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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 5 years

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WAFFLE IRON MYSTERY

Luck? I'll tell you about luck.

In November my wife ordered a wafffle iron through Amazon.

Time went by and no waffle maker.

We were getting irritated, not so much by the absence of waffles but rather by the delay in delivery

A couple of weeks later a very large box arrived at our doorstep. I asked Lynn what the hell is this? The package was a lot bigger than any waffles I have ever consumed.

We took the package into the house. We opened it. The package did not include a waffle maker.

Lynn, immediately got on the phone.

She's great on the phone.

She made contact with a representative whose accent was a lot different from ours.

Lynn told her about the erroneous delivery.

The voice on the other end offered a remedy. All we had to do was rewrap the package, take it to the post office , send it back. and we'll credit your account

The ears on our end were not pleased.

The voice on our end had another remedy. We aren't gonna rewrap this thing nor take it to the post office. This package is here because of an error on your part. We don't intend to make up for your error with our time and our gasoline.

The voice on the other end needed a moment to listen to the voice of her supervisor.

For five minutes there were no voices on either end.

Then the voice on the other end offered another remedy. We may keep the package and they would send the wafflemaker.

The voice on our end accepted the remedy.

Four months later having discovered our cancer, we decided that we would fight the condition with radiation. After we made the decision and began to schedule the treatment dates, a nurse entered the room with piece of paper that listed some of the potential side effects during radiation. Among the side effects were these two: Urination Changes and Bowel changes.

Urination changes include burning with urination, urinating more often and more urgently. Possible incontinence

Bowel changes include increased gas, urgent or loose bowel movements sometimes activated by the increased gas.

Considering the alternatives, we considered and consider our selves very fortunate.

We got this covered, no problem. And not thank God with a waffle iron.

The mystery package that we kept , even though we couldn't imagine a use for it at the time, contained 36 extra large adult diapers.

This is what I mean by luck and it's all true.

No shit.

TROT ON THE BLOCK

I remember my first Thanksgiving in a previous wifetime. We had been married a month and a half. We had built a chicken coop together. We had horses. We had a goose. We had a mule. We even had a peacock. The chickens were laying. We also had a couple of turkeys. As Thanksgiving approached, I wondered about the fate of the turkeys.

My wife didn’t wonder. She acted.

She coaxed one of the turkeys out to a stump that unbeknownst to the fowl was a chopping block. She got the bird to stretch his neck out on the block. She took a mighty swing with her ax. Contradicting rumors of stupidity, the turkey lurched out of the way as the ax buried itself in the stump.

The turkey trotted away as if nothing had happened and gtried to regain his dignity.

My wife was accompanied by her friend Beth who was eager to help but who was laughing her ass off.

The turkey meanwhile doubled down on rumors of stupidity and walked right back to the stump and confidently stuck his neck out. This time, Beth grabbed the turkey’s back legs. A moment later the axe fell.

I was photographing the whole thing.

Although the actual photograph, like the marriage itself, is long gone…I have an imprint of the photograph indelibly recorded in my mind.

It is the moment of contact.

Beth on the left is flinching.

Cindy on the right is baring her teeth, arms fully extended.

All of it is in a slight blur except for where the ax has come to a sudden stop as it passed through the neck of the bird and hit the stump. The ax and the neck of the bird are in perfect focus.

A darkened area on the axe is the blood erupting from the birds neck as the ax has passed through.

And yes, the turkey did run a round a little bit after his head was cut off.

I think it was the first time for everybody.

I know it was the first time for the turkey.

I was pretty sure I got the picture.

I proceeded to my dark room and made a print while the women were finishing up with the turkey.

Because I was working in my own darkroom, the image was in black and white and it turned out exactly as I described it above. The black and white nature of the image enhanced the reality of the situation.

We had invited several guests to come over and join us for Thanksgiving the following day.

The picture was so remarkable that we decided to frame it.

We put the framed picture in the dining room.

Our guests arrived, smoking joints and drinking shots as was the custom of the day.

John McCormack, who three years later died sober in a drunken car accident was the first to notice the image.

“Wow, what a picture”

People came over and looked at the image with varying degrees of astonishment.

Finally, someone asked the inevitable question.

“Is that photo a picture of the turkey we are about to eat?”

We nodded.

Beth spoke up.

“This is thanksgiving”

More joints were passed around. More shots taken.

When the transformed fowl appeared on the table, John asked if he could do the carving.

He did one helluva job.

There was plenty of meat to go around and a multitude of Thanks were given as a certain degree of reality grasped the gathering.

God, how I miss Roseland.

Starting with Galloping Gertie, through my first round of miniature golf, into the Penny Arcade across f from the changemakers where I got an authentic Tom Mix photograph, beyond the Wild Mouse, through the Bumper Cars next to the shooting gallery behind the Cotton Candy stand near the restaurant which eventually became a beer stop where one of my friends once asked what the penalty was for punching out a clown. Back to the hot dog stands beneath the swings and beyond the Skyliner with skeeball coupons in hand. Tee shirts, cut offs and a pair of thongs, for decades we'd been having fun all summer long.

I knew Roseland big time and the feeling was mutual.

I had to be present for her last night.

We all knew the date of the execution.

Lots of Landlovers showed up, most young only in heart.

We traded in all of our skee ball tickets which we had amassed over the last ten years and won a forty inch plaster statue of a bearded guy in a yellow raincoat holding on to a bunch of lobsters as if his plaster depended on it.

We posed for pictures in front of or onboard all of the rides.

When my mother died many years later, the picture of her riding the merry go round was the photo nearest her flowers.

We kept trying to pretend that the fun, the eternal summer was never going to end. We knew in our hearts that some point the cups would stop whirling.

During my last ride on the carousel, I began to wonder if, in fact, the rides would stop that night. The operators after all were mostly college kids on the last shift of their summer jobs, probably a week or two from the quad. What would stop them from keeping the rides going all, night, hell all weekend. What could happen to them if they did? They certainly didn't have to worry about getting fired.

But before that paradoxical showdown, the management would present one final fireworks show out over the pier on Canandaigua Lake. The fireworks would begin at eleven. We took our rides on everything as eleven approached.

It was a startlingly clear star spangled evening; a Roseland night.

At ten-thirty the announcement of the fireworks started to come over the p.a. system. Everybody in the park wanted to be in on this event, including the ride operators. So like some kind of blissful, mourning army, we all strode to the site of the fireworks.

At eleven o'clock, the main park was deserted. I distinctly remember looking at that deserted park. I don't remember Roseland ever looking brighter or more inviting, resonating not only the remnants of that night's crowd but also all of the crowds of all the decades past. Although Roseland trembled, it appeared alive and ready to get up on its feet and sprint all the way to Rochester, to Lake Ontario thirty miles South to say goodbye to Sea Breeze.

Complete

Vital

Vibrant

vigorous

empty

throbbing

trembling

pulsating

eternal Roseland over my shoulder.

And then the first fireworks exploded in breathtaking perfection over the lake. The crowd as one ooohed.

At that exact instant, I tore my eyes away from the miracle in the sky for one last peek and saw all of the lights in the main park slam off at once, never to come on again.

Total darkness. A silent sound as deafening as any I had ever not heard.

Most of the crowd

As if on cue

turned away

from the sky

gasped

laughed

and cried

Roseland

died.

Sgt Pepper’s Radiation Team

We got a great team at the hospital.

So let me introduce to you

the radiation therapists

Who deal with me every day.

They're Amy, Maggie, Paul and Mike.

Bompop Bombpop, Bompop, Bompop Bompup

Bompop, Bompop Bompop BUMBUMBUMBUMBUM Bop Dooah.

They put me on the table every day

They make sure that my feet are in the cast

Then when all is ready, they quickly run away

And from the booth send out another blast.

They're Amy, Maggie, Paulie and Mike

They're learning who I am and what I like

They always seem to know the exact words to say

To help me through another healing day

etc.

It's always nice when I start to write and bam...it goes right into Sgt. Pepper but sure enough I'm getting by with a little help from these friends. And I've got to admit, I'm getting better.

Okay, Okay, I'll stop and break into prose.

Gradually

Amy looks like a grown up version of a friend from high school.

Maggie looks like a grown up version of a friend from college.

Paulie looks like a grown up version of a guy I played baseball with.

Mike looks like the guy who played guitar in my band.

In other words, they all look familiar. So right from the get go I had the feeling I was with friends.

When I told Amy that she looked familar. She said " a lot of people think I look familiar"

Looking familiar is a pretty good thing don'cha' think?

The first task is getting me on the sled. I'm nowhere near as flexible as I used to be so they team up and gently lift me into position. They've made a cast of my lower body and that cast is on top of what at first looked like random sheets. I have to get my feet into the cast part shaped for my feet and then the therapists take over.

They tell me to "lay heavy" and I'm learning how to do that. Of course at my weight, it comes kinda natural. I'm getting pretty good at laying heavy. Laying heavy means when I feel movement beneath me, I resist the urge to move with that movement. Of course the radiation blasts have to be exactly precise, so when I am laying heavy they are maneuvering the sheets beneath me to put me into the right postion without my feet leaving the mold. They pull on the sheet and that puts me right where they want me.

All this time we are making small talk and laughing.

Then one of them will say "perfect" and they duck away to a protected area where they watch me through the glass. While watching me, they are also seeing a three dimensional rendering of my inner lower body projected on to a computer screen and making sure that the zaps are zapping the tatoo where the zaps should be zapping.

I'm laying heavy and except for the radio playing in the background, there is silence.

I am under the linear accelerator, looking up at the ceiling where I see a red laser cross.

The accelerator moves around me and does what it's supposed to do for about five minutes.

Then I hear one of them say "great" and next thing I know, they are lifting me off the sled.

When my feet first hit the ground, I experience some vertigo. I sit down in the chair and usually tell a story.

The first story on the first day was what happened when the skeleton walked into the bar. The bartender said. "whaddya want". The skeleton said "a beer and a mop".

The second story on the second day had a fish walking into the bar.

Bartender said "whaddya need".

The fish said "water".

The third day,a duck walked into the drugstore. The duck asked for lip gloss. The astonished pharmacist brought back the gloss. The duck said "I don't have any money, just put it on my bill.

The fourth day, ham and eggs walked into the bar. Bartender said "we don't serve breakfast.

The fifth day Jesus Christ walked into a wine bar etc. The wine pourer asked," what would you like". Jesus answered 'just a glass of water.

Every story got the reaction I hoped it would get. They acted as if they had never heard the story before and then after a pause like after the fish says "water," they gave me the kind of laugh that indicates an amused aha .

Perfect.

Unfortunately I had used all of my clean jokes.

So today, the ninth day, I went with golf. Jesus and St. Peter are playing Pebble Beach. St Peter tees up and blast a beautiful drive right down the middle of the fairway. Jesus whistles in admiration and steps to the tee box. He hits a little dribble that barely makes it to the cart path of the elevated tee. The ball rolls down the path and gets picked up by a rabbit who starts bounding away only to be captured in the talons of a magnificent swooping eagle who grabs the rabbit and starts to fly down the fairway. A flash of lightning hits the eagle who drops the rabbit who drops the ball which lands on the green, takes a giant bounce hits the flagstick and plops into the hole. St Peter turns to Jesus and says "Hey, are you gonna play golf or just fuck around."

Everybody laughed again. I'm starting to enjoy this here radiation.

Go team go.

WILD BILL FROM BABYLON

I'm starting to wonder how long I will last. I'm already older than I deserve to be; based on the way that I've conducted my life. I want to give credit before I go to people who should already be famous if they gave a shit for fame.

One of those people is my friend Wild Bill. We've been buddies for over fifty years. I asked him to be my daughter's Godfather. I couldn't have made a better choice. I haven't spoken to Amanda for at least five years but Wild Bill has and he tells me she's nice.

Thank you, Godfather.

Wild Bill will never be married but to this day he carries ten rubbers in his wallet on his never ending quest to "get laid". Ya gotta love guys like that.

Sometimes he does, God bless them.

He's always having misadventures with cops maybe because of the dozens of messages on his car, the latest being FUCK DONALD TRUMP.

We pissed, side by side, into Walden Pond.

Sitting shotgun on the Long Island Expressway with Bill is a shit your pants experience.

He's seen the Dead fifty times at least. He had a conversation with George Harrison. Nowadays, Bill's the oldest man at every concert and the most energized.

Nobody dances like Wild Bill.

He was a friend of Bobby Vee.

He's a roller coaster fanatic.

I've seen him punch a taxi cab driver on Fifth Avenue.

He's got season tickets for both the Yankees and the Mets.

He cried when he heard that my mother died.

He sends birthday cards to all of his friends even though none of us have the slightest idea when His birthday arrives.

Christmas cards, Father and Mother’s day cards as well

He's a master of trivia, an expert on the Bobby Fuller Four.

He's the last of the great mooners.

He gets along with dogs and cats.

He's got my back.

He should be a movie if he gave a shit.

He's Wild Bill from Babylon.

One remarkable afternoon, I was sitting at a booth in Kennedy airport slamming some suds with my brother Deke while waiting on Wild Bill to pick us up for a weekend of irresponsibility.

Naturally, Bill being capricious from the get go was already two hours late. Responding in kind, I took the opportunity to waste even more money with the rest of the clubless apes on overpriced beers drafted at the airport watering hole.

While in the midst of this activity, I happened to notice a guy sitting at the bar. The guy had his back turned to me. Apparently, he too was waiting for his connection because every ten miutes or so I could hear him say to the barkeep, "I'll have another one please" witha sorta under control yet fighting panic quality to his request.

The guy was in the bar before I got there and I'd been there a couple of hours. I figured our consciousnesses were at the same level of disarray. I never saw the guy's face but something about the tone of his voice reminded me of the voice of the astronaut in 2001 who on the Jupiter Mission gets locked out of his ship by the computer and trying to keep his composure under control without panicking, keeps insisting that the computer open the portal for him to retake control of the ship.

