tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45728127801821837922024-02-06T19:39:54.008-08:00Virginia Pizza Consultants and Creative ImaginingsHome of Ed Buhrer, a funny guy with lots to share.Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-64566586771375134102018-02-23T09:03:00.003-08:002018-02-23T09:03:55.121-08:00For those who've ever been bullied<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">a chapter from my boyhood autobiography <i>ONLY: Growing Up Alone</i> (available on Amazon for Kindles and other readers) </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">UNCLE FRED AND THE DEATH OF DANNY FINK </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
I’ve mentioned the name of Danny Fink a couple times already and you're
probably saying to yourself "Who's this Danny Fink? I mean, is he
important, or am I ever going to meet him?" so I can tell you that no, he <i>isn't</i>
important‑‑but yeah, you're going to meet him, I guess‑‑but he did have a
pretty big effect on me when I was growing up, especially since I didn't have a
big brother or anybody to help me with him, but I did have Uncle Fred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, Danny Fink‑‑DANNY FINK‑‑was, well, he
was a pain in the ass, and a real puke, and the toughest kid in the world, or
at least, worst than the biggest goblin in my bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he came back into my life in seventh
grade, as if Miss Hoffman wasn't enough to keep me up nights. </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That year, down in Whitney Junior High,
every seventh‑grader had study hall, even if we had nothing to study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, we had plenty of stuff to do at home, but
studying in the middle of an auditorium that smelled like an Esso gas station
wasn't my idea of a good place to add to my education, and it wasn't very easy
to study, even if you had something to do, because these dumpy‑looking
teachers, who you never saw before or after study hall (honest, I don't know
where they came from or who'd got them to proctor study hall) took at least the
first half of the period calling roll and taking attendance, so you never
really could concentrate, especially if you had one of those dumb math
problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, like "If a man from New
York gets on a plane for Chicago going 400 miles per hour, with a 20 mile‑per‑hour
tailwind, and you are in Chicago, and get on a plane for New York, with a speed
of 350 miles per hour, with no tailwind, and if the distance between the two
cities is 650 miles, who will land first?" </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of
all, I never cared; honest, I mean if I really wanted to know that, I would've
gotten out of my seat‑‑once the "seat belts" sign went off‑‑and I
would've gone up to the cockpit (why do they call it that?) and I would've
asked the captain, or at least the navigator, "When are we getting into
New York?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I wrote that
for an answer one time, but my math teacher--the woman who looked like Robert
Mitchum--didn't think it was acceptable (she thought I was being a wiseguy) so
I got an F on that particular test, if you're wondering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly,
it never sounded right to me when those questions said "...a plane for Chicago going 400 miles an
hour." I mean, didn't that mean that <i>Chicago</i>
was going 400 miles per hour?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's
what the question said; it didn't say "...a <i>plane</i> going 400 miles
per hour, <i>heading for</i> Chicago..."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, my math teachers never really
cared about the grammar in their stupid math books, but still, it never sounded
right to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think if I ever become a
teacher, I'd better stick to English or something like that, because math never
really was my strong subject‑‑it still isn't‑‑and I never really had any respect
for math teachers because they didn't care whether they used English correctly
or not. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, on
a really windy, cold, and rainy Wednesday, I was sitting in study hall, where I
wasn't studying (and it wasn't a hall), when about five or ten minutes into the
period, the back door of the auditorium banged open, like a clap of thunder‑‑well,
not really, because the sound was more like "thuddonnnnng!"‑‑but
anyway, of course, everybody turned and looked, and through the open doorway
came this shape, walking really slow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
tell it was a guy, and I could also tell that he wanted to make some kind of
great, big‑deal kind of entrance, a real statement, you know, and as he got
closer, I realized who it was, and I got that Drano‑in‑the guts feeling again,
and I almost died; actually, I think I really did <i>want</i> to die, because
as the shadow turned into a real person, I realized who it was, and I was sure
he'd come for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, God, <i>Danny
Fink</i>; it was Danny Fink all right, dressed in his official leather
greaseball jacket (with the fifteen million zippers and the collar turned up)
over a plain white T‑shirt and worn black pants and engineer boots; his greased
Brylcreem hair hung down like a big brown wave over his forehead and his
pinched‑together‑looking rat-face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes‑‑I'll
always remember his beady dark eyes‑‑those eyes swept back and forth across the
auditorium like a snake's that's looking for a mouse to eat for a snack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he came sauntering down the aisle closest
to my side of the auditorium, and his boots, with the metal taps on the bottom,
made a hollow "tap‑tap‑scrape‑tap" as the sounds echoed around the
big room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just kind
of tried to shrink down in my seat and squeeze my head down inside the collar
of my cowboy shirt when he got close; he passed my row without seeing me, and
walked up to the man teacher who had been watching Danny make his lazy way down
to the front of the study hall. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since they
stuck us in alphabetical order (which took an entire period on the first day of
school, I recall), I could hear the whole conversation between Danny and the
teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yes,
young man, what are you doing here?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Goin'
to school," came Danny's wiseguy answer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Are
you being a smart‑aleck, son?" the teacher snapped. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I
ain't your son! Here's my admit slip and my schedule. Where you want me to
sit?" Danny spat back, looking straight at the teacher until the teacher
lost the staring contest and snatched the slips from Danny Fink's hand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Uh, just
find a seat in the back and no talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is a study hall, so starting tomorrow, bring something to work on
in here or you'll find yourself in trouble with me, understand?" the
teacher said, although he didn't sound as tough as he was trying to sound. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Danny just
stood there, looking at the man, with this sort of smirk on his pimply face; it
was then that I noticed that Danny Fink already had a beard; well, I don't mean
a <i>beard</i>, but just a bunch of black stubby nubs sticking out all over his
face and I knew he must've had to shave at least once or twice a week, although
it didn't look like he had recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe he was afraid of tearing or slicing open his pimples, because he
had some pretty good big, purple ones down toward his chin and under his chin,
on his neck, you know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did
you hear me, young man?" the teacher repeated, aware that everyone in the
auditorium had been listening and was still watching the whole thing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yeah,
I heard you." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Well,
go take a seat and be quiet or you'll get yourself detention." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Gee,
I'm really scared!" Danny snapped over his right shoulder as he started
back up my aisle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What
did you say? Hey, you, what did you say?" the teacher called out, but
Danny just ignored him with this curved‑lip expression on his puss and then, as
I looked up from under my lower eyebrows and right into Danny Fink's eyes, I
realized that he was looking right at me through the kids in the two rows in
front of me, and when he got even with my row, he just turned that lizardy neck
and head toward me and smiled, but it wasn't a nice‑guy smile, it was kind of
like the smile the Nazis in the movies always had when they were about to
torture some prisoner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the Drano
started working down in my underwear zone again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I
ought to tell you why I was sweating it so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see,
back in fifth grade‑‑not in fifth grade but the <i>year </i>I had fifth grade‑‑I
was out on the school ballfield one Saturday, playing "three flies you're
up" with some other guys, and I was out in the field, trying to be the
first to get three so I could whack some good ones out to show everyone that I
was a pretty good slugger, even if I was small, and Dougie hit a pretty high
shot out toward me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Yours, Eddie!" cried Bobby, and I took off, racing toward my
right and knowing that if I was going to catch it, I was really going to have
to dig and use all the speed my old Sears sneakers had left in them. The
baseball and I were just coming into line with each other when the sky
disappeared, the ground came up fast and my right hand, with the glove on it
(I'm a lefty) and my face hit grass and dirt at the same time. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't remember the exact order of it
all, but I remember that this sharp pain shot up from my right wrist and my
nose had that really lousy feeling of being punched in it and there was this
kind of throbbing feeling in my right ankle, and then I realized that I hadn't
tripped and I hadn't hit a hole in the outfield—somebody had tripped me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's where the throb in my ankle came from.
</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Hey,
you jerk, whadja do that for!?" I yelled as I hopped back to my feet and
came face‑to‑face with some kid I'd never seen before. I mean, I'd thought one
of the other guys in the outfield had done it, but there was this other kid, at
least a foot taller than me, standing there, just laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he kicked my glove about ten feet
through the air. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this
time, most of the other guys had trotted over. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Cut
it out, you jerk, leave my glove alone!" I shouted, and not too
intelligently (I never could keep my mouth shut‑‑if there was one kid you could
hear a mile away when we were playing, it was me; just ask my parents; they
were always telling me that!) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
wanna do somethin' about it?" the guy said, balling up his hands into
fists and giving me this "I'm gonna kick your ass" look. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Hey,
leave 'im alone," I heard Bobby say behind me as I walked over to pick up
my Sears bargain mitt and knocked the dust off it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"<i>You</i>
wanna do somethin' about it, huh?" the kid said again, like a broken
record.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Why'n’t you just get off the field
and there won't be any trouble," Bobby said; he and this guy were just
about the same size, but Bobby had some pretty good‑looking muscles in his arms
already because he was lifting weights at home, and I could tell this other guy
liked tripping guys my size a lot more than Bobby‑sized ones, so he just gave
Bobby this stare and said, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"This
ain't your field, you don't own it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can walk on it if I want to." <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Well,
why don't you go walk on some other part of it?" someone yelled, and then
I realized that it had come out of <i>my</i> big mouth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, this
guy, who I'm sure you realize by now was Danny Fink, just turned to look at me
as if I was some kind of rodent, and said, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
got a big mouth, little boy, does your daddy know you're out alone?" he
said, saying it like he was talking to a baby or something. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Do
you even know who <i>your</i> father is?" came back out of that same big
mouth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, Danny
Fink just kind of looked like he'd been hit by lightning or something, because
first his mouth dropped open, and then his face got all red‑like, and then he
reached into one of his leather jacket pockets and whipped out this knife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a long
skinny knife, almost like a straight razor, with red plastic handles and a
silver button on one side, and he started waving it in my face and then he
snarled, "You can't talk to me like that! I've killed for less than
that!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the
brown stuff (you know) <i>really</i> hit the fan, because, even with that knife‑‑and
I knew it was a "switchblade" although I'd never seen one before,
except in <i>Rebel Without a Cause</i>‑‑ waving in my face and me feeling like
I had to go to the bathroom, I recognized that stupid line about “killing for
less that that” from an old George Raft or James Cagney movie and I just
exploded and started laughing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That didn't
make things any better, because Danny Fink just got madder; then he got closer,
and he yelled, right in my face, "You wanna say that again before I cut
your heart out and eat it?" and that got the rest of the guys laughing
because even though he looked pretty mad and pretty mean, especially with the
leather jacket and a knife in his hand, I don't think any of us felt that
scared, especially since none of us believed he had done or could do any of
that stuff that he was talking about. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all of
us laughing and sort of holding our hands over our mouths and looking at each
other got him really steamed, so he just held that hand out with the knife in
it and his thumb with a dirty fingernail kind of snaked out from the rest of
his hand and pushed that silver‑looking button on the handle of the knife. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess
since that switchblade was right there in my face, that's why I can remember
everything that happened next. Almost in slow motion, from between those two
red plastic handles, a thin silvery blade swung out toward my eyes, and just as
the blade was swinging into place, in line with the rest of the knife, I heard
this "twinnng‑snapp!" and the next thing I knew, the blade had gone
right past where it was supposed to stop and then it was just hanging down,
swinging back and forth a little, sort of like a pendulum, you know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked up
at Danny Fink and he had this dumb look on his face, like he was saying
"What the hell? Duh? Huh?" in a cartoon bubble over his head, and
looking down at the knife in his hand, that looked like it had died, and I
guess it had, or at least, whatever spring or piece of metal or something that
made the knife work had broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
must've been where the "twinnng‑snapp" had come from. I mean, that
switchblade really looked stupid, like a dead "L" in his hand, with
the blade still swinging a little, like it was slowly dying, along with the
rest of the knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I did
something else that was really stupid: I laughed some more. I had to laugh, we
all did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, we'd stopped laughing
all right, for about ten seconds maybe, when he'd pushed that knife's button, but
we were all back at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he reached
out and grabbed some of my hair and started to yank me closer to him, but I
swung my Sears mitt at him and it hit him on the side of his face and he let
go, long enough for me to run, anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all ran,
straight for our bikes and when I risked a look back after I'd hopped on my
bike, Danny Fink was running toward us, stopping every five or ten steps to
reach down and grab a rock and throw it at us, but he threw really lousy,
almost like a girl; I wondered if he'd ever thrown rocks at cars and windows
like other delinquents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just yelled
stuff at him and he cursed at us, you know, stuff about our mothers which we
all knew wasn't true, and he kept throwing rocks until we were over the hill
and he couldn't see us anymore. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Let's
go to The Oasis and get a soda or A‑creams!" I remember Bobby yelling over
the wind in my ears from pedaling fast, but I didn't have any money and I
didn't know where Danny Fink was going to go next, and it had been me that he'd
tried to have all his fun with, so I yelled back, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I
don't have any money!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let's just get
outta here, Bob." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Yeah," Dougie shouted, "No money, either, and I'm
already in enough trouble 'cause we left my brother Billy's baseball back there
in the outfield." </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bobby, who'd been in the lead, pulled his
bike over to the curb and poked around in his pocket and counted his dough and
said, "Look, I'll buy ya all a nickel Coke and then we'll sneak back along
Maywood Road and we'll go get Dougie's brother's ball, okay?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"And anyway," he added, "we
got a bat if that kid tries anything, okay?" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
didn't feel too safe about hanging around or going back there, either, but my
mouth was really dry and you just don't turn down free Cokes every day, so
Dougie and me and the couple other guys with us just kind of nodded and mumbled
"Yeah" and we went to get our Cokes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were
spinning around on the stools in front of the soda fountain and slurping our
Cokes through straws whose wrappers we had launched neatly into the air when
Mr. Pappas wasn't looking, I remember Dougie asking if anyone knew who the kid
with the knife was. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"That's Danny Fink," said Mike, one of the other guys who
lived on the other side of the school and who wasn’t in my class. "He
lives on my street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He goes to Holy
Immaculate now." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Whaddaya mean, <i>now</i>?" I asked. "He wasn't ever at
our school, was he?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Naah,
I don't think so; he used to go to Our Mother of the Divine Sacred Heart, but
he got thrown out for somethin'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
heard he got caught stealin' or cheatin' or cursin'‑‑maybe all three, I don't
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just better watch out for
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kicked all the spokes outta my
brother's bike last summer and then threw it in the street in front of a Good Humor
truck. Boy, was my old man mad when he got home and heard about it!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What
happened?" someone asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Well,
my dad went over to the Finks' house and had a talk with Mr. Fink, who's not a
bad guy, really, but he's a little skinny guy and Danny's already bigger than
his old man, so he just does what he wants to, I think, that's why they keep
sending him to Catholic school, I guess hoping those nuns'll fix him, but it
ain't working, at least it don't look that way," Mike explained. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yeah,
but what happened about your brother's bike?" Bobby still wanted to know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Oh,
Mr. Fink told my dad to have it fixed and he'd pay for it." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did
he?" I asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yeah,
it cost a lot, too, 'cause the whole frame had gotten bent by the ice‑cream
truck and it needed two new wheels, but old man Fink paid my father." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Whadd'he do to Danny?" Dougie wanted to know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Who?" Mike asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"His
father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whaddid Mr. Fink do to
Danny?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Nothin' 'sfar as I know. ‘Cause Danny was out, hittin' other kids
and pushin' littler kids around all summer long, so you'd better keep your
mouth shut around him, Eddie," he said, turning to look at me,"'cause
I heard my father say that Danny was gonna end up in reform school or prison
some day, and I believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, you
saw that knife, didn't you?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Some
knife!" my mouth blurted out. (I mean, don't get me wrong, I wasn't trying
to be tough or anything, it was just that I still had the picture of that dead
knife in my head yet.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Shut
up, Eddie," Bobby said, "he'd'a kicked the crap outta you if we
hadn't all been there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, if he
could get hold of a knife like that, he could probably get a hold of a zip gun
or a real gun next." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that
thought shut me up, really tight, because I could pretty easily picture Danny
Fink whipping out a gun and drilling me, and that didn't seem so funny, so I
just kept my big mouth shut and went back to finishing Bobby's free nickel
Coke. (If you're wondering, yeah, I said "thank you" to Bobby, just
like my grandmothers taught me to.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, we
sneaked back along the street behind the school and there wasn't any sign of
Danny Fink, so Bobby rode out on the outfield grass and found Dougie's
brother's baseball and then we all just kind of split up and went home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was
the first time I ever saw Danny Fink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
saw him a couple times after that, along the street or over by The Oasis, but
I'd always ride my bike on the other side of the street or go somewhere else
until I knew Danny Fink wasn't there anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oh, he always saw me, and he'd shoot his middle finger up in the air at
me and stuff like that, or yell what he was going to do to me if he caught me,
but I'd just stay out of range and well, that's all, really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until that day in seventh-grade study hall. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a
couple of weeks after the switchblade incident, I didn't see Danny Fink; we'd
heard he'd gotten kicked out of another Catholic school and Mike'd heard in his
neighborhood that no other school would take him and that he'd gotten caught
shoplifting in Rumson's Sporting Goods Store, trying to swipe a hunting knife
(oh, great!) and was on some kind of juvenile parole or probation, something
like that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, one
day in junior high, I was eating lunch with Dick and Mike and some other school
friends, and I was telling some pretty good jokes, I guess, because everyone
was laughing really hard, when I heard, "You think you're real funny,
don't you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How's your mother?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She get outta jail for being a prostitute
yet?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked up, but I'd known who it was, and
it was. And he was just standing there, with that beardy‑pimply face, smiling
at me. Well, I could feel Dick's and Mike's eyes on me and I knew I had to say
something; otherwise, they'd think I was scared of him (which I was), so I just
sorta gulped, I remember, and then said, "You shut up about my
mother!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I got one."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Oh,
you can say stuff about mine, but I can't say nothin' about yours, huh?"
