Steve Selby says, “The recent action of the Legislature raising taxes on cigarettes reminded me of the same situation in the late ’40s.
“As students at LSU, we tried rolling machines, to no avail. We wanted ready-rolls.
“My roommate was from Crystal Springs, Mississippi, where cigarettes were cheaper.
“Mississippi was dry in those days, so my roommate found a way to finance his trips home.
“He brought alcohol to friends back home, and returned with cigarettes for friends in Baton Rouge — for a slight fee, of course.
“Where there is a will, there is a way.”
“Around St. Patrick’s Day,” says Lucy Sloan, “I always remember an incident several years ago involving my daughter, Sandra, who was about 3 years old at the time.
“She came into the house one afternoon all covered in mud, but laughing and so excited.
“As I was putting her in the bathtub, I asked what she was so happy about.
“She answered that she had found a four-leaf clover and had had good luck all day.
“I looked at all the mud and asked what kind of good luck.
“She said she had been jumping over mud puddles all afternoon, and only fell in once.
“Now I tell myself that if I only fall in a mud puddle once a day I should be grateful, too.”
Pat Alba, of Metairie, who told in the Monday column about a friend who really was late for her own wedding, has another story about late arrival:
“I was visiting friends Nancy and George, and we were planning to go to a party that evening at 7.
“George had promised to be home early from a fishing trip that afternoon, but showed up after 8.
“Nancy was livid, but before the tirade could begin, George exclaimed, ‘Nancy, you are especially beautiful when your eyes are flashing and you toss your hair like that!’
“She stopped in mid-sentence, then smiled and murmured, ‘Oh George...’
“Moments later, when her back was turned, George glanced at me and smirked.”
Frank Fronczek, of Baton Rouge, addresses our recent items on canned meat:
“Fried spam and Vienna sausages are OK, I suppose, but the favorite staple from my misspent youth is fried scrapple.
“No idea where to find it in Baton Rouge, but Pat Shingleton probably knows.”
Actually, my source for scrapple (bits and pieces of pig made into a loaf with corn meal as a binder, then sliced and fried) is Harry “The Hat” Landsiedel, a Philadelphian who staged a scrapple cooking demonstration at the Patio Lounge several years ago.
At that time he said he found his scrapple at Dorignac’s Food Center in Metairie.
Harry was also nice enough to volunteer to prepare scrapple for a Mardi Gras breakfast Lady Katherine and I were hosting. I expected the guests to be a little reluctant to try the stuff, but they gobbled it down with gusto. Of course, it WAS a Mardi Gras party, so...
No card needed
Here’s one more story about being carded for liquor (or not),” says Patsy Arceneaux.
“A few months ago, I was shopping for groceries and had a few bottles of our favorite beverages in my cart.
“When I went to check out, the checkout person was a young trainee, and a manager was going through instructions with him.
“When the manager saw the liquor on the conveyor belt, she told him, ‘Now, always remember to ask for...’
“At that moment, I turned around. When she saw my face, she immediately said, ‘Never mind!’
“I guess I should have been insulted, but we all laughed. I’m sure I am old enough to be their grandmother.”
Special People Dept.
Marie Hotard Sutton, of LaPlace, celebrates her 99th birthday on Wednesday, March 16.
Jay “J.C.” and Verna Wilson, of Marksville, celebrate their 72nd anniversary on Wednesday, March 16.
A damp shame
Gene Duke says our recent rainy spell reminds him of this description he once heard: “It rained so hard the concrete is getting boggy.”
Keep her happy
Tim Cockerham, “Happily married in Prairieville,” seeks poetic advice:
“I stopped at my local auto parts store this weekend to get one of those kits to fix a rock chip in the windshield of my wife’s car.
“The young men working there were very helpful when I explained what I was working on, and agreed that ‘A happy wife means a happy life.’
“We were stuck coming up with the follow-up: ‘A happy husband means a happy...’ since we couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with husband. You have any suggestions?”
(How about, “A happy husband means a happy man who has a good life because he has a happy wife.”)
Write Smiley at Smiley@theadvocate.com. He can also be reached by fax at (225) 388-0351 or mail at P.O. Box 588, Baton Rouge, LA 70821.