"I'll have another one please" sounded exactly like "Open the pod bay door, Hal" to my altered listening.

Judging from the size of the guy's back and the fact that this was Kennedy Airport, the possibility did exist that this was in fact Keir Dullea, the actor from 2001.

I passed my perception on to my brother. I said "Listen to the way this guy says 'I'll have another one please'. I think that's the guy from 2001".

My brother equally committed to his beerz but still acutely attentive to timbre detail, laughed at my Bud soaked perception. Childishly egged on by his laughter, I decided to approach the guy at the bar.

I took a seat on a stool next to him. I ordered yet another brewski and got a side view. The side view kept me in the ballpark. The guy ordered another drink and the recognition possibilty grew even stronger.

Finally, I tapped the guy on the shoulder and said "Excuse me, are you Keir Dullea?"

The man turned to me and before he spoke I knew, holy shit he's the guy.

Keir said "Yes I am, do I know you."

I said "not really but you're in one of my favorite movies....2001. I've seen that movie ten times and even though I love it, Im not sure what it's about."

Keir said that it was one of his favorite movies as well but he wasn't real sure what it was about either. He thought it was "something about God". Apparently he had been called by Kubrick, accepted the job...worked on his scenes for a month or so and then left the production not knowing anymore about the entire project then what he had experienced while acting in it. He told me that when he saw the movie after it's release, he was "stunned."

We carried on a conversation for about fifteen minutes. I told him I was a teacher and he told me how much he respected the profession and how flattered he was that I recognized him.

A great guy.

I excused myself and went back to my table where a great commotion had taken place as Wild Bill finally arrived. I had enough respect for Dullea's provacy that I didn't tell Bill about what had just happened.

When my brother asked, I said "yep, it was him. check him out and let's get outta here before this whole thing gets too absurd". Deacon took a look. I could tell he was astonished by the whole situation.

We started to head out of the airport in a huge, blurry hurry considering we were already an hour late for that night's concert.

Bill started relating the wild excuses he had for being so late. I told him don't worry about it. Let's make the most of tonight, after all as Noel Coward once said "Keir Dullea, gone tomorrow."

STARLIT HUMAN NATURE

I didn’t feel like working one Friday night at the Starlite Drive-in. I wasn’t too concerned because we were playing yet another in a long line of low budget Jean Michael Vincent flicks that nobody came to see anyhow. I figured that I’d hang out with the projection crew and the homeless derelicts who were living in the projection booth until between movies when I’d man the concession stand. Then I’d go home and feed a few unpurchased meatball sandwiches to my pig Seymour.

Driving down West Henrietta Road, I ran into an unexpected, unexplainable traffic jam. I wasn’t in any particular hurry so I cranked up my eight track and started listening to Arthur by the Kinks. By the time I got to “Brainwashed”, I could see what was causing the clot. All of the cars were pulling into the Starlite. I rechecked the title marquee and although a few of the words were misspelled, the basic idea remained; something about a Hawk starring Vincent and Will Sampson was indeed playing.

I pulled into the long, gravel road that led to the ticket booth and the cubicle was empty. When, at last, I got to the booth, I discovered that the restraining rope was down. The ticket seller had unlocked the rope, opened the booth and as I learned later, in a fit of self-righteous drunken, immature responsibility had decided to quit his “godamned shitty job”. He took off and left the gate unattended. I never saw the guy again but I heard he opened a fruit stand in Irondequoit specializing in illegally imported bananas.

I was ambivalent about the situation. It didn’t hurt me any that more people were attending the show, since I was paid a commission based on the sales of the concession stand. The more people who came to the flick, the more money I would make. Remember though that I didn’t feel like working that night and since I hadn’t expected anybody to show up, I was all by myself which meant I was going to have to do the work of three people maybe four even if I got a couple of the derelicts living in the projection booth to stop smoking weed, get off their asses and help me out a bit.

When I pulled into my stand, the projectionist greeted me. Drunk as he was, he didn’t particularly care how many people were in the lot. He was being paid by the hour. I told him that the reason that all of these people were here was because Mark had opened the gate and abandoned the booth.

One of the great mysteries of this night was how in the world did the people get the word that the movie was free and how did it spread so fast. If we had put FREE on the marquee, probably nobody would have pulled into the lot.

Reminded me of a friend of mine, named Rick who was trying to get rid of an old refrigerator. He put the thing in front of his house for a couple of days with a big FREE sign on its door. Nobody even sniffed it. Finally on the advice of another friend named Charlene, he put another sign on the fridge....$50. That night somebody stole the fuckin’ thing.

Art, the projectionist, and I were pondering these matters while also trying to figure out what the heck we were supposed to do. We had a parking lot full of freeloaders. Should I start popping the popper? Should Art start reeling the projector?

We looked around and got an eyeful of human nature as the sky grew dark.

People started to lean on their horns.

They were honking to start the movie.

That freakin’ did it!

A parking lot full of freeloaders defreakinmanding that they get what they didn’t pay for and expressing their rage by leaning on their horns.

I told Art, “I’ve got to say something.”

I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say but I knew that somebody had to had to say something and still I was still sober and going a shit, it had to be me.

I went into the projection booth.

I fired up the PA system.

I grabbed the mike and this is what I said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation here. The guy who takes tickets left his post so all of you are here for free. Look around, the place is packed and nobody has paid as much as a dime.Now, I can’t blame you for taking advantage. I sure as hell can’t throw all of ya outta here. I do want you to know that this is NOT a FREE show and staying here would be like stealing. Stealing is wrong. I do have an idea, a solution. We’re going to send somebody back to the ticket booth. The right thing for you to do is exit the drive in on the right onto Brighton-Henrietta Town Line Road...then turn left and re-enter the lot. The ticket person will charge you half price and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you did the right thing. We will begin the show in 10 minutes.”

Art had been listening to this with a look of astonishment on his shitfaced grill. He asked me what I thought would happen. I said “I believe in people.”

Silence ensued.

Honking stopped.

Then I heard a car engine start up. Then another and another. I saw a line of cars heading for the exit, God bless’ed, every single car that I could see headed out the exit. Moments later we got a call from the ticket booth out front.

“It looks like an invasion out here! There’s a procession of cars coming down West Henrietta Road and pulling in. What should I do?”

“charge ‘em half price and say thank you”, I told my man.

The drive-in filled back up not quite as full but almost. Ten minutes after my announcement, we started the movie. I gave away free popcorn all night. The owner made more money that night than he had any right to make. The people saw a movie for half price and got free popcorn along with the satisfaction of, on this occasion, doing the right thing.

That night, I went home and had a moonlight talk with Seymour about human nature. Pretty sure Seymour didn’t understand a word I was saying yet between gulps of his meatball sandwiches, although he grunted and farted at appropriate times.

ERIKA FROM A DISTANCE

Sometimes it's important to see things through the eyes of others. We received this letter from a niece named Erika who lives in North Carolina. Lynn responded to the letter before I even saw it. I was gonna respond but Lynn covered everything pretty objectively. Of course she left out the part about my brave, courageous, inspiring battle but that's probably because I've left it out of my own behavior especially when seen up close.

Anyways, here's what it looks like from a distance.

Erika's letter and Lynn's response.

Hey guys,

So I just wanted to reach out and let you guys know you are in my prayers everyday. Cancer is a very scary word. Usually I shy away from reaching out on a topic that I don't understand. Today I was thinking about it and I realized how selfish that was. I was so scared to bring up something you guys deal with everyday. But really as family its only right that we are here for each other through thick and thin. Even if we are scared we stand tall for the ones we love. We are the people who lend a shoulder to cry on. I want you guys to know I can and will be that person if you guys ever need anything. I've always looked up to you guys for being very knowledgable and kind and do not deserve this disease to come into your life. But, God works in mysterious ways and I strongly believe you guys will beat and overcome this obstacle. Love you guys and miss you! Hope to see you soon!!

Erika

What a wonderful letter. So full of love, concern and support. Thank you very, very much. Uncle Ice has just six more radiation treatments. They won't know if all the cancer is gone so he will have to go in for regular blood tests to check his PSA level which will tell them the potential threat of cancer cells remaining or not. He has been experiencing fatigue, depression and Incontinance . He is on meds for all of that which gives him some relief. No sleep at nites though which can make him zombie like. But the good news is that a few weeks after radiation he should return back to how he was before the radiation started. We are getting thru this by feeling how lucky we are that it was caught in time and the treatment just involves radiation not surgery or chemotherapy.

With love and appreciation,

Aunt Lynn and Uncle Ice

MORE SEYMOUR

I’ve almost forgotten how much fun it was to drink beer with Seymour, my pig.

Remember those delicious meatball sandwiches that only existed at drive-ins? We took a lot of pride in our meatball “sank witch” when we ran and cooked at the Starlite concession stand. We always threw in a load of extra sauce and cheese. Those subs were nuclear powered.

Some times we’d make a few nautili too many. I’d take whatever leftovers we still had hanging around and feed them to Seymour. At that juncture, feeding meatballs to a pig was my idea of a savings account.

I’d usually bring at least twelve pack of Bud to accompany the meatball sandwiches. I’d take the winding path down past the barn, past the manure pile, past the chicken coop and the duck pond into the wired off part of the pasture that we had converted into a pig pen.

I’d stand next to the pen, throw a few sandwiches on the ground and wait for Seymour to emerge. I was usually working on my first Bud while I was bringing the sandwiches to Seymour’s slophouse. By the time I got to Seymour’s place, I was finishing my second. I’d finish my third by the time Seymour emerged from his little tin hut.

At this point, I’d pop open my fourth Bud and pour the fifth and sixth beer into the black, circular, plastic container that we used as a watering tough for the pig.

Seymour could drink even faster than I could when he put his mind to it, in other words when he wasn’t peeing, pooping’ eating’ or sleeping’. The whole purpose of chilling with the pig in the first place was to avoid any semblance of pressure or constraints or manners. Burping, farting and even puking was no problem. I’d drink at my own pace and whenever I finished one I’d pop open another one for the pig and another for myself.

I’ve heard about dogs, who come to a kitchen table, sit on a chair, put their paws on the table and wait to be served. These are dogs who think they are humans. Seymour did not think he was human. Seymour knew for damned sure that he was a pig and when he partied with me I think he figured that I was one too and he weren’t far off. Seymour was all attitude, identity and appetite.

There was nobody else around except me and the pig. The stars were bright; the temperature perfect. The only sounds of the night were the natural sounds of the pasture and the pen along with the snortin’, slathering’, plopping’ burpin’ leaking’ sounds that Seymour routinely made at times like these. It was peaceful. I had been productive as in “I’m going down to feed the pig now, honey.” Life in the pasture drinking with the pig was a bizarre Bud commercial waiting to be made and shown at the Super Bowl.

One time, near the end, when we had come to grips with the sobering eventuality that Seymour was destined to become ham, bacon, sausage, etc, I had a barn party over at my house. Some of my buddies had heard me bragging about the peace of mind I enjoyed while drinking with the pig. Apparently they thought it was a good idea because by the time I got down to the trough, Seymour was passed out in the cooling mud, getting a bit of a sunburn, his trough still half full of beer.

I went back to the barn and asked how many people had been drinking with the pig. Six guys raised their hands: Tommy Tron, Bruce, Jack Stafford, Wayne, Wild Bill and Uncle George. I told them to come down to the sty and see the fruits of their labor.

The six of us walked down the path together. As we got close to Seymour, a reverent silence descended, When we arrived at his trough the stillness continued as we gazed and gaped at the five sheets to the wind bovine blacked out and basking in his combination of mud, Bud, swill and perceived freedom, catching some rays and judging by his apparent ease of breathing, completely relaxed, at peace with the world, unconcerned with appearances.

A few weeks later I recruited all of these guys to help me load the corpulent and non-co operative Seymour into the back of my truck to take him to processing about ten miles down the road. Seymour was no longer a little piggy on his way to the market. We had a rough, sweaty, shitty and muddy time trying to get Seymour into the truck until somebody suggested putting a pillowcase over his face. We did. It worked. We led Seymour into and out of the truck and into the processing pen where they spray painted the word “tendon” in large letters on his no longer sunburned hide.

I remember taking one last look at Seymour. There was another hugh pig in the holding pen with him. I imagined those two pigs looking at each other’s hides, seeing the black spray paint and thinking “this ain’t real good”. Then I shut the door and left Seymour in the darkness.

Seymour was committed.

The next time I saw him he was in packages

Over the next few decades, every time that I’ve gotten together with any of those guys, particularly during All Star games, somebody always comes up with “remember Seymour” and the next round of stories take off from that common point of departure as if Seymour the Pig was a space station and all previous stories were shuttle crafts arriving to be refueled enroute to homecoming or deeper exploration

MENDON SEA CRUISE

As in the case with most epics, many colorful events occurred during my final days at the Starlite. Most of those colorful events were driven by colorful people, people that I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the Starlite which was sort of a vortex of idiosynchracy. One of those people was Wayne Green.

Wayne was a regular at the Starlite, as well as a drive-in afficianado. One particularly slow night, Shane came in from his car and we began a snack bar conversation about drive in culture etc. Wayne became so engrossed in the conversation that he missed the second feature which was The Deep with Nick Nolte and Jackie Bissett. Due to no faul of our own, we had been playing the movie one reel short and out of order but nobody complained except one time when the sound went off for a minute or two and a few people honked. That’s when I realized that people didn’t give a shit what they were watching as long as they could hear it.

Wayne asked me how to operate the popcorn machine, I showed him. He was immediately hooked on concession stand life.