he snarled, kind of. I knew he really probably didn't even care about his
mother, from what Mike had said about the way he talked back to his father; I
knew he was just trying to push me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
started it," was all I could think of saying back, so I did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
wanna finish it?" he asked, and being stupid, I didn't realize what he'd
meant; I mean, I thought he was asking if I wanted to end the conversation, so
I said, "Yeah!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, he
just flashed that smirky smile again, like he'd just caught his mouse, and
said, "Good! See you behind Caulfield Elementary today at four, and you
better be there, or I'll come find you this time!" and then he walked
away, with that "tap‑tap‑scrape" of him and his motorcycle boots. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I
realized what he'd meant and what I had waiting for me at four o'clock back
behind old Caulfield Elementary School and I've already told you about what a
great boxer or fighter I'm not, but there wasn't much I could do, because Mike
and Dick had heard the whole thing and about all there was left for me to do
was either meet him and get beat up or be called a "chicken" by the
whole world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just felt like going to
the bathroom, so I did, but nothing but gas came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I
was sitting there, though, I had lots of pictures of blood and guts coming out
of me by about 4:05 that afternoon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part
of the story is kind of embarrassing and painful to remember, much less write
about; just take my word for it that I showed up (without my bike, because I
still remember the story Mike had told about Danny Fink and Mike's brother's
bike) and Danny pushed me and punched me and kicked me when I was rolling
around on the ground (which they never did in the movies; I mean, even the bad
guys never did that‑‑they just waited for the other guy to get up before they
tried to knock him down again) and then he said some more stuff about my
mother, which got me mad and I charged him and he tripped me and then kneeled
on me and hit and kicked me a few more times…I don’t remember how many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I said I don't want to get too
detailed about this; I got a bloody nose and a cut lip and some sore ribs and
nice big scrapes on both elbows, and went limping home, crying and sniffling
because it was bad enough that Danny had beat me up, but Dick had been there
and had seen it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, he walked me
home to Presto, even though it was out of his way, and kept telling how I'd put
up a good fight and how no one could call me "chicken," which
might've made Dick feel better, but it didn't help me much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just hurt and it was embarrassing, even
though nobody would've bet money on me winning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I guess
the worst part was getting home, because Uncle Fred was there that day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see,
Uncle Fred is my father's older brother, and he's really huge, I mean, he's
about 6'6" and must've weighed about 250 pounds back then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's a truck driver and owns his own
business, even though he'd never gotten past eighth grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he's a bachelor, so he always has lots of
money and girlfriends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a
little guy, maybe three or four or five, he used to pay me a quarter to scrub
his great big, freckled back when he took a bath, and later, when I was maybe
ten or eleven, I guess, when he'd come to visit, he'd give me a buck or two for
washing his car, which he never bothered to wash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember my father always giving him a hard
time about that, because Uncle Fred always had really good cars, like
Oldsmobiles and big Chryslers (we had Chevys or a couple of DeSoto models), and
then he'd get on Uncle Fred about paying me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"What're you giving him money for?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He doesn't need that much money and anyway, you're usin' my water, so
you oughta be payin' <i>me</i>!" my father would say, even though it was
my old man who was always yelling at Uncle Fred about how he never washed his
cars or waxed them and how he had better cars than my father but didn't take
care of them and all, but Uncle Fred would just kind of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ignore him and pay me anyway; one time, he
just told my old man to “shut the hell up!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I really liked that. Of course, I'd have to give the money to my father
or mother, "for safe keeping," and if I was really good, they might
give me some of it to buy candy or a soda with it, sometimes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, if
my old man was around, he'd always slip me a dollar or sometimes five and once
even a ten‑dollar bill, and he'd always say "Don't tell your old man"
or "Don't tell anybody" although I never really understood why it was
bad for him to give me money. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncle Fred
has always been like a hero to me, maybe because he's so big; three of my
fingers were like one of his; he could put my whole fist inside of his and you
wouldn't even see any part of my hand at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don't think my mother liked him much, because she was always saying
stuff like "If you don't straighten up your room, you're going to turn out
just like your uncle" or "If you don't like to study, you can wind up
like Uncle Fred," which didn't sound so bad to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, when
she'd said, "You're going to turn out like your uncle!" I'd said,
"That's good," which got me a good, hard slap across the face--the
only time my mother's ever really smacked me--so I didn't say I wanted to be
like him anymore, but I still thought about it, you know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncle
Fred's always looked like John Wayne to me, even though he doesn't sound like
him…or have much hair. Actually, he only looks like John Wayne from the
eyebrows down, because Uncle Fred lost most of his red hair by the time he was
twenty, but all the guys who know him still call him "Red."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I said, Uncle Fred is pretty much of a
hero to me...even now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
came limping and snuffling home alone that afternoon after Dick left, and I saw
his big box-like delivery truck parked in the street in front of our house, and
I didn't want him to see me, so I tried to sneak around the back, but he
must've seen me in his side‑view mirror, because I remember him saying, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Hey,
nephew, don't you say hello to your old uncle anymore?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stepped
out of the truck, with one of his Chesterfields
hanging out of the side of his mouth, and then I guess he saw me, I mean he saw
what I looked like because of the fight, because he said, </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Jeez‑us H. Christ! What the hell
happened to you?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he looked so
sad‑‑I'd never seen him look like that before; he always was laughing or joking‑‑that
I just started crying and burbling and he was there with his great big hands,
holding me by the shoulders, and telling me to calm down and stop crying, but I
couldn't, so he just picked me up around the waist and carried me around to the
back of the house and turned on the hose and made me wash my face, which hurt
because I hadn't realized until then that my lip was cut because the rest of me
had felt so lousy, inside and out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Here,
blow your nose," he'd said, handing me his handkerchief, one of those big
red‑and‑blue ones that always looked like the neckerchiefs that Gene Autry
wore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I honked into his handkerchief
and slowly stopped huffing and puffing and then he led me back to his truck and
opened up the passenger door and just lifted me up into the cab as if I was a
tissue or something, that's how easily he did it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Tell
me what happened," he said, still with that sad look on his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I told him, and every time I started to
get embarrassed about getting beat up and started to get teary, Uncle Fred
would hold up his hand and tell me to take deep breaths, and I'd slow back down
until I finally got the whole story out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I looked up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"What'd the other guy look like?" he asked next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I started to tell him what Danny Fink
looked like, like about his hair and leather jacket and all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"No,
Eddie, what did he look like today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did <i>he</i>
look like he was in a fight, or are you the only one who looks like that?"
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well,
having my uncle, my hero, say it like that made me lose it all over again, at
least for a minute, and then I just blurted out stuff about how much older and
bigger Danny Fink was than the rest of us in seventh grade and told him about
the knife thing two years before in fifth grade and so on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Get
outta the truck and come over here," Uncle Fred said, getting down from
his side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went around in front of his
truck, the one that said "Fred's Express" on the doors--the truck he
drove six days a week to make the money he gave me--and went to stand next to
my giant relative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he reached behind
his seat, I heard him say, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"If
you're gonna get in a fight with someone that big, an’ you ain’t got a chance
of winnin’, you gotta have an equalizer. Otherwise, you're gonna get the crap
beat out of you every time!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I had
no idea what he meant about an "equalizer," so I stammered,
"What's an equalizer?" </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His great big freckled arm came back out
from behind the truck seat and at the end of that great big arm was one of his
great big, freckled hands, holding half of a great big Louisville Slugger,
although it didn't look so big in his hand. (For those of you who don't play
baseball or you women out there, a Louisville Slugger is just about the best
and only baseball bat to buy in the whole world, a lot better than a bat from
Sears, at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, nobody on the
Giants or Dodgers would be caught dead using a Sears bat.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I
just kept staring at that half‑bat, because Uncle Fred was waving it slowly in
front of my face, more or less the way Danny had waved that knife, but it
wasn't the same, because I was with Uncle Fred, you know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end of
the bat stopped right after the label, and in the middle of the wood was a
round circle of something gray. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"See
that gray stuff at the end?" Uncle Fred asked. "That's lead. I had a
guy drill out the end of the bat for me and then he poured hot lead in there
and let it get hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>This</i>, Eddie,
is an equalizer." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What
do you do with it?" I wanted to know. </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Nothing, hopefully, but when I'm
driving down in the bad part of Newark, some guys'll try to steal your truck
when you're stopped at a light, or they try to yank you outta the truck and
grab your wallet, so I keep this on the seat, just in case." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
couldn't picture my uncle ever needing to use a bat with hands and arms like he
had. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did
you ever really hafta use that thing, Uncle Fred?" I wondered. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Yeah," was all he'd say. "Listen, Eddie, next time
you're gonna get in a fight you got no chance of winnin’, stay out of it or
take a bat or look for something big and hard<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>for an equalizer and use it if you hafta," he said. "I just
don't wanna see you comin' home lookin' like this again. And don't say anything
about this to your old man or your mother, or I'll never hear the end of it,
you hear?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"But
Uncle Fred, Dad'd kill me if I hit someone with a bat!" I argued. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
wanna get beat up again, nephew?" he asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"No,
but‑‑" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"--Then take an equalizer or stay outta fights, but if you come
home like this again and I see you, <i>I'm</i> gonna kill you, and you won't
have to worry about your ol’ man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
don't tell them I told you to do it. Just beat the other guy up and keep your
mouth shut!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
wasn't going to argue with Uncle Fred, and anyway, the thought of winning a
fight was better than getting killed by my uncle (or my father), so I just
stayed quiet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What
are you gonna tell them when they see your mouth and nose? You get in trouble
in school or anything like that?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
explained that school had nothing to do with the fight and said that I thought
maybe I'd say I fell on my bike. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yeah,
do that; that way, your old man won't have to worry about his kid not being `a
good soldier' and biting the bullet." Then he really started to chuckle,
although I still don't know what was so funny to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it had something to do with my father
and him being brothers and when they were younger or something; I don't know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I don't know because Uncle Fred never
said, plus I also don't have a brother. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, my
parents believed the bike accident story, and after Dad checked the bike to
make sure it hadn't been damaged ("bikes don't grow on trees," you
know), he just said "You'll live!" and that ended it, at least that
part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncle Fred
stayed for dinner (that's why he'd shown up that afternoon) and lied and told
my mother that dinner was "wonderful" and gave me this really serious
look all during dinner, but when he left, when we were standing out by his
truck, he just shook my hand and slipped two folded dollar bills into it and
said, "Remember: take an equalizer and don't tell anybody I gave you
money. Enjoy yourself. Keep it hangin'." (I never understood that last
part..not <u>then</u>, anyway.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then he
hauled himself up into the cab, groaning something about "...learning to
cook like Ma" and then he drove off into the night, the dull red glow of
the taillights and his truck rattling on off over the hill. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
spent the two bucks eventually, mostly on vanilla A‑creams and licorice, I
guess, and forgot about the equalizer part until later that spring, when I had
that feeling, you know, the one where you think you've been someplace or said
something or done the same thing before, sometime. I forget what it's called;
it was on a vocabulary test last year, some French words is all I
remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, you know what I'm
talking about because everybody's had that feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, that's when it happened, again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple
weeks after Danny Fink had shown up in that study hall, I was out on that same
school ballfield, playing the same game, only I was the one hitting the ball
out to the other guys that time, and I was smacking them out pretty well and
feeling good about watching Davey and Bobby and the other guys, Dougie, too,
scampering all over the outfield. I wasn't feeling small at all, because those
flies were really sailing over their heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's great
when you toss that baseball up into the air and get that bat to whistle around
your head and hit the ball just right and there's that "thock" and
you know you've nailed it just right and the ball just kind of disappears up
into the blue sky and the clouds and everything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway,
there I was, watching Davey chasing a rolling ball through the grass behind
him, and I looked a little to the left and saw the leather jacket and the
slicked‑back hair and Danny Fink; my hands got all sweaty and I could actually
feel my lip and nose start to throb, as if lips and noses had memories,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he just kept coming across the
field, looking right at me, and getting that stupid grin on his hairy face
again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess the
other guys saw him, too, because they started walking in toward me, Bobby
walking faster than Davey or Dougie, and then I could hear Danny Fink's voice
come across the infield. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Uh‑oh,
here come your big brothers, I better run away before they get me." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember thinking, "<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yeah, well, if I
had big brothers, they'd kill you</i>!" but I didn't say much else to
myself because I was really starting to worry about getting kicked around
again, and I knew that's what he had in mind, too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I
started to figure that since he hadn't done anything to me back in fifth grade,
because there'd been too many of us, that maybe he wouldn't try anything this
time, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, by the time I'd
finished doing all that figuring, there he was, standing right in front of me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still
needed a shave and a good acid treatment for his pimples; I noticed that he'd
picked up another habit, because there was a pack of Camels in the pocket of
his T‑shirt and he really smelled like one of my father's ashtrays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, maybe it wasn't a new habit, because
guys like him, they probably had started sucking smoke out of cigarettes when
the rest of us were still sucking our thumbs, you know? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I was
down, on the ground, with absolutely no idea how I'd gotten there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was Danny Fink, like a dark tree above
me; I remember the smells of the grass and dirt and leather and cigarettes, but
there was this really deep blue sky with those mashed‑potato clouds floating
along on either side of him, as if they had no idea what was happening to me,
down there on the ground. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Leave
'im alone, Fink!" I heard Bobby, just as if I was reliving part of my
life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"This
is just between him and me; he said dirty stuff about my mother at school
yesterday," he lied, "and I'm gonna take care of him." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"You're a stinkin' liar!" I yelled as I got back up to my
feet, backing up at the same time, "I didn't say anything about you or
anybody and you know it!" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did I
hear you callin' me a liar?" (Was he deaf?) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Just
leave me alone, 'cause you know I didn't say anything about you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go pick on somebody your own size!" I
yelled some more. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Yeah," I heard Davey say, "why don't you leave him
alone?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"<i>You</i>
wanna fight, big shot?" Danny said, looking at Davey. </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davey didn't say anything after that, not
that I blame him, because he was just about the worst fighter of us all, other
than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile,
just as much as I was backing away from him, Danny was still coming toward me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Come
on, chicken, here chick-chick-chick, just say you're sorry about what you said
about my mother and maybe I won't kick the shit outta you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just get down on your knees and say you're
sorry." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually
thought about doing that for about a second or two, and then I remembered what
Uncle Fred had said about killing me if I let Danny Fink do it to me again, and
believe me, I believed my uncle Fred, I really did, so I just opened my big
mouth all over again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I'm
not getting on my knees for you, you pimple‑faced puke! Why don't you go cut
somebody's heart out and eat it?!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I heard Bobby start to laugh because I knew he remembered the last
time, two years before. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Danny just
got red in his pimply face all over again, just like before, and kept coming. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Leave
me alone! I mean it, leave me alone, or‑‑" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Or
what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What're you gonna do, <i>bleed</i>
on me?" Danny sneered and then there he was, right in front of me, with
his hands reaching out for my shirt. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honest to
God, I'd completely forgotten that I still had Bobby's Louisville Slugger (Duke
Snider model) in my hand‑‑I'd had it the whole time; honest, I didn't even
realize it, but the next thing I knew, Danny was on the ground, holding his
right leg in his hands and screaming, really screaming up a storm, and I was
standing there, not understanding why he was on the ground and I was still up,
looking down at him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between
the screams, I can still remember him howling, "My leg's broke, oww! You
broke my fugging leg, you shit, I'll kill you, you little bag of shit!"
