nostalgia Corner

Dwight Cason remembers when he worked for Carl Meriwether’s service station, back when gasoline was 32.9 cents a gallon:

“I was told with every gas fill-up I was to clean the front and rear windshields; check everything under the hood (not just the oil), as if they were going on a thousand-mile vacation; clean the battery cables and check all tires’ air pressure. I wish I had a dollar for every flat spare tire I found (no doughnut spares then).

“All this for 32.9 cents a gallon.

“Why don’t we have much-needed service stations now? How many jobs would it create? It was one of my best-paid job, too.”

Special People Dept.

Mae Mollere celebrates her 98th birthday on Saturday, March 28.

Marjorie Ourso Acosta celebrates her 93rd birthday on Sunday, March 29.

Let him out!

Pat Alba, of Metairie, says our recent mention of a Victrola record player “reminds me of this story from my mother, Helen.

“Her parents bought a large console Victrola, the first in their town, and an album of Enrico Caruso records.

“For Mom’s 6th birthday party, the children were treated to music.

“Afterwards, one little boy commented to his mother, ‘Helen’s mama sure is a mean lady. She shut a man up in the icebox and made him sing all day.”

Color blindsided

“One of my fond memories of my father was in the early 1930s, when I was a pre-teen,” says Joe F. Cannon, of Baton Rouge:

“When it came report card time, I was always on edge, knowing that it was going to be another crisis at home.

“So desperate was I that I actually altered one of my grades.

“My arithmetic teacher had entered a ‘D’ for the semester.

“I knew this would be a problem my father would be highly critical of.

“Before he got home that evening, I very carefully made an alteration to the letter ­— applying a short straight line through the ‘D,’ converting it to a ‘B.’

“With probably some smugness, I delivered my report card to my dad as he sat reading the newspaper.

“He read the scores in my various classes, which were all marginal but no lower than ‘Cs.’

“When he got to arithmetic, he looked over his glasses at me and said, ‘The next time you change a grade, use the same color ink!’

“Lesson learned.”

Contact Smiley

Write Smiley at He can also be reached by fax at (225) 388-0351 or mail at P.O. Box 588, Baton Rouge, LA 70821.