I told Wayne that anytime he wanted to stop by and help me run the stand, we’d let him in for free. Most nights, Wayne would show up and volunteer his services as popcorn popper. Wayne wasn’t the only one. Towards the end I had six or seven people who enjoyed the concession stand so much that they would come to the drive in just to hang around every so often going back to their cars to drink beer or whatever. The concession stand became an oddball country club. Almost every night one or two or more of these volunteers would show up to pop and pour. In the end, they were basically running the stand and I was spending more and more time in party cars.

Outside of the stand, I didn’t know much about Wayne of the other “volunteers but I figured they were either geniuses or lunatics and probably both. We’d get into some pretty crazy conversations on slow nights and since we kept playing Jean Michael Vincent level movies without half price admission or free popcorn, there were a lot of slow nights.

One night Wayne and I were talking about making lemonade of lemons, making a fortune out of a misfortune. Wayne told me about a guy that he knew whose truck caught fire the same week that the engine of his boat blew up. Shane told me that the guy welded the body of his boat on to the frame and motor of his car, got some dealer plates and drove around in his truck boat.

I had trouble believing that one. I told Wayne so. He assured me that the story was true. I said “yeah, right” and forgot about the whole deal.

About a month later, I was mowing my lawn when a boat with dealer plates pulled into my driveway. Wayne was at the wheel. How can I describe this contraption? I know. A speed boat on wheels and that’s exactly what it looked like although you couldn’t see the wheels too well. I called up a few people and there were already a few folks partying in my hose. Everybody changed into shorts and swim suits. The guys stripped off their shirts. Before long we had a boat chock full of nuts all singing “ooh Wee, Ooh wee Baby, come and let me take you on a Sea Cruise.” We set off driving through Mendon like five dimensional survivors from a demented Beach Blanket Bingo flick minus Frankie and Annette with Beach Boy, Dick Dale and Surfaris music blasting from the deck on the deck.

You should have seen the cars as they passed us. Imagine a cool late September afternoon. You’re driving down Mendon Town Line Road. Suddenly you see a speed boat approaching you full of lunatic/geniuses mash potatoing, twisting and watusiying to Msirlou or I get Around or Wipeout. My only regret is we didn’t take the time to grab Seymour the pig, throw some shades on him and include him in the voyage.

We cruised around Pittsford and Mendon for a half hour. Truck boats use an awful lot of gas. Eventually, we pulled back into my driveway and abandoned ship.

I never doubted Wayne again.

The Starlite era had ended. The truck boat had been revealed. Apparently Wayne’s purpose in my life was fulfilled, including one bit of information that I was awake enough to remember.

As we were heading back to the house, Wayne asked me if I wanted to take the wheel. Paranoia set in. I could see the headlines, “Local teacher crashes into telephone pole in truck boat filled with passengers without seat belts or life jackets.”

Wayne was silent for a moment, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. He asked me “if I remembered the night when all the cars pulled out of the Starlite and then pulled back in.”

I said, “of course I remembered that.’

Wayne said that He hadn’t believed ME when I told him that story.

Wayne believed it now because he knew the guy who was the first person to pull out, the guy who had started the entire righteous exodus. The guy who helped right the wrong.

Turns out the guy was on his first date that night and legitimately wanted to see the movie because he and his date were fans of Will Sampson and Tonto.

The guy’s named was Ovid and his date was named Julia.

The date had been a success.

LAST DAY OF RADIATION

Today's the day. Last night was the night. I only had to steal one mirror last night so I got my first half way decent shuteye in months.

At this moment I am resisting the urge to hit the sack and indulge in fatigue.

I'm thinking about the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Nightmare on Elm Street. In both of those flicks, sleep was to be avoided unless you wanted Freddy to slash through your walls or wake up as a pod.

Those movies always bothered me.

I hate the feeling of falling asleep when I don't want to fall asleep. This used to happen to me all the time, particularly on Wednesday nights when I was young.

Because I was big fan of horror films, my parents used to let me stay up "late" to watch Shock Theater which played all of the Lugosi, Karloff and Chaney films. Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolfman, the Raven, the Mummy, the Black Cat, The Invisible Ray,The Ghoul,The Werewolf of London etc. The show came on came on past my bedtime so it was quite a privilege and quite a challenge.

Plus, I was actually scared by the movies or at least I expected to be.

I would take my position on the carpet in front of our timy teevee set. The movie would start and before too long, I would realize that I was falling asleep. I learned to recognize the feeling and the "oh no" that accompanied it. I would invariably choose to "rest my eyes" for just a minute during a commercial. I learned after awhile that once I started to rest my eyes, the rest periods would increase in frequency and duration until at last I was asleep on the floor and had to be carted of to bed all the time insisting "I'm awake, I'm awake"

The morning came and I awoke with a sense of failure and a determination to make it all the way through the next week. I realized that once I started to "rest my eyes", it was all over. I would make a conscious effort to "resist the rest" but week after week I failed.

I wasn't used to failure back in those days and it frightened me more than the movies did. I was learning about temptation and my inability to resist it.

This was my first previews of fatigue but I really didn't know what fatigue was until a few months ago. There's a difference between fatigue and being tired, passing out, blacking out, dozing off or being exhausted.

For the past few months, I've suffered fatigue and it's a lot different from "resting my eyes" because in fatigue I'm not even interested in the "movie" that is my life. All I want to do is sleep, well not exactly sleep but more like escape but evdn in the escaping there is the over-riding sense of failure and guilt as days melt away and merge with nights.

Fatigue sucks.

So as I write these words, I am resisting the urge to "rest my eyes" and to go downstairs to my cave/pit. The urtge is strong but not as strong as yesterday and yesterday wasn't as strong as the day before.

They told me after my last blast of radiation that sometimes the fatigue starts to go away after a week and a half but sometimes it can continue for three or four months or in some cases forever.

Today is exactly a week and a half since my last blast. I'm gonna go the distance. I'm not goin' downstairs. I'm not gonna turn into a pod person again today. No way. I've charged up my camera. I'm snapping flowers. I'll be leaving for the ballpark in three hours. I'm gonna look good. This is the day I marked down on my calendar for the beginning of my comeback and I'm not gonna rest my eyes until I get back from Frontier Field.

My brother is my best friend and I haven't seen him during this whole situation. I want to see him now. I want him to see me snapping pictures, keeping score, drinking a beer and rooting for the old home team.

Freddy Fatigue can't get me at Frontier Field if I keep my eyes on the ball.

OVID WARREN PEETS

Even though I think I'm a smart ass, I'm not as smart as I think I am.

My name is Ovid Peets.

I'm here to tell you a story about a guy who was proud of his ignorance and worried that he wasn’t as dumb as he thought he was . Over the course of our acquaintance this man gratified himself by proving conclusively that he was even dumber than he had hoped.

His name was Thornton Krell. He was my professor. I was taking a class called Metaphysiction at a place called Montgomery Community College. I didn't know what the hell Metaphysiction was and neither did my advisor, Ward Stokes. As soon as I found out that Stokes was vague on the course, I decided to throw it into my schedule. I figured I could drop the course later and blame the drop on Stokes who would have to admit that he didn't know what the hell he was talking about when we first discussed the course.

Everyone knows that in a fire, the survival strategy is to drop and roll. Only MCC students know that academic survival strategy is to enroll and then drop.

I can remember the first few minutes of the first class without looking at my notes. I can’t look at my notes from any class before Krell’s class because I never took notes. I used to draw pictures. I had contempt for anyone who actually took notes. What a waste of time. What a waste of paper. I figured it was all posturing because anytime I would ask anyone to see their “notes” they would always say they didn’t have any notes either.

They must have been drawing pictures too or writing those little love letters that begin “I‘m sitting in class bored out of mind and thinking about what we did last night…...

For some reason I used to draw a hockey rink as seen from a nosebleed seat. After I drew the rink in great detail, including stick figure crowds, I would rest the point of the pen somewhere on the “Ice” and wrist flick the point towards the “Goal” which resembled a large E turned without the middle perpendicular. If I managed to stop the point within the E, the stroke counted as a goal. I would disallow goals in which the stroke was slowed down enough to mimic conscious purpose. Only subconscious strokes counted. Sometimes the pencil and the “ref” would get in long arguments about whether or not a goal should count or not. In this way, with an occasional fake “I’m listening and I’m interested” glance at the teacher, class time passed.

When I wasn't drawing hockey rinks, I was drawing drum sets. This habit was about to change within the first ten minutes of encountering Krell.

They say that a student pretty much makes up his mind how he will get along with a teacher within the first five minutes that the teacher is in front of the class. Even while Krell was taking attendance and reviewing the institute rules, which everyone had heard at the beginning of every class at MCC (and still disobeyed) I was forming my impression of Krell. I kept hearing the song 96 Tears playing in my brain. Anytime I hear ninety-six tears in my brain, I remember the group that sang the song…..Question Mark and the Mysterians with Question Mark written as ?.

So, my initial and lasting impression of Krell was of a mysterious guy who would have a lot of questions for me to consider and about whom I would have a lot of questions which he would probably never consider because I would never pose the questions what with the hockey playing and the drum sets.

And that someone would cry: cry, cry, cry; ninety six tears yeah. The first thing he did after the preliminary administrivia was to turn his gaze upon the class and make these sounds: (and now I consult the notes that I didn’t have at the time that Krell was making the sounds)

Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta, Iota, Kappa, Lambda, Mu, Nu, Xi, Omicron, Pi, Rho, Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, Phi, Chi, Psi, Omega.

Next, he took out a match. Before striking the match he informed us that the sounds he had just made were the letters of the Greek alphabet. He said his first goal was to have everyone in the class be able to repeat those sounds in the time it took a match to burn down to the finger tips. With that he struck the match and recited the alphabet and with a flourish blew out the match in plenty of time.

“I’m going to repeat the alphabet. You will take notes while I recite. Then, I’m going to call on one of you. . I will light the match. You will recite the Greek alphabet before the match burns my fingers. You may use your notes”

With that, he repeated “Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta, Iota, Kappa, Lambda, Mu, Nu, Xi, Omicron, Pi, Rho, Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, Phi, Chi, Psi, Omega“.

I stopped drawing the hockey rink and right there on the still freezing ice, I took my first serious notes Alfa, Bayta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zayta, Eighta, Theta, Iota, Kappa, Lambda, Mew, New, Zi, Omicron, Pi, Rho, Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, Phi, Chi, Sigh, Omega.

I wasn’t looking around to see if anybody else was taking notes.

Krell paused at Omega. He looked at the attendance roster. He took a match from the pack. He said “Mr. Paris. You will give me back the alphabet. You may use your notes. I will count to five and light the match”

I don’t remember much about Mr. Paris except that he was wearing a tee shirt that said “Weed Man”. When Krell got to five, Paris got to his feet and headed to the door. With the match still burning in Krell’s hand, Paris looked back at the spontaneous combustion in the front of the room. “Kiss my fart” he yelled and walked out the door.

Krell kept the match burning in silence until it reached his finger tips at which point he said “Ouch” and shook the match out.

“Kiss my fart” Krell mused aloud "what an interesting juxtaposition of the physical upon the invisible. He might have been a great student but alas, I’m afraid that’s the last time we’ll see Paris”

He took out another match. “Let’s try it again. Helen Kamp, it‘s your turn”

Helen read the alphabet from her notes. She finished with plenty of match to spare.

Very good. Haylen” said Krell while snapping his fingers with the loudest snap I‘d heard since my left handed sixth grade clarinet teacher snapped me out of music lessons for incorrectly counting measures. Krell’s snaps, on the other hand, conveyed praise not criticism “How do you account for your success?”

“I read from my notes” said Helen.

“And before you read them……..”

“I wrote them.”

"And before you wrote them?” Krell asked.

“I listened, Mr Krell.”

“And in literary terms, Haylen, what verbal exercise are we involved in right now?”

“A dialogue.”

“All correct. Thank You Haylen for introducing the basic tenents of this class. The dullest pencil on the roughest paper has a better memory than the sharpest brain in the smoothest intellect. Any questions?”

In the pause that inevitably follows any teacher asking if there are any questions, two impressions raced through my mind. 1: Helen might be the Hawking of the class which greatly increased my odds of bozohood and 2: The teacher had a Southern accent when he called on Helen. He called her Haylen.

The pause ended as it always does with a dork with a question.

Arthur Georger raised his hand.

Krell nodded in his direction.

Georger asked “Well, Mr. Krell what exactly is the definition of metaphysics and the relationship of that defintion to metaphysiction”

Krell responded, “ With all due respect, the answer to that question comes at the end of the class not at the beginning because the entire purpose of this class is to explore the intellectual journey that led to metaphysics and later metaphysiction".

Krell continued, "Haylen has already touched upon some of the primary components. We will be learning how Socrates led to Plato how Plato led to Aristotle and how Aristotle led to metaphysics. In a nutshell, Socrates asked questions in verbal dialogue. Plato was the student of Socrates. Plato listened to the dialogues that Socrates narrated. Plato recorded the dialogues which were a history of the philosophical life of Socrates. Socrates only spoke. Plato listened and took notes. Plato added his own thoughts to the thoughts of Socrates which he had noted. He passed his thoughts and notes on to others who were taking note of his thoughts which were the thoughts of Socrates filtered through the lens of Plato. Thus, Plato became a teacher."

Krell went to the blackboard and printed the words Socrates, Aristitole and Plato. He began drawing lines between and amongst the names and explained; "Aristotle was a student of Plato. Aristotle added his own thoughts to Plato’s thoughts which were themselves thoughts upon the thoughts of Socrates which led through logic and biology and astrology to metaphysics. Aristotle was the first teacher of metaphysics. I’m not going to even try to describe the lineage that led from Aristotle to Krell because it’s taken me my entire life up to this very second to unravel that journey which is continuing even as I speak and upon which you, Mr. Georger are a fellow traveler until you follow the path of Paris“.