And then Danny Fink actually started crying, not loud or anything, but he was. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked down at Bobby's bat in my hand and
dropped it, as if it was a murder weapon or something, and the next thing I
knew, I was halfway home on my bike, waiting for the sounds of police sirens
behind me and wondering what reform school was going to be like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I realized, just before I got to
Silverman’s Hotel (the old, abandoned one) that I didn't know what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, it was the middle of the afternoon of
a beautiful spring day‑‑what would I tell my parents?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They'd go into cardiac arrest if I just came
home voluntarily in the middle of a Saturday, and I sure couldn't tell them
what had sent me home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I rode
my bike up the old dirt driveway of the hotel and hid out in the woods, back
where our tree fort used to be, where the vines and stuff grew really thick,
like a tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just sat
in there for about two days or a couple hours, trying to cry and trying to
think and wondering whether I should run away, maybe to my grandmother's farm
in Freehold and sleep in her barn, like I'd seen some kid do in a movie, and
wondering how long it would take me and the bike to get there, when I heard
bush sounds in the woods, and the sounds were mixed with whispering and more
thrashing about and I peeked out, trying to catch the blue of police uniforms
and the glint of sunlight off their badges and buttons‑‑and guns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Boo!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ha, ha,
ha-ha!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must've
jumped a hundred feet out of my underwear and sneakers and there were Bobby and
Davey, sitting on top of my big granite rock that rose behind the vine wigwam
I'd been hiding in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the
heck're you doin' in there, Eddie?" Bobby said, all the time laughing at
how his "boo" had made me jump. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Shut
up, stupid!" I whispered, "you wanna get me caught?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Caught by who?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who's gonna
catch ya?" Davey asked. (What was he, stupid, too?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hadn't he ever seen the movies?) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Why
you think I'm hiding in here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Danny
Fink's gonna get the cops after me and you guys're gonna lead them right to
me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You probably broke a million twigs
and stuff gettin' here, so you're gonna lead them right to me!" I
whispered angrily. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"You've been watching too many cowboy movies, you dope!" Bobby
said, still laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Whaddayou
think, the cops got Indians to track you down or something?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeez, what an imagination." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Just
go away and leave me alone, or you're gonna get in trouble, too," I
pleaded with them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Listen, Eddie, nothin's gonna happen to you," Davey insisted.
"That Danny kid got what he asked for and we'll all swear to it if
anything happens." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yeah,
it was self‑defense," Bobby said, just like they did in the movies.
"We're all witnesses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He attacked
you and you protected yourself. That's all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Come on, let's go play in the woods…an’ get your stupid bike outta those
weeds." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What
bike?" I asked, because I had camouflaged it really well with some
branches and leaves. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"The bright blue bike we could see for
about a mile, you know, the one over there under the leaves and branches,"
Bobby said, laughing some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much
for camouflage. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, we
played hide‑and‑seek in the woods for the rest of the afternoon, but when I was
hiding, and alone inside my thoughts, I never could get over the queasy feeling
that when I left the woods (with my bike) and went back home, that there'd be
two or three police squad cars out front, waiting for me, waiting to take me
away to reform school. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
no squad cars on our street when I crept out of the woods after it had started
to get dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I really caught
it again for being late for dinner and because my mother had had to go out in
the street, screaming "Edddddiee!" and getting no response, which
always got my father really burned up; I guess hearing your wife howling all
over the neighborhood could be pretty embarrassing, probably because they both
knew I'd come home eventually and so did the rest of the neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I always came home, at least up till
then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where else could I go? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I was
pretty worried about getting to school the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure that Danny Fink had gotten a hold
of a gun overnight and was going to jump me in the boy's room, so I never took
a pee the whole day, because I just knew if I did, that would be the bathroom
he'd be waiting in, so by the time I got home, my bladder was about ready to
explode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But nothing happened, and
nobody had seen Danny the whole day, so then I was sure he was being
interviewed by the police, and that they'd all be there‑‑Danny Fink and the
cops‑‑in front of our house when I got home from school that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked slowly over the rise in the
road that led down to our house that afternoon, my knees got really weak and I
almost started to cry and run back down the hill, but as I said before, where
else could I go, so I just got to the top and looked down at the police cars
that weren't there. </div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet I had a smile on my face for about
an hour after I got home, and for the whole time we went out to the field
behind Silverman’s and played catch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was starting to believe Bobby and Davey, that nothing was going to happen to
me, and anyway, they said they'd be witnesses at my trial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even made
sure I got home early for dinner that night, and helped my mother set the table
(for all three of us) just to try to get back on their "our son's
okay" list that I always imagined them having locked up somewhere, along
with the one that said "our son's a criminal" at the top, with dates
of things I'd done wrong, since they could always quote the day and minute and
year of everything I'd ever done to make them sad or disappointed, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't
even mind the cream-of-celery soup and the stewed tomatoes we had for dinner,
because I was starting to feel relieved, finally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the phone rang. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might
be saying "So the phone rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big
deal," but it didn't ring all that much in our house, I don't know why,
but it rang, right in the middle of the hot, soggy tomatoes and rubbery fried
chicken. With a tired groan, my father got up and answered it, picking the
receiver off the phone on the little table next to the door to the living room.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Hello?...Buhrer, not Brewer...Yes, I have. Why?...Yes, that's his
name...Uh‑huh...<i>What</i>?!...He did <i>wha</i>‑‑!...Yes...Yes...I
understand, but no, I won't tell him....No…<i>yes</i>, I understand what you're
saying, but I'm not going to tell him that...Yes,I understand, thank
you...That's very understanding of you and I'm sorry this happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will <i>not</i> happen again, you can be
sure of that...No, fine...Thank you. Goodbye." (click)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
knew my time had come, because the whole time my father had been on the phone,
the entire time he'd been talking to the police, he'd been looking at me, and
those green eyes of his had been getting narrower and narrower and by the time
he hung up the phone, those eyes had eaten a hole right through me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You
know who that was, Edward? (Edward--uh-oh!) he asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"The
police?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"The
police!? What the h...what's the matter with you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a man named Fink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you know anyone named Danny Fink, and
don't lie to me, because I'll see it in your eyes!" </span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Yes." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did
you break his leg with a baseball bat Sunday?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"No,
it was Saturday," I said, as I watched my father's eyes change from green
to red. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Do you know what could've happened to you
and to me and your mother? Do you have any idea? <i>Do</i> you?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I
could go to reform school?" I offered, not knowing anything about what
could happen to them; I mean, Danny Fink never did anything to <i>them</i> that
I knew of, and I didn't think they'd ever done anything to Danny, because if
they had, he wouldn't have been around to get me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Reform school! Oh my <i>God</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If Mr. Fink felt like it, he could sue us for everything we have and
we'd all be out on the street, living in cardboard boxes and eating acorns! Do
you know what he said, <i>do</i> you?" (Dad wasn't really looking for an
answer to this one.) "He told me to tell you that what you did was okay
and that if his son ever bothered you again, you should break his other leg.
That's what he told me! What do you think about <i>that</i>?!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I
guess I had the wrong expression on my face, because I said "Great!"
and then they both started yelling about lawsuits and the legal
responsibilities of parents and how they could go to jail or lose our house and
I didn't know what I was supposed to think, what with Danny's father saying it
was okay to whack him but my father saying it was wrong, so I just started
crying and without meaning to, I babbled out something about an
"equalizer." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honest to
God, I didn't <i>mean</i> to say anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But they both just shut up completely, as if someone'd flipped a switch
and then they turned and stared at me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Equalizer? What equalizer? What are you <i>talking </i>about?"
my old man yelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Nothing," I tried, but it was
too late; maybe he'd recognized the term, I don't know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Don't
tell me `nothing.' What equalizer?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I
didn't mean to break his leg, I <i>didn't</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s a big kid and a bully an’ just came at me and tried to beat me up
again like he did two years ago, and I had Bobby's bat and I didn't mean to do
it but I guess I swung it like Uncle Fred‑‑" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Oohhh, Uncle Fred!" my mother shrieked, "Uncle Fred <i>again</i>!
No wonder! Oh my God!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fred!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh‑my‑<i>God</i>!" And she went off and
on like that for about ten minutes, about how "he" was going to ruin
her only child and how she didn't bring him (me, she meant) into the world to
have "<i>your</i> brother" (looking at my father, this time, instead
of up at the ceiling) ruin me and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course,
this just got my father even more angry with <i>me</i> and, well, you can figure
the rest out by now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't a happy
night, put it that way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well,
Danny Fink never came back to Whitney Junior High; I don't know what happened
to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'd heard some rumor that he
got caught trying to rob a liquor store, but I remember seeing him coming out
of the Capri Pizzeria on crutches with two older guys a couple weeks after
that, so I figured the rumor had been just a rumor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also heard that his parents had sent him
to live with relatives who must've been some kind of lunatics in some other
city or state; Mike said he hadn't seen Danny around his street, so that was
probably closer to the truth than the liquor‑store story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried
to start a rumor that he didn't come back to school because he was afraid of
somebody (hoping they'd all figure out that the "somebody" was me)
but that rumor didn't last more than an hour or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I know is that a lot of the littler kids
in the school got to spend their lunch money on lunch after that, instead of on
Danny Fink's Camels. And I still don’t know how Mr. Fink got my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe from Mike.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next
time I saw Uncle Fred was when we went down the shore to see my grandmother (my
father's and Uncle Fred's mother) in Keansburg and Gran sent me out to wake him
up to tell him we were there. She knew I liked waking Uncle Fred up, because
the first thing he'd always say was, "Get me a beer, nephew," and I'd
dig a Shaefer or Rheingold out of his rusty old refrigerator in the bungalow he
lived in out back and he'd always let me have a sip or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved the
smell and taste of his beer‑‑it was kind of yeasty and cold and bubbly, all at
the same time. Then he'd grab the can of beer back and tell me not to tell my
parents he'd let me have some. And I never did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that day,
I really didn't want to go wake him up because I'd heard my father on the phone
to Uncle Fred the same night Danny Fink's father had called, and they'd kind of
had an argument, at least from what I could tell, and I just knew that Uncle
Fred was really mad at me, because if he ever said one thing to me, it was
always "Don't tell your ol’ man this or that" or "Don't tell
your mother I told you this or that," and I <i>had</i>‑‑I'd told and I
knew he hated me for telling, too. But my grandmother had told me to wake him
up and I had to do what she told me, so I crept out to his bungalow and went in
kind of slow, and just as I was letting the screen door close as quietly as I
could, I heard him growl, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Get
me a beer, nephew, and <i>this</i> time, don't tell your mother I let you have
any, awright?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's when
I knew it was going to be all right, that Uncle Fred didn't hate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't think I could've lived with
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And beer will always taste good to
me, maybe because it'll always remind me of Uncle Fred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you, Uncle Fred.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-54035876635738051872016-05-10T07:32:00.000-07:002016-05-10T07:32:00.256-07:00
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">If you’re not from here, you have yet to experience a county redneck wedding. Just about
every week in the local paper, there’s a photo of some couple—he’ll look like
Quasimodo…or sometimes <i>she</i> will—and she’s this hippo dressed up in a
full, formal wedding dress—living proof that out there somewhere, there’s
somebody for everyone. And then there’ll be this long—and I mean
<i>long</i>—article, written illiterately by the bride’s mother, probably, about
how <i>“the bride, Mabel Loo Watkins, had a china shower (at the home of
Brendetha Watkins) and a linen shower (hosted by Myrtle Watkins), followed by a
Tupperware shower (at the home of Gailinda Martin Watkins) and a glassware
shower (hosted by the entire Baptist Women’s Auxiliary of the County), and
finally, a bath and shower shower (at the home of Agnes Lee Parkerinson
Spittootle, the bride’s maternal grandmother).”</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"> Then they’ll have a full regalia
ceremony at the Holy Mother of the Divine Light and Eternal Flame Baptist
Church, followed by a reception in the Fellowship Hall, where everyone eats
sausage biscuits and warm yellow potato salad and drinks that fruit punch with
the green sherbet floating in some cleaned-up thing that the cows drink out of
during the week. Then the attendees all go back home, change out of their good,
church-goin’ clothes and into overalls and shirts and go shovel pig or horse
manure, while the happy bride and groom drive off to Richmond for a hot week at
a Motel 6—“<i>with indoor pool and sauna</i>”--before they come back to store
all the crap she got at the china shower (at the home of Brendetha Watkins) and
a linen shower (hosted by Myrtle Watkins), followed by a Tupperware shower (at
the home of Gailinda Martin Watkins) and a glassware shower (hosted by the
entire Baptist Women’s Auxiliary of the County)<i> </i>and finally, a bath and
shower shower (at the home of Agnes Lee Parkerinson Spittootle, the bride’s
maternal grandmother<i>)</i> in one of those pre-fabricated,
put-it-together-yourself (<i>some assembly required</i>) aluminum storage sheds
that they’ll erect behind their two-bedroom rented trailer in the Route 605
Trailer Court, the one with the picturesque view of the rock quarry, the water
tower, the sewage-treatment plant, and the billboard for Al’s Ford and Used
Cars.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"> Yeah, that’s what the
typical wedding is like in our county.</span></div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-14758575899607008732015-07-23T10:48:00.003-07:002015-07-23T10:48:37.820-07:00A Tale of the Old West...kind of....<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">The Lone
Ranger and Tonto were in a bar when a cowboy came in and
hollered,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Hey,
anybody got a white horse parked outside?!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">The Lone
Ranger looked up from his beer and said,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Yeah,
pardner, it's mine, why?" said the Lone Ranger.<br />"Well," the cowpoke said,
"that noon sun is beatin' down on that thar horse and he looks like he's gonna
pass out!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">With some
concern, the Lone Ranger said,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Thanks,
pardner, I'll go put him in the shade if I can find some.<br />"No, Kemo Sabe,"
said Tonto, "me go run around Silver, wave arms in air, make fan, keep Silver
cool."<br />"Well, thanks, Tonto," said the Lone Ranger as Tonto headed for the
door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">About five
minutes later, another cowboy came into the saloon and
shouted,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Hey,
anybody got a white horse out front?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Yeah,
pardner, it's mine, why?" asked the Lone Ranger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"You left
your injun running!" the fellow replied.</span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-3083513244766175032015-07-23T08:08:00.001-07:002015-07-23T08:10:36.834-07:00Crawling Down Memory Lane<div>
<span class="788094514-21072015"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="202444818-21072015">There was a <span class="955365414-23072015">live </span>kiddie cartoon show on from 4 to 5, Monday
thru Friday, on Channel 13 out of Newark in the late 40's and early 50's that
featured terrible silent cartoons starring Farmer Gray, a cat, and tons of
mice...the show was called Junior Frolics<span class="955365414-23072015">, hosted
by "Uncle Fred" Sayles</span></span>...<span class="202444818-21072015"> after
sending in enough boxtops from cereal or something, </span>I got to be on the
show...my mother took us down to the station by bus from East Orange and we got
there pretty early and I wanted to sit right next to Uncle Fred and whoever she
talked to put me there...then the show started and out came this mostly bald guy
in a shiny blue suit who announced that Uncle Fred was sick and he was subbing
for him...then he sat right down next to me...with a really bad case of <span class="202444818-21072015"> nervous</span><span class="202444818-21072015"> armpit</span> odor mixed with stale cigarette
stench...all I remember is he had a silver pinky ring with a fake blue star
sapphire in it...when we got home, my grandmother was really mad at me because
she said I had sat there for the whole hour with a pissed-off frown on my
face....it would have been different if UNCLE FRED had been
there! If you want to see how bad those early black-and-white cartoons were, Google UNCLE FRED JUNIOR FROLICS on YouTube and you should get a cartoon called "The Life of a Cat."</span></span></span></div>
<div>
</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-83247446412966992832015-04-14T09:38:00.001-07:002015-04-14T09:38:23.894-07:00<div>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">A former
student asked me recently, “B., what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?” It
wasn’t something that I’d been considering at the time, but after a few moments,
here’s what I came up with:<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">In the
spring of 1963 – my freshman year in college – Count Basie and his band came to
Montclair State College. I was supposed to meet Charley Blakely, a fellow
freshman from </span><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-size: small;">North
Bergen</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: small;">, and I did, but he was about ten minutes
late and when we entered the large gym where the basketball games were played,
it was about 8:15 and the place was jammed. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">They had
the bleachers on both sides down but there didn’t seem to be a space anywhere.
