Dr. George L. Dugal, of Lafayette, tells this on his brother, Gene, and Gene’s friend, Bee.
As youngsters in the country, the lads got to be pretty good self-taught taxidermists and learned a lot about the insides of animals in the process:
“So along came their friend, Earl, with a fine offer. If they could de-musk a skunk for him, he would pay them $10.
“Gene and Bee went to a friend’s farm near Cankton and cut a deal with the tenant farmer. He was to catch a young skunk, and they would pay him $1 for it.”
He caught one, and the boys opened the skunk up and removed glands. They sewed him up, and he recuperated well.
“They put a collar on him and proudly delivered him to Earl and received their payment.
“Earl took his time and really trained this little skunk to be led on a leash.
“He became almost a full-grown skunk just in time for the annual Christmas parade down the main street of Sunset.
“Earl was going to lead the parade with his skunk as it was one pretty animal and well-trained.
“When the parade got started, the first thing was the wonderful new fire truck that the city had bought.
“Earl was right behind it with his pet skunk.
“All was well until the dancing girls got up even with Earl and the firemen fired off the siren. Scared the hell out of the skunk, and he raised his tail and fired away.
“Yep, got the girls, Earl and the people on both sides, and ruined the parade.”
Seems the boys had either not removed all the musk glands, or removed something other than the glands.
George says, “I was gone from Sunset by that time, and never found out what the resolution was. Bet Gene and Bee had to refund the money …”
As Perry A. Snyder waited for his Sunday Advocate to arrive — it was delayed by the late-night LSU-Alabama game — he came up with this modest proposal:
“It’s worth the wait to read about a victory. But when LSU loses, as was the case to the hated Crimson Tide, why not postpone by a day the agony of reading about what we saw or heard with a simple ‘Tigers Lose. Read about it in Monday’s paper.’
“That should boost next-day sales, soften deadlines, delay the above-referenced agony and, oh yes, eliminate the wait.”
B.J. Gowdy says our mention of the legendary beans dispensed at Joe D’s grocery/deli on Jefferson Highway brought back this memory:
“One of the best foods out of his deli was the fried chicken po-boy.
“The French bread was sliced, buttered and then toasted on the grill. Two pieces of fried chicken were slapped on it, and then it was wrapped in butcher paper.
“The smell was so good, you would open it in the car and start eating before you left the parking lot — a bite of fried chicken, a bite of bread.
“By the time you got home, your hands, your chin and the steering wheel were greasy and you were covered in crumbs.
“Surprised the heart attack didn’t kill us at the first red light.”
Joe D’s wasn’t the only place in old Baton Rouge you could get fried chicken nestled in French bread.
Bernard’s Chicken Loaf House on North Boulevard also produced this delicacy, on which I dined often during my LSU days when I lived in a rooming house on Convention Street and worked nights at nearby Swift & Co., loading meat trucks.
I alternated the chicken loaves with hot sausage po-boys from Romano’s down the street — and lived to tell about it …
Jambalaya meals will be sold Saturday from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. at First Guaranty Bank’s Watson branch for $6 to benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital on behalf of Team Erica.
For tickets or bulk order deliveries, call Janet Oufnac at (225) 571-5099.
John and Margie Sibley Coxe, of Walker, celebrate their 67th anniversary Wednesday. He’s a World War II veteran, serving as an Army captain in Europe.
That’s how Jeff Beamon, of Prairieville, headed this tale:
“A mail-order company recently called, informing me to discard the peanut butter we had purchased from them due to salmonella.
“I did not recall the purchase, but thanked them for insisting that $10 would arrive in the mail.
“Later, informing my wife of the call, she exclaimed, ‘We gobbled that up two years ago!’ ”
Sarah Stravinska, of Chestnut, passes along this story of youth versus age:
“I am 18 years old now,” declared the rather
cocky young man to his father.
“I can leave the house any time I want, day or night, and you have nothing to say about it.”
“You are right about that, son,” answered his dad.
“But I DO have something to say about whether you are let back in.”
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.
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