By this time, the hockey game had ended and I was, for the first time, taking notes furiously, afraid that I would be called upon to suffer the fate of Paris. I know for sure that I was taking notes at this time because the above paragraphs are an interpretive reconstructions of the words of Krell based upon the actual notes of that first class on that last hockey rink upon which I glanced as I composed the last paragraph and will be consulting for the rest of this effort.

See,another thing about notes is, they stick around.

If nothing else this class of Krell’s was, by definition, noteworthy.

I’m not sure if my notes are worthy of the noteworthiness of Krell’s class (what with the high probability of bozos on this bus) because I’ myself may be a bozo and if you’re on this particular bus, holding on to the handrail next to mine, you may be a bozo as well.

Unless you're a Hawking.

By the time I left class that day only three of us remained, myself, Helen and Julia. Arthur had taken an early lav break and had not returned. Weedman Paris had apparently enrolled and dropped, at least that's what Krell said at the end of the period.

"The bad news is that five is the minimum enrollment to hold a class. The good news for you four survivors, if in fact the class itself survives, is that if we continue the class and I use the traditional grading curve, the E has already directed me to kiss his fart."

When you're riding in my bus, in which failure is always an option, it's reassuring to hear the E has left the building. I made up my mind I was in this class for the duration. I even had notes to prove my determination.

Riding this wave of confidence and conviction, I decided to approach Helen and confess my embarrassment at Krell's mispronuniciation of her name.

"Excuse me. I was in your Metaphysiction class. I couldn't figure out why the teacher had a Southern accent only when he said your name. Helen is such a nice, classical name. I'm sorry he had to butcher it."

Helen looked at me as if she were looking at a dog turd tidbit on the sole of a wedding shoe.

"Why thank you for your sensititivity Oafid. Not only have you underestimated the teacher but also you've insulted me and my parents. My father's name is Haynes. My mothers name is Helen. They named me Haylen. I'm sorry my name isn't classical enough for you"

Haylen turned on her heel and was gone before I had the opportunity to clear either my throat, my name or hers or her parents or Krell.

I beat the teacher to the second class. We all did. I was the last to arrive not including Krell.

Arthur, Haylen and Julia were all in their seats. I nodded at Arthur, tried to avoid Haylen's gaze by looking down at the floor. Then after noting the awesome old school sandals that were between the floor and Haylen's soles, I got a better look at Julia.

Julia was not a beautiful woman but there was something about her that demanded my attention. After about two seconds I realized what that something was. Julia was dressed in an exact replica of the curtain rendered green velvet gown that Scarlett O'Hara had worn to visit Rhett Butler when he was in jail where he was sick and tired of seeing women in rags; where he was relieved to see that Scarlett was not in rags and was ready to give her anything until he discovers that her hands are filled with callouses.

I was surfing in this state of stupefication and cinematic reverie when Krell entered the classroom. Apparently I had walked in on the conclusion of the customary debate about how long the class waited for the tardy teacher before disbanding, five minutes for adjunct or TA, ten minutes for assistant professor, fifteen minutes for full professor.

Nobody knew what category Krell was so I have the feeling if he would have been five seconds late, the class would have been empty by the time he entered which would have spelled the end of metaphysiction, right there.

But there he was right in the nick of time. I took out my notebook and pencil. I gazed at the Greek alphabet just in case we began where we left off.

Krell said "Well folks it looks like we have a class. It seems that after Paris burned out, he immediately dropped the class which caused Ryan Montana of interdisciplinary to have a meeting with June Brickwood of the bursars office which led to a meeting with Kay Stafford of the philosophy department which led to a meeting with Dr. Gary Gottschalk of the English Dept. which led to a meeting with Charlene Bellavia the supervisor of instruction which led to a meeting with Richard Grotto of adjunct education which led to a meeting with Dean Dean Holland who okayed the class fifteen minutes ago while I waited outside his office."

"In case you're wondering, everyone of those people make much more money than I do"

"So, Julia, when I strike this match, tell me the Greek alphabet and when you're finished I'll explain education to you."

With that Krell struck his match and Julia finished her recitation beautifully before the flame was gone with the wind.

Krell congratulated Julia and began his lecture.

"Once upon a time there was a guy who was a terrific learner. Let's call him Torch." Krell began and continued.

"Everything activated Torch's curiosity which fired up his intellect which filled him with inexhaustible creative, emotional, intuitional and investigative energy. Torch learned everything he could about each person, place, thing or idea that he encountered with his senses, with his emotions, with his feelings and with his intuitions.One day it dawned on Torch that the best way to increase his own learning was to give away what he had. Torch decided to teach."

Krell printed the word TEACH on the board and continued.

"When the teacher is ready, the students will appear and when the students are ready the teacher will appear. In the early days of Torch's teaching, there were many appearances and disappearances. Usually, they were out of synch.Sometimes, Torch's teaching schedule got a little unpredictable what with the perpetual investigations of all things attracting his attention for random amounts of time. Similarly, his students, their curiosity activated by Torch, were out and about making their own discoveries, building their own toys. Eventually, one of his students, let's call him Arclipides, came up wih an idea."

Krell wrote ARCLIPEDES on the board and continued.

"After a session of sharing on the steps of the Athaneeum Arclipides asked "Why don't we all come back here to these very same steps on the same day at the same time next week".Next week arrved and everybody showed up. Everybody was only four people and Torch, the teacher. The four people were Lysis, Arclipides, Sachelli, and Lyviia.As time went on the four people grew to forty people. The forty people grew into a hundred people. At this point Arclipedes came up with his second big idea, "why don't we break this group into four groups. One group can meet on Monday, the next group on Tuesday, the third group on Wednesday and the fourth group on Thursday".

Krell wrote SCHEDULE on the board and continued.

"Torch had a little problem with this big idea. Even though meeting with the people was definitely feeding his learning habit, four days a week was a bit much. Torch suggested two groups on Monday and two groups on Wednesday. Arclipedes went along with the idea. Arclipedes divided the hundred into four groups of twenty five and told them which day and time to show up on the steps.As time went on, the hundred turned into thousands and the thousands turned into millions and the millions turned into billions.The steps turned into hundreds of thousand of schools.Torch continued to learn.Sachelli, Lysis and Lyviia went on to become the first faculty. Arclipedes became the first administrator.

Krell wrote ADMINISTRATOR on the board and next to the word a dollar sign. Then he continued

"Eventually, Arclipedes and his followers started telling everybody where to go, what to learn and how to teach.All of the followers of Arclipedes seemed to have a natural interest in finances so the gathering places grew bigger and bigger as a price tag began to be attached to learning. Torch never had much interest in money and neither did Sachelli, Lysis or Lyviia. Learning was their treasure and giving away what they had earned (after all, learned is earned plus an l for either life or love)was the best way to preserve and enrich their intellectual treasure.This was fine for Arclipedes. Altruism always cuts cost."

Krell paused for a moment as a bell rang somehwere.

Krell shrugged his shoulders at the sound of the bell as if indicating "See that's a perfect example of what I'm talking about".

Then, he continued:

"Way, way back before the steps turned into schools, Torch and Arclipedes were on a collision course. When the crash finally happened only Arclipedes walked away. Arclipedes had amassed more money and with more money had come more power.All Torch had was teaching, learning and the love and respct of his students.Trouble. Mismatch.Arclipedes insisted that what Torch was espousing was not good for the people. The powers that be agreed. Torch drank the Kool Aid."

Krell wrote KOOL AID on the board and continued.

"The remaining faculty insisted upon some degree of intellectual freedom if they were to continue coming back to the steps. This was the beginning of tenure.Tenure is to education what beer is to Homer Simpson; the cause of as well as the solution to all of the problems in the classroom.Arclipedes "not good for the people" eventually turned into the standard administrative method of suppressing progressive ideas while sustaining status quo. "Not good for the people" became "not good for the kids" if an innovative idea needed to be stopped or "good for the kids" if a stale idea needed to be preserved.

Krell paused, looked out the window and wrote STATUS QUO on the board before he continued.

"Today, for example we have middle schools. Not only do we have middle schools but those schools usually start the earliest in the morning and contain the kids who would benefit most from getting more sleep.Going back to K-8 schools would simply be "not good for the kids" until the decision was made to return to K-8 schools, the justification for which will be that it has suddenly become "good for the kids".Other examples abound.The factory schedule. SAT exams. Standardized testing. The categorization and separation of knowledge into subjects and departments. The hierarchy of the sciences. How did anyone ever determine that biology was easier than chemistry and chemistry easier than physics.For those seeking entry into the closed fraternity/sorority of "science" biology is traditionally taken first, then chemistry then physics.

This is how that particular hierarchy was determined.

An Arclipedean confronted this choice at the beginning of the twentieth century and determined the order of scientific investigation,the way Arclipedians determine many subdivisions of learning.

Alphabetical order.

Thus we have

Biology

Chemistry

Physics

and

they are all

Good

For

the Kids

Until

They're

Not."

Krell wondered if there were any questions.

I raised my hand.

"So, Mr. Krell, physics is no more difficult than biology?"

Krell turned his gaze on me as a cat gazes at a mouse except with kindness rather than ferocity. "You're name is Ovid, right? That's an unusual name. Where did it come from?"

"My father named me after an eye doctor who cured him of lazy eye. His name was Dr. Ovid Pearson. He operated on my Dad's eyes."

"The reason I asked", said Krell, is that I have a great affection for the Latin poet Ovid whose most famous work is the Art of Love."

As if on cue Arthur sneezed snottily.

" Well, Ovid, do you think it's more complicated or important to figure out how we got here than who we are? All the sciences are the same. We've constructed the borders as another means of educational elimination of the unworthy."

He took a sip from whatever he was drinking and continued.

"The more the Arclipedeans took over the steps, the more schools came to resemble businesses. This was the great Arclipedian strategy. Find something essential, turn that essential into a business and keep the business a secret.Thus we have the great experiment of American public education. The schools serve as filtering devices for American society. The idea was for the rich to get richer, the poor to get poorer and for the multitude in the middle to miss the picture entirely.And for the Arclipedeans to make money, raise tuition and determine what is "good for the kids".

Krell wrote TUITION on the blackboard and then he continued.

"Arclipedeans realized that everybody loves rags to riches stories, so the most brilliant 2% of the poor and 18% of the middle class were permitted to pass through the screen. This permission was based upon stupendous grades which were largely based upon persistence, note-taking and subscription to values that were "good for kids". Value to society was determined by the college attended at the end of the twelve year rainbow of public education. The kids with the most money went to the best schools which were, by Arclipedean definition, the schools that cost the most to attend. As soon as those kids graduated, they were expected to contribute generously to the alumni fund in support of their schools which kept the coffers of their selected schools full which enhanced the reputation of that school which made the prestige of a degree from that school so much greater. It was possible for a child from a rich family to go to a great school and become the most powerful man on the face of the earth even if that kid without the money could or should have Peter principled out as an assistant manager at Wendy's."

Krell wrote HAMBURGER on the board. I wanted one bad.

Then he continued.

"This is what Arclpedes foresaw when he said "let's all meet here at the same time next week".What to do with the masses of people who didn't have the money, the brains, the values or the persistence to make it through the screen to the Ivy League or even the Big Ten or even the SUNY system.There must be business posibilities in that mess er mass.We built colleges without dormitories and called those colleges junior colleges or community colleges.At these places we set up one last screen for entrance to the American dream. One final fling to begin to grab the brass ring."

He wrote MCC on the board. He looked around the room and continued.

"We can always find teachers who will work for next to nothing. We can put those teachers who will work for nothing in front of students who have next to nowhere to go.We can hire a load of budding Arclipedeans to keep the cruise on course, even if the cruise sometimes resembles a cross between McHale's Navy and the Love Boat. They can be Deans (short for Arclipedean) and department heads and project managers and instructional specialists and financial aid counselors and bursars etc, etc, etc.They can help us determine "what's good for kids".

In the end there will be a classroom with a minimum of five students and a teacher

in our

case,

four."

I noticed that whenever Krell wanted to make a point, he seriously

slowed

down

the pace

of his speech.

I looked around and noticed that neither Julia nor Arthur were taking notes of any kind. I was still too embarrassed to look at Haylen. I did look at her foot and noticed that her awesome sandal was half on and half off.

Did that mean she was taking notes or not?

When I raised my glance upward, I noticed that Arthur had a gloved hand in the air. I hadn't noticed the glove before. I figured Arthur was doing some sort of Wacko Jacko comedy act or something.

Krell spotted the glove and nodded at Arthur.

"Question?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "Are we gonna have a test on this stuff".

Arthur looked over at Julia, who nodded her head first at Arthur then at Krell.

Julia raised her hand. "Yes" said Julia "how exactly will we be graded in this course?"

Krell answered, "Let me answer the second question first. The grading will be metaphysical"

"And as far as the first question, thank you for reminding me to bring up another early Arclipidean

whose

name

was

testacles"

Krell wrote TESTACLES on the board and continued.

"Back in the torch-lit prearclipidean days of learning, all instructional elements were in balance. Structure was in balance with substance. Sensing in balance with thinking. Feeling in balance with intuition. Process in balance with coverage. Evaluation in balance with instruction.The distance between evaluation and instruction was minimal. Evaluation was part of instruction and instruction part of evaluation. Self-evaluation was evident. If a student could follow the instruction that meant the student could grasp the body of knowledge within the instruction. The level of individual grasp could be ascertained by the intensity with which the student applied the instruction to his, or in Lyviia's case, her life. In other words the illumination of torch was built upon two principles:

1) Take what you need and leave the rest.

2) By your works, you will be judged. Something about this didn't sit well with Arclipides. The problem began with sub-division and led to differrentiation. How could differentiations within sub-divisions be articulated.That's when Testacles revolutionized education. "Why don't we demand that the students repeat the words of the teacher to show that they have heard the words"

Krell wrote the word REPETITION on the board and then wrote it again and smirked.

