The Southeast Advocate 10-29-2025

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Danny Heitman AT RANDOM

On morning walks, I’ve been watching a yard down the street where a graveyard is slowly blooming from the lawn. Each day, or so it seems, a new novelty tombstone has sprouted from the grass, part of a growing tableau that also includes plastic skeletons that offer me gruesome smiles. Halloween decorations this ambitious take time, and my neighbors have been adding to their display when they find spare moments. A few days ago, I spotted an open box in their carport with more grisly supplies for their work in progress A bony white toe spilled from the edge of the cardboard container, and a slender skeletal finger beckoned from the far corner

The dome of a skull gleamed from within. For a man of a certain age, such morbid theater should be sobering but I chuckle each time I stroll past the makeshift cemetery that appears each October a stone’s throw from my house. That’s the sly paradox of Halloween, I suppose. In winking at death, it sharpens our joy at the simple fact of being alive.

Within my own yard, the season has brought gentler tidings of mortality Halloween’s grim tidings make me love life all the more

Our trees, increasingly bare, tell me that legions of leaves are dying as the year does. The annual leaf drop used to frustrate my ambitions for a perfectly manicured lawn, but my late neighbor, Zelda Long, taught me to change my priorities. Zelda had faced a few challenges that deepened her sense of what’s really important, and she urged me to stop fretting about fallen leaves. She’s been gone a dozen years now, but I think of her each autumn when the leaves

ä See AT RANDOM, page 3G

A stage crewman is silhouetted against a backdrop while building the

Ahelpingpaw

Meet Diesel the dog, a comforting service animal behind the BR court’s witness stand

BY MARGARET DELANEY

Staff writer

When Diesel gets up in the morning — after eating his food, taking a stroll in the backyard and sniffing through the house — his day is just beginning.

His day truly begins when he puts on his vest.

Diesel is a 10-year-old Labrador and golden retriever mix who works at the 19th District Judicial Courthouse in Baton Rouge.

The pup lives with Judge Louise Hines when he’s not in the office providing emotional support for children, adults, jury members, lawyers and judges in the courthouse building.

With the gentleness of a golden and the intelligence of a lab, Diesel is spoiled rotten by all who see him in the courthouse.

An overflowing basket of toys sits in the back room of the judicial offices, surrounded by desks and papers. Bright green tennis balls, stuffed Christmas elves, a torn-up turquoise blue llama and

PROVIDED PHOTO BY LOUISE

Children from OMG, the Outstanding Mature Girlz conference, play with Diesel. The group was formed to create fun, informative public awareness platforms for girls in the Baton Rouge area.

frayed tug-of-war ropes lay piled up in Diesel’s designated corner

Hines originally had Diesel working in the District Attorney’s Office with her starting in May 2017

When Hines was an assistant dis-

trict attorney in Baton Rouge, she was working a case where a child was abused and needed to take the stand in order for the case to move forward.

That day, Hines brought in her three-legged dog, Goose, who is now 16 years old and retired and Goose worked his magic. The child in the case felt more comfortable. So Hines looked into official means of a trained facility dog to assist in more cases that’s when she met Diesel.

“I wanted the Eeyore of dogs,” Hines said, referencing the mellowed donkey character in “Winnie-the-Pooh.” “And Diesel was perfect.”

Diesel is on loan from Canine Companions, a dog training agency that breeds Labrador-golden retriever mixes to become facility dogs.

These facility dogs can work anywhere at physical or occupational therapy clinics, special education courses, child life specialties or criminal justice placements. Courthouse Dogs Foundation, a

ä See DIESEL, page 2G

BY ANNETTE SISCO Staff writer

When the curtain rises on a theater stage and a hush falls over the darkened seats, there’s a moment in which reality and fantasy seem to merge. That’s when theatergoers might sense a presence Or, some might say, a ghost. Recently a reader queried Curious Louisiana about the

while, and he is well versed in the ghosts and ghost sightings,” Don-Scott Cooper the producing executive director of Le Petit, wrote in a matter-of-fact email. On a recent morning, Grimsley was overseeing a crew of builders,

on and off for a long

national organization that works with family dogs bound for the courthouse, says there are 361 such dogs working in 41 states, including six in Louisiana.

The 3rd Judicial District Attorney’s office in Ruston and the Calcasieu Parish District Attorney’s office in Lake Charles have facility dogs, as does the Hammond Child Advocacy Services in Hammond and the Orleans Parish District Attorney’s office in New Orleans. And, of course, the two pups providing service in Baton Rouge.

Dogs in the program are meant to be calm, reliable and reduce anxieties in professional environments. A task Diesel does well, according to Hines.

“He’ll find the most anxious person in the room, which is sometimes even the attorneys, and sit down in front of them to provide some support,” Hines said “He’s very intuitive.”

When Hines was elected to her seat on the bench in 2022, she had to take a step back from Diesel’s care within the courthouse.

“To remain impartial in certain cases,” she said.

When Diesel’s working behind the witness stand on a case, he stays with Mona Gills-Collins, the jury coordinator and East Baton Rouge Parish clerk of court

Gills-Collins and Diesel have formed quite the bond over his years of service, often staying at Gills-Collins’ home in the country when cases are set to trial for weeks on end.