Directly across from us (we were standing inside the lobby doors), against the
back wall, Count Basie and the band were already putting the jazz into the
</span><st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-size: small;">New
Jersey</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: small;">
air.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">“It
doesn’t look like there’s a seat left. Whaddaya wanna do?” Charley asked me.
“Shit, I don’t know,” I probably replied. “How come no one’s sitting on the
floor?” he said. “You know they don’t want anyone to walk on that floor with
shoes on,” I said. “But we’re both wearin’ tennis shoes,” Charley answered.
(This was long before today’s hundred-dollar, glorified sneakers; you either
wore black-and-white high-tops or white “tennis” shoes, even if you never picked
up a racket.) “You wanna go sit in front of the band?” I suggested, without
thinking much about it. “Yeah,” Charley said…and we started walking across the
darkened gymnasium floor, knowing that every eye in the stands was probably
watching us.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">“If The
Count looks at us like we’re a couple ‘o dickheads, I’m gonna die,” Charley
whispered, voicing my exact thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyway,
we got to the out-of-bounds or base line, right under where the basket and
backboard had been raised, and we sat down, like in the lotus position. The
band was still blasting away, and off to the right, behind his piano, sat Count
Basie, dressed in some kind of nautical outfit with a blue blazer and a white
captain’s hat. As I watched, he looked up from ‘tinkling the ivories,’ did that
thing with his hand, like he was shooting a pistol, then gave us a nod and a
wink, and went back to playing the piano. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">Within a
minute, the entire stands had emptied out and there were about five thousand
other MSC students sitting on the floor behind us. We stayed there the entire
concert, unwilling to lose our “seats.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">When the
band had played the last encore, I found a sheet of red poster board that had
been stapled to a bulletin board on the back wall and tore a piece off and went
over to ask The Count for his autograph. He took a pen out of his blazer pocket
and signed the piece of red cardboard and then, with a smile, kind of whispered,
“Pretty gutsy move you boys made tonight. I was ‘fraid they’d come drag you off
the floor. I woulda told them to leave ya alone. You like
jazz?”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">After I
stammered out some kind of “yes,” I shook his hand – he had rings on three
fingers – and left. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><span style="font-size: small;">That
autograph is still in my wife’s hope chest – don’t ask me why. I guess that was
the “coolest” thing I’ve ever done…unless someone reminds me of something
“cooler.” </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;"></span> </div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-87092100608901396332014-06-05T07:52:00.000-07:002014-06-06T09:17:14.632-07:00Fifty Years Ago Today June 5, 1964: the last day of finals for the spring semester at Montclair State. It's around ten o'clock that morning and I'm walking to my car, figuring I can get to work early and make some overtime that week. That's when I was interrupted with a "Hey, stupid, where ya going?" from behind me. Looking back, I see Dave heading for the same student parking lot. He jogs up and asks the same question again.<br />
"Goin' to work, where else?"<br />
"Screw that! Let's celebrate. Get some beer and go swimmin'!" he counters. I ask him where, since it's only June fifth and most of the lakes would be closed during the week, since public schools would be in session until the third week in June at least.<br />
He mentions a lake up Route 23 in Butler. I tell him I don't have a suit or a towel and I want to make some overtime.<br />
"We can stop at my house an' I'll get you a towel. You can wear one of Bob's (his younger brother by a couple years) suits. Pick up a six-pack of Chug-a-Mugs. We've gotta celebrate!"<br />
Well, the temptation was too great and anyway, it was a beautiful day, I was sure I had aced the English exam I'd just taken, and between five extra hours at E.J. Korvette's in West Orange or three cold Rheingolds, well, I followed him to his house where I left my car and off we went to the lake called McDonald's...which we found closed with a wire cable across the entrance. Two more lakes farther up Route 23 were also closed.<br />
"This sucks!" I said, "take me back to your place so I can get to work."<br />
"Wait a minute, there's one more lake up ahead. If that's closed, I'll take you back."<br />
A mile or two north was Sun Tan Lake...and the entrance was open. We drove in and looked around but all that was there was a Jeep on the highway side of the lake and next to it, some guy raking the sand.<br />
"It's not open, either," I said. "Just that guy doin' some maintenance an' he probably has the entrance open to go in and out."<br />
Dave reluctantly nodded and drove in far enough to make a U-turn. That's when we saw a group of people on the opposite shore waving to us.<br />
"Wait! It's open!" he shouted.<br />
"Naah, those are probably the kids of the owners who live in that white house up over there (on the hill above the lake)," I argued.<br />
Dave ignored me and drove his 1958 Ford over to that side. Three girls in bathing suits came running up to the car: a chuibby brunette, a cute little blond, and another brunette on the thin side. On a blanket sat a guy and behind him, something large and round, wrapped in towels, that reminded me of a statue of Buddha.<br />
"Hey, is this lake open?" Dave asked.<br />
"Yeah," the larger brunette said in an overly loud voice. "That guy over there (pointing to the one raking the sand next to the Jeep) will come over and get your money. It's three bucks. You can change in that building over there," she added, pointing to a cinderblock building a few yards away.<br />
Dave looked at me; I just shrugged. So we drove over and parked next to the building, went in and changed into swim trunks.<br />
"I want the blond," he informed me. <br />
"Fine. Margot's coming home from Boston late tonight an' I've got no interest in some other babe," I told him. Margot was my girlfriend from high school and was returning from her first full year at a two-year business school in Beantown, where her old man had sent her in hopes of our two-year romance dying because of the long-distance situation. The last time I'd seen her was at Christmas, although we wrote each other almost daily. Anyway....<br />
Going back outside and joining them on their blankets, we found out right away that the girls were all skipping school on Senior Skip Day at Clifton Senior High School. We swam a little, played that "chicken game" where the girls sat on the guys' shoulders and tried to pull each other off; much to Dave's displeasure, the little blond chose to jump on me. We went back to the beach blankets and talked, although I don't remember anything we talked about. I think the girls were impressed that the two of us were "older" and "college boys," although it had never impressed me. The problem was that after three hours of finishing our Rheingold and sharing their sandwiches, the little blond had plopped herself down next to me on the beach blanket each time, much to the increased irritation of Dave, who had been stuck with the loud brunette. I found out that the little blond was named Toni (the others were a girl named Danny -- for Danielle -- she was the loud, chubby one...and Jane, who was the girlfriend of the guy whose name was Charlie; he was home on leave from the Air Force). The large person in the towels turned out to be the younger sister of Toni and she was wrapped up like that because she got sunburned easily and painfully.<br />
Sometime around noon, Toni had asked me if I wanted to take a walk so we followed some kind of nature trail around the small lake. What I had begun to marvel at was that I could talk to her very easily, without feeling as if I had to act "cool" or make up some bullshit to impress her, the way I'd usually felt when I first met a girl. After all, Margot was only my second girlfriend, the first having been stolen from me by divorce and the state of Maryland (you can read about it in my novel, <em>FOR GLORIA, WHEREVER YOU ARE)</em>. And much to my dismay and surprise, by the time we were making our way back to the rest of the gang, I found her hand had found its way into mine. Talk about feeling guilty!<br />
Around two, I told Dave I needed to get back to my car so I could get to work by three, so we said our goodbyes and went into the building to get back into our clothes. He bitched at me the whole time about being stuck listening to Danny "babble on and on about nothing." <br />
"Whaddaya want <em>me </em>to do?! Toni just kept sittin' down next to me!" I grumbled as I rolled up Bob's swim trunks in the borrowed towel. "I told ya that Margot's coming home tonight. Goin' swimming was your idea, remember?!"<br />
"Yeah, well, you got a girlfriend, I don't at the moment! That Toni has a really nice ass and Danny's got no tits at all, if you didn't notice!" he snapped. I <em>had</em> noticed that Danny, for all her chubbiness, was really lacking in the chest area. I hadn't noticed Toni's rear, however.<br />
"Fine, let's go, okay?!" I growled, having a lot of other thoughts racing through my mind all of a sudden.<br />
The two girls were standing next to Dave's car when we exited the building. We said our goodbyes and thanked them again for sharing their ham-and-tomato sandwiches with us. He started the car and we headed out the gravel drive toward the highway. We were halfway there when I suddenly shouted "Stop!"<br />
"Huh?!" he said.<br />
"Stop the fucking car!" I shouted again. He slammed on the brakes and then looked at me.<br />
"You forget something back there?!" Dave asked with a frown.<br />
"Yeah!" I said. Digging in his glove compartment, I found a matchbook and a ballpoint and jumped out of the car. I ran back to where Toni and Danny were still standing, now with frowns on their faces.<br />
Walking up to Toni, and cleared my throat, I think, because I seem to recall that it was suddenly dry.<br />
"Uhh, do you think I could have your phone number...umm...to call you sometime?" I stammered.<br />
She just smiled and told me what it was. I wrote it down on the inside of the matchbook. I guess I said "thanks" and trotted back to the car.<br />
"What the hell was <em>that</em> all about?!" Dave asked as I closed my door and put his pen back in the glove compartment.<br />
"Asked her for her number," I explained rather lamely.<br />
"You <em>what</em>?! I thought your fucking girlfriend is comin' home tonight an' you're not interested in anyone else!" he yelled as he put the car in gear and spun gravel until we hit the asphalt of Route 23.<br />
Between the confusion in my mind and the guilty feelings I was experiencing, it took me five days to call her to ask if I could take her out. It took another month of secretly seeing her before I broke it off with Margot. And the rest is history.<br />
If I hadn't gone swimming that day, our paths would never have crossed. I lived in Livingston, she lived in Clifton, miles apart with only my college in between. <br />
<br />
And the rest is history...a long, fifty-year history that'll have to wait for the next stories. But every time I taught Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" in my high-school English classes, I always told this story.Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-35337461195237982352014-03-29T06:20:00.003-07:002014-03-29T06:20:45.679-07:00
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">CHILDHOOD etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> When childhood still held a certain amount of innocence....</o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was about
eight or nine, at the dinner table one night, I asked my parents what a lesbian
was, having encountered the word in my reading. There was a stunned
silence except for my two older brothers and sister, who either had milk spurting
from their noses or were choking on their food. The bulging eyes and the silence
of my parents was odd because my father considered himself the font of
knowledge. Realizing that something was extraordinarily wrong, after
dinner I consulted the dictionary. The next night, to save myself further
embarrassment, I told them all, with a happy smile, that I had discovered that a
lesbian was an inhabitant of the island of Lesbos, and this resulted in the
same milk episode and stunned stares, but I felt vindicated…although I didn’t
know what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vindicated</i> meant, either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was a young
child…or a not-quite-old boy…when I saw these large letters on the sides of
milk cartons in our family fridge: <b>HOMO</b> (which, of course, stood for
HOMOgenized)…but having recently heard more-informed friends (who were blessed
with OLDER brothers who could explain things that parents wouldn’t) …and seeing
those letters and having heard those same classmates calling other guys
“Homo! Homo!” made me not want to drink any more milk…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-15815567728956295352013-12-10T06:34:00.001-08:002013-12-10T06:34:34.192-08:0035 YEARS OF TEACHING - a retrospective of sorts
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">THE BEGINNING AND THE END…FIRST AND LAST DAY….</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">Christmas vacation, 1971, soon to be 1972.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A weekday in a
chilly, empty school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sitting in an
old wooden chair with casters in room C213, central wing, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Clifton</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Senior High School</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
in what was going to be my first classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Four classes: two junior English honors, one A-track, one C-track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only four classes because the elderly woman
that I was replacing halfway through the school year had been in poor health
and her department chairman had given her one fewer class than everyone else,
replacing it with a hall-monitor duty that amounted to little.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just
finished my student teaching in the senior (or north) wing in the week before
Thanksgiving break, and had evidently made a good impression on Mrs. Rudin, the
English department chairman, who had come in to observe me six times, not the
usual procedure dictated by my college. My cooperating teacher had left me
(gladly) with her least desirable three classes (two D-track, one C-track), keeping
her two A-tracks for herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two days of
“observing” her right at the start of the school year – the observations
amounting to hearing her yell a lot while handing out books and forms to be
filled out – I had told her I was ready to start on that Thursday, September 7<sup>th</sup>.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
want to take over a class <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tomorrow</i>?!”