"Arclipedes thought about this for a few days. When next he saw Testacles, he said "I like your idea about the students repeating the words of the teacher. The student who repeats the words most accurately gets the highest ranking in his subdivision.We need a word to describe the instrument that we will use to determine the level of repetition and the differentiation based upon that repetition. I've decided we should name that instrument after you, because it was your idea. When we ask students to repeat the words of the teacher,we'll call that demand for repetition a test. Now we need a word to call the differerentiations themselves. What should we call the results of the ya know, the uh test. It should be something like steps indicating movement up or down. What's another word for steps, Testacles "

"Ummm, steps are actually grades"

Krell wrote GRADES on the board and continued, pretending that he was both Arclipedes and Testacles. When speaking as Arclipedes Krell spoke in a higher, more rapid pitch. When Testacles, Krell slowed down and spoke in a deep basso profundo.

"Grades is great, Testacles. Students will take tests to earn grades. The higher the grades, the greater the rewards. 'Testacles, you're a genius'.Relentless, determined Testacles (pronounced test ah kleez) was honored but he had yet another question. "which words of the teacher should we demand that the students repeat on these tests. Should the same words be asked of every student even if they have different teachers/"

"The words', answered Arclipedes, "should be the words that are

best

for

the people"

Testacles, whose spirit was not easily broken, had one more question. "Who then determines what words of what teachers are best for the people/"

Arclipedes knew the answer to that one. "Testacles, my virile friend,

are

the people."

The class continued but my notes ended with

are

the

people.

After class I decided to cruise over to the town library to see if I could check out a copy of Cat's Cradle, Catch 22, Catcher or Crime. Hey if I can save a buck using the library, I'll save that buck.

Libraries are great anyways. Where else can a guy go to search for something that he wants, find that something and have somebody give him that something for free as long as the guy promises to bring that something back in a reasonable time.

Of course, even that level of freedom and civilization poses an ethical problem for some guys.

I know a guy who steals books from the library. In his mind he's not stealing them, he's just making his own due date. He'll swipe a book. He'll take it home. He'll take a lesiurely five month read. He'll slip the book back in the slot when he's finished, if he gets finished.

No problem.

Anyways when I was walking into the library, I noticed that somebody had unloaded maybe fifty cardboard boxes full of books on the sidewalk in front of the building. There were at least a thousand and maybe twenty five hundred books in those boxes. The sky was gray. Rain was drizzling down upon these abandoned books.

I stopped by the pile and looked at a couple of titles. One of the books that I picked up was called Rock of Ages: The Rolling Stone History of Rock and Roll. Another book which looked like a prayer book was called As Bill sees It. A third book was called Myths and Facts: A guide to the Arab-Israeli Conflict.

I tried to form a mental picture of the guy who had read and deep-sixed all these books and what kind of drama led to that abandonment/donation.

The only guy I could think of was Krell.

I assumed that all of the books in his collection would be equally compelling/comKrelling. I figured that when I came out, I could grab a dozen or so soaked books, dry them out and make them mine.

I entered the library. I picked up Catcher and Catch. I walked around the stacks for a few minutes looking at periodicals. Unlike the guy I told you about earlier, I checked out my books at the circulation desk in a civilized way.

Maybe twenty minutes had passed.

I went outside, intending to grab some soaked books.

The garbage truck had beat me to the books. Of the fifty boxes only four remained. I watched as the burly garbage guy picked up box number forty six of fifty and threw it into the grinder.

Forty five boxes had already been devoured. Millions of words. Hours, weeks, years, centuries of attention.

The garbage guy noticed me looking at him. He hit me with a glance that howled "yeah?"

I said, "kinda sad, really"

He said, "It will all be recycled"

I said "You got it" and walked to my car.

I had learned something about life, death and eternity.The garbage guy had been yet another teacher.

His name might as well have been Hamlet.

Mine might as well be Torch

I got in my car and headed South.

I wondered what the guy who had brought all of those boxes of books to the library would have thought if he knew his beloved books would not even get into the door of the library.

His donation was in vain.

It reminded me of the time that a buddy of mine accidentally ran over a cat. He was backing out of my family's driveway at the time. He heard a tiny thump.He got out of the car. He found the lifeless cat. He put the cat in a bag. There would be no letting this cat out of this bag, not as a functioning cat anyways.

My buddy brought the bag full of broken cat to our front door. He rang the bell. When my mother answered the door, my friend said:

"This cat died in vain"

I've often wondered about that quote. My friend was suggesting that the cat in the bag had been ripped off before realizing its purpose in life. This suggests that cats actually have a purpose in life. If that purpose is to live nine lives, then the cat in the bag definitely died in vain.

Or maybe the cat's purpose in life, like all of ours, is to simply not be hungry.

I was feeling hungry so I stopped at Dee's delicatessen and bought a ridiculously huge submarine sandwich with everything aboard.

I continued to aim South, heading towards Keenan Park.

Keenan Park is a great place to relax, meditate the purpose of cats, contemplate American education, take a nature walk and/or eat a sandwich.

As I approached the Park, I noticed paper plates with arrows and words nailed to telephone poles. The plates read Civil War Re-enactment ahead. The arrows pointed towards Keenan Park. I noticed another word on some of the plates. That word was FREE.

Hey, if it's FREE it's me.

Me, the words, my car, my submarine and the arrows were all headed for a collision at the same place.

Keenan Park.

I got out of my car at Keenan and started looking for a bench upon which to sink into my submarine. That's when I came face to face with Robert E. Lee.

General Lee was heading North as I was heading South. I was amazed to see General Lee. What do you say when you're walking South into a park to eat a submarine sandwich after a morning with Krell and you run into the replica of a dead rebel general who has reconstituted himself and is heading North?

I figured a crisp salute would be a good start. I snapped one off. General Lee smiled beatifically upon me and said "At ease, Johnny".

I relaxed and spoke "General Lee, you were a genius. You waged one hell of a campaign. If only the artillery had been more accurate, Pickett's charge might have worked and we'd be in a whole different ballgame right now."

"Actually," said General Lee, "Maybe not all that different. American politics today are more or less dominated by the old Confederacy if you think about it. So my men who were slaughtered goin' up the hill didn't totally die in vain"

"Unlike a cat I once owned", I replied.

"I have a cat too" said General Lee. "I mean not me as General Lee but me the guy who dresses up like General Lee at these here re-enactments. My cat once killed a Doberman named Duke"

"That sounds like one helluva story, uh General Lee"

"Just call me Lee. That's my given name, son. Lee Edward Roberts. I guess it was inevitable that I would end up masquerading as Robert E Lee. For all my years in school, they kept calling my name directory style whenever they took attendance. Ovah and ovah and ovah. One day, it hit me. My purpose in life. A simple twist of fate"

I wanted to hear about the cat and the Doberman but my stomach was starting to growl. I resisted my urge to inquire further. I snapped off another salute and said the only thing I could think of at such an odd moment: "Thank God for Aristotle"

General Lee nodded in agreement.

"Generally, I agree" is what I think I heard General Lee say as we parted and I headed further down the path, deeper into the Park. I continued to head south towards the bench in front of the pavillion past the meadow. As I strode towards the bench, two dozen people on horseback began to congregate at opposite ends of the meadow. A dozen were dressed in blue, another dozen in grey. All twenty four were brandishing wooden swords.

I reached the bench. I vowed never to be hungry again. I unwrapped my sub and began chomping just as the two dozen calvarymen began to charge towards each other.

I didn't mind the noise. I actually kinda liked it. The submarine tasted a little better because of it. It wasn't the noise that was causing my thought processes to grow blurry and dark.

I wasn't sure if what I was watching was a calvary or a cavalry re-enactment. I knew one of them was the correct word for the place where Christ got nailed and the other was the correct word for soldiers on horses.

I knew that soldiers on horses must have been quite the military breakthrough and quite an advantage over terrified, soon to be trampled soldiers not on horses.

I knew that soldiers on horses turned out to be quite a disadvantage when the fabled Polish calvary encountered German soldiers not on horses but rather in tanks. The Polish cavalry was blown to smithereens.

Even in my mind I started using both words for one meaning. I could settle for a fifty percent grade on my internal vocabulary. If I kept my mouth shut, no one would discover that I didn't know the difference between calvary and cavalry.

My muddled thoughts grew darker when I thought of that proud Polish calvary splattered across their particular slaughterfield. That was a bad scene for sure but nowhere near as bad a scene as nailing the son of God to a cross after whipping the crap out of him and crowning him with thorns like they did at cavalry.

Meanwhile the cavalrys in the meadow were having the time of their lives running into each other while flailing their wooden, fake swords. I realized the swords were crosses painted black and silver with one perpendicular four times longer than the other.

These replica forces were attacking each other with crosses.

I imagined all of the crosses with an outstretched figure upon them. I imagined the blue and the gray horsemen attacking each other with half-assed crucifixes.

In that way, my description of the charge as either calvary or cavalry would have been correct.

Oh yeah, even on this bright afternoon my thinking had once again grown dark and out of focus.

"......................... .................... in focus"

I heard her before I saw her and I didn't clearly hear her until after I saw her. When I saw her, I didn't really see her. I saw Scarlett.

"Are you talking to me?" I said in subdued DeNiro as I turned my head to the left. The face I saw inside the green bonnet belonged to Julia.

"Yes, I am" said Julia," and I was talking to you before when you were lost somewhere in dark space. I said 'hi', you didn't answer. Then I said, 'get your thinking back in focus' and you turned your head my way, all Taxi Driver. If you don't mind me saying so, you still don't appear to be seeing things too clearly"

I returned her greeting, told her that I didn't mind her saying so and added "that's quite a projection", even as I noted with internal alarm and external denial how accurate she was.

Julia said "I know a lot about projection. My grandfather was an arc-light carbon projectionist at the old RKO Palace. My father was a projectionist at Loew's before he became a megaplex manager. He would like me to become a professional projectionist but my mother has different ideas. She wants me to keep my projections intuitive."

"Well, what made you project that I was out of focus?" I asked

"Guys between eighteen and twenty five are always out of focus, sometimes more so than other times but always muddled, always absorbed by noise. Lots of times the puddle grows darker than it ought to be" said Julia.

I remembered how much the noise of the calvary charge helped me to enjoy my sandwich.

Julia/Scarlett was starting to scare me.

I feigned indifference.

"And upon what does your Dad base his projection"

"He bases his projection about the attention span of people on his policy for projectionists at his plex".

"He bases his projection about the attention span of people on his policy for projectionists at his plex? Is that what you said" I asked Julia.

"That's what I said", she answered."There's nothing wrong with your listening"

"Well, Julia, do you want me to project as to how your Pop's policy for projectioninsts at his plex affects his projection about the attention span of people or are you going to explain"

"Ovid, I'm flattered, You remembered my name. Why don't you go ahead and project"

"Julia I'm afraid my projection, according to your father's projection, would be dark and out of focus. Why don't you go ahead and explain"

I finished up my plastic twenty ounce bottle of Diet coke and tossed it at the waste basket next to the bench. A miracle...it went in. I pumped my fist and said 'yes' which Julia took as a signal to explain.

" Fair enough. Back in the days of Grand- Dad" Julia began, "movie theaters could seat many more viewers. Some, if not most theaters could sit a thousand folks at a time. Still, for all those people, they had only one projectionist operating two projectors. Each projector would carry a reel of film. Just before the reel ran out on the first projector, the projectionist would flip on the second projector which he had just loaded with the next reel. Didja ever notice those little scratches or circles that show up on the upper right corner of movies and wonder if you were seeing things?"

"Yeah, I've noticed those marks. They even show up on teevee when the old movies are played"

"Those marks signalled that the reel that was playing was coming to an end. The projectionist would fire up the second projector and at the exact second that projector one ran out of film, projector two picked up the slack and threw its light on the screen. As soon as projector two took over, projector one went into rewind. When the rewind was finished, the projectionist would take that rewound reel off the projector and replace that reel with the next reel which would be ready to go on projector one as soon as the film ran out on projector two."

"That's reely interesting" I punned as I felt my focus starting to slip. Julia missed the quip and continued.

"Those were the old days. One theater, one screen, two projectors, one projectionist. My Dad's multiplex has sixteen theaters, only two of which have more than three hundred seats. One has five hundred, the other has four hundred fifty. The other twelve range from one hundred to three hundred, Most of them are three hundred."

"Ya know, Julia, it's funny. I've always wanted to bowl a three hundred game. I think I'd rather bowl a three hundred game than hit a hole in one. It's close though. Which would you prefer"

"I'd prefer that you maintain your focus and let me finish what we started. If that's too much to ask just say so"

Here I was presented with the perfect storm, the ideal situation to use the greatest line of all time. I knew that all I had to do was say, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn' turn my back on Julia and exit stage North. I would have a story for my future wife, my future kids, my future grand-kids maybe even Krell.

And I was pretty sure Julia would sit there, watch me

walk

away

and

say

tomorrow

another

day.

I'm polite. I blinked. Castles made of sand melt into the sea.

Julia continued.

"Nowadays, in the megaplex, we have one projectionist operating eight projectors.This bit of planning saves us seven salaries for starters. That's part of the reason why we stagger the starting times of movies. Another reason is to keep a stready stream of customers passing by the concessions stand".

"Who can watch a movie without popcorn?" I asked.

Julia, at least one step ahead of me answered "And who can eat popcorn, especially popcorn loaded with extra salt and butter, without having a soft drink.?

"I'm getting thirsty just talking about it", I said while glancing at the empty Diet coke in the waste basket and wishing I had more.

"That's why the invention of cup holders in megaplex seats actually saved movies" she said while unfastening her bonnet.

Julia continued.