“I think sometimes that Diesel prefers Mona to me,” Hines said.

“But that’s fine with me, he’s got a lot of love to give. When he retires, we’ve said we’ll have to split custody.”

Some days, Diesel sits behind the bench with Hines, much to the surprise of some inmates that come through.

“They often say, ‘What?!’ Then, they smile and give Diesel a little wave,” Hines said.

Louisiana law allows the use of specially trained facility dogs “to provide emotional support to witnesses testifying in judicial proceedings without causing a distraction during the proceedings.” The law was put to the test in a 2020 trial when an 8-year-old requested the use of Diesel when she testified against her alleged rapist in a jury trial.

The judge allowed Diesel to lay at her feet.

In 2024, Hines worked with lawmakers to ensure that it was mandatory for a facility dog to be available to a child who is testifying in a jury trial. The judge can’t deny a request for Diesel.

Later that year, the Department of Public Works built a small gate around the witness stand so that jurors would not be able to see Diesel beneath, comforting a witness.

“The jury isn’t supposed to know he’s even there,” Hines said. “We don’t want any jurors to think sympathetic thoughts for the witness by having Diesel visible.”

When Hines left the district attorney’s office in Baton Rouge, she didn’t leave them hanging. Diesel has a partner in comfort with Clancy, a new facility dog who took up where Diesel left off, providing comfort at the office.

Email Margaret DeLaney at margaret.delaney@theadvocate. com.

veteran. His face, a study in character, is framed by dramatic, curly hair Around his neck he wears a rosary

Backstage the space is filled with the boxes, costumes and set pieces one of a theater that opened more than 100 years ago. In the gloom far above, over the pulleys and the catwalks, loom massive old cypress beams.

But what else is up there in the shadows?

Welcome to the dark side

Audiences might know the theater as a bustling place, filled with light and cheer, but the technical crew sees a different side the dark side.

Working late into the night, constructing sets on deadline ahead of opening, they sometimes notice movement and sounds. There are props and costumes that disappear, then materialize somewhere else.

Grimsley recalls the spectator he saw sitting alone in the balcony, watching the builders and wearing a jaunty captain’s hat. When he looked again, the man had vanished.

Other workers with longer tenure at Le Petit instantly recognized the description: He was a former patron of the theater they said, someone who years earlier had gone to what was supposed to be his final resting place. An apparition they called “The Captain.”

The ghosts seem to manifest that way — a figure noticed from the corner of the eye, rustling in the shadows or a sudden, icy draft.

Since he started with NORD’s Ty Tracy drama troupe in high school, Grimsley has spent a lifetime working all over the country in nearly every aspect of theater, creating fantasy realms through acting, set building and lighting. A certain openness to the otherworldly seems to come with the territory

“I’ve worked at Le Petit

many times late at night,” Grimsley reflected “My feeling is that when you’re on this earth, you create a lot of energy And when you die, it takes time for that to dissipate. Some people die, and they don’t know they’re dead. They stick around.”

Tragedy in the courtyard

All theaters have their legends, their superstitions, their stories. There’s a certain “Scottish play” by William Shakespeare that cannot be mentioned by name in any theater lest its ghosts and witches cause mayhem.

In the courtyard off Le Petit, old windows overlook a fountain, tables and tropical plants. But what else is looking on?

According to theater legend, a beautiful young woman in a long white gown can

AT RANDOM

Continued from page 1G

fall and I embrace the change instead of fighting it. I’m looking now beyond our dining room window where a fresh carpet of leaves dropped from our river birch and Drake elm overnight. I’m always surprised to discover each morning how much mysterious work has unfolded outside while I slept, the flight of leaves and owls as silent as snowfall in the darkness. Over coffee on the patio after sunrise, my wife and I sometimes see the leaves drop in real time — a little blizzard of brown, orange and red as squirrels scurry on the branches and shake things loose

The squirrel mind, I’ve found, dwells on insurrection, always hatching schemes of theft and assault. I just heard one as I write this, its insistent scratch amplified by the roof gutter where it’s trying to build a nest. I’m back at my keyboard after I tapped the eaves with a broomstick. My assailant just staged a clever retreat, though I’m sure the little gremlin will return Such is the news from the front lines of fall in suburban Louisiana. Zelda would tell me not to sweat the small things and enjoy the turning of the year something I’m trying to do as the days shorten and the calendar drops its final leaves.

Email Danny Heitman at danny@dannyheitman. com.

sometimes be seen behind the glass, gazing plaintively down at the flagstones. Could it be the ghost of a

The shadowy corridors and rooms in a theater may lend themselves to surprise encounters.

Grimsley recalls opening a door backstage once to be confronted by a dark man in colonial-era clothes who rushed straight at him — and through him. And then disappeared.

On another lonely night, a huge mirror outside a dressing room presented the technical director with a terrifying image.

“Whatever I saw scared the hell out of me,” he said.

He started, shrank back, looked again. It was only his own reflection. Or was it?

Email Annette Sisco at asisco@theadvocate. com. Do you have a question about something in Louisiana that’s got you curious?

Email your question to curiouslouisiana@ theadvocate.com. Include your name, phone number and the city where you live.