she had asked with some surprise in her voice, having been used to other
student-teachers who had observed for two weeks before taking anything on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, give
me all three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to get started
now,” I had replied, explaining that since it was the beginning of the year, I
would be more like their teacher from the beginning instead of replacing her a
couple weeks in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to start
teaching; I had done enough “observing.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So she
gladly left, only to reappear twice in the following two-and-a-half months to
do the required (by my college) two teacher observations and fill out the
accompanying forms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she had also
raved about me to Mrs. Rudin (I guess she had heard some kids talking about my
classes) and without my knowledge, they had already decided that I would
replace Mrs. Eckstein, hence Mrs. Rudin’s stern request to me that I not accept
any job offers from other schools between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also found out later that year that
students in my cooperating teacher’s other two classes had constantly bugged
her about why they hadn’t gotten me for their teacher, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I never mentioned it, Mrs. Moeller was
long overdue for retirement, not because of her age as much as the fact that
she hadn’t changed her teaching in twenty years…some of the worksheets she had
offered to me had been brown with age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> give me an A for
student-teaching, glowing reports to my college, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> instrumental in landing me in that creaking wooden chair that I
was now occupying in room C213.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
what had begun four months before in a different wing of the school, now I was
sitting in what was to be and would become, on January 3<sup>rd</sup>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stared at the class lists on the nicked and
scarred wooden desk in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had read the brief notes my predecessor had left for me, about which kids might
give me trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She liked to use the
word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">imps</i> a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But considering the level of
homogeneously-tracked classes I had inherited (Clifton Senior High School had
made English classes in ability groupings, from Honors down to D-track), and
being in a suburban New Jersey school that sent 97% of its graduates (average
graduating class: 1,000-plus to four-year schools, many of them Ivy-covered ones, I
didn’t foresee problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, I
hadn’t had any with the three classes of “sweathogs” that I had received from
Mrs. Moeller, my cooperating teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, those three classes would be ones that threw me such memorable goodbye
parties on November 22<sup>nd</sup> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that
I would never forget them – the parties or the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> The D-track kids used to like to
say that the school gave them that designation because “it stands for Delinquent…Degenerate…Derelict…Doofus…or
just Dumb.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were kids that were
able to understand, to read, and to actually enjoy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beowulf</i>; they hated <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ethan
Frome</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They couldn’t understand why
Ethan didn’t just “boink” Mattie when Ethan’s wife Zeena was out of town. I had
tried to explain the morality of the time period, but….and I still don’t think
that one D-track class paid for the Seiko watch they gave me…but I was afraid
to ask how they managed to raise the money. And yeah, it was a real Seiko, not
a <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New York City</st1:place></st1:city>
sidewalk knock-off with plastic gears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So in a
few days, the day after New Year’s Day, I would meet four classes (average of
25 in each) of students that I would be able to call “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> kids” and not kids that I would have to return to another
teacher, like books at the library.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
room itself, one wall made of tilt-in windows covered with banks of Venetian
blinds, the rest painted cinder blocks with attached chalkboards and a bulletin
board along the back, smelled faintly of chalk dust and floor wax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The desks were relatively new, with chairs
that slid under them instead of the old one-piece desks that I would inherit in
subsequent years in subsequent classrooms. (We never got to keep the same
classrooms from year to year, one of the numerous annoyances perpetrated but an
unfriendly-to-teachers administration, led behind the scenes by a vindictive
and evil assistant female principal who preferred women (both in her little
coterie and in her sex life).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
always a real thrill trying to find a janitor who wasn’t on “light duty” to
help move the full, three-drawer file cabinet to the next rooms at the
beginning of each year, the new room which was often on another floor; the
custodians were trusted with keys to the elevator, but we college graduates,
most with master’s degrees, were not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The principal himself was a spineless ex-shop teacher who had been
appointed by the politically connected (and politically appointed) superintendent
to be a complete ‘yes man.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
principal took one of his very infrequent walks out of his office (which was
far removed from where any learning was going on) just before Christmas break
to wish each of us a “happy holiday” (he was Jewish), kids would always ask who
the man was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One year, a kid named <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Stanley</st1:place></st1:city> thought he was
Bela Lugosi.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyway,
the kids came back on January 3<sup>rd</sup> that year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a magical and challenging year and I
remember almost every memorable kid from those four classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the rest is history -- ten more years of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Clifton</st1:place></st1:city> history.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>THIRTY-FIVE
YEARS PASS….</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last
day of school, June 2<sup>nd</sup> 2006…first day of almost summer
vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A weekday
in an air-conditioned, almost-empty school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was sitting in a slightly stained, upholstered, high-back chair with
casters that a former principal had bequeathed to me when he got a better
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lights were still on in room
121, the inner, windowless classroom that I had occupied for 24 years, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> classroom I had occupied, so it had
become the room where “MR. B’S BUNCH” had resided for those years as well,
filing in for 180 days under the sign that announced “Through this door pass
the greatest people in the world.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They’d liked that for all those years…at least, most of them, I think. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was
a room that had developed its own character – probably because of the character
who taught there…a room filled with unimaginable stuff – more like the interior
of a thrift store, if you disregarded the school desks: a grill from the front
of a VW, a hanged teddy bear with a sign that read “SLACKER,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a rack of sweaters hanging from the ceiling,
sweaters for the girls who were always too cold for some reason…too much else
to record here -- hanging from the ceiling in defiance of one psychotic fire
marshall who had mistaken her fire marshall’s badge for Wyatt Earp’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A toilet seat that served as the bathroom
pass (“Place over head” it said for the gullible).</span><span style="-ms-layout-grid-mode: line; background: black; border: 1pt black; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 0pt; mso-border-alt: none black 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-width: 0%; padding: 0in;"> </span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two full-glassed walls covered with
posters and signs to keep the distractions passing outside in the halls to a
minimum; two full file cabinets bursting with the accumulation of file folders
filled with stuff that had been part of successful lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three bookcases and one tall turning stand
stuffed with paperbacks and discarded library hardcovers; three separate tables
scrounged and carried up from the dusty storeroom in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A computer table;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a cabinet like a shelved wardrobe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a huge old solid-oak desk once used by
the IRS, purchased at a school auction for $40, the top sanded, stained, and
refinished twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ROOM 121, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">LOUISA</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">COUNTY</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">HIGH SCHOOL</st1:placetype></st1:place>, “MR. B’S
ROOM”<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm0Avp4scJuZesgt_v5ODGyYOqVG4lZ4k6bFcVTCN64FuIPJnKmMBg_IU0pu8lNxjVyyVD-4_GR-G9h2l77gEzfEVt_9_1OLog1gW4K0UUiBbwzvVlHdLoChb_r2ay3T818gseVcv8dM/s1600/Room+121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm0Avp4scJuZesgt_v5ODGyYOqVG4lZ4k6bFcVTCN64FuIPJnKmMBg_IU0pu8lNxjVyyVD-4_GR-G9h2l77gEzfEVt_9_1OLog1gW4K0UUiBbwzvVlHdLoChb_r2ay3T818gseVcv8dM/s320/Room+121.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that
June day, almost everything was gone; all the posters and personal stuff given
away, purchased, or auctioned off to either students or other teachers, enough
to buy a used laptop on eBay for $170.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All that remained were the pieces of school-issued and county-owned
stuff: student desks, the flag, the computer and printer on the one table...and
that stained chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I
sat in that hand-me-down chair, the sounds of lockers slamming shut and the
last students dashing out of school on that last half-day, I thought back to
what I had begun this whole experiment in mind-expansion with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t seem like thirty-five years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I thought of my best friend John’s remark
from a few years before, a man I had met and had immediately liked in my first
year in <st1:place w:st="on">Jersey</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> “Remember old Mr. Hopkins when we
first started?” John had asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr.
Hopkins, an elderly history teacher who knew, on any day of the year, how many
school days were left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> “Did you ever think we’d be one of
those ‘veterans,’ those old-timers?” John had added.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> I’d laughed a little ruefully and
had shaken my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;"> Yeah, I thought about all of
that…and all of the lessons I had taught, year after year, lessons that
students had annually told me, on their written evaluations of me and my class
– whether it was an English class or a writing course -- had had meaning for
them.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">“It’s over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m never going to be doing this again,” I
thought, and the feeling of the stress beginning to leave my body became
replaced with some kind of panic.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who’s gonna teach them to write?!</i>” The Voice asked me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Who’s
gonna teach that stuff from <u>Our Town</u> and <u>Huck</u> and <u>Beowulf</u>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of them </i>(referring to my
“colleagues” at the time)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> don’t teach
writing, they don’t teach grammar, they don’t do a damn thing or bring in a
damn thing from outside the textbooks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They teach to the damn SOL </i>(state-mandated standardized)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> tests!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s not a single section of Advanced Comp scheduled for next year!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">My anxiety was extinguished – at
least momentarily – by a female colleague from another department who came down
to give me a hug and wish me a happy retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she left, I got up and shut off the
lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my last classroom…on my last
day of teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I could feel
everything slowly draining out of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">The Voice returned one more time to
tell me that I’d done my part and I couldn’t do it forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And The Voice was right, even though there is
still no one teaching writing there anymore.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 4.8pt 0in 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Californian FB;">It was a good trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And retirement is wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-38343686329815710952013-11-26T10:05:00.000-08:002013-11-26T10:05:00.084-08:00My Latest Novel<div>
<span class="807002115-25112013"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;">Hi.
My 16th novel on Amazon for Kindles and other readers <span class="319565112-26112013"> is now</span> available. Attached is the cover and
below, the synopsis. Thanks in advance for any and all
support.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span class="807002115-25112013"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;">======================================</span></span></div>
<br />
<div>
<o:p><span class="807002115-25112013"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: large;"><em>WHISPERS</em></span></span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 45pt 0pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho";">For
everyone who has heard the voices, some of them are real. For everyone who has
seen the signs, they are everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Listen, and you will hear; look, and you will see. Then you can
understand. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">On your eighteenth birthday,
someone your own age, someone that you have known for less than a year, goes off
to die so that you may continue living; what do you do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re Matthew Morning, you make an annual
pilgrimage to his grave to remind yourself of why you are still alive…and you
tell the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 45pt 0pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 45pt 0pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho";">Start
with Matthew, approaching eighteen in depressed rural <st1:placename w:st="on">Lee</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">County</st1:placename>,
<st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place></st1:state>, in
1961 as he learns to understand the power of love for a girl named Ginger,
daughter of a poor mining family. Add adventures in the woods, a mysterious and
hidden old mansion on an equally mysterious mountain, abandoned houses, and the
daily goings-on of a high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
do these places hold for three young friends -- one black, the others
descendants of long-gone Native Americans -- brought together by accident,
growing up quickly and trying to deal with the bigotry in<b> </b>a world
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">that is not
kind or patient, but also holds many beautiful secrets</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho";">?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will these boys – Matthew, TeePee, and
Jeffie -- do without giving in or giving up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different, yet the common ground they
share and the strong bonds they form create a connectedness that will last
beyond their lifetimes. Honor,</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;"> justice,
revenge, strength of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt;">family and
heritage,<span style="color: black;"> tenderness, and bitterness – these</span>
will draw the reader into the story of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho";">a
man, a teacher, as he recounts the turmoil of the most powerful year of his
life, the year he lost everything and everyone he had come to love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The novel moves between Matthew’s life with
his mother in their first real home and his final year of high school, where he
meets friends whose values and understanding will help him through the turmoil
of death and incredible loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ultimately, Matthew will be drawn into a dark experience that will
require him to kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;"></span></o:p> </div>
<br />
<div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;"></span></o:p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQd9RPCqZH3tgsIOKqCbVhGiEzfnZvgXcs-SzvWpgqTyvFlE0jx-W0tYfau2TNrQTMwRazxqLxQdeB3qHiV3WqPMqrp8o2J4n9YXHOvvOjOjJWDFWr2vE9ydGu6PVJ-yHzeB_JIUFaqg8/s1600/cover11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQd9RPCqZH3tgsIOKqCbVhGiEzfnZvgXcs-SzvWpgqTyvFlE0jx-W0tYfau2TNrQTMwRazxqLxQdeB3qHiV3WqPMqrp8o2J4n9YXHOvvOjOjJWDFWr2vE9ydGu6PVJ-yHzeB_JIUFaqg8/s320/cover11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-86115516768019203692013-11-01T05:52:00.003-07:002013-11-01T06:02:53.200-07:00A SOLUTION TO THE NAME OF THE WASHINGTON REDSKINS<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">I
think I have resolved the controversy over the name of the Washington NFL
team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To pacify the Native Americans who
view “redskins” as a derogatory term and to satisfy the football team’s fans
who don’t want to see the name changed…simply keep the name “redskins” but
replace the insignia on the sides of the helmets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remove the Indian’s head and replace it with
a red-skinned potato.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then dress the
mascot at the games as a big red potato.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes, Phil, I think the Giants have a
good chance of beating the Taters this Sunday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So everyone, please shut the hell up because there are a lot more
important problems in the world and in our country these days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-35517449598876019122013-08-25T05:31:00.003-07:002013-08-25T05:31:40.007-07:00GENERAL OCCUPATIONAL RESEARCH SURVEY
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB"; font-size: 24pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">G</b>ENERAL
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">O</b>CCUPATIONAL <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB"; font-size: 24pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">R</b>ESEARCH
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">P</b>ERSONAL <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">P</b>ROFILE <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB"; font-size: 16pt;">Determining
the career field best suited to your interests and aptitudes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-color: currentColor currentColor windowtext; border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 2.25pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: double windowtext 2.25pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">DIRECTIONS:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Answer each of the questions below, circling
ONLY ONE answer from each group given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On some questions, you may not particularly like any of the possible
responses, but you MUST ANSWER with the least objectionable choice.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">It is a beautiful
day in late spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would most
likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">going on a picnic<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">weeding the garden<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">feeding the birds<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">beating a cat<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">It is a rainy day
in the fall; the skies are gray and dismal and it is pouring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">talking to a friend on the phone<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">going on a picnic<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">watching a horror film<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">reading the phone book<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are hunting
in the woods with a rifle; ahead you see an animal that you want to shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would most likely enjoy shooting a(n):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l22 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">armadillo<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l22 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">squirrel<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l22 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">bat<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l22 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">black bear<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Regardless of
your natural skin color, you are being given the opportunity to change it. You
would most likely enjoy changing your skin color to:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l14 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">blue<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l14 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">green<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l14 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">clear<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l14 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">plaid<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">If you could talk
to anyone in history for an evening, of the following choices, you would most
likely enjoy talking to:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l23 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Adolf Hitler<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l23 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Attila the Hun<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l23 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Arnold</span></st1:city></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"> Springer<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l23 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Dagwood Bumstead<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You have nothing
to do this weekend, so the choice is yours; you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l10 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">stretching a cat<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l10 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">swimming across The English Channel<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l10 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">watching episodes of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Three’s Company</i><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l10 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">listening to Barry Manilow<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You have a chance
to go back in time and add ONE subject that you wished you could have studied
in elementary school; you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l19 level1 lfo7; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">organic chemistry<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l19 level1 lfo7; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">environmental marketing<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l19 level1 lfo7; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">understanding sphincters<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l19 level1 lfo7; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">the internal humidity of dogs<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are in a
fancy French restaurant with a very important “other” person who asks you to
order for him/her; You would most likely enjoy ordering:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l32 level1 lfo8; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">escargot<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l32 level1 lfo8; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Merde d’Mar<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l32 level1 lfo8; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">fish and chips<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l32 level1 lfo8; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a fine vintage bottle of Thunderbird<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Your employer
gives you a choice of attending one of several conferences; you would most
likely enjoy attending the one on:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l20 level1 lfo9; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">The Environmental Impact of Electric
Can Openers on the Ozone Layer<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l20 level1 lfo9; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Economic and Political Planning for
Death<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l20 level1 lfo9; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">The Psychology of Division of Motor
Vehicles Employees<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l20 level1 lfo9; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Planning and Implementing Pothole
Replacement<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Two friends are
having a heated argument over the BEST coating for Southern fried chicken and
have asked you to choose; you would most likely choose:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo10; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">graham crackers<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo10; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">10W-30 Havoline<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo10; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">recycled chewing tobacco<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo10; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">bird seed<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">For a possible
occupation, you have to decide what to do with your hands; you would most
likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo11; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">getting your hands dirty and greasy<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo11; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">getting hard calluses on your fingers<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo11; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">typing form letters to blind old
people<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo11; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">keeping your hands clean by using
your feet<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">For the
environment for your daily work, you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l9 level1 lfo12; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working outdoors with others<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l9 level1 lfo12; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working indoors with others<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l9 level1 lfo12; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working outdoors with wild animals<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l9 level1 lfo12; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working indoors with pets<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">For the PHYSICAL
environment for your daily work, you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l26 level1 lfo13; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working outdoors in a wilderness area<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l26 level1 lfo13; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">working inside in a small closet<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l26 level1 lfo13; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">having a corner office with lots of
windows that look out over <st1:place w:st="on">Central Park</st1:place>
and a high-powered telescope with which you can look into other offices
and apartments<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l26 level1 lfo13; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a hot-air balloon with a phone<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Of the possible
adjectives that BEST describe your interactions with peers, you would most
likely choose:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l11 level1 lfo14; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">friendly, hostile, lugubrious<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l11 level1 lfo14; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">timid, resounding, tenacious<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l11 level1 lfo14; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">odorous, odoriferous, odious<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l11 level1 lfo14; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">damp, scented, parked<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Of all the
possible characteristics in someone you work WITH, you would most likely admire
and respect:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l27 level1 lfo15; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">respectable<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l27 level1 lfo15; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">gullible<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l27 level1 lfo15; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">ludicrous<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l27 level1 lfo15; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">wet<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">During your
breaks during the workday, you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l30 level1 lfo16; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">reading the obituaries<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l30 level1 lfo16; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">talking like a parrot<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l30 level1 lfo16; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">drinking from the bottle of Jack
Daniels in your desk<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l30 level1 lfo16; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">writing funny things about your supervisor
on the bathroom walls<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are planning
a gala party for friends to celebrate your entry into the Publisher’s
Clearinghouse Sweepstakes; for the foods to serve, you would most likely enjoy
serving your friends:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo17; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">peanut butter on a Ritz<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo17; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">potted meat finger sandwiches<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo17; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">sliced wild boar with skunk cabbage
vinaigrette<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo17; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">pigs in parkas<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are walking
along a dark, deserted road in the country at <st1:time hour="0" minute="0" w:st="on">midnight</st1:time>; you hear a strange series of noises in the woods
along the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would most likely
NOT want the sounds to be caused by:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l29 level1 lfo18; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a saber-toothed tiger<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l29 level1 lfo18; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a chicken molester<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l29 level1 lfo18; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a 1988 Oldsmobile<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l29 level1 lfo18; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">the entire USC Marching Band<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Please circle the
