Dear Smiley: In Ville Platte, we don’t need a weatherman to get our basic information. We can use our noses.

If we smell roux from Kary’s Roux, the wind is coming out of the south.

If we smell cooking oil from LouAnna’s in Opelousas, the wind is blowing from the east.

We used to discern a west wind when we smelled the paper mill in Oakdale.

And if it’s chilly and we hear geese flying, it’s a north wind.

Oh yeah, if we’re getting wet, it’s raining and we need to go inside.


Ville Platte

Thinking big

Dear Smiley: About the "chicken drop" game:

The Therapeutic Riding Center in LaPlace, which among other things offers handicapped children a chance to ride horses in an enclosed ring, raises funds the same way.

They use a horse, and call it the Plop Drop.



Animal House

Dear Smiley: After reading about "church squirrels" in your column, I just wanted to let your readers know that squirrels not only like houses of worship, they also like big white houses (as in our nation’s capital).

We faithfully watch the national news on a station that broadcasts live from the White House grounds, and 90 percent of the time (especially when there is an attractive female reporter giving the update) a squirrel can be seen scampering across the grounds from tree to tree.

Unfortunately this weekend there was a male reporter, and the only critter in the background was a German shepherd.



Golfing language

Dear Smiley: We were playing golf when on the seventh green I had a very difficult, but short, putt. It broke left, right and then left again. My partner said he called that kind of putt a “Danny DeVito" putt. You know, a nasty little five-footer.

A few holes later he hit a nasty slice which, I was informed, was called a “Lorena Bobbitt" shot.

It is probably a good thing that none of our group was a bad hooker.


Surprise, Arizona

Mr. Nice Guy

Dear Smiley: I lived in New Orleans before moving to Baton Rouge, and remember Fats Domino very well. I was his paper boy for a few years in the early '50s, when I lived in the Ninth Ward.

Some mornings my friend Henry Seifker and I would be greeted with that broad Domino smile.

Fats lived behind Puglia’s supermarket on St. Claude Avenue. He would tip us sometimes when he was outside.

Good memories, good times. We will miss him.


Baton Rouge

Small World Dept.

Dear Smiley: My wife and I were on a cruise in August when, on the bus after a day trip, a man across the aisle asked her where she was from.

"New Orleans, but originally New York," she said.

A lady on the next row asked where in New York, and she said Brooklyn. Asked where in Brooklyn, she said Ocean Parkway and Avenue T.

The lady said, "I'm from Avenue R and Ocean Parkway."

I asked her, "What school did you go to?" and she replied, "P.S. 215 and Lincoln High."

"So did I," I said. Since I am 83 and she said she was 81, we determined that we were in school at about the same time.

Now the lady's friend entered the conversation, and asked me, "Did you know Ronnie Sutton?"

My reply was, "I AM Ronnie Sutton!"

The whole bus erupted in laughter. 

It was a hell of a cruise, but this was the highlight.


New Orleans

Bad uncle!

Dear Smiley: Mention of blondes in your column reminded me of the time a niece, a natural blonde, came in with her hair dyed red.

I asked her if that was artificial intelligence.



Bad husband!

Dear Smiley: After reading your column, I see where little Johnny (after learning the story of Adam's rib) was concerned about having a wife because of a pain in his ribs.

He will learn that the "having a wife pain" usually manifests itself in another part of the body.



Dear Tom: You're a brave spouse —and no, you can't stay with us after she kicks you out…

Write Smiley at He can also be reached by fax at (225) 388-0371 or mail at P.O. Box 588, Baton Rouge, LA 70821. Follow Smiley Anders on Twitter, @SmileyAndersAdv.