RASSLIN'

     Rich, tell us about when you were just a grade-schooler      
     Oh please please please please please. . .
     Oh all right then.

     I was about 12 years old.  Our gym teacher's name was Mr.
Nelok (pronounced knee-lock).   Actually,  the story revolves
around Mr.  Nelok.  Now, most gym teachers vary their activities
with the seasons(you know, baseball, then basketball, then 
football).  Well, not old Nelok.  All he ever wanted us to do was
wrestle(he  pronounced it 'rassle')  He'd sit there in his chair
with a windbreaker on his lap (funny, he always kept it there, even
during the long, sticky summer months when it was uncomfortably
hot) and look over his gym-full of writhing, twisted-up twelve-
year-olds and say,  "Rassle, boys.  That's it, rassle.  Just
rassle.  Good.  Now let's all hit the  showers."
     "But you can't shower, too," we'd always say, playing the game
he so enjoyed, "you're a grownup."
     "Am not," he'd say.  "I'm just a little boy.  And I've been
very naughty."

     Ah, glory days.

                       THANKSGIVING