issue that is MOST important to you in terms of your occupation:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l15 level1 lfo19; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">money<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l15 level1 lfo19; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">salary<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l15 level1 lfo19; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">income<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l15 level1 lfo19; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">pay<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
G<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">iven all the
choices one has to make about one’s life, the topic that you would most likely
find MOST important is:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l16 level1 lfo20; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">marriage to someone of the opposite
sex<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l16 level1 lfo20; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">where to spend my summer vacation<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l16 level1 lfo20; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">whether to send Christmas cards next
year<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l16 level1 lfo20; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">the price of beer<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">If you were given
a chance to spend next week somewhere different, of the following choices, you
would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l28 level1 lfo21; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">going to a dude ranch<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l28 level1 lfo21; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">swimming with sharks off the coast of
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Somalia</st1:country-region></st1:place><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l28 level1 lfo21; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">rock climbing in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Nebraska</st1:state></st1:place><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l28 level1 lfo21; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">taking a bath<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">If you were asked
what your closest friends were saying about you right now, you would most
likely say that they are saying:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l18 level1 lfo22; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“He’s/she’s a wonderful sailor.”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l18 level1 lfo22; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“He/She would give you the shirt off
my back.”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l18 level1 lfo22; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“He/She once told me a dirty joke
about a nun and a Great Dane.”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l18 level1 lfo22; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“He/She flosses.”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Given the choice
of desserts, of the following, you would most likely enjoy:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l17 level1 lfo23; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Asparagus Jubilee<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l17 level1 lfo23; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Vienna</span></st1:city></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"> sausages and syrup<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l17 level1 lfo23; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">chocolate anything<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l17 level1 lfo23; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">tapioca smothered in whipped
buttermilk<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Of the following
famous personages, which one do you LEAST admire?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l21 level1 lfo24; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Sylvester Stallone<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l21 level1 lfo24; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Pontius Pilate<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l21 level1 lfo24; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Brittany</span></st1:state></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"> Spears<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l21 level1 lfo24; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Charles Manson<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">If you could be a
fruit, you would most likely enjoy being: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l13 level1 lfo25; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a banana<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l13 level1 lfo25; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a prune<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l13 level1 lfo25; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Rock <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Hudson</st1:city></st1:place><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l13 level1 lfo25; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">a pork chop<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are swimming
in the ocean; you would most likely be afraid of:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l8 level1 lfo26; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">jellyfish<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l8 level1 lfo26; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">sharks<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l8 level1 lfo26; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">fat women<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l8 level1 lfo26; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">I have no fear<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are <u>still</u>
swimming in the ocean and you have decided that you DO have fears; you would
most likely fear:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>jellyfish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sharks<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fat women<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the subway<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">The fairy tale
that MOST RESEMBLES your life so far is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l25 level1 lfo27; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“Hansel and Gretel”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l25 level1 lfo27; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“The Night the Horny Otter Got Grandma”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l25 level1 lfo27; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“Smokey the Bear and the Three Coeds”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l25 level1 lfo27; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">“Cinderella”<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Of the following
famous personages, the one that you MOST admire is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l12 level1 lfo28; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Ethel Merman<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l12 level1 lfo28; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Josef Stalin<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l12 level1 lfo28; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Marcia Brady<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l12 level1 lfo28; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Herb Moskowitz<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">If you could
replace the nation’s capital, you would most likely choose:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo29; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Passaic</span></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">, <st1:state w:st="on">NJ</st1:state></span></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo29; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Bumpass</span></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">, <st1:state w:st="on">VA</st1:state></span></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo29; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Truth or Consequences, NM<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo29; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Paris</span></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">, <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region></span></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You are running a
mile-long race and you finally see the finish line in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is only one runner ahead of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would most likely:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l24 level1 lfo30; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">try to run faster<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l24 level1 lfo30; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">find something to hit him/her with<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l24 level1 lfo30; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">give it all you have left<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l24 level1 lfo30; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">shoot him/her with the small-caliber
pistol you had hidden in your shorts<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Your house or
apartment catches on fire and you have only enough time to save ONE valued
possession; you would most likely choose to grab your:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo31; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">money<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo31; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">birth-control materials<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo31; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">important papers<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo31; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">refrigerator<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">The title that
comes closest to summarizing your attitude toward others is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo32; tab-stops: list .5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Twenty-thousand
Leagues Under the Sea<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo32; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Wuthering</span></i></st1:placename><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Heights</st1:placetype></span></i></st1:place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo32; tab-stops: list .5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Of Mice and Men</span></i></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo32; tab-stops: list .5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">King
Kong<o:p></o:p></span></i></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">You have won a
contest that gives you the choice of visiting ONE famous site, anywhere in the
world; you would most likely choose:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l31 level1 lfo33; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">The Great Pyramids<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l31 level1 lfo33; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Stonehenge</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l31 level1 lfo33; tab-stops: list .5in;"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Graceland</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-list: l31 level1 lfo33; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Bob’s house<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
=====================<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">SCORING:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Step 1. Add all the numbers of your
answers to get a total.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";">Step 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wait for the results.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Californian FB";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
©2013 by Ed Buhrer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All rights reserved.</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-11506287071878505222013-05-20T10:46:00.001-07:002013-05-20T10:46:51.771-07:00A Possum's Tale
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Kristen ITC"; font-size: 18pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A POSSUM’S TALE </span><span style="font-family: "Kristen ITC"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">(original version submitted to
Chesapeake Bay Magazine and published)</span><span style="font-family: "Kristen ITC"; font-size: 18pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Wednesday, August 18, 2004 11:04 AM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">...so there we were, having a
lunch at the dockside restaurant along the Chesapeake Bay,
on Solomon's Island, MD, when Toni looks out toward the dock and
asks, </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"Do you see that thing on
that piling?" </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"</span></strong><em><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">That 'thing'</span></em><strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></strong><em><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">? On <u>which</u> piling</span></em><strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">?" I wonder, knowing I should be used to my wife's non-specific
choice of words. Following her typically vague wording and unanswerable (for
the moment) question, I turn to look at the fifty-odd pilings within vision
until I see one right off the edge that looks as if it's got a growth on one
side of the top.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"Oh, look, it's </span></strong><em><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">moving</span></em><strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">!" she says, just as I see the one she's referring to. We go
out on the outside eating deck and realize that it's a baby possum hanging onto
the piling, with nothing but water under it.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Soon, a small crowd of diners and
a couple waitresses join us, as the two of us are trying to figure out how to
save it.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"I saw that when we came in
in our dingy," a guy behind me tells me, "but we thought they were
river rats." </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"</span></strong><em><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">They</span></em><strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">?" I ask myself.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Then a beefy fellow in his
late fifties, at least, on one of the many expensive boats docked at the marina
yells over to tell us that there're another two swimming below the other one,
and sure enough, two more babies are indeed swimming back and forth with no
clue how to get out.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">So one of the waitresses comes
back out with a round serving tray, lays her very ample bulk down on the
grass-and-wood edge of the dock and manages to get one of them to crawl up onto
the tray and then flips it over her shoulder onto the grass, making most of the
small crowd jump back as if it were a baby raptor or something. Meanwhile, the
other swimmer is still doing the possum-paddle.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The guy on the boat asks me if I
want to borrow his crabnet and I say sure. So he brings it and I scoop
the other swimmer out of the water, while the boat owner tells us that on
another morning, he'd seen the mother (and kids) living under the
restaurant's open-air deck. Sure enough, I take my catch out of the net
and put it in the grass by the deck and the little critter crawls back under
the deck after my wife carries it most of the way there; Toni and I
can hear the mother making some kind of clicking noises to call them.
Meanwhile, the first rescued one looks like the proverbial drowned rat and is
totally disoriented and crawling around in circles in the grass, sneezing out
water in little bursts, with everyone else scattering when it comes close
(these things are maybe five inches long, not counting the tail). So I
pick it up by the back of the neck, lay it down in the grass maybe
two feet from the deck overhang; Toni points it in the direction of
the mother; it, too, goes home. That leaves the one in the photo,
still clinging to the piling.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">So I finally get the metal part
of the net under it and practically have to pry it off, since the poor thing's
scared to death and desperately trying to crawl into that hole in the top of
the piling that might be big enough to harbor an egg...the critter gets tangled
in the net, and wraps its tail around the metal part, but I finally get it,
too, out of the net (it opens its mouth as if trying to bite me...lots of teeth
on those beasts!) and Toni pushes that one home to Mom Possum.</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I guess the only downside to the
whole experience was when other diners asked Toni what was going on and she
voiced her concern about the lives of the little buggers, some people looked at
her as if she were nuts, or they just couldn't care less. Okay, I know
grown possums are downright ugly things, but jeez, little babies? If we
stop caring about baby critters, who's next? And it's not as though
we're PETA fanatics (we're not) or country hicks; we both grew up in the
city before escaping to the rural, central-Virginia county we brought our kids
to and still live in. </span></strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A memorable lunch adventure and
the highlight of our one-night mini-vacation...</span></strong><span style="-ms-layout-grid-mode: line; background: black; border: 1pt black; color: black; font-size: 0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE; mso-bidi-language: X-NONE; mso-border-alt: none black 0in; mso-fareast-language: X-NONE; mso-font-width: 0%; padding: 0in;"> </span></div>
<strong><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Californian FB"; font-size: 10pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdVGSdjs6wOekRmXTQ4gUKmaD2KGUzC7Jkh-JzexND323c-LJ2gCfm12UKzvZfaoSNyOTc25KlPcI43bUxHwuQTy50KpMRe5qiXqjSD6x16HL3cSbWV6tmYAts2MM5KynPJYkACIHd3s/s1600/baby+possum+at+Solomon's+Island.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdVGSdjs6wOekRmXTQ4gUKmaD2KGUzC7Jkh-JzexND323c-LJ2gCfm12UKzvZfaoSNyOTc25KlPcI43bUxHwuQTy50KpMRe5qiXqjSD6x16HL3cSbWV6tmYAts2MM5KynPJYkACIHd3s/s320/baby+possum+at+Solomon's+Island.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-4168792842287794632013-05-09T11:11:00.001-07:002013-05-09T11:11:47.260-07:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A TEACHER GETS A
PORSCHE<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So there I was, sitting in my classroom, C-213, after school
on October 9, 1976, when in marches my entire fifth-period junior honors
English class, along with a middle-aged guy in a tweed sport jacket, a woman
wearing sunglasses and carrying a notebook, and a very tall black guy with a
couple cameras around his neck.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s going on?” I ask.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The kids just laugh (a few of the girls still giggle) and <st1:personname w:st="on">Jim Pekar</st1:personname> hands me a long, thin envelope, the kind
that greeting cards come in.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s this?” I ask this time.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Open it, open it!” a few kids say excitedly.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I slit it open somewhat hesitantly, still wondering about
these three strange adults standing by in the room.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I take out a greeting card, a birthday card – and I
apologize for not remembering a thing about it…and out slides a car key on a
keychain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ornament on the end of the
keyring (if that’s the right word for it) is the Porsche crest encased in
plastic.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Okay, what’s this?” I repeat.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s for your Porsche!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Happy birthday!” young Jim kinda shouts as the rest of the kids clap
their hands, ending my concerns that they were all there after school, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">voluntarily</i>, to complain about their
research-paper assignment and that the adults were a couple lawyers and their
photographer, there to gather evidence of how unfair a teacher I was.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Are you serious?!” I say, somewhat skeptically.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You said we’d all get A’s if you got a Porsche!s” Joanne
informs me of something I may have said…well, I’m sure I said it, but….</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s waiting for you out in front of the school,” the guy
in the sport jacket informs me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“C’mon, Mr. B.!” some other student shouts.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Thus begins a march to the other end of the very large
suburban school in suburban <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Clifton</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:state></st1:place>.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And there it was, indeed, a metallic lime-green 1976 Porsche
Targa 911 convertible.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Get in, get in!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the
kids all shout as the guy in the tweed, who I have since discovered on the Long
March is a Porsche salesman, the woman is a reporter for the Passaic Co<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>County <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Herald
News</i>, and the black guy is the photographer for the paper.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You told them they’d all get A’s, huh, man?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boy, you’re in it now!” he had whispered to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tweed Guy opens the driver’s side
door and gives me the “get in” gesture.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I get in, along with the salesman…and I turn the
key.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, the engine sounded just
like the one in our ’68 VW Beetle that was sitting at home, in our garage. (We
lived a couple blocks from the high school, so I walked to school with the kids
every day.)</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Go ahead, take it for a drive,” Tweed Guy says.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So, gritting my teeth and hoping I don’t have a problem with
an unfamiliar clutch – it would have been kinda embarrassing to stall the thing
out, after all – we pull away from the front of the school to the cheers of an
entire English class and the clicking of the guy’s Nikon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it was a Canon.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As we near the end of the school’s driveway, about to exit
onto <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Colfax Avenue</st1:address></st1:street>,
Tweed Guy turns to me and says,<br />
”You know, this is great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The local paper
is gonna give us great free publicity for this and we can make your dream come
true, all at the same time!” he says with this big, manure-eating grin.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I have to ask, somewhat incredulously,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Listen, are you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">giving</i>
me this car, like as part of some kind of tax write-off?!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I thought Tweed Guy was going to have a stroke.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not
giving it to you, but I can give you a good price on it!”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Listen, I’m a teacher, not a lawyer!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much does this car cost?<br />
After he tells me, I inform him that I make less than that for my annual
salary.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, we have some good used Porsches at the
dealership.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What kind of car are you
driving now?” he asks.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When I tell him about the Beetle, he smiles and says,<br />
”No, I mean, what is your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">regular</i>
car?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I tell him there’s only one car at home, the same
VW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t say anything else. So I
inform him that he is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> making my
dream come true, that’s it’s more like taking a kid from the ghetto to
Disneyworld but making him go back home to the projects that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t say anything.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I drive to our house, the same one that’s a couple blocks
away, put the Porsche in neutral, get out, and go ring our front doorbell since
my wife is not working at the time in order to be a full-time mother to our
second kid.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Toni opens the door and I point to the Porsche at the curb
and tell her I’m taking it for a test ride and thinking of buying it.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh, sure,” she says and closes the door.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So fifteen minutes after getting into the car, we pull back
in front of the high school where most of the kids are still waiting to greet
me with some scattered applause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I park
and turn off the engine and get out.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The article in the paper the next day said that I stood
there with “a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bemused look” on my face,
so I guess that’s what was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
shake hands with Tweed Guy, who tries once more to entice me to go look at the
dealership inventory, at which point I remind him that I’m still a teacher and
that I’d have to take out a second mortgage and sell my first-born, the
daughter, to some Arab sheik to be able to afford a Porsche.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gets in and drives it away.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We all get A’s now, right, Mr. B.?” someone shouts.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’ll be lucky if you see a passing grade after this!” I
growl and they all laugh, knowing that I’m kidding…they hope.<br />
Well, Andy said we all have fifteen minutes of fame…in my case, I guess it was
fifteen minutes of being a Porsche owner…or borrower.</div>
<br />
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Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-38169920244599063722013-05-06T08:19:00.001-07:002013-05-06T08:19:27.697-07:00COLLEGE PROFESSOR FALLS OUT A WINDOW<div class="navbar section" id="navbar">
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="4491486414289853342"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
English Professor Falls Out Window </h3>
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It was the spring of 1963, and I was a freshman English major at Montclair State Teachers’ College (which dropped the <i>Teachers</i>’ at the end of that semester and has since exchanged <i>College</i> for <i>University</i> these days) and I had an elderly professor for <i>Early English Literature </i>who<i> </i>fell out a window…honest. As I said, he was old – ancient, actually, because my mother had had him in 1940! -- and on that nice spring day in 1963, he was sitting on the sill of an open window in a one-story, post-WW II wooden building that had been built for married veterans who were finishing college on the GI Bill, and he was reading some of <i>THE CANTERBURY TALES</i> in Middle English and he just fell out…I remember seeing his white bony legs and argyle socks in a pair of scuffed and unpolished brown loafers as he disappeared backwards…we all just sat there in shock, then some of us ran to the window, but he was gone…the next thing we knew, the door to the end of the pre-fab building slammed, and in Dr. Russell Kraus came, still holding the open book, and still reading…with bits of leaves and grass in his remaining white hair and his horn-rimmed glasses somewhat askew…as if nothing had happened. It became a legend at Montclair State…don’t know if anyone tells the story anymore so I thought I’d preserve it here, before those of us who witnessed the moment are all gone. <br />
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Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-12554204531228889532013-05-05T10:57:00.005-07:002013-05-05T10:57:35.778-07:00Two new Kindle books: SNOW, NO ACCUMULATION and COLEVILLE<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><strong><em>COLEVILLE: </em></strong></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A trip into eastern Kentucky,
where the coal used to be dug out of the earth by broken-backed miners with
cracked nails and clogged lungs, opens up a new world for Lewis, a college
senior with his eye on a career in journalism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But what begins as a way to avoid spending the Christmas holidays alone
in his college <span class="314403117-01052013">rental house</span> becomes a
journey into the lives of a very special family and a romance that he was not
expecting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will also introduce him to
small-town corruption and the <span class="314403117-01052013">real
</span>possibility of his own murder.</div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><strong><em>SNOW, NO ACCUMULATION:</em></strong></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: medium;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A trip to the Atlantic City area
of New Jersey’s southern shores during Christmas break for culinary-arts teacher
Jack Hilton, an unplanned trip to claim an inheritance from someone he’d never
met<span class="061261516-01052013"> --</span>had never even heard of<span class="061261516-01052013"> --</span> will lead to more than Jack could have ever
imagined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be a trip to change
his life…forever.</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-71258837051659642222013-05-05T10:54:00.001-07:002013-05-05T10:54:10.693-07:00excerpt from Ed's latest Kindle ebook: SNOW, NO ACCUMULATION
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
On the overpass, I drove back over the Turnpike and the
glowing red chain below that I’d so recently been a link on and followed the
two-lane asphalt – at least, I think it was asphalt – as it wound its way into
and through the blackness ahead and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on
either side of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea
what highway I was on; the sideways snow had plastered itself to the few signs
along the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think one might have
said “524” but it might have been any other combination of numbers, so I didn’t
even consider getting out the free road atlas I’d gotten with the AAA
membership.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
headlights illuminated nothing but white through the twin black fans on the
windshield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glanced briefly down
through the dashboard glow to discover that I was going close to forty.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not bad,
considering,” I recall telling myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The radio DJ told me it was getting close to nine and that he could
finally knock off and go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I envied
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also wondered if he lived close
to the studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If not, he was going to
find that the “non-accumulation” of snow was coming down even faster than the
recent update had predicted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d be out
in the white shitstorm with the rest of us on Friday night.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After close
to an hour of driving, I’d encountered one lone pickup coming in the opposite
direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t seen a single light
on along the road and began to wonder exactly where in the country’s
most-densely-populated state I was.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally, I
came to an intersection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d had the
sense that the road had turned more north-and-south than east-west, so I took a
left onto the new road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The surface was
perfectly white, not a twin set of tire tracks in sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where the
hell am I -- <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Idaho</st1:place></st1:state>?”
