MEET THE GRESGE
     His name was Ralph Gresge(grezz-ghee), but we always called
him The Gresge because he seemed more like an elemental force than
anything else.  I first noticed him in a CS class.  I and the co-ed
I sat next to had dubbed him 'the fat kid'.  He would always come
into class late with three or so of his ridiculous friends('the
doofy guy', who always wore cutoffs and sandals with white knee-
high socks; 'the crunchy girl', who had stringy hair and always
carried her backpack over both shoulders and seemed to bounce on
the ball of each foot as she walked; and 'the chess nerd', who
always had a portable magnetic chess set with him and would try to
drum up games when you were trying to study.)  
     Sophomore year I was off-campus on State Street and our one
apartment-mate dropped out so we needed a new third.  The Gresge
had the money, so he was it.  Despite his pale skin, curly unkempt
blond hair, and shabby clothes, we learned that he was actually
quite a brilliant guy:  he'd spent a summer in high school
designing video games for Bally, and had bought a Trans Am with the
money, into which he'd dropped an enormous engine and a tank of
nitrous in the back.  The nitrous had this way of kicking in
unexpectedly sometimes because the switch he'd rigged up for it was
right next to the defroster.  When the nitrous was on, the car
would spin wheels in third gear and all the valves would blow out. 
    The Gresge was always buying chemicals and cooking stuff up in
the kitchen.  It was not surprising to find saltpeter and bags of
high-nitrogen fertilizer and sugar lying around.  We didn't press
him about any of these.  Wouldn't have been prudent.  Once I saw
him in the kitchen and he had melted a bunch of those styrofoam
packing peanuts in a pot.  Into this he was adding motor oil.  On
the kitchen table was a copy of "The Poor Man's James Bond".     
"What's cookin', Ralph?"  
     "Oh, plastique."
     Yeah, right.  An hour later, our balcony exploded.

     After a month with him the place was a disaster.  Food
wrappers, explosion burns, garbage everywhere.  Our landlady had
decided that it would be a good thing to "check up on us".  Ralph
was asleep, naked.  She let herself in and screamed.  Ralph threw
on a towel and met her in the front room.  She just stood there,
her mouth open, speechless, pointing.
     "Lady, get out."
     "I own this house!"
     "Hee.  Oops."
     "WHO?!  WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!"
     Ralph just scratched himself and looked at her.  He said, "I--
I blame society."
     We got a huge kick out of this when we talked about it later
that night, but it sucked because she took our vcr and wouldn't
return it until we cleaned up the place and rebuilt the balcony.  
   She still has that vcr.