Remembering Smiley Anders, his zest for life, his wit and the way he touched lives

After getting the call Friday afternoon that beloved columnist Smiley Anders had died, I had a W.H. Auden moment.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

All I could think was, “How can the world keep on worlding without Smiley in it?”

It was a gut punch even though, logically, I had been preparing for his passing for a long time.

Even still, I wasn’t ready.

I needed time to sit with grief. I still need time, but I know that Smiley consistently chose the path of perpetual sunshine.

Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t oblivious to pain or heartache. Last August, he and I sat in his living room discussing the details of his health struggles and he told me about the help he needed just to breathe. He was on constant oxygen.

One with advanced-stage COPD could have a grim outlook.

“You know, it’s just not going to get any better,” he said. “But I’m trying to keep my sense of humor about everything. If you’ve got a name like Smiley, you can’t open a funeral home.”

And we both busted out laughing.

That’s what people did with Smiley — they laughed. Based on the many stories and emails I’ve gotten from his friends and admirers, Smiley had some kind of magic that made the person he was interacting with feel incredibly special.

It wasn’t only his one-of-a-kind sense of humor. Somehow he found the most clever ways to weave his amazing intellect into a conversation or a column. He could connect dots and create meaning where others saw nothing but gobbledygook.

He also had more capacity to stay current than anyone I’ve ever known. Even at age 86, confined to home and on oxygen, he was up to speed.

The Advocate’s Kyle Whitfield told me about teaching Smiley how to tweet a few years ago. If you followed Smiley on X, the app formerly known as Twitter, that was Smiley tweeting — all by himself. Whitfield said Smiley didn’t look at the new digital prospect as a chore. He was excited to learn.

That eagerness to learn and connect with others was part of Smiley’s magic.

Since Friday, I’ve gone back and listened to recorded conversations Smiley and I had. The first one was when I was interviewing him about his 50th anniversary with the newspaper. Later, I occasionally recorded our conversations because he was just so darn funny.

I wanted to savor those moments. I was so grateful to be his friend. We had the kinds of conversations friends have, jumping from one topic to another. With both of us being Mississippi natives, we were obliged to discuss Elvis, the state’s favorite son at length. We talked about the flak Smiley got for giving the legendary singer a somewhat negative review after Elvis performed in Baton Rouge in 1977.

“It was kind of like seeing a sports hero go down,” Smiley said. “I used Johnny Unitas at the time. It was like the last days of Willie Mays when he was just, you know, doing the best he can.”

Just two weeks ago, I was telling Smiley a story about a man in my hometown who went through a spell of believing he was Jesus. As I added another character to a story, Smiley was trying to make sure he was following who was who.

He asked, with a completely straight face, “Now, was that Jesus’ brother?”

His delivery was always spot on.

As my 22-year-old daughter Piper said, “Smiley was the same kind of crazy as us.”

Just two weeks ago, he and his wife Katherine hosted a congratulations/going-away dinner party honoring Piper’s graduation and move to Denver to teach with Teach for America.

Katherine cooked the best beef stroganoff I’ve ever eaten. It was her mother’s recipe. We brought the champagne. Smiley wasn’t feeling his best, but we had seen him down before. He was a bounce-back kind of guy. He toasted our girl and her big move. We then sat around the table, eating and talking, one of the best ways to engender love and community — which was Smiley’s specialty.

As I have tried to process his passing, I’ve also read many emails and comments from his beloved readers.

I don’t know Mark Couhig, but his Facebook comment summed up so much. Couhig said of Smiley, “His genius was writing the column as if everyone in Baton Rouge knew and liked everyone else. I’ve never known a more powerful agent of community.”

No doubt Smiley would appreciate that so many of us are so sad right now, but he was not one to wallow in sorrow.

He had such hopes for Louisiana and Baton Rouge. He loved this place and its people.

Smiley once told me that some of the stories he covered stayed with him. None more than what he experienced on Sept. 11, 2001, as he arrived to interview Baton Rouge businessman Hans Sternberg, just as the first World Trade Center tower fell.

Smiley watched in horror with the Sternbergs, who had family in New York City.

“I asked, ‘Do you want to do this later?’ Hans said, ‘No, that’s what they would want us to do,'” Smiley said. “‘We have to keep on keeping on.'”

And now, that is exactly what the rest of us have to do. We have to keep on keeping on. We have to get to know our neighbors and connect to each other. We should do our best to be kind, love each other, laugh as often as possible and do what we can to make the world a better place. 

That is how Smiley lived his life — and we are all the better for it.