I growled at the Corolla.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just kept
up that nice, trustworthy purr and itself forging ahead, ignoring me and my
grumbling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also occurred to me that
finding the house, in the dark, in the unexpected snow, was going to be
basically impossible, so I made up my mind that I’d shelter for the rest of the
night in the first Holiday Inn or any other motel I found along the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, I was heading toward the <st1:place w:st="on">Jersey</st1:place> shore, where it sometimes seemed that there were
actually more motels and “guest houses” than there was garbage floating
offshore. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Toyota</st1:city></st1:place> began to go
sideways, I realized that I might not get to a motel at any time in the near
future.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I did what
I’d been taught: I steered in the direction of the skid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that got me to the three pines faster
that way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car and I came to an
abrupt stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I struggled to get the
seat belt and harness released, I realized that it had locked somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d read about people getting stuck in
flaming wrecks and fortunately, had had the foresight to hang a small but very sharp
key-chain knife on the directional-signal lever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The inch-long blade cut through the belts
quickly and easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the harness
snapped back past my head, I realized that the engine was still purring
faithfully, the wipers were still flapping, and the new DJ was telling me that
I shouldn’t be out on the roads if I didn’t need to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I wasn’t, I was off the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shut everything off and tried to open the
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when I realized that the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Toyota</st1:city></st1:place> was neatly wedged
between three pines, with no way out of the front doors.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I climbed
over the front seat and quickly opened the back driver’s-side door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snow blew straight into my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as quickly, I pulled the door closed and
reached over the seat to take the keys out of the ignition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then I
thought about taking stock of the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had no reason to think staying in the car was a good idea; I’d seen
only one other vehicle on the road in over an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a flashlight with new batteries, mainly
because I’d just bought it; I had warm clothes and a pair of hiking boots in
the trunk, left over from my last trek to High Point…and somewhere, way off to
the right, I could see a light once in a while when the snow and wind died down
a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got out, grabbed the boots
and got back into the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A minute or
two later, the hood of my jacket pulled out of the zippered compartment behind
my neck and now pulled tightly around my face, I locked and left the Toyota
with an apology about what I’d done to it and got out on the road.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fortunately,
the wind was blowing from behind me as I made my way up the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shining the light ahead, it was pretty easy
to follow the road, mainly because it dropped down to drainage ditches on the
sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept looking off to my right
for the light or lights that I’d glimpsed before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once in a while, I could see it through the
trees, which seemed to be all thin, scrubby pines, but so growing so densely
together that it was hard to get a straight look through them in that
direction.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After maybe
twenty minutes, I saw what seemed to be a road or driveway that dipped down,
leading off the highway where the trees thinned out somewhat and made a gap and
in the direction of the light. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cautiously, I stepped down off the pavement
onto what was obviously not pavement, but definitely some kind of worn
track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see the ground on either
side rise up to a line of more pines, but the road ahead was clear, except for
what was now at least three to four inches of snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, the wind was now coming from
my right and partially obscuring my vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Still, I could see that lone light flickering, tantalizingly, straight
ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lines from “Hotel California”
popped into my head.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Up ahead in the distance, I saw a
shimmering light,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My head grew heavy and my sight grew
dim,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to stop for the night.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
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<i><o:p> </o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I had to laugh; I’d stopped all
right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now my old trustworthy Japanese
friend was stuck between some unfriendly pines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, my head wasn’t heavy, but the snow was making my sight dim, that
was for sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There also wasn’t any girl
standing in a doorway with a candle in her hand.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The cold
snow made little pitty-pat sounds as it bounced off the outside of the parka’s
hood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad it was a dry snow; the
going would’ve been a lot harder if it had been the wet, clinging kind,
although the wind was doing a pretty good job of plastering it to the sides of
the trees.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then, as I
stared straight ahead, the light that had been getting progressively closer -- it
seemed anyway -- disappeared.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shit!” I
said to the wind and snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea had
been that if there was a light, there must be people, and therefore, a phone,
or at least, some place to find shelter until the storm passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the light came back on. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I shook my
head, thinking that it had just been my imagination, or that something had
blocked my vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it went out
again.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I went to
the right and stood among an especially thick stand of tall-growing bushes that
were just higher than my head, pressing myself back into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did a pretty good job of keeping me out
of the snow and wind, despite being leafless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I stared back in the direction of the light.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I
looked that time, there it was, still glowing yellow and opaquely through the
curtain of white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went back onto the
narrow road and moved off, keeping my eyes on that light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was definitely going off and on, but not
with any kind of regularity, but more like a bulb that hasn’t been screwed into
a lamp securely and flickers when someone brushes against the table it’s
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the light went off again.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s when
I walked right into a metal fence, face first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it hurt.</div>
Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-55399928043657206522012-02-23T06:19:00.001-08:002012-02-23T06:28:47.480-08:00If you are asked to sing the National Anthem…<p>“So, with all the kindness I can muster, I give this one piece of advice to the next pop star who is asked to sing the national anthem at a sporting event: save the vocal gymnastics and the physical gyrations for your concerts. Just sing this song the way you were taught to sing it in kindergarten — straight up, no styling. Sing it with the constant awareness that there are soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines watching you from bases and outposts all over the world. Don’t make them cringe with your self-centered ego gratification. Sing it as if you are standing before a row of 86-year-old WWII vets wearing their Purple Hearts, Silver Stars and flag pins on their cardigans and you want them to be proud of you for honoring them and the country they love — not because you want them to think you are a superstar musician. They could see that from the costumes, the makeup and the entourages.  Sing “The Star Spangled Banner” with the courtesy and humility that tells the audience that it is about America , not about you.”</p> <p>(This was sent to me…I don’t know who the author is but I agree…)</p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-63690946289302104012011-11-23T06:18:00.001-08:002011-11-23T06:18:24.986-08:00My Tennessee Williams Moment<p>…so it’s 1969 and I’m working between staggered Air Force shifts as a dishwasher for a buck an hour in the Sands Restaurant in Key West to supplement my extravagant military salary and to feed my wife and baby daughter. One July night, around 6, Lennie, the alcoholic owner (who would eventually drink away the restaurant’s profits – with help from his wife Alice, whose inherited money bought the restaurant -- and have to sell it) comes to me and points to the open back door of the kitchen where I see a short man, around fifty or so, in a white Mark Twain suit, standing with a tanned guy in his twenties who looks like a tennis instructor, who has a large white dog, maybe a huskie or a Samoyed, on a leash.</p> <p>“See that man in the white suit?” Lennie asks.  I nod. “Well, that’s Tennessee Williams.  Tell him he can’t bring a dog into a restaurant in Key West because it’s against the health laws, but tell him <u>nicely</u>, Eddie!  Tell him you will tie the dog up by the back door and feed it some of the meat that comes back from people who don’t finish their whole dinners.” (Which will cut into my ability to save some of the huge prime ribs and steaks that customers are constantly returning because they get pretty wasted, waiting at the bar for their tables to be ready…this second job was the only time we really ate well.  I would trim off the meat and wrap it in foil and take it back to our ratty two-bedroom trailer on nearby Stock Island.  I was also able to take home conch chowder and lobster thermador on some nights.  Anyway…)</p> <p>So I go to the door in my shorts and sweaty white T-shirt (washing dishes was hot work and the kitchen wasn’t air-conditioned against the wonderful Florida Keys’ humidity) and say, “Good evening, Mr. Williams, it is really an honor to meet you.  I hope someday to write a novel or a play and have been inspired by your work.”  </p> <p>He stares at me as if I am invisible.  The tennis-type sighs in a non-masculine way, as if I’m wasting their time, which I suppose I am.  Anyway…I continue, holding out my hand toward the dog’s leash.</p> <p>“I’ve been asked to inform you that the health department in Key West does not allow animals to be brought into restaurants, but I will personally take your dog and keep an eye on him, as well as offer him some delicious meat from the Sands’ kitchen.” </p> <p>He stares at me as if I am invisible.  The tennis-type sighs another non-masculine sigh, as if I’m wasting their time, which I suppose I am. Finally, Tennessee (may I call him Tennessee?) speaks.</p> <p>“We came here for dinner and my dog will certainly be coming in with us!” he snaps.</p> <p>“But sir, the restaurant can be closed down and fined if we allow pets to enter the restaurant,” I explain somewhat lamely, maybe.</p> <p>“I don’t know why I was told by that hostess to come back here.  I shall enter through the front door, and the dog comes in with me!” he asserts. “He will certainly <u>not </u>be tied back here and be fed by you, and if you do not understand that, I will tell him to bite your goddam nuts off!” which causes the tennis-pet to break out a big, white-toothed smile.  Then Williams turns away and as I watch, turns the corner of the building and heads toward the parking lot with his two pets.</p> <p>Minutes later, as I’m feeding more dishes into the washing machine (which will run out of hot water by seven o’clock because Lennie is too cheap to buy a large-enough water heater), I feel Lennie’s hand on my arm.</p> <p>“What the hell did you say to Tennessee Williams?!  He never came in!” Lennie shouts, sending billows of Scotch- and cigarette-scented breath past both sides of my face.</p> <p>“Nothing! Just what you told me to.  I told him, <u>politely and nicely</u>, that the health laws don’t allow pets in the restaurants.  He said he’d have his dog bite my nuts off…and <u>he</u> didn’t say it politely or nicely, either, Lennie!” I shout back.</p> <p>Lennie storms back out of the kitchen…and that’s my one and only encounter with a famous writer…and to show my objectivity, I still taught <i>THE GLASS MENAGERIE</i> to my students for 35 years.  I don’t think Tennessee Williams ever bought any of my novels, which makes me the better <u>man</u>…of course, he died in 1983, before I was published…which also makes me still alive.  Serves him right.</p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-57609954516798504732011-09-22T06:33:00.000-07:002011-09-22T06:39:23.042-07:00The Quake of 2011<div>I'm tired of the August quake referred to as "The D.C. Quake" and the CNN coverage, making all the fuss about D.C. and NYC! The epicenter was six miles from us, has totalled over 40 houses in this rural county where poor people have no insurance, let alone earthquake insurance (which the insurance companies are now scurrying around, offering...but which won't go into effect until ALL aftershocks have ended...and they're still rumbling in the county!) Two schools have been severely damaged and may have to be demolished, one of which, the high school, where I devoted 24 years of my teaching. Students in the high school and middle school now have to go to school from 8 till 5, every other day, at least until the Christmas holiday break. It was THE LOUISA QUAKE, okay?!</div>Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-24492897231452014872011-07-16T10:05:00.001-07:002011-07-16T10:05:45.338-07:00Ed’s E-books: Descriptions<p><b><i>LURAY</i></b></p> <p>A young man from the steel-mill and coal country of western Pennsylvania accepts his first job to teach high-school English in a small northwestern Virginia county, home of the famous Luray Caverns. During his first four months, Tom finds a place to live—a motel cabin—owned by Becky, a widow with two daughters: Ronnie, a high-school senior, and Sandi, the older daughter. He develops friendships with a handful of teachers who become the Lunch Bunch as he is learning and refining his skills as a teacher. Tom slowly becomes enmeshed in a developing mystery surrounding his assigned teacher-mentor. Tom also finds himself falling deeply in love: with teaching and with a troubled young woman. Set among the beautiful mountains of the Blue Ridge, where seemingly endless summer is replaced by spectacular autumn colors, where friendly and easy-going Southerners make great food and sell homey antiques, LURAY is a story that takes the reader into the classroom of a first-year teacher and into his life. In addition, the food is good and the environment is stunningly beautiful. </p> <p><b><i>BLUE RIDGE HIGH</i></b></p> <p>Take a trip into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia to experience a passionate love story. Take the moments that come alive in a high-school classroom and beyond, and then season them heavily with suspense and attempted murder and you have <i>BLUE RIDGE HIGH</i>, which picks up where Ed Buhrer’s <i>LURAY</i> left off, but with a hard right turn into something different. In this novel, as Tom continues to fall deeper and deeper into love with two demanding mistresses—Sandi and teaching—there’s a lot to laugh about, a lot to sigh about…but then, with a jolt, something will happen to make you think, “Hey, this isn’t funny anymore—this is scary!” <i>BLUE RIDGE HIGH</i> is filled with colorful and memorable characters—real people who act and sound real—a sense of place made alive with dazzling description, and a true glimpse into a real high school…and for an added treat, a few good lessons in cooking. It also has the ability to take the reader into the story and make him want to stay there. <i>BLUE RIDGE HIGH</i> has something to offer every reader, from romance to intrigue, to insights into the lives of teachers, to good food, good recipes, and laughter, to the desire to fall in love all over again. You won’t be sorry you read this novel. </p> <p><b><i>ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET NIXON AND EISENHOWER: Baby Boomer Tales from the New Jersey Suburbs</i></b></p> <p>Growing up in New Jersey: Land of Toxic Waste Dumps...Home to the Homeless Garbage Barges of the Seven Seas...state that actually wants to fight over who owns Staten Island... maybe the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa...butt of jokes from stand-up comedians so bad that <i>no one</i> laughs at them (the comedians <i>or</i> the jokes)...Lower Intestinal Tract of America to anyone who has ever had to drive up (or down) the Jersey Turnpike...Usurper of Rhode Island's former right to be "The Most Densely Populated State"...and on and on.  