"The projectionists can change the reels on eight projectors at a time by changing reels on one while the other seven go unattended. This more efficient operation does run the risk that other films not being attended to might snag in the projector and get burnt by the lamp. To prevent this from happening, the projectionists who work for my father routinely expand the gap between the gate that supports the film and the lamp. This provides a margin of safety. It also results in the films being shown out of focus.The higher the population of males between eighteen and twenty five in the opening weekend audience, the greater the gap between the gate and the lamp. Nobody ever complains. Ever."

Whoa. I thought that I was beginning to see the big picture.

I reflected back to Julia's original projection with a question"And you're projecting that we young guys don't complain because we don't know the movies are not in focus because our perception of life itself is out of focus therefore in synch with the out of focus film being projected behind us that shows up in front of us ?."

"Exacata mundo". replied Julia "And there's more. See, Dad's got to save money on projector lamps. Those things cost a grand a pop. The more play we can get from the bulb, the more money we save. So we play the out of focus movies that you guys watch on the projectors with the dimmest lamps.These are the lamps that we should replace but we can use on you guys because you never complain about the darkness or the out of focus projection because we turn the volume ten percent louder in the dim bulb auditorium than we do in the other auditoriums. As long as you guys hear a lot of noise, you don't particularly care what you see. And whatever it is that you're seeing, you don't mind if it's dark as long as it's loud."

The cavalry charge in the background had quieted down for a moment. I hoped the noise would begin again so I could concentrate on what Julia was saying and not be so distracted by looking at her.

Especially without her bonnet.

She was starting to piss me off.

Julia stood up suddenly and took a furtive look North followed by a lingering look South. As she stood, I got another look. Julia was vee shaped, or should I say vee vee shaped with the bottom vee inverted and the top vee tottering precariously on the the bottom vee.

No woman looks like that.

Julia was wearing a corset.

Why not, Scarlett wore one.

Julia was channeling Scarlett .

To my great relief, the calvary in the meadow started another charge. The din helped me relax. I wanted to ask Julia about the corset but didn't know where to start.

I figured that I'd feign innocence and since she was so good at reading my mind maybe she'd take the bait.

" Julia, your dress is beautiful. Is your outfit authentic?"

She smiled infuriatingly and changed the subject.

"Where did you ever get a name like Ovid."

"Well, when I was young, I had a problem with my eyes and......"

Julia interrupted, "don't you have a nickname or something"

"Until Bush got elected, people used to call me by my middle initial....Dubya"

She seemed interested. "And what perchance does the Dubya stand for Ovid?"

"The Dubya stands for Warren. That's my middle name."

Julia repeated my name aloud a couple of times "Ovid Warren Peets hmmmm.Ovid Warren Peets.

I had the feeling she'd get half the puzzle and she did.

"War and Peace. Damn, your last two names are war and peace"

"That's only the half of it" I confessed.

"Explain, Warren" She demanded.

"My first name is Ovid. Ovid was a Roman poet. His most famous poem was The Art of Love. If you put the whole thing together, my name is Art, Love, War and Peace. My father thought that pretty well summed up life"

I could tell Julia was impressed because she shut up for a couple of minutes while she once again stood and looked North and then South.

I tried again. "Is your dress comfortable"

She sat down, smiled her Mona Lisa smile and changed the subject once again. "Have you ever seen the video O, Ovid"

Twenty four hours earlier, Julia was bivouacked in the midst of a huge misunderstanding between the over-all Confederate commander Robert E. Lee and his wife, Barbara 'Bobbi' Roberts'.

Julia had been participating in these encampments semi-willingly since she a was child. Because she no longer felt that she was a child, Julia didn't want to come to these "freak shows" any longer. The dustup began when Julia arrived in civvies and reported directly to the commander.

When the commander asked Julia why she was out of costume, Julia nuclear dumped.

"I'm out of costume because I'm sick and tired of feeding people crappy popcorn at the plex. I never want to have that giant salt shaker in my hand again.I've lifted my last box of Diet pepsi syrup and brewed my last batch of fake pop. I'm tired of Dad, thinking that I'm going to get into the theater business. That business is falling apart.Everybody knows that movies now are nothing more than sneak previews for DVD's and pay TV. Mom wants me to be a seamstress. I can't sew worth a damn. She knows it. I know it"

I'm going to community college now. I'm going there because my grades sucked in high school because I missed way too much school traveling around to these encampments.None of my history teachers gave me any credit for being here.The other teachers just thought encampment was odd; a gathering of live in the past doofusses with too much time on their hands. I'm having trouble keeping up in my classes. There are too many students in all of them, except one and that one has only four students and a weird teacher. There's a guy in that class who wears a glove all the time, who looks like he's got some interesting issues but he doesn't pay any attention to me. I don't like the other two students and I don't know what in hell the teacher is talking about nor how he intends to mark anybody."

By this time, Julia had tears streaming down her face." I can't stand my job. I'm a disappointment to my parents. I'm invisible at school. I have no future plans. I might get thrown out of a flunky college. I'm attracted to a weirdo with a glove who doesn't know I exist.I've come to believe that these encampments that I used to love are egotistical freak shows. I'm not the cute little kid at the camp anymore. I'm a nobody, a nothing."

Lee Lee was a bit conflicted.

Lee Roberts was picking up a snootful of the most alluring perfume emanating from Julia, desperation, vulnerability, sincerity and low self-esteem. This combination of pheremonic emotional aromas has always created an irresistible bouquet for the opportunistic male. Lee Roberts was such an animal.

General Robert E Lee, on the other hand, was all about empathy, action, and healing. General Robert E Lee was a God-like perfect example of man at the zenith of courage,compassion, chivalry, and Confederate culture.

Lee Lee was a combination of both.

So too was Robert Roberts.

The commander put his arms around Julia. She leaned her face against his shoulder. The tears increased. The commander ran his hand soothingly along the back of Julia's head.

"I wish you were wearing your snood", he said.

Julia began to laugh, wondering what that comment would sound like to anyone overhearing the comment who had no idea what a snood was. The commander pulled her in a little tighter. Julia felt safe. She felt protected.

"Why don't we take things one day at a time. Come back here tomorrow. Wear that Scarlett O'Hara curtain dress that I love so much, that we all love."

"But", said Julia, "I have classes tomorrow."

"I figured that you did" said the commander " Here's what you do. wear your dress to the classes. I'm sure you'll get noticed not only by the guy with the glove......"

at the mention of the guy with the glove Julia laughed again

"but also by the other folks in the class. It might even be a good time to ask the teacher about how he determines his grades. You certainly wouldn't look desperate or vulnerable or uh"

Lee Roberts hesitated. He was afraid that he was letting his mask slip.

"Or what?" asked Julia.

"Or lacking in confidence" Lee continued. "Then after class, meet me right here and we'll talk again. Does that sound like a plan"

"You always have such brilliant strategy, General Lee" Julia whisperered even as she was coming up with some strategy of her own.

The rebellious embrace tightened before it relaxed. As they pulled away from one another, Julia brushed her cheek against the beard of Lee. Her lips might have grazed his cheek as they passed.

Maybe more than grazed.

Maybe lightly kissed.

All in the eye of the beholder.

The South had risen again.

Or hadn't.

The General’s wife, Bobbi Roberts had seen the whole thing.

Buxom would have been an understatement. Reubenesque an overstatement. Voluptuous might have worked at one time when Bobbi had curves in places in which other women didn't even have places.

Simplicity is best.

Wide is the word.

Everything about Barbara "Bobbi" Roberts was wide, including her teeth.'Wide and white' is how Bobbi herself described them. She was proud of her teeth. They were her most outstanding physical feature, a feature that demanded maintenance to preserve the sparkle. Bobbi was all about maintenance.

Bobbi was in costume and her costume was flaunting her wideness. Her sleeves were wide. Folds on her bodice lent a further sense of width at the sholders and the bustline. She wore a wide hoop skirt which grew even wider as it descended towards her wide feet. The only thing relatively narrow about Bobbi was her waist which was narrow only in comparison to everything else and emphasized by gathers from her bodice and skirt. The narrowness at the waist only emphasized, by contrast, the width of her sleeves whenever her hands rested at her sides.

Bobbi parted her hair in the middle and her simple flat hairstyle added to the dimension of her width by accentuating the width of her face. She gathered her long hair in a mesh net known as a snood at the nape of what reamined of her retreating neck. Bobbi's snood was ornamented with bows and ribbons.

Bobbi was proud of her snood and also aware that for some reason her snood seemed to, uh shall we say 'invigorate' her husband.

A photograph of women during Civil War times usually caught the subjects with their lips tightly closed, often to conceal poor teeth. Bobbi's lips were tightly closed even though her teeth were far from poor. Bobbi's lips were closed because she was furious at what her eyes beheld as she looked through the window of the cabin in the park, the imaginary headquarters.

Her husband, the so-called commander, was hugging and kissing some young hussy in civvies. Since the slut was in civvies, there was no way that Lee could justify his action as part of his duties as Commander. The dirty, cheating son of a bitch was whispering some indiscretion to that little crying/laughing harlot. Probably trying to arrange a slimy rendezvous for more intense cradle robbing.

Bobbi bided her time. She watched as the embrace ended with, what was that? was that a kiss?. She resisted the urge to barge into the cabin while the strumpet was still in residence. She would wait until the whore left then she would charge into that cabin and make life living hell for the commander, which she proceeded to do.

Besides her teeth, Bobbi had two other major assets that she could use like her teeth as weapons, tools or adornments. Bobbi had a voluminous vocabulary and could wield that weapon with deadly, withering lucidity. Bobbi didn't need the eff word and had contempt for those who did. She used the language precisely rather than inarticulately to express her rage.

Bobbi was an inveterate reader of Miss Manners and was excruciatingly aware of correct behavior. This was asset number two. When Bobbi synthesized the two; withering lucidity with excruciating observation, the results were devastating.

Julia was not devastated. Julia was a lot like Bobbi except far younger and far narrower and not so well teethed. Julia was likewise a fan of Miss Manners. Julia also eschewed profanity in her discourse. Julia was not convinced of her innocence. She was going to have to convince herself with her spoken words. Julia leapt to her own defense.

"Mrs Roberts, you're advice is well taken but superfluous. I've made a habit of faking delight at worthless presents during Christmas time. I've radiated faux pleasure in the success of my competitors. I've expressed curiosity about the lives of the terminally boring who don't have much of a life for anyone to be curious about. Perhaps I did step over the line in my sharing with your husband and for that I am sorry. I hope you will accept my apology."

Bobbi, astonished at Julia's response, had an unexpected autonamous response. She succumbed to an inevitable natural phenomena. She burped.

Inexcusable.

Julia was aware that Bobbi had burped even as Bobbi attempted to cover the burp by treating it as if it were a cough. Bobbi formed the fingers of her hand into a wide fist and placed the thumbside of that fist against her mouth.

"Excuse me" said Bobbi, still pretending that the burp was a cough but aware that Julia probably knew the difference.

"There's no need to for me to excuse you, Mrs Roberts. Society recognizes the necessity of breathing and ingesting but ignores digestion as much as possible. I take digestion as a natural consequence of ingestion. Life is all about inclusion, exclusion and toleration. Sometimes we can not tolerate what we include and our bodies stammer before they exclude. Wouldn't you agree, Mrs Roberts?"

" That's true" said the General's wife who found herself starting to like the girl in the Scarlett O'Hara costume "And of the three, inclusion, exclusion and toleration, we spend most of our time in toleration. Our main troubles occurs when we attempt to include someone or something that we should have merely tolerated or completely avoided"

Jula nodded in agreement and prepared to explain the projected "kiss".

General Lee, meanwhile, had reached the meadow and was continuing to head North.

At the same time, a few clicks further North,Ovid grabbed his submarine sandwich and Diet Coke before booking out of his car which he had just parked after a weird morning with Krell.

Before Julia could begin her explanation of the projected kiss, she was surprised that Mrs. Roberts broke the silence first.

"On the subject of tolerance, we must be careful not to abandon our sense of right and wrong only to preserve transparent tranquility passing as toleration. We must not become doormats in a perpetual state of forgiving. We need not accept every apology. Or is this what forgive and forget is all about, pride swallowing and resignation?"

"No, Mrs Roberts, if that were the case, we wouldn't need forgive and forget, we'd just need forget. There are two parts to that equation and we can always do one without the other. Surely, you have forgotten situations that you didn't choose to forgive. I know that I have. I don't want to load up my mind with those troubling distractions so I let them go. Still, I don't want to pass off toleration as absent-mindedness."

Bobbi Roberts was impressed by Julia yet not quite won over. "My dear, a few minutes ago, you apologized to me. You asked for my forgiveness. Doesn't that indicate some guilt on your part. Why else would you ask for forgiveness. How can I forgive you for something that you haven't done? Something that I clearly haven't forgotten? What does forgiveness mean to you?"

Julia thought for a moment. She was not afraid of wait time.

"Forgiveness, Mrs. Roberts, is a contract. Forgiveness is a two part deal. Forgiveness is a response to an apology. Just as we have become a society unwilling to pretend happiness, we have also become a society unwilling to apologize. Without apology, there can be no forgiveness. We have become an unforgiving society filled with unforgiven members. And no, you should not assume my guilt because of my willingness to apologize. In a more tolerant world, a more forgiving world accidents or mistakes, even those obviously lacking in ill will or intention, would require an apology. That is the reason why I once again ask your forgiveness. I am prepared to explain my lack of ill will if you require that as a condition of your forgiveness"

Once again Julia was ready to explain the projected kiss.

Further North, Ovid saluted General Lee as the cavalry prepared to charge.

Bobbi was by now genuinely impressed.

"There is no need for further explanation. I accept your apology.You are a young woman of great promise. Futhermore, the quality of mercy is not strained.......

"It falleth as the gentle rain from heaven" Julia continued. Both women laughed. The storm clouds disappeared. Sunshine appeared over the meadow.

'Thank God for Shakespeare' Julia thought to herself in the momentary silence that ensued.

