WHAT IF THE CELTICS DON’T MAKE A MOVE? - INTERESTING TAKE

Hey Bob:

You know Fran Drescher was in that movie too. She later played "The Nanny, Fran Fine, and now is on TV Land in "Happily Divorced."

MD!

MD,

Actually, there was a kid named Dickie Robinson in my first grade class who used to do it. He was the smallest boy in the class, so he was constantly acting out to let people know how tough he was. Each time he did something weird in class, the teacher's remedy was to make him stand outside the closed door in the hallway. And, every time, he peed in the water bubbler. Which means that, ever since 1943, I've never had a drink from a water bubbler that was lower than chest high.

After several months of this, the teacher finally caught him in mid-whiz and sent him to the principal's office, where he may have peed in the principal's ink well as far as I know.

Dickie was also the pee-leader in the boy's bathroom, where there were no urinals—just slate walls with water running down them. He invented this game where we'd compete to see how high on the wall we could pee. He loved that game because size definitely did not matter; force was what mattered. The only problem with that game was that what goes up must come down. Most of us tried it only once and couldn't stand the stench we carried around the rest of the day. After that, we left Dickie to void solo, and he often delighted in entertaining us by peeing designs on the wall.

Dickie was the best peer I ever saw. As a peer, he had no peer.

Sam

Say the last line 3 times FAST!

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Sam:

If Dickie was born with two he woulld have had a pair of peers. The only thing that could have made the story better is if Dickie's last name was Johnson, instead of Robinson. I applaud your use of the double en'tandre. Your writing prowess is peer-less to say the least.

MD!

MD Sam

Sort of reminded me of 1st grade at my old school. Small enough that the High school kids used the same bathroom as us little first graders.

I remember standing at the urinal, think there were 3 along the wall. Some Big Highschoolers came in and noticed the floor was wet behind me then pointed at me and told me they were going to the office and tell the principal I had peed on the floor.

Basically being scared out of my mind I proceeded to run out of the bathroom and headed back to my classroom and sort of leaving everything undone. About 3 steps out of the bathroom I remember being sort of grabbed out of midflight. It was Mr. Scholtz the principal. Think I instantly started bawling. Think I blubbered out what had just happened when the 3 Highschoolers came out of the bathroom. I was let go and the last thing I remember seeing were the three high school kids being marched off to the principals office.

I don't recall if I got everything back in order before I went back to the class.

beat

Beat:

So we can rest assured that your trip back to class was the beginning of the development of class for you. It was so fast you zipped your way there without a code for your male parts. (lol).

MD!

MD

Funny, I'm sure a learned a lot in first grade really, but this is the ONE thing I remember quite vividly.

Don't pee on the bathroom floor.

beat

YOU GUY'S ARE PISSERS!

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112288:

Yes We Are! But We Didn't Write Yellow River. That masterpiece belongs to: I. P. Daily, the brother of the late "What's My Line host, John Charles Daily, and Great Uncle of Premier Beer Pisser and erstwhile golfer: John Daily, who's grandfather was former Indian pitcher: Bud Daily.

MD!

The fun continued right through high school. In my senior year, I was told that, if I took typing, it would help me in college. So I did.

There were something like 22 girls and four boys in the class, and our guy friends rode the four of us mercilessly, questioning our maleness, and...well, you can imagine. The four of us would go around with these "woe is me," defeated looks on our faces.

But what the hecklers didn't know was a little scam we had going in connection with typing tests. Every few days, the teacher would give us five-minute or ten-minute speed tests. We were graded on number of words per minute, with one word deducted for each error. We might have as many as four tests during a class period. Anyone who did well in a test would immediately take the paper to the teacher, who would validate and record it.

Anyway, the four boys had running one-on-one bets with a number of the girls. If a girl won, she got money from the boy (I can't recall how much.) If the boy won, she had to go to the drive-in with him and let him, shall we say, have his way with her. (I really don't think the inequity in the stakes mattered much to either sex.)

My dad worked in a bank. Each Friday afternoon, when the bank closed, I'd go over, unbolt a bank typewriter from its desk, take it home, and practice relentlessly all weekend long. Each Sunday afternoon, I'd return the typewriter to the bank. I invited the other three guys to join me; they paid me a quarter apiece for each session. Three of us became excellent typists, and I got well up to over 100 words per minute (with virtually no errors) on the manual typewriter.

My parents thought we were incredibly industrious, although they were dismayed at the fact that I was going to the drive-in so often. Needless to say, I won a load of bets and never paid out a penny. And, if I was having a bad day, I'd intentionally neglect to return the typewriter carriage at the end of a test and would continue with that same test entry in the next test period. The teacher never became suspicious until I turned in one test score of something like 178 words per minute without a single error. She watched me like a hawk after that.

Two of my friends were having pretty good luck as well. But the third one, Rich (not Dickie Robinson) just couldn't get the hang of it. He topped out at about 45 words per minute, which earned him a B for the class but won him no bets. He paid out a fair amount of money. Rich became so frustrated in the middle of one test that he picked up the typewriter, went over, and held it out of the third story window.

Miss Thompson, the teacher, shrieked and started racing toward him. But she tripped over a wastebasket and, as she was catching her balance, her wig started slipping off her head. To her credit, the typewriter meant more to her than her modesty. So she righted herself and continued running, with her wig over one eye, until she apprehended Rich and saved the typewriter. Poor Rich got sent the the principal, and the rest of us (all of us in hysterics) got dismissed early.

I see some of those girls now at alumni events, and I wonder why I went to all the trouble. But I can still type pretty fast. One could say I was type cast.

Sam

Hey MD

I read somewhere Ainge is an excellent typist.

Sam

I remember taking personal typing in High school. We had about an equal number of boys to girls. We also had to use the old MANUEL typewriters most of the time, the ones where you had to slam the carrage back and move the paper lever at the same time so the paper advanced. Kid next to me slammed it so hard during a speed test that it broke and went right on the floor.


We did have 2 electric typewirters in the class, with that little ball, we could use them for practice but we could not test on them.

Some of us would hold the space lever down on the electrics and pretend to be gunner on a WW2 ship shooting down ZERO's. ( only when the teacher was out of the room though)

I got up to about 40 WPM on good days, but not many of those.

beat

I'm just going to stand back and watch the STREAM of superlatives FLOW in!

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I am going to sit back and watch the STREAM of superlatives FLOW in from this great think TANK!


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Beat:

Are you sure about Ainge's typing prowess? I heard he paid the cheerleaders to type his term papers for him in college!

MD!