New Jersey wasn’t always like that.  </p> <p>When I was a boy in America’s adolescence of the Fifties, it was different; when I was a young <i>man</i>, it was still different. New Jersey: The Garden State...Land of Deep Valleys and Pristine Snow-covered Peaks...Home of Rolling Hills and Wildflowers...tiny villages of white church steeples and bounteous orchards...mile on mile of white-sand beaches and underground caverns...quiet and uncrowded two-lane highways...wind-swept forests of snow-covered redwood, birch, and date palm...and...</p> <p>Okay, it was never totally like <i>that</i>, either, but it <i>was</i> still a pretty good place to grow up.  Today’s young people will be amazed at our generation.  We were innocents: innocent of sex and other adult wonders; and we were adventurers: our thumbs could take us to places our feet couldn’t.  We rode our bikes everywhere – without pads or helmets; we could not only swim in the streams, we could <i>drink</i> from them.  We witnessed one of the greatest inventions of the century: Pez.  Well, some historian might say it was the Sputnik that kicked off the race for space, but I recall that practically every kid in America had a Pez dispenser in his pocket; I don’t remember any of us with a Sputnik!  We ran home, dropped our “school” clothes, and ran back <i>outside</i> to play…<i>our</i> games, not ones manufactured for us with tons of batteries and imbedded computer chips in them.  The seasons all held something special; you could go to the movies all day for fifty cents and still have enough left over for an ice-cream cone on the way home.  And we were all part of a truly remarkable moment: Jonas Salk cured us of the terrifying fear of polio..and Nixon tried, but didn’t quite cure us of the terrifying fear (thanks to McCarthy and weekly air-raid drills) of evil Communists.  </p> <p>It’s not like that anymore…is it?  And it’s not just about New Jersey, after all, it’s about growing up in the new suburbs in the new, post-war America.  All of these times are captured, humorously, in my 80,000-word memoir, <b><i>ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET NIXON AND EISENHOWER: Baby Boomer Tales from the New Jersey Suburbs</i></b><i>, </i>a journey that will take baby boomers back to their childhoods and younger readers back to a simpler and more innocent time, starring a recurring cast of juvenile characters roaming the environs of school and neighborhood.<i> </i>I envision an audience of both late adolescents and adults, anyone who understands the importance of tradition and family.  It will be of interest to the huge audience of baby boomers (such as the author himself) who are looking to revisit their own adolescences, now that they have time in their retirements to go back to the enjoyment of reading.</p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i>ONLY: Growing Up Alone</i></b></p> <p>Growing up has never been easy, with parents and teachers and bullies and friends who aren't friends two days later. Dark, shadowy monsters that inhabit your bedroom at night can be frightening. Growing up alone, as an only child, with no one to share these fears with, really stinks. <b><i>ONLY</i></b> is about a kind of growing up that takes place as much in the inner thoughts of a child as in what he hears from the "others" in his life that are often a great deal fewer than in the lives of those kids who grow up in larger families.<b><i> ONLY</i></b> is a story of that only child who had a “brother”--the ideal child that his parents expected when he popped out of the womb and slid, slippery, into the delivering doctor's gloved hands, the child who would, of course, get all A's in school and never lie. For this “only,” life was hard when this ideal son was always there, living in that same house, to constantly remind the parents that their actual "only" wasn't quite what they had hoped for in their only attempt at parenthood. Most of all, <b><i>ONLY</i></b> is the story of one such "only," desperately wishing for a brother, while experiencing the sometimes funny, sometimes joyful, often painful, and without doubt, poignant moments of growing up in the middle years prior to the invasion of puberty and the awareness of self in its most pervasively adolescent manifestations.</p> <p>And finally, a brother appears -- one that only two kids know about -- who gives this lonely only child a real “brother”…for a while, anyway.</p> <p><b><i>SHAG SUMMER: An Adolescent Odyssey</i></b></p> <p>Imagine getting your first job, as a caddy, and heading to Pennsylvania for your sixteenth summer…and coming home taller, naïve no longer, and completely and totally aware of what it means to be intimate with the opposite sex…and in love. <i>SHAG SUMMER </i>is set at a Pocono Mountains resort in the summer of 1962, the summer of sixteen-year-old Freddie Fielding’s sexual awakening, but it is more than just a coming-of-age story; it is a “growing up” epic, filled with a great deal of humor, tasteful sex, detailed description, realistic dialogue, and unforgettable characters, many the golfers that Freddie meets in his two-and-a-half months of caddying. This novel is for an audience of readers who like a happy ending with all loose ends neatly tied up, people who love to laugh, and anyone who has ever fallen in love.</p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i>THE DEVIL IN THE PINES – A Handy Boys Adventure</i></b></p> <p>Off on a camping trip and search for buried Revolutionary War gold in the Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey, the Handy boys, Dan and Stan -- along with some chums, one cousin, and a hound dog -- are soon caught up in two cases that their famous detective father, Fosdick Handy, is working on with a combined task force of local and federal agents. Both sinister and supernatural forces will be at work as the boys try to get through one more exciting and unbelievable adventure after another, all the while trying to make sure they get home in time for dinner!</p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i>THE GREAT CHICKEN TERROR – A Handy Boys Adventure</i></b></p> <p>A group of foreign terrorists, led by the incredibly evil Assoma bin Reqtaam, is intent on wreaking havoc on the American economy by destroying all the fried-chicken franchises with the introduction of a foreign species of chicken whose flesh has the consistency of a Goodyear® tire. But this is just the beginning of their evil plan to destroy the American way of life and bring chaos to the country. It will be up to the Handy Boys – Stan and Dan – their handful of faithful chums, and some unexpected allies to foil the diabolical plans of Assoma bin Reqtaam and his fanatical followers as our heroes venture from their home in East South Keansbury, New Jersey, on mad dashes back and forth across the Garden State.</p> <p><b><i></i></b></p> <p><b><i>CRITTERSVILLE: A Parable of Good and Not-so-Good</i></b></p> <p><i></i></p> <p><i>CRITTERSVILLE</i> is a fantasy about a town of various animal species who have learned to co-exist and live together in relative harmony, unlike the humans who had destroyed themselves, along with less desirable tenants of the earth, such as mosquitoes, cockroaches, and politicians.  The “relative harmony” has been maintained by the various creatures establishing “neighborhoods,” thus we see the felines living together, the birds and canines doing the same in their sections of Crittersville.  This harmony, however, becomes threatened, as will the entire town of Crittersville, by the arrival of a terrifying creature -- a griffin -- and an evil wizard who controls it.  It will take the united efforts of all the members of Crittersville and a couple unlikely heroes to rid the town of this terrible threat.</p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-27387994522096353192011-05-27T09:45:00.001-07:002011-05-27T09:45:36.203-07:00NEW E-BOOK!<p>I now have a seventh e-book on Amazon, and this one’s a monster at 437 pages…attached is a photo of the cover and below is a brief blurb about the novel….I’d appreciate your spreading the word…as well as reading it…thanks.  </p> <p>Imagine getting your first job, as a caddy, and heading to Pennsylvania for your sixteenth summer…and coming home taller, naïve no longer, and completely and totally aware of what it means to be intimate with the opposite sex…and in love. <i>SHAG SUMMER </i>is set at a Pocono Mountains resort in the summer of 1962, the summer of sixteen-year-old Freddie Fielding’s sexual awakening, but it is more than just a coming-of-age story; it is a “growing up” epic, filled with a great deal of humor, tasteful sex, detailed description, realistic dialogue, and unforgettable characters, many the golfers that Freddie meets in his two-and-a-half months of caddying.  This novel is for an audience of readers who like a happy ending with all loose ends neatly tied up, people who love to laugh, and anyone who has ever fallen in love. </p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRATkHcfB4tmg6v2y9IKxWkCnXt8Yu6-umEehrx2SkHUOsUi-n1skbkqG_H9I4D6rmF4EkzK7mtpd_0dXcZxQuKXJEtVqLKE182wYafYs5ktQYh1ZPtf-M7AO6KbqoLcmwVirk7OPQGCk/s1600-h/cover2%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="cover2" border="0" alt="cover2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6QcX88ELEGUcAjHLlSnCnuIFGzIa1aXBpN6rRDLbP76epl9gPM9u5JzXxqKNveeehklz55K72eEDKrzcT_grTzYVuKJ1twPqLlbhFpi14BSCBeveO0jd53kXMOTXw3gFp-RgdEAy38s/?imgmax=800" width="244" height="175" /></a></p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-4346191523706135512011-05-27T09:40:00.000-07:002011-09-22T06:39:23.042-07:00There's a new e-book!<div></div>Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-57356112819340529702011-05-07T09:07:00.001-07:002011-05-07T11:26:27.353-07:00What’s the ‘Coolest’ Thing You’ve Ever Done?<p>A former student asked me recently, “B., what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?”  It wasn’t something that I’d been considering at the time, but after a few moments, here’s what I came up with:</p> <p>In the spring of 1963 – my freshman year in college – Count Basie and his band came to Montclair State College.  I was supposed to meet Charley Blakely, a fellow freshman from North Bergen, and I did, but he was about ten minutes late and when we entered the large gym where the basketball games were played, it was about 8:15 and the place was jammed.  </p> <p>They had the bleachers on both sides down but there didn’t seem to be a space anywhere.  Directly across from us (we were standing inside the lobby doors), against the back wall, Count Basie and the band were already putting the jazz into the New Jersey air.</p> <p>“It doesn’t look like there’s a seat left. Whaddaya wanna do?” Charley asked me. “Shit, I don’t know,” I probably replied. “How come no one’s sitting on the floor?” he said. “You know they don’t want anyone to walk on that floor with shoes on,” I said. “But we’re both wearin’ tennis shoes,” Charley answered. (This was long before today’s hundred-dollar, glorified sneakers; you either wore black-and-white high-tops or white “tennis” shoes, even if you never picked up a racket.) “You wanna go sit in front of the band?” I suggested, without thinking much about it. “Yeah,” Charley said…and we started walking across the darkened gymnasium floor, knowing that every eye in the stands was probably watching us.</p> <p>“If The Count looks at us like we’re a couple ‘o dickheads, I’m gonna die,” Charley whispered, voicing my exact thoughts.</p> <p>Anyway, we got to the out-of-bounds or base line, right under where the basket and backboard had been raised, and we sat down, like in the lotus position.  The band was still blasting away, and off to the right, behind his piano, sat Count Basie, dressed in some kind of nautical outfit with a blue blazer and a white captain’s hat.  As I watched, he looked up from ‘tinkling the ivories,’ did that thing with his hand, like he was shooting a pistol, then gave us a nod and a wink, and went back to playing the piano.  </p> <p>Within a minute, the entire stands had emptied out and there were about five thousand other MSC students sitting on the floor behind us.  We stayed there the entire concert, unwilling to lose our “seats.”  </p> <p>When the band had played the last encore, I found a sheet of red poster board that had been stapled to a bulletin board on the back wall and tore a piece off and went over to ask The Count for his autograph.  He took a pen out of his blazer pocket and signed the piece of red cardboard and then, with a smile, kind of whispered, “Pretty gutsy move you boys made tonight.  I was ‘fraid they’d come drag you off the floor. I woulda told them to leave ya alone. You like jazz?”</p> <p>After I stammered out some kind of “yes,” I shook his hand – he had rings on three fingers – and left.  </p> <p>That autograph is still in my wife’s hope chest – don’t ask me why.  I guess that was the “coolest” thing I’ve ever done…unless someone reminds me of something “cooler.” </p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-74339374429763249272011-04-01T09:10:00.001-07:002011-04-01T09:10:13.461-07:00Happy April Fool’s Day<p>“April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.” ~Mark Twain, <i>Pudd'nhead Wilson</i>, 1894</p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4572812780182183792.post-79315114856273442792011-03-28T09:45:00.001-07:002011-03-28T09:45:34.987-07:00Spring in Virginia<p>SPRING IN VIRGINIA</p> <p>Spring in Virginia, my favorite season. Down here, it lasts a long while. First, we have crocuses and daffodils peeking through, sometimes with some snow still on the ground in the shady spots. Then we have to wait for one stretch of about two days of warm weather, like in the mid-fifties or above, then a good dose of rain: and then the world explodes! We’ll have a thunderstorm one afternoon and after it, I’ll hear “peepers” (tiny, baby frogs…don’t remember hearing them in semi-urban New Jersey…maybe on my grandparents’ farm) echoing from the woods and creek behind the house. After that rain-warmth cycle, the first color will be the swelling leaf-buds on the trees – maple, oak, beech, sweet gum, birch, sycamore, linden, pin oak, hickory – to add to the green that hangs around all year in the hemlocks, pines, cedars, and spruces. Then the leaves appear, first light green, then darker; then the first color.</p> <p>There are these slender trees down here called Eastern redbuds…the flowers hang in grape-like clusters and are really more purple than red; about the time they’re fading, the dogwoods—the state tree--explode into white flowers and grow wild all over the landscape, as do the native redbuds. By the time the dogwoods are fading, all the flowering shrubs – lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, camellias—pop open. Then all Toni and I have to do is go to a nursery and come home and plant the annuals: marigolds, zinnias, impatiens—and by that time, it’s time for me to take my turn at tilling the 3,000-square-foot garden and get in my beloved tomatoes, eggplants, peppers—twenty kinds of hot ones-- and the stuff I’ll grow for others: squash (which I’ll grow for everyone else but personally refuse to eat; as Russell Baker once wrote, “squash is the only vegetable that tastes like it sounds”), beets, beans and sugar peas (I’ll eat <i>them</i>), and ten or fifteen different herbs--rosemary and oregano grow all year. Toni and I argue sometimes about who plants what and how much to plant, but it’s a fun kind of arguing; after all, it feeds us, plus friends and neighbors.</p> <p>What I love most, maybe, are the aromas of spring; sometimes, the air smells scented from all the flora, but often, it just carries a crispness that makes me want to suck in cubic yards of it. And the nights! It gets windy a lot through early May, and the stars, unaffected by the ground lights (there aren’t any) are spectacular, like the night skies I remember as a boy…or on dark, moonless, windy nights in summer and winter in New Jersey, when I was a kid, anyway. Some nights, the Milky Way looks as if God took a finger and smeared cream across the darkness. Before the leaves mature, on a full-moon night, the shadows of the trees stretch out forever, and we can walk our quiet country property and the paths up the mountain as if it were broad daylight…or narrow daylight.</p> <p>On our upstairs deck out back, we can sit out there at night and listen to the night sounds of owls and whippoorwills off in the trees, and the coons and possums and skunks snuffling around in the leaves. That lasts until summer arrives and the ‘skeeters move in…and we have to move back inside. Even the house smells clean, like laundry dried on the line outside, when we can open the windows and let the world blow through. I guess I come back alive with the spring; I’m so dormant, like the plant world, in the winter. The only exercise I can get is splitting some of the wood that’s still too big and carrying it in…and my one- or two-mile walk every other day when my knees are in the mood. The first semi-warm day will find me outside, doing <i>anything, </i>just to be outdoors.</p> <p>As I’ve said, Virginia’s a good place to be…all year long, but especially in the spring.</p> <p>Even on April Fool’s Day.</p> Pizza Edhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12300485682944590360noreply@blogger.com1