Julia knew the etiquette of social kissing but she was relieved that she didn't have to review that etiquette with Mrs. Roberts, the wife of the man with whom Julia had tested the boundaries of that etiquette. She was sure that Mrs Roberts knew the same rules that she did and that any misstep might bring back the storm or even worse, the whirlwind.

Julia knew that five areas were available in the realm of acceptable social kissing: the lips, the right cheek only, the right cheek followed by the left cheek and/or the hand. Julia knew that when she pulled away from her embrace with General Lee that she had perhaps kissed his right cheek. Even if she had for sure kissed his right cheek, that indulgence would fall safely within the boundaries of acceptable ettiquette.

Julia also knew that as the woman in the embrace, it was her privilege and not General Lee's to initiate a public kiss on the lips. Julia was aware that if she presented her lips by tilting her face upward without moving it to either side, any gentleman would have no choice but to accept her offering. Especially if she closed her eyes after fluttering her lashes amidst the face tilt. General Lee was without a doubt such a gentleman. Any such offering would have been enthusiastically accepted. Julia was certain of that consequence.

Julia remembered that she had considered that posture and for the sake of propriety had decided against it. This recollection nearly enabled Julia to rationalize her peck on the cheek of General Lee as an innocent expression of affection.

Nearly but not completely.

Julia did have the remnants of a nagging self-suspicion. Had she loaded up an extra thrill charge on the peck? She suspected that she had.

She needed a further demonstration of her innocence along with a reason to get away from Mrs Roberts while the getting was still good.

That's when Julia spotted Ovid as he walked past the meadow and headed for the bench.

"Please excuse me, Mrs Roberts, but that's my boyfriend over there with the sandwich. He said he'd come over here today and there he is"

Bobbi was relieved that Julia had such a young boyfriend. She chuckled at the foolishness of her own suspicion that one as young as Julia would be in any way interested in one as much older as her husband.

"Oh, he's cute" Bobbi lied. "Go over and greet him right now. We'll talk later"

"I'll take my leave then" said Julia and started heading over to Ovid.

The old and reliable fake boy friend trick had seemingly worked again but Julia was going to need an almost immediate hug and maybe even a subsequent kiss from Ovid to seal the illusion. She didn't think that would present much of a problem.

Meanwhile Ovid was trying to grasp the difference between cavalry and calvary.

Julia surprised me by giving me a quick hug as if I were her boyfriend.

At that very instant I realized that Julia and I were totally different. Her embrace felt to me like the kind of embrace a cat would throw on a mouse if the cat and the mouse were about the same size and if they were standing on their hind legs and if the cat was wearing Scarlett O'Hara gear and the mouse had just finished eating a submarine. The mouse might try to put his arms around the cat but since the arms of the cat are so much longer than the arms of the mouse, his embrace would be considerably less determined than hers; as was my embrace of Julia.

Even as I held on loosely I could sense that Julia was not above stealing apples to get her free ride to skull island. I thought she might look real good strapped to a stone altar. I figured that she was the kind of woman who would make a tiny man live in a dollhouse until she accidentally knocked him down the cellar stairs and assumed he was lost in the flood.

That's when I sensed her moving away from our embrace. That's when I felt her lips brush against my right cheek.That's when she lifted her chin, tilted back her head, fluttered her eyelashes and closed her eyes.

I'm no gentleman.

I did the same thing.

As we both tilted our heads in opposite directions, I had a moment to think. If a photographer came by and snapped a picture of the two of us at that instant, the picture might look as if we were praying.

I know this is true because a photographer did snap a picture at that moment and a week later it was published in the paper above the caption, Prayer in the Meadow. In the picture Julia looks a lot like a female praying mantis.I look like the male mantis who an hour earlier had been telling his mantis friends "Man, I'd love to be torn limb from limb by that."

Back in real time, I opened my eyes, looked down at Julia with her pursed lips and realized that I had one more chance. This time, I took it.

"No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."

Julia whispered "But Dubya, I need a little kiss right now"

Damn, she had given me yet another opportunity. I took it.

"That's your misfortune".

I broke from her embrace and started heading North.

I resisted the urge to turn around for one final look at Julia. I figured that she figured that tomorrow would be another day.

As I neared the parking lot, I once again encountered General Lee, who was heading South. He was heading back towards the battle ground. Once again I saluted.

"I've been thinking about your cat story", said the General, "that must have been one bigass cat"

"I imagine it was"

General Lee straightened himself into his full height. Dude was tall.

I felt myself growing smaller.

"That fool dog must have made the mistake of getting between the big cat and her kittens. That strategic position is a must to avoid whether it's cats or humans; individuals or armies" observed Lee Roberts. "Sometimes, it's not the size of the dog in the fight or the size of the fight in the dog, it's the size of the fight in the cat in the dogfight"

"Cats are cats. Dogs are dogs. As a rule, they don't get along. Cats and dogs are not people" I saluted again looking to be discharged.

"That's right Johnny. We are the people" concluded Lee Roberts as he dismissively and somewhat doggedly returned my salute.

I'd heard that one somewhere before.

General Lee went South. I went North. I recaptured my car, put it into reverse and then pointed it towards my apartment.

By the time I got home, I was ready for some serious tube. I hit the couch, grabbed the remote and checked the guide. The Incredible Shrinking Man was going to start in five minutes. I locked in and flashed back.

When my brother was a baby, my parents got their first VCR. My folks had a lot of chores to do around the farm so he did a lot of solitary playpen time. They'd stash him in the pen, turn on the VCR and go about their business. Our VCR collection of movies consisted of two; King Kong and The Incredible Shrinking Man. I used to stand by his pen and watch those flicks over and over again. My parents tell me that by the time he was three, I must have seen each of those movies over a hundred times each.

I’ve seen each of them at least 50 times.

As a matter of fact, as I was driving away from Julia and General Lee I did what I usually do when times get complicated, I started thinking about Scott Carey, The Incredible Shrinking Man.

I wondered what kind of vision Scott had. I wondered if Scott's wife could hear him yelling when she booted him down the cellar stairs. I understood once again, why cats are not my favorite animals. I recalled the terrifying strength of spiders.

I know a thing or two about eyes. I know that we need light to see. I know that the amount of light we recieve is determined by the size of our retina. When Scott Carey grew smaller, I assume that the size of his retina grew smaller in proportion to the rest of his dome. Otherwise, Scott would have been an eyeball, way beyond 'bulging', atop tiny legs scurrying around the floor. Scott's body would have been eighty percent eyeball We would have had an even more horribly absurd movie, particularly if somehow during the scurry, the bulging eyeball with feet had blinded itself which under the circumstances was probably inevitable

I imagined an observer of the scurrying impaired eyeball watching as the miniscule monster ricocheted from wall to wall. "Oh, my God, what could be worse than to be just an eye" , the observer might say to his companion who might reply "well, it could be blind" which in this case it would have been

which wasn't of course

the case in the uh movie.

The case in the movie was that Scott had normally proportioned retinas about seventy times smaller than the retinas he had before he started shrinking which means that he was stumbling around with hardly any light flying through the pinhole of his retina. Just think how scary everything is in the semi-darkness, especially the blurry semi-darkness. Scott's blur was infinitely more dark and out of focus than any projector Julia might try to imagine.

Although there were a lot of loud noises.

Besides the cat and the spider and his wife's high heels, Scott had to deal with perpetual semi-darkness.

And as his vocal chords shrunk, his ability to generate sound waves also shrunk. I'm sure that Scott was screaming his head off at his wife before she kicked him down the stairs and equally sure that she couldn't hear a sound he was screaming which may have been just as well because with diminished hammer, anvil and stirrup, he wouldn't have been able to understand her reply any more than we are able to make out the words in thunder.

Is Thunder really Godspeak for "it's raining".

Hmmm.

This of course made me think about ants. Are they trying to yell something at us as we step on them? Are we huge, incomprehendible thunderhead blurs in a dark world trampling upon them even as they warn us about their homes and their children and the work that has to be done?

I think not. They're different from Scott Carey. They never shrank.

The movie started. I watched it again for the first time in at least ten years.

I realized how much I had grown.

RETURN TO KRELL”S CLASS

" Phi, Chi, sigh, omega"

Haylen smiled. She had completed the Greek alphabet twice on one match. She hadn't even glanced at her notes.

While Krell nodded at Haylen; Arthur, Julia and I exchanged glances that screamed " we're the bozos on this bus".

A moment later, according to my notes, Krell started in about Socrates.

"Socrates was born in 469 BC and lived until 399 BC. If you do the math, you'll see that Socrates died when he was only thirty two years old. Go ahead and do the math and find out for yourself."

I did the math.

We did the math.

No problem. Socrates was only thirty two when he died.

Then Haylen raised her hand.

Problem.

"Mr. Krell, according to my math. Socrates was seventy when he died."

"Seventy, Haylen?" Krell raised his eyebrow.

I thought maybe the three of us were geting off the bozo bus or at least making room on board for Haylen.

Haylen continued. "Yes sir. In this case, the count is backward rather than forward. Socrates wasn't one year old in 470 BC. 470 BC was also 1 BS."

Krell seemed not only to understand but also to be entertained. "What, may I ask for the good of the class, is 1 BS?"

"Sure" responded Haylen. " 1 BS is one year before the birth of Socrates. Socrates was born in 469 BC. One year before his birth, the year would have been 470 BC not 468. In 468 Socrates would have been one year old. Of course, he didn't know the year was 470 or 468 or anything BC. Nobody had any idea when Christ would be born or who Christ was or why Christ would be important or why their very birthdays would be determined by the future son of a carpenter"

"Very true, Haylen. Now how does your counting backward mechanism work" asked Krell.

"It took sixty nine years to get from 469BC to 400 BC. Then you add one more for 399 and that leaves you with seventy. Socrates lived to be seventy"

I did the math. Haylen was absolutely correct.

"Do the math again and you'll find that Haylen is absolutely correct. You should also learn to think carefully about anything that your teacher says. Particularly if that teacher is I" said Krell.

At that moment because I had done what Krell had said before he said it, I felt like an Advanced Placement Bozo. I was still on the bus but I was moving a couple of seats closer to the driver.

"Before we go any further, does anybody know anything else about ancient Greece that would be illuminating for the class to consider?" Krell asked.

The usual silence followed.

The usual silence was followed by the usual two follow ups. "Anybody?.....Anything"

I was feeling pretty smart in a stupid way so I decided to step up.

"Yeah, that's where the first French fries were made"

Julia, got all over that observation. "No they weren't they were made in France. That's why we call them French fries"

Krell came to my rescue.

"Wherever they were made, they were indisputably made in Grease. Good one Ovid"

Haylen laughed out loud.

Arthur and Julia were pissed.

I probably should have quit when I was ahead but instead I tried one more.

"And judging from what I remember about Paris, that grease would have been awesomely ancient "

Krell laughed again. Haylen out laughed Krell. Good thing she wasn't drinking milk.

Julia lightened up a little.

Arthur must have felt marginalized because he responded with a snarky comment to Krell which he read from a three by five index card. "My father told me that Socrates, despite his place in history, was over-rated. He actually wrote nothing because in essence he felt that knowledge was a living, interactive thing. Most of what we know of him comes from the historical inaccuracy and misinterpretation found in the works of Plato and later Thomas Aquinas."

Krell answered " Well Arthur, your father seems like quite a smart man. I imagine he's had a great influence on your life. There's a lot of truth in what he says but like all truths it bears closer examination"

Arthur seemed to wince at the mention of paternal influence.

Krell continued.

"First of all, let's deal with the concept of over-rated and let's consider the list of the over-rated. I'll bring up a few: Shakespeare, Caesar, Elvis, Lincoln, Marie Curie, Eleanor Roosevelt, Meryl Streep, the Beatles,Amelia Earhart Picasso, Da Vinci, Rosa Parks, Muhammad Ali, Katherine Hepburn, Mother Theresa. All may be considered over-rated simply because they are famous. Fame is an integral part of iconic over-rating. How can you be over-rated unless you're famous? Nobody's gonna over-rate Sid Gertner, the guy who lent Lincoln the pen that Abraham used to write the Gettysburg Address. Where would we be today if at that moment of inspiration, Gertner didn't have a pen. The reason nobody's going to over rate Gertner is because nobody knows that Sid, performing one of the millions of unnoticeded acts of kindness that characterize human behavior lent the pen to Lincoln in the first place.”

Krell write SID GERTNER on the board and continued

"Of course, you might say that since I identified Gertner and Gertner is long departed, he must be somewhat famous and thus susceptible to be over-rated. The problem is that I don't know whether or not Gertner gave Lincoln the pen. Somebody probably did. That somebody has been totally forgotten by history so just because I name that somebody Gertner doesn't mean that Gertner becomes a figure of historical importance although I'm sure that exact mechanism has occurred in history many times over.”

Kell wrote OBSCURITY on the board and continued

"Even when that somebody, like Gertner, might not have existed at all at least under that name.We remain alive as long as anyone who ever knew us or knew of us remains alive. The people who live the longest are those who have created enduring works of art or who have had enduring works of art created about them or who are simply remembered by the most people.These people are famous. These people may end up over-rated.Socrates was such a one as for that matter was Plato and Aquinas. So Arthur, I agree with your Dad about part one."

Krell paused.

PLAY MEATBALL

Ya know how when you go to concerts there's always some doofus yelling out for the performer to play their most overplayed song as if the performer doesn't realize that people want to hear the overplayed song and no matter how much he hates playing the overplayed song over and over again, he's going to have to play it some time during the show and he's already figured out when and where it will fit into the program that will cause him the least discomfort and cessation of creative momentum? Usually that place will be at the very end of the show when the artist can't put it off any longer and where momentum can mercifully end.

Ya know the guy standing fifteen feet away from Dylan after Dylan opens his show with Maggie's Farm who starts yelling for Like a Rolling Stone as if Dylan is not going to play that song.

Or even worse, the guy who starts yelling for "Blowin' in the Wind". Ya know, the guy who has never heard Visions of Johanna but knows every word to Blowin in the Wind and has come to the show for a hootenanny after walking down many roads that have led him to the conclusion that he can indeed call himself a man. And his wife next to him, the woman who married him anyway, who somehow thinks Dylan is going to sing Puff the Magic Dragon or If I were a Carpenter.

Whenever I hear one of those guys, I try to balance out their request by yelling out a request for a song that nobody knows, not even the artist because the song doesn't exist. I picked out a title for this imaginary song, a title unlike any title I have ever heard for a song. The title of the non-existent song that I yell out for the artist to play after a nimrod has just yelled out the name of the artist's most overplayed song, the title of that song is MEATBALL.

I yell out "PLAY MEATBALL".

I've even gone so far as to light my lighter while yelling out PLAY MEATBALL. I've even been pro-active and yelled PLAY MEATBALL before the other guy has yelled out say PLAY BORN TO RUN at a Springsteen show.

Once, sweet Jesus, I was in the front row for a Neil Diamond show with a single ticket that I had won after accidentally being the seventeeth caller. I knew the blue hair next to me would be screaming for "Sweet Caroline" so the instant that Neil took the stage I beat her to the punch by yelling "PLAY MEATBALL". Neil heard me. I think he put a mental comma after "play" so he heard "PLAY,MEATBALL" before he had song a note or strummed his guitar.

Neil was more puzzled then pissed.

So was the blue hair next to me.

Who, now that I think about it, looked a lot like Barabra Bush.

But that's unusual.

Usually, the people around me look at me as if I know something that they don't know which might even indicate that I am an actual "friend of the band" because actual friends of the band are always yelling out things to their friends in the band that nobody but the guys in the band or the friends of the band understand. The old fake in-joke trick.

Those who don't mistake me for an actual friend of the band often regard me as an expert on the band because only an expert on the band would know such an obscure title as MEATBALL and have the insight expressed through his bellowing to suggest to the performer who may have forgotten the song that the exact instant of the yell would be a great time to reach into an ancient bag of tricks, to redistribute the stones in the kaleidoscope by twisting the barrel in a new-old fashioned way.

I usually get a lot of respect when I yell PLAY MEATBALL.

After Krell's bit about the torches in response to Julia's snit fit, I wanted to yell PLAY MEATBALL to see if I could get him back on track but since this was a college class and not a concert I decided to do a variation of PLAY MEATBALL.

I yelled out

"What about Socrates"

Krell continued

"Ovid's response is a perfect example of what we call in education 'a window of instructional opportunity'. In show biz, that's referred to as giving the people what they want or putting the light on the star. Apparently, Ovid wants me to get on with the story of Socrates which is what I wanted to do in the first place but hesitated to do so because I felt as if the venetian blinds were covering the windows and then when we started down the road, we had to take a small detour at the straw man. The good teacher, of which I'm sure Socrates was one, recognizes these windows of instructional opportunity when they arise and usesthem to the advantage of the class. So on we go with Socrates.”

Arthur whispere4d loudly to Haylen.”I gotta here THIS.”

Krell continued

"Socrates as a child wasn't handsome but he was probably rich which is a trade off many of us would accept. We assume that he came from a prosperous family because as a young man he had enough leisure time available to master the philosophy of his era.The emerging philosphy consisted largely of various attempts to provide scientific explanations for the origin and structure of the universe. This wasn't going too well because we still hadn't discovered that what goes up must come down and just about everything else regarding science including the concept that the sun rather than the earth was the center of our astronomical system and that the Milky Way is composed of an infinite number of stars and the Milky Way is one of an infinite number of solar systems and that man might not be the center and purpose of the universe. Of course, Galileo added much of that information two thousand years after Socrates and the great Italian scientist was immediately confronted with a mob carrying torches who took him to the Inquisition where the Pope made him promise that he wouldn't tell anybody that the earth moves.”

Krell wrote Pope on the board and continued.

"A smart guy like Socrates could see right off the bat that lots of problems existed within the emerging scientific explanations but he also understood that they were much better than the mythological explanations that were prevalent in his time.It's not clear what levels of academic success Socrates attained in his study of science or physical philosophy but we do know that by the start of the Pelopennesian War which occurred when Socrates was in his mid thirties, he had abandoned physical philosophy and began the examination of conduct that he would continue for the rest of his life.Apparently that transition which began with alienation from science was precipitated by Socrates' interpretation of an inquiry directed to the oracle of Apollo at Delphi by an Athenian named Chaerephon. According to the oracle.........."

Julia again.

"How do you spell that last name that you mentioned. The guy who asked the question of the oracle. It sounds like 'chair on a phone but I'm sure it's not spelled that way."

Then Arthur

"And how do you spell the name of the war that was going on when Socrates was in his thirties"

Krell wrote Chaerephon and Pelopennesian on the board.

Then Julia again

"And, uh, isn't the Milky Way a galaxy and not a solar system?"

Krell heard Julia's question with his back.

When he finished writing the two words on the board, he turned and faced the class.

"Solar system or galaxy, what's the difference?" Krell shrugged his shoulders as if he had been asked to explain the difference between an aardvark and an anteater.

Julia answered. "I should think there would be quite a huge difference as a solar system is part of a galaxy which means a galaxy is bigger than a solar system"

Arthur chimed in. "yeah, and a solar system is smaller than a galaxy"

Krell responded, "Thank you two for overstating the obvious. I was being metaphysical which is of course unfair because you guys still don't know what metaphysics is."

This response fired Arthur's obsession with definition. "Well then, Mr. Krell, can you finally give us a definition of metaphysics"

"Arthur, I can give you a definition of metaphysics but that definition by definition can not be the defintion of metaphysics. Voltaire said 'when he that speaks and he to whom he speaks, neither of them understand what is meant, that is metaphysics '

I thought I understood so I yelled out "I don't understand what you mean"

To which Krell joyfully responded "And I don't understand what you mean when you say you don't understand what I mean"

To which Haylen, who had been quiet since her Greek alphabet recitation at the beginning of the class, added "Eureka. At last we arrive at an example of Voltairean metaphysics, if I am understanding you both incorrectly"

Krell was obviously pleased with the lesson. The venetian blinds were opening and the sun was streaming into the consciousness of at least three of us in the room.

Krell continued.

"I always consider solar systems and galaxies to be similar because of the beach. When I walk on the beach, I realize that there are as many stars in our solar system as there are grains of sand on all the sandy beaches of our planet. The sun is one of those grains of sand. Our grain of sand is surrounded by by nine planets, thirty one moons, thousands of planetoids, millions of comets, innumberable meteoroids and vast quantitities of interpplanetary dust and gas. Can you grasp that Ovid"

"No I can't grasp that Mr, Krell"

"Excellent, then I will continue. Our grain of sand, our sun, appears toward the outer rim of our galaxy in which there are billions of other grains of sand like our sun, millions of which are surrounded by moons, planetoids, comets, meteorites and are thus known as solar systems. Now we continue walking down the beach and pick up yet another grain of sand and realize that there are as many galaxies out there in the universe as there are grains of sand on all the beaches on our planet. Every time that we increase the magnitude of our telescopes we discover more galaxies which means the number of galaxies may well be infinite which is even more galaxies than grains of sand. And the universe is expanding and with each expansion more beaches, more grains of sand. Can you comprehend what I'm saying Haylen"

"No sir, I can not comprehend the enormity of what you are saying," answered Haylen.

Julia again, "I can clearly understand what you're saying. You're asking what's the difference between a solar system and a galaxy and you're answering your own question by saying 'hey they're both grains of sand on the grand scale of things so what's the diff'. That's what you are saying"

Krell again

"Thank you Julia because what you are saying is a perfect example of exactly what I've been saying but I don't suppose you understand why it is such a perfect example"

Julia again, "No, I don't"

Krell again, "You're learning"

"But what is it that I'm learning?" Julia wanted to know.

"Julia, if you had understood me a little less correctly, I would guess that you had learned something about the way we as humans misinterpret the consequentiality of the physical and have therefore embraced the metaphysical.Certainly, it's fine to deny the immensity of the physical as defined by the incomprehensibility of the cosmic but all of that changes the moment someone hits you in the face with a rock.A rock is not theoretical. A rock is nothing but a fact.And as far as an abstract idea like freedom goes, my freedom to throw a rock ends where your freedom to have a face begins. Once we have defined the actual boundaries of an abstract idea like 'freedom' we can begin to explore the consequences of another abstract idea known as 'justice'.. Both 'freedom' and 'justice' are based upon the shaky alliance between the abstact and the concrete"

I decided I better try to get this locomotive back on track. "Metaphysics rawks. Rawk on Sawkrates"

Krell took the hint and returned to Chair on a phone.

"When Chaerophon inquired at the shrine of oracle of Apollo at Delphi, he was informed that "no man was wiser than Socrates". Chaerophon passed this message to Socrates. Socrates knew that Apollo could not lie but he also knew that he himself possessed no great wisdom. Thus Socrates arrived at the riddle that would inspire him for the rest of his life.”

"I look at the clock and realize that our time together today is just about up. The sand has passed through the hour glass so to speak. I'll save the riddle that haunted Socrates for next time. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Julia. "Let's imagine that you are the oracle at Delphi and I am Chaerophon. My question Mighty Apollo is this, who is the smartest person in this class?"

Krell stepped right into the role " no one is wiser in this class, no one is wiser in this college, no one is wiser in this city, no one is wiser in this state, no one is wiser in this country than ........."

Krell made eye contact with everyone in the room

"No

One

Wiser

Than

Ovid."

I was more stunned than anyone in the class when Krell made his observation. I lingered around after class to see if I could get some validation from Krell about the seriousness of his remark. Julia was hanging around too, pretending to organize her notes but in reality, trying to make sure that I wouldn't get a moment with Krell.

Krell was getting edgy.

He looked at the both of us and asked "are you guys ready to get outta here"

Julia scurried out of the room without a word.

Now me and Krell were alone.

"Did you mean what you said when you were pretending to be Apollo?" I asked Krell.

Krell on his way out the door, turned back and said, "Does a bear shit in the woods?"

Then he was gone.

I left the room right behind Krell. I was thinking about bears and wisdom. Grizzly bears in particular. Grizzly bears are my favorite animal for a lot of reasons but the most outstanding reason is that Grizzly Bears have the ability to walk backwards in their own footprints for up to two and a half miles in order to confuse whomever/whatever is tracking them.

I started imagining, not for the first time, this gigantic ferocious grizzly bear somehow picking up one foot after another then stepping backwards daintily with that ponderous paw/claw and placing it exactly claw for claw in the track it had made leading up to the retreat. It's like bear moon-walking which certainly must befuddle, astonish and amuse whatever is tracking the bear.

And the next question is, of course, how and why did bears learn this distinctive survival trick. How often in the wild is something actually tracking a bear and what, if not a guy with a gun, could that something be? A grizzly bear is at the top of the food chain. You'd have to be an awesomely hungry cougar to be tracking a bear. Moose freak out at the tiniest whiff of bear crap. It's obviously not Bullwinkle tracking the bear. So if it's not a man or a moose or a cougar and the maneuver has been around long enough to turn the moonwalk behavior into an instinct, then who in hell is tracking a grizzly?

The only answer I could come up with was dinosaur.

I know there's a few billion years difference in the time these species blundered through their respective forrests but what else would bears be intimidated by enough to learn how to walk backwards in their own tracks to confuse whatever was theoretically threatening them.

And furthermore, what happened when the bear moonwalked all the way back to where he was face to ass with whatever was tracking him, what's the bears plan? To attack the dinosaur with its ass?

I wondered if this constituted wisdom.

Learning to walk backwards in our own tracks until we confront our imaginary Jurassic enemies with our asses at which point we back asswards attack?

I also knew that bears hibernate most of the winter.

So the answer to Krell's exit question which was his answer to my question is this:

It depends on the time of the year.

DUMMY AT STANFORD

Who knows where Krell would have ended up it if not for the ankle of Lou Henry Hoover?

Krell knew that without Paladin, Krell would have never become the Krell that he became. Krell also knew that without Richard Boone, Paladin would not have become the Paladin that he became. Krell also knew that without Paladin, Richard Boone would not have become the Richard Boone that he became.

Boone might not have become Paladin if he hadn't been thrown out of Stanford.

Boone had enrolled at Stanford in 1934. He went out for the boxing team and was one heluva good light-heavyweight. These were the golden days of fraternities and Boone became a member of Theta Xi. One day, the brothers of Theta had nothing to do and no particular place to go. They collected a bunch of rags and bottles. They used the rags and bottles to create a life size dummy. They covered the dummy with ketchup and threw the thing in the road in front of the fraternity houser to be hit by the first car that passed.

Sure enough, the first car that passed hit the dummy.

After the collision, the intimidating Boone ran into the street and began shreiking "You've killed my brother" at the innocent, terrified driver.

The driver panicked and sprang from her car to confront both Boone and the dummy. She slipped on some of the fake blood and sprained her ankle, much to the delight of the frat boys watching from a safe distance.

The woman with the sprained ankle, the innocent, terrified driver turned out to be Lou Henry Hoover; the wife of ex-president Herbert Hoover.

"A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage" and a fake dummy getting run over by the former first lady's car when she takes that car out of the garage for a leisurely spin around campus.

Boone was expelled from Stanford soon after the foolish incident.

If Boone had some particular place to go that day at Stanford, he might not have gone on to become Paladin. If he had not become Paladin, Krell might not have become Krell.

If Krell had not become Krell many, many other incidents would not have occurred including the incident that sent a kid named Ovid from the classroom one day, contemplating the possibility that he was the smartest guy in town.

And all of the rest of that saga.

Thank God for Herbert Hoover.

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